۞

Tiny little rivulets of dust curled up around the toes of his sea boots as the lad trudged westward out of Dublin. Dust, he thought to himself, that was a rarity in this land, and he pondered to himself of how long it had been since County Cork had seen rain.

He was tired… his sea bag was slung across his narrow, bony shoulder, not yet filled out for a young man of fifteen years, who was a man, nonetheless. Scarred, already, aye, with a shameful reminder of the brutality of the world with one hard backhand across the face when he was only six years old, splitting open his right eyebrow as he was spirited away in the night, suddenly motherless.

He had watched his dark skinned Roma mother die of fever, and their hated landlord had set fire to their cottage and had hauled screaming Jack Sparrow off, roughly, and sold him away at the slave auction in the port of An Clochán, only for the money that could be made from selling the land that their tiny home occupied... never mind that Maggie Sparrow had always paid her rent on time, only wishing to live, quietly with her pirate borne son... it was an idyllic life, up to that point, with an occasional message from his father, and almost daily visits from the wee little girl who was his only playmate.

Jack sat down on a rough hewn stone fence at the side of this small road, which wound its way through the hills and glens of his homeland… a homeland whose Irish Gaelic language was the only one that he knew at that point of his sudden and terrifying departure, along with some of his mother's own gypsy Romani. His stilted, odd English was learned at sea, and always the source of amusement for Bill Turner.

Jack mopped his face with the tails of his red bandanna, already holding back a mane of unruly, coiling, braided black hair. Bill, he thought… and he felt his heart turn hard in his chest for the embarrassing incident that had taken place as he and Bill had just made port in England. Bootstrap Bill was Jack's closest friend, except for his auburn haired lassie in Connemara, and it was toward her that his exhausted feet had been walking for days because of what had happened… Janie…

Bill had more or less turned him out on his own, only days before, at the request of Bill's shrewish wife, Mary - at least she was shrewish in Jack's eyes. Not even a crust of bread to tide him along his way, and the one who had seemed to be the saddest at the raggle taggle young gypsy's departure was three year old Will Turner.

Jack chuckled to himself, bitterly, as the child's upturned face re-entered his mind for only the hundredth time since he left Bill's house… neglected, that child was, as his parents argued over his own presence and Mary's desire to get rid of Jack as soon as could be managed, in spite of Bill's argument.

Jack had spent the afternoon playing with the boy, only to be shamefully admonished in front of the neighbors, for straying too far by taking Will down to the docks, only a shout away, to see the ships coming to and fro…

The young Will was a nice little whelp, Jack thought to himself… Mary wouldn't want him to be seen playing with a scarecrow like himself… short of stature, and as slender as a reed, with a pathetic mustache and large, soulful brown eyes that were much too large for his face…eyes that were too soft for his rough life as a sailor. He'd have to do something about that, he thought, randomly.

Slowly, he got to his feet, and began to trudge, again. The sooner he would make it to County Galway, the sooner he could spend time with his Janie. She would always find fun, and he loved her dearly, though they were remiss to tell each other that… they simply knew it, and it was not necessary to say it.

Brightening a bit at thinking of her and of Connemara, he began to look westward and toward the sun setting in the skies, over the mountains of Western Eire, in the distance… he was still a good day's walk away, and he had better find a place to bed down before nightfall…

And hopefully, something to eat. He was already thin enough, and had been without a hot meal for days… his stomach growled, not altogether amiably, and he winced.

Suddenly, it was almost as if a miracle had happened, and he knew that he did not deserve miracles! What was that aroma that was wafting its way around his nostrils? Ahhhh! Could it be?

He stopped in his tracks, and looked all about, inhaling and savoring the fragrances that played with his nose and his gnawing, noisy stomach… yes, it was!

His mouth watered, and he tried to detect from whence this lovely, enticing aroma came, and his nose led him to the shadows of the deep and darkening woods that were to his starboard side… ahhhh, Jack grinned to himself, as he stealthily made his way into those shadows…

For he was made of shadows, he knew, dark of skin and black of hair, and his beloved mother had taught him all about hiding in the woods… just as she had prepared those things which his nose was following like one of the King's hounds, right now!

Lamb stew… and his favourite dish in the world and across the Seven Seas which he had already traveled … gypsy cabbage rolls!

۞

"So, young Master Sparrow," the elder of the tribe addressed this skinny, lanky youngster, as the boy sat up straight and proud at being addressed in such a manner, "Where are ye bound, son?"

Jack looked up at the portly fellow, dressed in a deep blue brocade waistcoat that Jack found himself coveting deeply, feeling rather dowdy in his frayed sailor's rags. "I'm headed fer me home o' Connemara… I have a friend there wot I want t' see …"

His face reddened, when Nicholas laughed, "A young lady, then?"

Jack's reaction answered that question, as Nicholas' wife, Soibhan, took his emptying tin plate from his slender hands and shoved yet another one into them…. He nodded his thanks, and was 'you're welcomed' with a toothy grin… she was a homely one, but it was quite obvious that Nicholas loved her very much… odd, Jack thought, his Janie thought of herself as dreadfully plain, but Jack thought of her as the most beautiful, natural girl in the world.

The other members of the tribe were sitting around the main campfire, eyeing his newcomer, curiously.

He had approached them with great caution, hardly a threat from the look of him, and half starved. Nicholas knew, straight off, simply by the boy's dark physical appearance and from the pattern of the red bandanna that he wore that he was one of them… a Roma… and Jack had greeted them with a few words of Romani, which had passed over his tongue rarely since Mama had died.

"Aye, me friend is a lassie, " Jack admitted, shoving another mouth full of stew in, as they had all wondered how a boy his age already had two silver teeth on the bottom. He did not offer much about himself. "Janie Ó Madáin is 'er name, an' I've known her for all o' me life!"

A rumble went through the crowd that was gathered, and Jack looked up from his plate to take in this interesting reaction to the mention of Janie's name… the rumble silenced as Nicholas glanced at his family, and the crackling of the peat fire was the only sound that was heard, as sparks flew upward into the nighttime skies, dancing through the treetops over their heads….

"Ahhh, so you need a place to spend the night, young Jack Sparrow. You are welcome to stay with us, if you'd like. We've plenty of food, and we can string a hammock for you near the fire, to warm ye. We are always proud to take in one of our own, and proud to serve the son of Magdalena Sparrow…"

Jack looked up, genuinely puzzled by this statement, as Soibhan refilled his tankard of ale at the small barrel that was attached to the side of the beautiful, colorful wagon that was hers and Nicholas' home. She said, over her shoulder, "Nicholas is right, Master Sparrow. Your mother is a legend among Irish gypsy tribes, for she was ahead of her time… and independent woman who was as free as the wind, singing and dancing in our own way, making her way in the gadjo world. Now and again, we hear of her man, the great Captain Edward Jonathan Teague, and Maggie, herself, is said to be the spirit of Irish wind. Did ye not know that, young Jack?"

Jack shrugged, and said, "I've no idea if my father is great or not, nor do I know anyfing o' me mama bein' a spirit o' th' wind… although most times, th' wind is me friend, so p'raps there is some truth t' it… makes fer a pretty story, though."

He grinned at his hosts, making the young ladies in the group giggle and hide behind their hands, "Aye, makes fer a pretty story, an' I likes pretty stories, and pretty things."

He winked at them all, and genially chuckled as he devoured his fourth cabbage roll, dipped in light vinegar… he closed his eyes, savoring every bite… and savouring the admiring looks that he was recieving in spite of his shabby clothing... oh, to have nicer things to wear, he found himself wishing, fervently... and a bath....

Nicholas leaned back in his seat, and pondered the twilight skies above them, with its myriad of twinkling stars. He lit his pipe, and his dark eyes regarded this man-child before him… Jack Sparrow… so he did exist. A young man who was whisked away into slavery, only to be rescued by his father, and turned loose upon an unsuspecting world, already a mystery among his own people.

It was an honour to have this boy among them, he thought, as he would one day make gypsies proud, Nicholas knew... somehow, this one was already showing signs of becoming much more than met the eye.

Jack also sat back in his chair, now patting his belly and belching a bit, and not softly. He was picking at a tooth with a fingernail, but it was obvious that the boy was a nail biter and had not much to work with. Nicholas reached over and unhooked a curious object from his belt, and handed to the lad.

"Here ye go."

Jack stared at it for a moment… it was an odd thing, to be sure, as Nicholas puffed upon his pipe, and explained, "I use it to pick locks, but it also serves well in other purposes… rinse if off with your ale, if you will, and use it as a toothpick!"

He chuckled, as Jack was now admiring this object, long and creamy white, tied to a leather thong… he dangled it in front of his face, in the firelight, and began to laugh, himself.

"Tha's interesting'…" Looking sideways at his host, as the others began to disperse to their own accommodations, Jack queried, "Jus' wot might it be, if I may be so bold t' ask?"

"Shinbone of a goat…. But it might be something that you could spin a yarn about, being a young sailor and proving, this evening, that you have a gift of gab!" Nicholas chuckled, the corners of his thick mustache curling up in a grin.

Jack dangled this rather macabre and dangerous looking sharp object about, and then laughed, "Well, fer one fing, I'm not gonna tell me mates or me lassie tha' it's th' shinbone of a bloody goat!"

He tapped his barely whiskered chin with this trinket, and narrowed his eyes… "A reindeer! Tha's it. It's th' shinbone of a reindeer, an' I got it when I was trekkin' across Greenland in search o' another ship t' sail t' Imperial Russia! Tha's th' story I'll tell…"

Nicholas threw back his head and laughed, "That sounds better than what it really is… a goat shinbone, given to you so that you could pick your teeth, from a gypsy camped in the shadow of Blarney Castle."

Jack smiled, and pulled some of his long hair into a small pigtail on the right side of his head… it dangled over his red bandanna, and even without seeing it, he knew it looked rather dashing. "I dunno, Nick. That sounds like a good story as well, but I like mine much more better, aye?"

"Now… " Jack leaned with his elbows upon his knees, becoming uncustomary serious, "Tell me this… why was there a murmurin' among th' others when I mentioned Janie's name… do ye know her?"

Nicholas blew a smoke ring… and then another… and then another, as he regarded Jack with hooded black eyes… the firelight danced over the circled wagons, and made strange shadows on the trees and the foliage that edged the glen around them…

Jack shuddered a little, like as if he felt that the very eyes of the forest were watching them, as Nicholas said, quietly, "We just came from the Connemara area, boy… it seems that your friend is in a very sad situation.'

'Her own father has sold her into marriage to his money lender… Janie is entering into a slavery of sorts. Thomas Ó Madáin owes money to everyone in Galway, and he wants to be rid of his own daughter. She is to marry old Sean O'Hennessey, the most hated man on the western coast…and the meanest, from what we've heard… he already has a woman in County Clare with whom he's fathered a daughter, and its well known that he beats her to within an inch of her life…"

Jack's dark eyes grew as hard and as black as flint, and he suddenly felt that scar over his right eye burning… Thomas Ó Madáin certainly had a need to be rid of what he felt was in his way… and he certainly had a penchant for selling souls into slavery….

"I'll be leaving out at dawn, Nicholas… I believe I'll take advantage o' th' hammock tha' ye offered, for I'll be making Connemara by sundown, tomorrow…"

And as he laid in his kip and watched the campfire, Jack Sparrow did not know which was stronger… his love for his lassie, his hate for her father, or his gratitude for those that he knew that he would always trust… even if he spent what he thought were only the fringes of his life among them…his own.

He looked around the gypsy camp, as he closed his eyes, as he felt the "reindeer shinbone" tap, pleasantly, against the small string of beads that dangled over his forehead…a string of beads that marked him as a so-called "pirate lord", he thought… a title bequeathed by a dead friend of his estranged father, and a title that Jack was certain that he did not want… but he liked the beads, nonetheless….

Sleep came to him, eventually, as he was exhausted and full of good food… and full of dread for what he would find when he reached County Galway….

To be continued….