Long ago a king and queen ruled over the islands of the west, and they
had one son, whom they loved dearly. The boy grew up to be tall and
strong and handsome, and he could run and shoot, and swim and dive
better than any lad of his own age in the country. Besides, he knew
how to sail about, and sing songs to the harp, and during the winter
evenings, when everyone was gathered round the huge hall fire shaping
bows or weaving cloth, Ian Direach would tell them tales of the deeds
of his fathers.
So the time slipped by till Ian was almost a man, as they reckoned men
in those days, and then his mother the queen died. There was great
mourning throughout all the isles, and the boy and his father mourned
her bitterly also; but before the new year came the king had married
another wife, and seemed to have forgotten his old one. Only Ian
remembered.
On a morning when the leaves were yellow in the trees of the glen, Ian
slung his bow over his shoulder, and filling his quiver with arrows,
went on to the hill in search of game. But not a bird was to be seen
anywhere, till at length a blue falcon flew past him, and raising his
bow he took aim at her. His eye was straight and his hand steady, but
the falcon’s flight was swift, and he only shot a feather from her
wing. As the sun was now low over the sea he put the feather in his
game bag, and set out homewards.
‘Have you brought me much game to-day?’ asked his stepmother as he
entered the hall.
‘Nought save this,’ he answered, handing her the feather of the blue
falcon, which she held by the tip and gazed at silently. Then she
turned to Ian and said:
‘I am setting it on you as crosses and as spells, and as the fall of
the year! That you may always be cold, and wet and dirty, and that
your shoes may ever have pools in them, till you bring me hither the
blue falcon on which that feather grew.’
‘If it is spells you are laying I can lay them too,’ answered Ian
Direach; ‘and you shall stand with one foot on the great house and
another on the castle, till I come back again, and your face shall be
to the wind, from wheresoever it shall blow.’ Then he went away to
seek the bird, as his stepmother bade him; and, looking homewards from
the hill, he saw the queen standing with one foot on the great house,
and the other on the castle, and her face turned towards whatever
tempest should blow.
On he journeyed, over hills, and through rivers till he reached a wide
plain, and never a glimpse did he catch of the falcon. Darker and
darker it grew, and the small birds were seeking their nests, and at
length Ian Direach could see no more, and he lay down under some bushes
and sleep came to him. And in his dream a soft nose touched him, and a
warm body curled up beside him, and a low voice whispered to him:
‘Fortune is against you, Ian Direach; I have but the cheek and the hoof
of a sheep to give you, and with these you must be content.’ With that
Ian Direach awoke, and beheld Gille Mairtean the fox.
Between them they kindled a fire, and ate their supper. Then Gille
Mairtean the fox bade Ian Direach lie down as before, and sleep till
morning. And in the morning, when he awoke, Gille Mairtean said:
‘The falcon that you seek is in the keeping of the Giant of the Five
Heads, and the Five Necks, and the Five Humps. I will show you the way
to his house, and I counsel you to do his bidding, nimbly and
cheerfully, and, above all, to treat his birds kindly, for in this
manner he may give you his falcon to feed and care for. And when this
happens, wait till the giant is out of his house; then throw a cloth
over the falcon and bear her away with you. Only see that not one of
her feathers touches anything within the house, or evil will befall
you.’
‘I thank you for your counsel,’ spake Ian Direach, ‘and I will be
careful to follow it.’ Then he took the path to the giant’s house.
‘Who is there?’ cried the giant, as someone knocked loudly on the door
of his house.
‘One who seeks work as a servant,’ answered Ian Direach.
‘And what can you do?’ asked the giant again.
‘I can feed birds and tend pigs; I can feed and milk a cow, and also
goats and sheep, if you have any of these,’ replied Ian Direach.
‘Then enter, for I have great need of such a one,’ said the giant.
So Ian Direach entered, and tended so well and carefully all the birds
and beasts, that the giant was better satisfied than ever he had been,
and at length he thought that he might even be trusted to feed the
falcon. And the heart of Ian was glad, and he tended the blue falcon
till his fathers shone like the sky, and the giant was well pleased;
and one day he said to him:
‘For long my brothers on the other side of the mountain have besought
me to visit them, but never could I go for fear of my falcon. Now I
think I can leave her with you for one day, and before nightfall I
shall be back again.’
Scarcely was the giant out of sight next morning when Ian Direach
seized the falcon, and throwing a cloth over her head hastened with her
to the door. But the rays of the sun pierced through the thickness of
the cloth, and as they passed the doorpost she gave a spring, and the
tip of one of her feathers touched the post, which gave a scream, and
brought the giant back in three strides. Ian Direach trembled as he
saw him; but the giant only said:
‘If you wish for my falcon you must first bring me the White Sword of
Light that is in the house of the Big Women of Dhiurradh.’
‘And where do they live?’ asked Ian. But the giant answered:
‘Ah, that is for you to discover.’ And Ian dared say no more, and
hastened down to the waste. There, as he hoped, he met his friend
Gille Mairtean the fox, who bade him eat his supper and lie down to
sleep. And when he had wakened next morning the fox said to him:
‘Let us go down to the shore of the sea.’ And to the shore of the sea
they went. And after they had reached the shore, and beheld the sea
stretching before them, and the isle of Dhiurradh in the midst of it,
the soul of Ian sank, and he turned to Gille Mairtean and asked why he
had brought him thither, for the giant, when he had sent him, had known
full well that without a boat he could never find the Big Women.
‘Do not be cast down,’ answered the fox, ‘it is quite easy! I will
change myself into a boat, and you shall go on board me, and I will
carry you over the sea to the Seven Big Women of Dhiurradh. Tell them
that you are skilled in brightening silver and gold, and in the end
they will take you as servant, and if you are careful to please them
they will give you the White Sword of Light to make bright and shining.
But when you seek to steal it, take heed that its sheath touches
nothing inside the house, or ill will befall you.’
So Ian Direach did all things as the fox had told him, and the Seven
Big Women of Dhiurradh took him for their servant, and for six weeks he
worked so hard that his seven mistresses said to each other: ‘Never has
a servant had the skill to make all bright and shining like this one.
Let us give him the White Sword of Light to polish like the rest.’
Then they brought forth the White Sword of Light from the iron closet
where it hung, and bade him rub it till he could see his face in the
shining blade; and he did so. But one day, when the Seven Big Women
were out of the way, he bethought him that the moment had come for him
to carry off the sword, and, replacing it in its sheath, he hoisted it
on his shoulder. But just as he was passing through the door the tip
of the sheath touched it, and the door gave a loud shriek. And the Big
Women heard it, and came running back, and took the sword from him, and
said:
‘If it is our sword you want, you must first bring us the bay colt of
the King of Erin.’
Humbled and ashamed, Ian Direach left the house, and sat by the side of
the sea, and soon Gille Mairtean the fox came to him.
‘Plainly I see that you have taken no heed to my words, Ian Direach,’
spoke the fox. ‘But eat first, and yet once more will I help you.’
At these words the heart returned again to Ian Direach, and he gathered
sticks and made a fire and ate with Gille Mairtean the fox, and slept
on the sand. At dawn next morning Gille Mairtean said to Ian Direach:
‘I will change myself into a ship, and will bear you across the seas to
Erin, to the land where dwells the king. And you shall offer yourself
to serve in his stable, and to tend his horses, till at length so well
content is he, that he gives you the bay colt to wash and brush. But
when you run away with her see that nought except the soles of her
hoofs touch anything within the palace gates, or it will go ill with
you.’
After he had thus counselled Ian Direach, the fox changed himself into
a ship, and set sail for Erin. And the king of that country gave into
Ian Direach’s hands the care of his horses, and never before did their
skins shine so brightly or was their pace so swift. And the king was
well pleased, and at the end of a month he sent for Ian and said to him:
‘You have given me faithful service, and now I will entrust you with
the most precious thing that my kingdom holds.’ And when he had
spoken, he led Ian Direach to the stable where stood the bay colt. And
Ian rubbed her and fed her, and galloped with her all round the
country, till he could leave one wind behind him and catch the other
which was in front.
‘I am going away to hunt,’ said the king one morning while he was
watching Ian tend the bay colt in her stable. ‘The deer have come down
from the hill, and it is time for me to give them chase.’ Then he went
away; and when he was no longer in sight, Ian Direach led the bay colt
out of the stable, and sprang on her back. But as they rode through
the gate, which stood between the palace and the outer world, the colt
swished her tail against the post, which shrieked loudly. In a moment
the king came running up, and he seized the colt’s bridle.
‘If you want my bay colt, you must first bring me the daughter of the
king of the Franks.’
With slow steps went Ian Direach down to the shore where Gille Mairtean
the fox awaited him.
‘Plainly I see that you have not done as I bid you, nor will you ever
do it,’ spoke Gille Mairtean the fox; ‘but I will help you yet again.
for a third time I will change myself into a ship, and we will sail to
France.’
And to France they sailed, and, as he was the ship, the Gille Mairtean
sailed where he would, and ran himself into the cleft of a rock, high
on to the land. Then, he commanded Ian Direach to go up to the king’s
palace, saying that he had been wrecked, that his ship was made fast in
a rock, and that none had been saved but himself only.
Ian Direach listened to the words of the fox, and he told a tale so
pitiful, that the king and queen, and the princess their daughter, all
came out to hear it. And when they had heard, nought would please them
except to go down to the shore and visit the ship, which by now was
floating, for the tide was up. Torn and battered was she, as if she
had passed through many dangers, yet music of a wondrous sweetness
poured forth from within.
‘Bring hither a boat,’ cried the princess, ‘that I may go and see for
myself the harp that gives forth such music.’ And a boat was brought,
and Ian Direach stepped in to row it to the side of the ship.
To the further side he rowed, so that none could see, and when he
helped the princess on board he gave a push to the boat, so that she
could not get back to it again. And the music sounded always sweeter,
though they could never see whence it came, and sought it from one part
of the vessel to another. When at last they reached the deck and
looked around them, nought of land could they see, or anything save the
rushing waters.
The princess stood silent, and her face grew grim. At last she said:
‘An ill trick have you played me! What is this that you have done, and
whither are we going?’
‘It is a queen you will be,’ answered Ian Direach, ‘for the king of
Erin has sent me for you, and in return he will give me his bay colt,
that I may take him to the Seven Big Women of Dhiurradh, in exchange
for the White Sword of Light. This I must carry to the giant of the
Five Heads and Five Necks and Five Humps, and, in place of it, he will
bestow on me the blue falcon, which I have promised my stepmother, so
that she may free me from the spell which she has laid on me.’
‘I would rather be wife to you,’ answered the princess.
By-and-by the ship sailed into a harbour on the coast of Erin, and cast
anchor there. And Gille Mairtean the fox bade Ian Direach tell the
princess that she must bide yet a while in a cave amongst the rocks,
for they had business on land, and after a while they would return to
her. Then they took a boat and rowed up to some rocks, and as they
touched the land Gille Mairtean changed himself into a fair woman, who
laughed, and said to Ian Direach, ‘I will give the king a fine wife.’
Now the king of Erin had been hunting on the hill, and when he saw a
strange ship sailing towards the harbour, he guessed that it might be
Ian Direach, and left his hunting, and ran down to the hill to the
stable. Hastily he led the bay colt from his stall, and put the golden
saddle on her back, and the silver bridle over his head, and with the
colt’s bridle in his hand, he hurried to meet the princess.
‘I have brought you the king of France’s daughter,’ said Ian Direach.
And the king of Erin looked at the maiden, and was well pleased, not
knowing that it was Gille Mairtean the fox. And he bowed low, and
besought her to do him the honour to enter the palace; and Gille
Mairtean, as he went in, turned to look back at Ian Direach, and
laughed.
In the great hall the king paused and pointed to an iron chest which
stood in a corner.
‘In that chest is the crown that has waited for you for many years,’ he
said, ‘and at last you have come for it.’ And he stooped down to
unlock the box.
In an instant Gille Mairtean the fox had sprung on his back, and gave
him such a bite that he fell down unconscious. Quickly the fox took
his own shape again, and galloped away to the sea shore, where Ian
Direach and the princess and the bay colt awaited him.
‘I will become a ship,’ cried Gille Mairtean, ‘and you shall go on
board me.’ And so he did, and Ian Direach let the bay colt into the
ship and the princess went after them, and they set sail for Dhiurradh.
The wind was behind them, and very soon they saw the rocks of
Dhiurradh in front. Then spoke Gille Mairtean the fox:
‘Let the bay colt and the king’s daughter hide in these rocks, and I
will change myself into the colt, and go with you to the house of the
Seven Big Women.’
Joy filed the hearts of the Big Women when they beheld the bay colt led
up to their door by Ian Direach. And the youngest of them fetched the
White Sword of Light, and gave it into the hands of Ian Direach, who
took off the golden saddle and the silver bridle, and went down the
hill with the sword to the place where the princess and the real colt
awaited him.
‘Now we shall have the ride that we have longed for!’ cried the Seven
Big Women; and they saddled and bridled the colt, and the eldest one
got upon the saddle. Then the second sister sat on the back of the
first, and the third on the back of the second, and so on for the whole
seven. And when they were all seated, the eldest struck her side with
a whip and the colt bounded forward. Over the moors she flew, and
round and round the mountains, and still the Big Women clung to her and
snorted with pleasure. At last she leapt high in the air, and came
down on top of Monadh the high hill, where the crag is. And she rested
her fore feet on the crag, and threw up her hind legs, and the Seven
Big Women fell over the crag, and were dead when they reached the
bottom. And the colt laughed, and became a fox again and galloped away
to the sea shore, where Ian Direach, and the princess and the real colt
and the White Sword of Light were awaiting him.
‘I will make myself into a ship,’ said Gille Mairtean the fox, ‘and
will carry you and the princess, and the bay colt and the White Sword
of Light, back to the land.’ And when the shore was reached, Gille
Mairtean the fox took back his own shape, and spoke to Ian Direach in
this wise:
‘Let the princess and the White Sword of Light, and the bay colt,
remain among the rocks, and I will change myself into the likeness of
the White Sword of Light, and you shall bear me to the giant, and,
instead, he will give you the blue falcon.’ And Ian Direach did as the
fox bade him, and set out for the giant’s castle. From afar the giant
beheld the blaze of the White Sword of Light, and his heart rejoiced;
and he took the blue falcon and put it in a basket, and gave it to Ian
Direach, who bore it swiftly away to the place where the princess, and
the bay colt, and the real Sword of Light were awaiting him.
So well content was the giant to possess the sword he had coveted for
many a year, that he began at once to whirl it through the air, and to
cut and slash with it. For a little while Gille Mairtean let the giant
play with him in this manner; then he turned in the giant’s hand, and
cut through the Five Necks, so that the Five Heads rolled on the
ground. Afterwards he went back to Ian Direach and said to him:
‘Saddle the colt with the golden saddle, and bridle her with the silver
bridle, and sling the basket with the falcon over your shoulders, and
hold the White Sword of Light with its back against your nose. Then
mount the colt, and let the princess mount behind you, and ride thus to
your father’s palace. But see that the back of the sword is ever
against your nose, else when your stepmother beholds you, she will
change you into a dry faggot. If, however, you do as I bid you, she
will become herself a bundle of sticks.’
Ian Direach hearkened to the words of Gille Mairtean, and his
stepmother fell as a bundle of sticks before him; and he set fire to
her, and was free from her spells for ever. After that he married the
princess, who was the best wife in all the islands of the West.
Henceforth he was safe from harm, for had he not the bay colt who could
leave one wind behind her and catch the other wind, and the blue falcon
to bring him game to eat, and the White Sword of Light to pierce
through his foes?
And Ian Direach knew that all this he owed to Gille Mairtean the fox,
and he made a compact with him that he might choose any beast out of
his herds, whenever hunger seized him, and that henceforth no arrow
should be let fly at him or at any of his race. But Gille Mairtean the
fox would take no reward for the help he had given to Ian Direach, only
his friendship. Thus all things prospered with Ian Direach till he
died.
[From Tales of the West Highlands.]