“Then come, O Darthool.”
And with that the twain turned and moved swiftly northward through the
forest, by the way Nathos had already passed.
“By dawn we may reach the dun where my two brothers now are, and for
that day and that night we may rest in safety,” whispered Nathos, as
Darthool turned and looked for the last time upon the place where she
had lived all these years.
“But thereafter, O love that I have won, the wind must be in our hair
and the dead leaves be upon the soles of our feet, for there can be
no resting for us till we are away from this land: no, and not for us
only, but also for Ailne and Ardan. Concobar will not rest content
with bitter wrath, and, if he cannot track the stag, will slay the
fawns.”
Soon thereafter they drew near the place where Nathos had left his
hounds and his huntsmen. Bidding Darthool hide among the bracken and
undergrowth, he went forward alone and told the men to go back to the
dun of the sons of Usna, but not till the third day, and by circuitous
ways. Thus he hoped that he might the longer elude Concobar, whose
emissaries would follow the track of his hounds.
Thereafter Nathos and Darthool fared swiftly hand in hand through the
sombre ways of the forest. While it was still light they emerged upon
a great moor, which they crossed, and then ascended the gorges of the
hills. There the night fell, as though a wind-drifted darkness suddenly
suspended and then swiftly enshrouded everything. They dreaded to rest,
and yet so deep was the darkness that they could fare no farther.
But while they were still whispering the one to the other, Darthool
descried a soft, silver shining, like a dewy gossamer. It was the
little group of seven stars that we call the Pleiades.
“See,” she whispered, “An Grioglachan! When they shine, others will
soon be seen.” And so it was.
All through the night the fugitives hastened onward by the light of the
stars, ever keeping close to each other, for the mountain solitudes
were full of dreadful noises, and in the black tarns among the peaty
moss they could hear the moaning of the kelpie, or on the shores of the
hill-lochs the shrill neighing of the water-horses, terrible creatures
of the darkness.
For the last hour of the dark they rested a brief while, lying close
hid among the bracken, in a sheltered place on a rocky mountain slope.
Darthool heeded little now the weariness and fears of that perilous
faring by night, for she was with Nathos; and Nathos now was glad,
and no longer cared whether death was sure or not. He fell asleep
there under the morning stars, among the winter-brown bracken, with
Darthool’s head upon his breast; and his last thought was, that if the
swineherd had died smiling because Darthool’s eyes had looked into his,
how well might he too die content if his hour came suddenly upon him.
The dawn wavered among the hills, but still they slept.
A wolf tracking a wounded doe howled, and the howling wailed from
corrie to corrie. Darthool stirred, but slept again. An eagle screamed
as it rose and wheeled against the broadening light, but its wild voice
was drowned in silence. Then came the first sun-rays rippling, dancing,
leaping, from amid the crested heights and peaks to the eastward, and
Nathos awoke.
For some moments he lay breathless with wonder. Darthool, in all
her radiant beauty, was by his side, her golden hair ablaze in the
sunlight, and her fair face like a flower amid the bracken. It was too
great a wonder. Then he knew that Concobar’s hounds might any hour now
be upon them, and so he put his dream away from him, and stooped and
kissed Darthool upon the lips. With a cry she woke, and put her arms
about him. Hard it was for him to add to her weariness; but she rose
at once, and seemed, indeed, in his eyes, as fresh as any fawn of the
hill-side. She went to a little tarn close by and drank of the cool,
sweet water.
As she drank Nathos looked at her, and again wondered if she were not
one of the divine race of old, the mysterious Tuatha-De-Danann, whom,
ages before, the Milesians had driven to the hills and remote places.
So fair was she that his heart ached. Then a swift pulse of joy leaped
within him, and he was glad with a great gladness.
Thereafter they sped swiftly onward, and now Nathos exulted, for he
recognised the peaks and the trend of the valleys. Within an hour from
the rising of the sun he saw the grey walls of the dun of the sons of
Usna.
His long cry--that of the heron thrice repeated--brought Ailne and
Ardan forth. Darthool looked at them wondering, for they, too, were
taller and nobler than other men, and only less beautiful in her eyes
than Nathos himself.
But if she wondered, much more did they marvel at what they saw. Never
had they beheld any woman so beautiful, and their first thought was
that of Nathos, that Darthool was of the fair divine race who were now
so seldom seen of men.
But when Nathos had told them all, and that she who was now his bride
was no other than that Darthool whom Concobar the high king had set
aside to become his queen, they were filled with sorrow. Well they knew
that Concobar MacNessa would not lightly relinquish the fair maid whom
he had so long secreted in the forest-lios, and that blood would flow
because of this thing.
“Moreover,” said Ailne, “hast thou forgotten the prophecy? There is
the saying of Cathba the Druid, of which we have all heard: that from
the daughter of Felim the Harper would come sorrow to the king, and
severance of the Red Branch from the lost kingdom of Uladh, and rivers
of blood.”
“That may be, Ailne, my brother,” Nathos answered; “but I ask none to
go with me into this doom, if that doom indeed must be, though mayhap
the dark hour of it is passed. For Darthool and I shall now fare
forward, with some of our following, and with horses and food, and
haply we may reach the coast and find our great galley in the Creek
of the Willows, where we secreted it, and so gain the shores of Alba
before Concobar can overtake us.”
But while Ailne pondered, Ardan spoke.
“That shall not be, Nathos. Listen! By the Sun and the Wind I swear
that where thou goest I will go, and that I will never desert thee nor
Darthool, who is now our sister. If the doom must come, let it come.
What is death, that it should put a paleness into the face of love? Are
we not close-kin, children of one mother, and is not Darthool thy wife
now and our sister, and are we not henceforth as one? Speak, Ailne, is
it not so?”
“It is so. Ardan has spoken for me. But I say nothing, for I feel upon
us the shadow of that doom of which, as we have heard, Cathba the Druid
spoke.”
But here Darthool moved forward.
“Listen, Nathos, and ye, Ailne and Ardan, my brothers: it is not for me
to bring sorrow upon the king and upon the Red Branch and upon Uladh,
and still less upon ye, my brothers, and upon thee, Nathos. Therefore,
let me now go back to the lios, and tell Lavarcam, who will tell the
king, that I have no will to stray, and that I will abide in that place
till I die, or till Concobar dare put his face against Fate and take me
thence.”
At that Nathos smiled only. There was no word to say; in his eyes was
all his answer to Darthool.
But Ardan answered for himself and Ailne:
“Though the stars fall, beautiful daughter of Felim, who art now
Darthool, our sister, we shall not leave thee, nor suffer thee to go
from us save by thine own free will, and that in no fear for what may
befall us. Nathos and Ailne and Ardan are the three sons of Usna, upon
whom long ago _geas_ was set, that each would abide by each until
death.”
Thereupon all kissed each other, and took the deep vow of fealty. The
sons of Usna knew well that it would be a madness to withstand Concobar
in their dun, strong as it was; for in time he would take the place,
as dogs hunt out the badger from its lair, and at the best would still
starve them into surrender or death.
So with all speed they summoned those of their following who were under
the sword-bond, and put together food and raiment, and then mounted and
rode swiftly away.
As they passed the highest ridge to the eastward that night they looked
back. A red light flared in a valley far to the west. It was their
dun, a torch amid the darkness. A single column of flame rose above
it, and wavered to and fro. And by that sign they knew that the long
arm and the heavy hand of Concobar MacNessa had already reached out
towards them. Three times fifty men went with them, and so swift was
their flight and so sure their way that before long they came to the
coast-lands. There, in the Creek of the Willows, the long black galley
was found; and swiftly all embarked.
It was with glad eyes that Darthool and the sons of Usna saw the
dancing waves of the sea, and felt its free breath break upon them.
From three great tiers, fifty score men to each, the vassals thrust
out their long oars, and with their blades threshed the waters into a
yeast of foam. In the dazzle of the sea Darthool rejoiced, and made the
hearts of all there to swell because of an exceeding sweet song she
sang.
Nathos and Ailne and Ardan sat beside her, and could scarce take from
her face their dreaming eyes.
Towards noon the wind shifted, and slid out of the north towards the
west. Then the great sail was hoisted, and bellied out to the steady
breeze, and the oars were shipped. The black galley now flew along
the waters like a cormorant. Darthool laughed with joy at this new
beautiful world of the sea, and never tired of trailing her hands in
the swift lapsing wave, or in the send of the following billow.
In the afternoon they came close to the shores of Alba, and made
northward, past many isles and through narrow straits and fjords. In
one and all Darthool took pleasure, and was glad indeed that the land
of Nathos was so beautiful.
At sundown they reached the eastern shores of the great island of Mull,
and there the wind failed them, so the galley was put into a bay that
is now the bay of Aros.
There the sons of Usna debated long as to what course to follow. Nathos
and Ailne thought it best to move inland, and to gain the protection of
the high king of Alba; but Darthool feared this because of a dream she
had thrice dreamed, wherein she saw a strange king and a strange folk
laughing over the slain body of Nathos, while she stood by crowned but
a captive. As for Ardan, he said only that the sons of Usna should go
to where their father’s dun had been, before the last king of Alba had
destroyed it.
That night a galley came to them from the long island of Lismore. In
it were a score of men, commanded by a lord of Appin, named Fergus of
the Three Duns. With him was a stranger, clad in a rich robe of fur, so
claspt across the throat with gold that the hood he wore fell about and
covered his face. While Fergus spake with the sons of Usna, and told
them how they had been seen by men of his in a swift war-galley, off
the south coast of Mull, and urged them also to go inland to meet the
king, the stranger looked steadfastly upon Darthool.
When at last he had to speak to the brothers he addressed them
courteously, but in a Gaelic strange to their ears. He bade them come
with him to his high-walled dun, a brief way inland: to come alone, as
his guests, and to bring Darthool with them.
“It is not well to go to a man’s dun, and not be knowing that man’s
name,” said Nathos courteously.
The stranger hesitated, and looked at Fergus.
“They call me Angus Mudartach,” he said. But at that Darthool asked him
to let her look upon his face.
“For it is not meet,” she added, “that we should go to a man’s dun and
not have seen his face.”
Angus of Moidart drew back his hood.
Darthool’s lips grew pale. Then she smiled.
“Let us rest here for to-night, Angus Mudartach,” she said, “and, if
thou wilt come again on the morrow after to-morrow, thou canst take us
with thee to thy great dun. But meanwhile we have travelled far and
swiftly, and would fain rest: and, as thou seest, the skies are clear,
and we want for nothing.”
Once more Angus pleaded to the sons of Usna.
“Ye are brave men, and can laugh at weariness or danger. But if the
island be swept by a great storm to-night, or if the followers of
Concobar, king of the northlands of Erin, come upon ye, or if other
misadventure befall, shall ye wantonly expose this fair young princess?
Nay, rather, let her come with me, and she shall not only be safe in my
great rath of Dunchraig, but there my wife and her maidens shall make
much of her, and give her white robes and golden torques and garments
of delicate furs. This maid whom ye call Darthool is too young to be
thrown thus idly before the feet of the evil powers who are for ever
clamouring for death.”
But, at a sign from Darthool, Nathos refused; saying, with gracious
words and courteous mien, that it would rejoice them all to visit Angus
Mudartach later, but not then.
So Angus of Moidart turned, frowning, and went back to his galley with
Fergus of the Three Duns. And as he went he asked mutteringly how many
men the sons of Usna had with them. When he learned that there were
thrice fifty, and that Fergus had but a score and ten men with him, he
said no more.
When the strangers had gone, Nathos turned to Darthool and asked why
she had not shown more graciousness to one who was surely a great lord
among the Alban Gaels, and why she would not go with him.
“Because, Nathos, that man who called himself Angus Mudartach is no
other than the King of Alba. He it is whom I saw in my dreams, laughing
over your slain body, and beside whom I stood crowned and yet a
captive. And by that token I warn ye of this thing: that the Alban king
desireth me, and would fain slay ye all, or deliver ye into the hands
of Concobar MacNessa.”
Nathos stood brooding, but Ardan stepped forward.
“Darthool is right. And wise she was, too, to bid this Angus of Moidart
come on the morrow after to-morrow. Nevertheless, I know well by
hearsay of his vassal, Fergus of the Three Duns, and that the man is
called Fergus the Wily. He will not wait, but at dawn will be about us,
with thrice fifty and thrice fifty again.”
“Ardan has spoken well,” added Nathos. “There is but one thing to be
done. Weary we are, but we must go hence at once.”
And so it was. The dusk was heavy upon sea and land that night, and a
sea-mist came up and obscured the skies, so that not a star was visible.
Soundlessly they launched the great galley again, and once more set
sail. The night-wind was from the south-east, whereat they rejoiced,
for thus there was no need of the oars, and so no betraying thresh
would be heard.
When they were well north of Lismore they put out the long oars and
swung the galley northwards. It was with relief that the sons of Usna
passed the Appin lands, and before dawn rowed into a great sea-loch.
There, however, they learned that the King of Alba, he who had called
himself Angus Mudartach, was in the westlands only for a brief while,
and would have to haste to Dunedin straightway, as runners had come
with tidings of a great rising. He had no rath of Dunchraig, and no dun
there; and so in truth the sons of Usna knew that the king had lied to
them, and that Darthool was right. As for Fergus of the Three Duns, he
was no longer a great lord, but had been despoiled, and at the most
could summon two score and ten men.
So the sons of Usna greatly rejoiced, for now they could go to their
own land in safety, which lay beyond the region held by Fergus of the
Duns.
For seven days they stayed by the shores of that sea-loch, under the
shadow of mighty mountains. Ardan, with a scanty following, went
through the hill-passes, and returned saying that the King of Alba had
gone to his own country and that all the great lords of the region had
departed with him, including Fergus.
So on the eighth day the galley sailed a short way southward once more,
and entered into the Bay of Selma. There, on a rocky eminence, were
the walls of their great dun, which Usna their father had built among
the ruins of the chief stronghold of the Cruithne, the ancient people
of Alba.[19]
It was with joy that the sons of Usna saw once more the house of their
childhood, and with still greater joy that they found the people of the
neighbouring glens and straths still loyal to them. Their father Usna
had ever been at war with the King of Alba, and after many battles (the
bards sang of the beauty of Usna’s wife as the torch that lit those
wars) he had conquered all this region. But at his death, by treachery
the king had overcome the stronghold and destroyed it.
But now again the sons of Usna had their home in their own eyrie. They
knew not how long they might abide there in peace, for either the King
of Alba, or Fergus of the Duns as his leader of men, would come again
when once peace in the eastlands was secured.
There Nathos wished to dwell alone with Darthool and a few followers,
but Ailne and Ardan once more refused to leave him then or ever. But
glad were the thrice fifty vassals to return to their own land, and
without regret the sons of Usna saw them set sail for Erin. They were
men who cared little for aught save strife, and when not wielding sword
or spear were haughty and bitter with all other men save those of the
Red Branch, and so were only a danger and a weariness in that place.
Throughout that winter they lived there in peace, hunting and fishing.
So great was the love of each for Darthool that every day was full of
peace and content wherein they saw her. Nathos moved in a dream, and
knew the extreme of joy. At night, before the fire, Darthool sang to
them old-world airs of a sweet plaintive music, so sweet and plaintive
that men said she must be no other than Fionula, she of the children of
Lir who were turned into wild swans, and lived a thousand years in the
old, old days.
But when spring came again--a spring so fair and sweet that it was as
though May had come hand in hand with February--a rumour reached them
that the King of Alba, though he could not penetrate the highlands of
the west, intended, with the help of Fergus of the Duns and other
chieftains, to proceed once more against the Dun of Usna. Moreover, he
had sworn to raze it to the ground, and to slay Nathos, and to take
Darthool to be his wife.
Nathos laughed at this, for he knew well that the King of Alba would
never take him alive, nor yet Darthool. But after long colloquy with
Ailne and Ardan, all decided to set forth and pass northward to the
land whence their mother had come, a land of endless mountains and
narrow lochs, beautiful beyond any other, grander than any Darthool had
seen, and remote beyond the reach of any Alban king.
So thither they set forth, and took with them in their great galley
two score and ten men of their own clan. After long sailing up narrow
lochs, the sons of Usna reached the mountain land whence their mother
had come. Her father was dead, but the great dun he had built upon the
summit of one of the hills overlooking the Black Loch had been left
unharmed, and was tenanted only by wandering shepherds. Here Nathos and
Darthool made their home, and in that beautiful land and in the glory
of spring, knew the full joy and richness of life.[20]
For a brief while all the people of the mountain lands round about
gave in their adherence to Nathos, so that he became as a king in that
region. So great was the fear in which the three sons of Usna were
held, and so strong were they in their mountain home, that none dared
to approach them with the flaming brand.
Thus three years passed, and in all the wide reaches of the world
there was no man so happy as Nathos and no woman so happy as Darthool;
and after these there were none so happy as Ailne and Ardan, who were
well content to live so that they might be near the beautiful wife of
Nathos, their sister, Darthool, fairest of all women in the world.
The King of Alba, whom they had feared, was now dead, and the king who
reigned in his place was well disposed towards the sons of Usna and
sought their alliance. So this was done, and the name and fame of the
three brothers spread throughout the land; while from the wild west to
the populous east the poets sang of the beauty of Darthool.
In the summer months they abode at the high fort of Darthool, for so
they named it, on the heights above the Black Loch, or Loch Ness as
we now call it; and from the first frosts till the cuckoo’s song had
ceased they lived at Dunuisneachan, their father’s ancient stronghold
by the shores of Loch Etive. Thence often they wandered far afoot, or
sailed southward and eastward among the sea-lochs and narrow kyles.
They hunted in Glenorchy and fished under the mountain-shadows on Loch
Awe; or followed the deer through the woods of Glenlaidhe. When it was
pleasant to be upon the waters, they sailed down the long fjord of Loch
Fyne, and rested awhile at the Haven of the Foray, and watched the
coming and going of the rainbows on the rocky headlands which guard
that place; then they would cross to the Cowal, and enter the narrow
Kyles of Bute, where on the little isle we call the Burnt Island they
built a vitrified fort. Thence they followed past the Hills of Ruel
to Glendaruay (Glendaruel), and so to the head of Loch Striven and
up Glenmassan, and thence down by the sweet inland waters of Loch
Eck, and waterward again by the bay we now call the Holy Loch. Thence
up the long, narrow fjord of Loch Long they sailed, till among the
mountains they crossed the short pass to Loch Lomond, and perhaps met
the soldiery of the King of Alba at the inland lakes, or came upon the
great fort of Dumbarton on the Clyde; or they may have crossed the
hill to the Gareloch, and so returned westward once more by the blue
frith of Clyde, past the precipitous isle of Arran, and so up Loch Fyne
again; or seaward by the Mull of Cantire, and thence northward past the
isles to their own place, and could once more watch the salmon leaping
through the Falls of Lora or chase the deer on the hills of Etive.
But during all this time Concobar, the high king of the Ultonians,
nursed his bitter thoughts. He had heard of the great fame and
happiness of the sons of Usna, and more than ever he yearned after
Darthool, his wrath at his loss being the greater because that all the
old prophecies about the beautiful daughter of Felim were unfulfilled.
One day the high king made a great festival in Emain Macha, and never
in Erin was seen one more royal and magnificent. The princes and
nobles from all the regions in the sway of Concobar were there, and all
the musicians, singers, and poets in Uladh.
In the midst of the festival Concobar asked those present at his board
if now, in the height of the glory of the Red Branch, they wanted for
anything; but they answered as with one voice that they were content.
“And that is what I am not,” he answered.
“And wherefore, O king and lord?”
“Because that the three greatest of ye are absent from us. I speak
of the three Torches of the Valour of the Gael: Nathos and Ailne and
Ardan, the sons of Usna, the son of Congal Claringnech. For now I the
king say this: that it is not fitting these three heroes, the pride of
our chivalry, should be in exile, and this only because of a woman. By
the Sun and Wind, there is no woman alive who is worthy to be the cause
of this. Far better were it that the sons of Usna were once more in
our midst. Even now they hold half the lands of Alba under the shadow
of their sword. Truly they are heroes, and if dark days come upon us,
as the soothsayers foretell, then indeed we shall be in sore need of
them.”
All there were rejoiced at that. There was not one who had not lamented
the fierce anger of Concobar, and who was not fain to have the sons
of Usna again among the chivalry of the Red Branch. Only fear had not
allowed them to speak, for the high king had slain a man who had said
that Nathos was too great a lord to be exiled.
“And since ye are so glad at this thing,” Concobar added, “and would
fain have these heroes among us, to be the chief pride, glory and
defence of Uladh against all other kingdoms and provinces of Erin, I
say to ye: Go and bring hence again from Alba the three sons of Usna.”
“That is well,” their spokesman answered; “but who is to prevail with
Nathos and his brothers? We are willing to go, but we cannot bring
Nathos against his will. Moreover, is he not under _geas_ not to put
foot again in Erin?”
“Not so. I know that Nathos is under _geas_ not to return to Erin
unless it be in the company of Fergus, the son of Lossa the Red, or
Conall Cernach, or Cuchulain. And look you, each of these is now here,
so that I shall well know who most loves me.”