the hill of Tara, and great were the rejoicings throughout the land.
Only Nuadh of the Silver Hand dreamed uneasily for that and many other
nights; knowing well that Balor of the Evil Eye would not let pass
the slight which had been put upon him. And after all, it was but a
handful of the Fomorian host which had been slain on the Plains of
Tara. Nevertheless, the king hoped that he might be spared the wrath of
Balor, for none of the Dedannans whom he ruled had taken part in the
fray, but only those who were of the company of Lu of the Long Hand.
Bitter, indeed, was the wrath of Balor, when he heard what had been
done to his Fomorian emissaries.
“The Dedannans shall soon be but a memory,” he exclaimed; “their kings
and nobles shall utterly perish, and of all their race none shall
survive save those who shall be slaves for ever to my people. Their
very land, that green Eri they are so fain of, shall be no more than an
unregarded province of Lochlin.”
Thereafter, Balor sent word throughout all Lochlin, from the Cape of
the Midnight Sun to the Narrow Seas,[9] and bade all the peoples who
owned him king to assemble speedily for war; and in every haven he bade
the sea-galleys to be got ready.
This took many weeks, and thereafter was the slow waiting for the
coming of spring. But at last all was ready, and then Bras, the son
of Balor, led forth the mightiest host which had ever sailed from the
shores of Lochlin.
This vast concourse of galleys sailed northward before favouring winds,
and then westward along the storm-swept coasts of Alba, and at last
southward again by the Hebrid Isles. Thence, with fresh provisions and
replenished water-barrels, they sailed towards and round the northern
headlands of Eri, and like a great flock of sea-vultures settled upon
the coasts of Connaught.
With laughter and fierce disdain the Fomorians spread far and wide,
and at once began to despoil the country, and lay waste the tilled
lands. In the ears of all rang the arrogant parting words of Balor of
the Evil Eye: “And when at the last ye have cut off for me the head of
that man Lu, called the Ildanna, then put a mighty cable around this
troublesome Isle of Erin, and tow it back with your ships, and lay it
alongside the north coasts of our Lochlin.”
But meanwhile all the realms of the Tuatha-De-Danann were smitten with
fear. None dared await the dreaded Fomorians, and everywhere were
flying hordes of men and women and children, chariots, horses, and
cattle.
The king of Connaught in that day was Bove Derg, son of the Dagda,
he who afterwards became the last Dedannan king. Straightway he sent
word to Lu Ildanna, begging him to raise a host and succour the men of
Connaught, as otherwise not a man would be left to stay the advance of
the Fomorians.
Lu of the Long Hand was sorrowful that by his action he had brought
this curse upon the lands of Erin, yet he knew that it was better than
the old shame. By the Sun and Moon and Wind he swore that he would do
all he could to raise a host, and himself give battle to Bras and his
Fomorians.
With all speed he hasted to Dunree, and was glad indeed when he saw the
Hill of Tara rise from the plain. For of a surety he held that Nuadh
of the Silver Hand would join with the princes of Erin and fight the
invader.
That surety was in vain. Nuadh refused to go into battle.
“When Bras leads his Fomorians towards the Hill of Tara,” he said,
“that will be time for me to raise the banner against him.”
“Listen, Nuadh of the Silver Hand, art thou not High King?” exclaimed
Lu.
“Even so, Ildanna.”
“And is not thy first duty to lead the princes of Erin against the
invader? If we are all as one, we can laugh at Balor of the Evil Eye
and all the host he sends against us. If we are divided we shall surely
fall.”
But for all the pleadings of Lu Ildanna, Nuadh refused to take the
field. He had one answer to all pleas.
“Bras and his Fomorian host do no more than lay waste the lands of
Connaught. Let then the king of Connaught see to his own. I have sent
friendly messages to Balor, and in order to keep the peace have offered
alliance and even to pay tribute again. But till war is declared
against me I will do nothing.”
Furious against Nuadh of the Silver Hand, Lu Ildanna rode away.
“Dust upon thy home,” he muttered, “were it not for the ruin upon all
Erin. Nevertheless, I have but one thing to do.”
Lu had not ridden far, when his heart rejoiced because of three strong
warriors he saw approaching.
These were his father, Kian, and the two brothers of his father, Ald
and Art. In that day the seven fairest champions in the northlands of
Erin were Lu himself, Kian and his two brothers, and Brian, Ur, and
Urba, the sons of Turenn. Each of these was a host in himself, both
because of his own valour and for the great influence that each had
upon the clansmen of the north.
In a brief while Lu told all, and begged the aid of these three chiefs
for Bove Derg, and not for Bove Derg only, but for the honour and
safety of Erin.
Kian and Ald and Art were wroth with the high king.
“The first duty of a king is kinglihood,” said Kian.
“And without deathless courage a king is dead,” said Ald.
“And without sleepless eyes a king is a sluggard,” said Art.
“A king should be to all men what each man would fain be to himself,”
said Lu. “My father Kian says well: the first duty of a king is
kinglihood. But since Nuadh of the Silver Hand is fain to rest at ease
in his dun, under the safe shadow of Tara, so let him rest. We are men,
and must act.”
Therewith all took counsel, and while Lu rode westward, to raise
all whom he could to succour the men of Connaught, Ald and Art rode
southward.
“I shall go north,” said Kian.
“Why so?” asked Lu, knowing that it would be best for his father to go
eastward.
“The wind bloweth that way,” answered Kian lightly. But truly enough
none knew that in that answer and in that riding northward, was the
beginning of the long and dreadful tragedy of which, for generations
thereafter, the bards sang as The Fate of the Sons of Turenn.
* * * * *
At this point Peterkin rose from where he kneeled beside Eilidh, and
went over to Ian Mor and took his hand and looked long at him.
“These words I have heard you say again and again, Ian--_Ma tha sin an
Dan_, if it be Destiny--what do they mean?”
“I cannot tell you, Peterkin; for to me they mean everything.”
“But must Kian come to sorrow because he followed the way of the wind?”
“I cannot tell you, Peterkin. But of this you may be sure, that no
man needs to do this or that thing because of the way of the wind or
anything else. Only, behind all doings of men there is a wind that
blows. That is the wind of Destiny. That is what I meant when I said
that Kian, choosing lightly to go the way of the wind, and by his own
choice, yet went the way of Fate.”
“And is Fate a man?”
“No.”
“Have you ever seen it?”
“No.”
“Has any one ever seen it?”
“No.”
Peterkin laughed below his breath.
“Ivor Maclean the boatman, told me that ‘an Dan’ was only a shadow
before and behind, and that none need trouble about a shadow.”
“And what do _you_ think, Peterkin?”
“I think that ‘an Dan’ is only a shadow before and behind; and I laugh
to see my shadow, but I do not fear it. It is only a shadow.”
“Peterkin is right, Ian,” said Eilidh, in a low voice. “And do you
remember what was said long ago about wisdom coming out of the mouths
of little children?”
“Yes,” Ian answered slowly and gravely, “Peterkin is right.”
But Peterkin only laughed merrily, as suddenly he sprang up.
“See,” he exclaimed, “my shadow has leapt from beside me, till now it
is fading along the wall. When I laughed it leapt away.”
* * * * *
Well, resumed Ian Mor, Kian was not many miles forth upon the great
pastures to the north of Tara, when he saw three lordly men riding
towards him.
They were still a great way off, but Kian the Noble was noted far
and wide for his keen sight, and he knew who the mailed and shining
ones were. They were Dedannans, but they were of a clan at bitter feud
with his own; and his heart quailed as he saw that in that lonely
place he would have to meet face to face with Brian, Ur, and Urba, the
sons of Turenn. Far better would it have been for him to ride forward
fearlessly, and call upon the sons of Turenn to put all enmity aside
in the face of the bitter danger to Erin because of Bras and his
Fomorians. But a man born under a dark star must soon or late ride into
the shadow of that star.
So when Kian had realized that the foes of him and his house were fast
approaching, he cast about for some way to delude the sons of Turenn.
Already they had seen the stranger, though they had not recognised him.
In common with all the lords of the Dedannans, Kian carried with him
a magic wand. With this he could at any time transform himself into
some living creature. And so it happened that, while he was still
pondering, he caught sight of a vast herd of swine feeding upon the
thistle-pastures to the left; and no sooner had he done so than he took
his wand and changed himself into a boar. His horse, too, he changed;
and then both, grazing often, joined the great herd, and were soon at
one with it.
Kian laughed to himself at how he had outwitted the sons of Turenn,
but oversoon did he laugh. After all he was sorrowful; for it was not
seemly for a man to change himself into a pig, lest death or some
disaster came upon him in that guise: for, according as a man’s doom
came to him, so would he have to bear it.
Meanwhile the three sons of Turenn rode across the plain. Fair to see
were they, these three comely lords: Brian, the eldest and strongest;
Ur, the tallest and fairest; and Urba the swift. They had seen Kian
riding slowly towards them, but had not thought more than that he was
an emissary from Dunree, where Nuadh of the Silver Hand was. When,
however, they missed him suddenly, Brian frowned and drew rein.
“Tell me, my brothers,” he exclaimed, “where is he whom a brief while
ago we saw riding toward us?”
“He is no longer to be seen,” Urba answered. “Yet there is no
hiding-place that we wot of. If he were lying on the grass, we should
descry him and his horse from where we now are.”
“They are not on the grass,” said Ur; “for I could see a slim greyhound
were it lying there.”
Brian pondered awhile. Then he spoke again.
“As ye know well, war is all about us now, and it befits us to be wary.
It is clear that the man we saw was no friend to us, or why has he
hidden himself? But I think I know his secret: with a magic wand he has
turned himself into a pig, and is now among that great herd of swine
that we see yonder.”
“Then he has escaped us, Brian?”
“Not so, Ur. I too have my magic wand with me; with it I shall now turn
my two brothers into swift hounds. Ye shall then speed in among these
swine and see if ye can root out this man, who is surely an enemy.”
And with that Brian took his wand, and changed his brothers into
hounds; and they raced away with the speed of the wind, while he rode
swiftly towards a belt of forest which skirted the plain to the rear of
the herd.
When the baying of the hounds was heard, a panic seized upon the
swine. Like a great swaying mass of seaweed in the trough of the waves,
the herd swung to and fro; ever becoming more and more densely packed,
and squealing and grunting in terror and bewilderment as the two gaunt
hounds sprang against their heaving masses or dashed to and fro in
their midst.
At the east they were so driven in upon themselves, that they became
as one solid mass, close-wedged. Among these dense hundreds it seemed
impossible for Ur and Urba to find the enchanted man; but while they
were still running to and fro in their eager quest, Brian saw a pig
leap from the rear of the herd and run swiftly towards the belt of
forest.
Brian put his horse upon the wind, as the saying is; and it was a race
then between the mounted man and the enchanted boar: but just as the
first undergrowth was nigh Brian came up with the fleeing animal, and
drove his hunting-spear in betwixt its shoulders.
With a terrible scream the flying boar rolled over; then, with a wild
human crying and speech, begged for pity.
“Oh, son of Turenn,” it cried, “have pity upon me! Sure it is an evil
deed to slay me thus, well knowing who I am!”
“I know that thy voice is the voice of a man,” answered Brian, “but I
know not who thou art. I am Brian, eldest of the sons of Turenn. Tell
me thy name.”
“He who implores thy mercy, O Brian of the Oak Shaft, is Kian, the
father of thy comrade in years and arms, Lu of the Long Hand.”
By this time Ur and Urba were beside the victor and the victim, and now
resumed their human shape. When they heard the pleadings of Kian they
interceded for him, notwithstanding the deadly feud between the clans
of Turenn and Kian. But Brian would not listen to their counsel, not
even when Ur pleaded that great evil might come out of the slaying of
Kian, nor when Urba urged that this was not the day and the hour for
such a deed, when Erin needed every man to fight against the Fomorians.
And, of a truth, that has ever been the sad way of the Gael, who will
think of the private wrong first, than of the general weal, and so will
fall as a single tree will fall where a forest would be steadfast.
When Kian saw that his fate was come upon him, and heard Brian swear by
a sacred oath that he would not spare him though he returned thrice to
life, or seven times changed his form, he made one last supplication.
“At the least, as ye are honourable men, save me this dishonour. Let
me not die as a pig, but as a man. I have dropped my magic wand;
therefore, O Brian, I pray of thee to take thine, and with it restore
me to mine own form.”
“That shall be done,” said the chief, adding scornfully, “for sure it
is an easier thing for me to kill a man than a pig.”
But no sooner was Kian a man again than he laughed mockingly.
“Why do you laugh thus?” asked Ur.
“I laugh because I have outwitted ye at the last, ye sons of Turenn.
What is death to me who have a dust of grey hairs over my once black
locks, or is death indeed a thing at any time to fear overmuch? Ill as
it would befit me to die as a pig, still more ill would it be because
of that which follows death.”
“Speak,” said Ur, though in his heart both he and his brothers knew
what Kian was about to say.
“I have outwitted ye, as I have said; for if as a pig I had been slain
by Brian of the Oak Shaft, then ye would have had no other eric to pay
for me than the eric of a pig, but now ye shall have to pay the eric
of a man, and upon that the eric of a father of grown sons, and upon
that the fatherhood eric of each son, and upon that the eric of a great
lord, and upon that the eric of the broken honour of my son Lu of the
Long Hand. And I tell ye this, that never has there been, nor ever will
be, so great an eric as that which ye shall have to pay for this deed
of thine, so that in the years to come men shall speak of the eric of
the sons of Turenn as the most difficult and the worst that was ever
paid in Erin.”
“That may be,” said Brian sullenly, “but we shall slay thee here, in
this waste place, and none shall know when death came to thee, or where
thou liest, and for all that thy son Lu is Lu the Ildanna, he shall
seek in vain to know where the worms make merry upon thee.”
“In the shadow of death I see clearly, and I see that death will not
put his silence upon me till Lu has learned the evil deed that has been
done.”
“Spare him,” urged Urba, “for of a surety he is already sore wounded,
and he did no more than seek to escape us. It would be well, Brian, not
to have this man’s blood upon us.”
“Spare him,” pleaded Ur, “for innocent blood is an ill thing to spill.
This man did not come upon us with lifted spear or sword, but, seeing
that we were three and he one only, sought to escape. It is not a
knightly deed to take the life of a stricken man, and of one who asks
for mercy.”
“We will slay him,” said Brian sullenly.
“Remember this,” pleaded Ur, “that if we slay him, Urba and I must pay
the penalty along with thee, and that it is a hard thing upon us who
would fain spare this man.”
Brian laughed.
“If ye and Urba fear the eric, ye may go hence at once. I will do my
own slaying. But ye forget that the sons of Turenn are under _geas_ to
have no quarrel that is not the quarrel of each, and to fight no fight
wherein each doth not front it in the same hour and place.”
“We do not forget,” answered Ur and Urba; and each added: “Do as thou
wilt, Brian, our elder brother.”
So Brian turned to where Kian lay upon the stony thistle-strewn grass.
“Hast thou aught more to say?”
“This only, that no eric ever paid shall be counted as near unto that
which ye shall have to pay, and that the weapons wherewith ye slay me
shall cry out to Lu my son, and tell him what ye three have done unto
me.”
Again Brian laughed.
“Thou who fled before us as a pig shalt die as a trapped beast. We
shall not give thee the honour of death by the clean sword or the deft
spear.”
With that he stooped and raised on high a huge angular slab of stone,
grey below, and mossed and lichened above, and, swaying with the
weight, hurled it down upon the head of Kian. Then Ur and Urba lifted
other great stones, and did likewise, because of their bond. And this
was how death came to Kian the Noble.
When the old chief lay still and white at last, the three sons of
Turenn made haste to hide his body from sight; so they dug a great hole
in the sandy grass, and buried the slain man.
There was a strange trembling in the earth that day, a trembling felt
throughout Erin from sea to sea, and men marvelled and feared.
But none so much marvelled as Brian and Ur and Urba, for when they had
buried the bruised body of Kian they saw with horror that the shaking
earth threw it back again. Nevertheless, once more they buried it, and
deeper, and put heavy stones upon the trodden sods. Then, to their
still greater horror and amaze, the earth again trembled and again
threw back the murdered dead.
At that Ur and Urba wished to ride away at once from the accursed
place, but Brian would not.
“Fate is made by men, as well as that Fate rules men,” he said. “I
shall not rest content till the earth holds at last the body of Kian,
son of Kian the White.”
Yet it was not until the seventh time that the earth trembled no more,
and held within it, beneath a cairn of boulders, the slain body of Kian
the Noble.
Thereafter the three sons of Turenn rode swiftly away, and that night
were among the host which had been assembled by Lu of the Long Hand.
On the morrow, on the vast plains of Moytura, the great and terrible
Battle of the Kites was fought. It was so called because after a day
of dreadful slaughter the kites and hawks assembled in multitudes, and
were satiated with the feast of the dead. In that battle the fiercest
strife was on the part of four heroes: Lu the Ildanna, and the three
sons of Turenn. For hours the swaying and whirling of spears, the rush
of javelins, the flashing of swords, the trampling of horses and crash
of war-chariots, made the plain of Moytura a place of savage din and
fury. For long it seemed as though the great might and numbers of the
Fomorians would give the day to Bras, son of Balor of the Evil Eye; but
so great was the prowess of the Dedannan host, that the Fomorians were
mowed down as ripe grain.
In the wane of the afternoon, Bras and Lu met at last. The tides of
war ceased, for all men wished to see the battle-meeting of these two
champions.
But already Bras had seen that the day had gone against the glory of
Lochlin, and he knew that an hour hence his great army would be utterly
routed, and that all who did not straightway escape to the shores of
Connaught and gain the Fomorian galleys would be tracked and cut down
like flying wolves.
So he lowered his great spear, and threw his shield upon the ground,
and thereafter asked Lu to stay the tides of battle, and agreed that
the day should be accounted as a final victory to the men of Erin.
And the son of the king of Lochlin further agreed, that if Lu and the
leaders of the Dedannans would do this, he would give a solemn bond
to withdraw all the Fomorians from Erin, to cancel for ever the bond
put upon the Tuatha-De-Danann by Balor of the Evil Eye, and never to
return again in enmity, neither he nor any Fomorian of the north nor
southlander of lower Lochlin.
And thus it was that the great battle of Moytura, the Battle of the
Kites, came to an end. A year thereafter the grass was not yet green,
and the plain was covered with the white bones of the innumerous dead.
When all was over, and Bras and his defeated army were hasting towards
the distant Connaught shores, Lu threw from him his blood-stained
armour and the weapons he was almost too weary to bear. All day he
had fought, as only the mightiest heroes fight, and many strong and
valorous men had marvelled at his dauntless courage and at the prowess
that failed not for one moment.
Glad was Lu of the Long Hand to see Ald and Art, but when he asked how
his father had fared in the battle, and heard that he had not been
there, and had been seen of no man that day, he knew that Kian the
Noble was no longer alive.
“For,” he said, “if my father were alive he would have been with me
this day, or, if peradventure that were not possible, would have sent
me a sign. Howsoever this may be, something within me tells that my
father is no longer among the living. And now, ye who hear me, listen,
for by the Sun and the Moon and the Wind I swear that I shall not slake
this bitter thirst of mine, nor rest this over-weary head, until I have
found how and where and when an evil fate came upon my father, whom I
loved as I have loved and love none other.”
That night Lu Ildanna, with a hundred chosen men, rode swiftly to Tara,
but there found no word of Kian.
On the morrow he set forth at dawn, alone; for in a dream it had come
to him that his father lay moaning beneath the thistle-strewn grass
on the stony plain of Moy Murhenna. And there, in truth, Lu came upon
the end of his quest; for as he rode slowly and sadly across the plain,
whereon he could not discern a living being save a vast herd of swine,
he heard, as one may hear in a shell, a plaintive sighing.
“What is that sighing?” he cried. “Is it the death-sigh of thee, Kian
my father?”
There was no answer save the strange sighing, that was not of the
wind or any moving thing, but seemed now to come from above, now from
around, now from beneath. But at the third asking, a voice answered,
thin and feeble:
“It is the death-sighing of me, Kian thy father, O Lu my son.”
“And who put death upon thee, thou who liest there in the darkness of
the shadow of death?”
“The three sons of Turenn slew me here in this waste place. And because
that they slew me in no fair strife, and because that they finished
their slaying by crushing me with great stones till there was not left
of me one bone alive, I cry to thee, O Lu my son, whom men now call Lu
the Ildanna, because of thy craft and wisdom, to see that a greater
eric be exacted for me than has ever yet been exacted in Erin for any
slain man. And in the end see that thou sparest not, for otherwise
there shall be a greater bloodshed still; and ill it befits us, who are
noble, that we should bring a tide of blood over Erin, for no worthier
cause than the wiping out of that which lies between the clan of Kian
and the clan of Turenn.”
“As thou sayest, O Kian my father, so shall it be, and even unto the
end. And this I swear by the Sun and by the Moon and by the Wind.”
Nevertheless, Lu showed no grief till he saw his father’s bruised body
before him, and then he bewailed bitterly that he had not been nigh
when the sons of Turenn drove Kian the Noble to his fate; and bitterly
he lamented that one of the noble Dedannan race should be slain by
Dedannans; and bitterly he swore that an eric should be exacted such as
never before had been heard of in Erin, and that in the end, even were
it fulfilled, he should not spare, because of what Kian had foreseen.
At noon Lu returned from Tara, whither he had gone after he had viewed
the speechless dead body of his father, with ten chosen men whom he had
bound to silence.
So once more Kian the Noble was placed in his grave, but now standing,
as befits a hero. And above the grave they raised a cairn, and midway
in this cairn was a great slab of smooth stone, whereon Lu Ildanna
graved in Ogam the name and ancestry and great fame of Kian, son of
Kian, son of Kian the Thunder-Smith.
But when that night Lu entered Tara again, the whole of the king’s
town was lit with torches, and resounded with joyous shouts and cries
because of the great victory of the Dedannans over the Fomorians; nor
was any name so often named as that of Lu Lamfada, Lu the Long-Handed.