I drink my ale slowly, peering over my shoulder occasionally to be sure that they have not caught up with me.

Nine long years I spent exiled to the Sceilig, the wind-swept, storm-beaten edge of the world. Nine long years, which have finally come to an end. In that time I did what I always did best: fight. For a hot-blooded malcontented, bastard-son such as I, there is little else to do on a remote, inhospitable rock in the middle of the sea. Every pilgrim - be they travelling by curragh or longboat - that came within my sight either met his doom on the rocky crags along the coast or by my blade, and all of their possessions became mine.

After nine years, however, a man's feet begin to itch, and the raids are never frequent enough. Few travel such a treacherous course anymore. Besides, I had become rich with gold, silver, silk, and spices. It was high time I spent it. When I returned to Eire, the Men of Connacht pursued me. Even now they are not far behind. But I have used my riches to travel well, and my journey has taken me to a quiet hamlet in Munster. I am safe to remain here for a fortnight, at least, perhaps longer.

This is the right place. Here I will find what I'm looking for. I am dissatisfied with petty piracy; I mean to steal me a fine, hale, and rich herd of kine - that is where true wealth lies. And I shall cut the throats of any who stand in my way. Please, please let them stand in my way! My fists clench and tremble, and I grind my teeth hungrily, yearning to draw blood again.