home and mind something else than to come hither for that cow. ’Tis not
hundreds but thousands of men that have lost their heads for her, and I
am in dread that you’ll meet the same luck.”
“Well, I will try my fortune,” said Elin Gow. “’Tis through dreams that I
came.”
“I pity you,” said the old man, “and moreover because you are from Erin.
I am half of your country, for my mother was from Erin. Do you know now
how this cow will be got?”
“I do not,” said Elin Gow; “I know nothing in the world about it.”
“You will not be long,” said the old man, “without knowledge. I’ll tell
you about her, and what conditions will be put on you by the king. He
will bind you for the term of seven years to bring the cow home safe and
sound to his castle every evening. If you fail to bring her, your head
will be cut off that same evening. That is one way by which many kings’
sons and champions that came from every part of the world were destroyed.
There are spikes all around behind the castle, and a head on each spike
of them. You will see for yourself to-morrow when you go to the castle,
and a dreadful sight it is, for you will not be able to count the heads
that are there on the spikes. I will give you now an advice that I have
never given any man before this, but I have heard of you from my mother.
You would be a loss to the country you came from. You are a great man to
make swords and all kinds of weapons for champions.
“The king will not tell you what to do, but I’ll tell you: you’ll be as
swift as you can when you go with the cow; keep up with her always. The
day she moves least she will travel thirty miles going and thirty miles
coming, and you will have rest only while she’ll be feeding, and she will
take only a few minutes here and a few minutes there; wherever she sees
the best place she’ll take a bite; and do not disturb her wherever she
turns or walks, and do not go before her or drive her. If you do what I
say, there will be no fear of you, if you can be so swift as to keep up
with the cow.”
“I am not in dread of falling back,” said Elin Gow.
“Then there will be no fear of you at all,” said the old man.
Elin Gow remained in the cottage that night. In the morning the old man
spread his cloth on the table; food and drink for a king or a champion
were on it that moment. Elin Gow ate and drank heartily, left good health
with the old man, and went to the castle. The king had a man called the
Tongue-speaker, who met and announced every stranger. “Who are you or why
do you come to the castle?” asked this man of Elin Gow.
“I wish to speak to the king about Glas Gainach.”
“Oh,” said the speaker, “you are badly wanted, for it is three days since
the last man that was after her lost his head. Come, and I will show it
to you on the spike, and I am in dread your own head will be in a like
place.”
“Never mind,” said Elin Gow; “misfortune cannot be avoided. We will do
our best.”
The Tongue-speaker went to the king then, and said, “There is a man
outside who has come for Glas Gainach.”
The king went out, and asked Elin Gow what he wanted or what brought him.
He told him, as he told the speaker, that it was for the cow he had come.
“And is it in combat or in peace that you want to get her?”
“’Tis in peace,” said Elin Gow.
“You can try with swords or with herding, whichever you wish.”
“We will choose the herding,” said Elin Gow.
“Well,” said the king, “this is how we will bind ourselves. You are to
bring Glas Gainach here to me every evening safe and sound during seven
years, and, if you fail, ’tis your head that you will lose. Do you see
those heads on the spikes there behind? ’Tis on account of Glas Gainach
they are there. If you come home with the cow every night, she will be
yours when seven years are spent,—I bind myself to that,” said the king.
“Well,” said Elin Gow, “I am satisfied with the conditions.”
Next morning Glas Gainach was let out, and both went together all day,
she and Elin Gow. She went so swiftly that he threw his cap from him; he
could not carry it half the day. All the rest he had was while she was
feeding in any place. He was after her then till she came home, and he
brought her back as safe and sound as in the morning. The king came out
and welcomed him, saying, “You’ve taken good care of her; many a man went
after her that did not bring her home the first day.”
“Life is sweet,” said Elin Gow; “I did the best hand I could. I know what
I have to get if I fail to bring her.”
The king gave Elin Gow good food and drink, so that he was more improving
than failing in strength, and made his way and brought the cow every day
till he had the seven years spent; then he said to the king, “My time is
up; will I get the cow?”
“Oh, why not?” said the king. “You will: you have earned her well; you
have done more than any man who walked the way before. See now how many
have lost their heads; count them. You are better than any of them. I
would not deny or break my word or agreement. You were bound to bring
her, and I am bound to give her. Now she is yours and not mine, but if
she comes back here again, don’t have any eye after her; you’ll not get
her.”
“That will do,” said Elin Gow. “I will take good care not to let her come
to you. I minded her the last seven years.”
“Well,” said the king, “I don’t doubt you.”
They gave the cow food that morning inside; did not let her out at all.
Elin Gow bound the cow in every way he wished, to bring her to the
vessel. He used all his strength, raised the two anchors on the ocean
side, pulled in the vessel to put the cow on board. When Elin Gow was
on board, he turned the stem of the ship toward the sea, and the stern
toward land. He was sailing across the wide ocean till he came to Tramor,
the port in Erin from which he had started when going to Spain. Elin Gow
brought Glas Gainach on shore, took her to Cluainte, and was minding her
as carefully as when he was with the King of Spain.
Elin Gow was the best man in Erin to make swords and all weapons for
champions; his name was in all lands. The King of Munster had four sons,
and the third from the oldest was Cian. He was neither dreaming nor
thinking of anything night or day but feats of valor; his grandfather,
Art Mac Cuin, had been a great champion, and was very fond of Cian. He
used to say, “Kind father and grandfather for him; he is not like his
three brothers.”
When twenty years old, Cian said,“I will go to try my fortune. My father
has heirs enough. I would try other kingdoms if I had a sword.”
“You may have my sword,” said the father.
Cian gave the sword a trial, and at the first turn he broke it. “No sword
will please me,” said Cian, “unless, while grasping the hilt with the
blade pointed forward, I can bend the blade till its point touches my
elbow on the upper side, then let it spring back and bend it again till
the point touches my elbow on the under side.”
“There is not a man in Erin who could make a sword like that,” said
the father, “but Elin Gow, and I am full sure that he will not make it
at this time, for he is minding Glas Gainach. He earned her well, and
he will guard her; seven years did he travel bareheaded without hat or
cap,—a thing which no man could do before him. It would be useless to go
to him, for he has never worked a stroke in the forge since he brought
Glas Gainach to Erin, and he would not let her go. He would make the
sword but for that. It’s many a sword he made for me.”
“Well, I will try him,” said Cian. “I will ask him to make the sword.”
Cian started, and never stopped till he stood before Elin Gow at
Cluainte, and told him who he was.
Elin Gow welcomed the son of the king, and said, “Your father and I were
good friends in our young years. It was often I made swords and other
weapons for him. And what is it that brought you to-day?”
“It is a sword I want. I wish to go and seek my fortune in some foreign
land. I want a good sword, and my father says you are the best man in
Erin to make one.”
“I was,” said Elin Gow; “and I am sorry that I cannot make you one now. I
am engaged in minding Glas Gainach; and I would not trust any one after
her but myself, and I have enough to do to mind her.”
Cian told how the sword was to be made.
“Oh,” said Elin Gow, “I would make it in any way you like but for the
cow, and I would not wish to let your father’s son go away without a
sword. I will direct you to five or six smiths that are making swords
now, in place of me since I went for Glas Gainach.”
He gave the names, and the king’s son went away.
None of them could make the sword in the way Cian wanted. He came back to
Elin Gow.
“You have your round made?” said Elin Gow.
“I have,” said Cian, “but in vain; for none of them would make the sword
in the way asked of him.”
“Well, I do not wish to let you go. I will take the risk.”
“Very well,” said Cian; “I will go after Glas Gainach to-morrow, while
you are making the sword, and if I don’t bring her, you may have my head
in the evening.”
“Well,” said Elin Gow, “I am afraid to trust you, for many a champion
lost his head on account of her before; but I’ll run the risk. I must
make the sword for you.”
The king’s son stopped that night with Elin Gow, who gave him the best
food and drink he had, and let out Glas Gainach before him next morning,
and told him not to come in front of her in any place where she might
want to feed or drink. He advised him in every way how to take care of
her. Away went Cian with the cow, and he was doing the right thing all
day. She moved on always, and went as far as Caorha, southwest of Tralee,
the best spot of land in Kerry for grass. When she had eaten enough,
she turned toward home, and Cian was at her tail all the day. When he
and Glas Gainach were five miles this side of Tralee, near the water
at Derrymor, where she used to drink, Cian saw her going close to deep
water; he came before her, and turned her back; and what did she do but
jump through the air like a bird, and then she went out through the sea
and left him. He walked home sad and mournful, and came to Elin Gow’s
house. The smith asked him had he the cow, and he said, “I have not. I
was doing well till I came to Derrymor, and she went so near deep water
that I was afraid she would go from me. I stopped her, and what did she
do but fly away like a bird, and go out through the sea.”
“God help us,” said Elin Gow, “but the misfortune cannot be helped.”
“I am the cause,” said Cian; “you may have my head.”
“What is done, is done. I would never take the head off you, but she is a
great loss to me.”
“I am willing and satisfied to give you my head,” said Cian. “Have you
the sword made?”
“I have,” said Elin Gow.
Cian took the blade, tested it in every way, and found that he had the
sword he wanted.
He swore an oath then to Elin Gow that he would not delay day or night,
nor rest anywhere, till he had lost his head or brought back Glas Gainach.
“I am afraid your labor will be useless,” said Elin Gow, “and that you
will never be able to bring her back. I could not have brought her myself
but for the advice of an old man that I met before I saw the King of
Spain.”
Cian went home to his father’s castle. The king saw him coming with the
sword. “I see that Elin Gow did not refuse you.”
“He did not,” said Cian. “He made the sword, and it is a sore piece of
work for him. He has parted with Glas Gainach. I promised to give my
head if I did not bring her home to him in safety while he was making the
sword. I minded her well all day till she came to a place where she used
to drink water. I did not know that; but it was my duty to know it, for
he directed me in every way needful how to mind her. I was bringing her
home in safety till I brought her to Derrymor River; and I went before
her to turn her back,—and that was foolish, for he told me not to turn
her while I was with her,—and she did nothing but spring like a bird and
out to sea and away. I promised Elin Gow in the morning if I did not
bring the cow to give him my head; and I offered it when I came, as I had
not the cow, but he said, ‘I will never take the head off a son of your
father, even for a greater loss.’ And for this reason I will never rest
nor delay till I go for Glas Gainach and bring her back to Elin Gow, or
lose my head; so make ready your best ship.”
“The best ship,” said the king, “is the one that Elin Gow took.”
The king’s son put provisions for a day and a year in the vessel. He set
sail alone and away with him through the main ocean, and he never stopped
till he reached the same place to which Elin Gow had sailed before. He
cast two anchors on the ocean side, and one next the shore, and left
the ship where there was no wind to blow on her, no waves of the ocean
to touch her, no crows of the air to drop on her. He went his way then,
and was walking always till evening, when he saw at a distance the finest
castle he had ever set eyes on. He went toward it; and when he was near,
he saw four champions at exercise near the castle. He was going on the
very same road that Elin Gow had taken, and was passing the same cottage,
when the old man saw him and hailed him. He turned toward the cottage.
“Come to my house and rest,” said the old man. “From what country are
you, and what brought you?”
“I am a son of the King of Munster in Erin; and now will you tell me what
place is this?”
“You are in Spain, and the building beyond there is the king’s castle.”
“Very well and good. It was to see the king that I left Erin,” said Cian.
“It is for Glas Gainach that you are here, I suppose,” said the old man.
“It is useless for you to try; you never can bring her from the king. It
was a hundred times easier when Elin Gow brought her; it is not that way
now, but by force and bravery she is to be taken. It is a pity to have
you lose your head, like so many kings and champions.”
“I must try,” said Cian; “for it was through me that Elin Gow lost Glas
Gainach. I wanted a sword to try my fortune, and there was not a smith in
Erin who could make it as I wanted except Elin Gow; he refused. I told
him that I would give my head if I did not bring the cow home to him in
safety. I followed her well till, on the way home, she went to drink near
the sea, and I went before her; that moment she sprang away like a bird,
and went out through the water.”
“I am afraid,” said the old man, “that to get her is more than you can
do. You see those four men? You must fight and conquer them before you
get Glas Gainach.”
The old man spread out the table-cloth, and they ate.
“I care not,” said the king’s son, “what comes. I am willing to lose my
head unless I can bring back the cow.”
“Well,” said the old man, “you can try.”
Next morning breakfast was ready for Cian; he rose, washed his hands and
face, prayed for mercy and strength, ate, and going to the pole of combat
gave the greatest blow ever given before on it.
“Run out,” said the king to the Tongue-speaker; “see who is abroad.”
“What do you want?” asked the Tongue-speaker of Cian.
“The king’s daughter and Glas Gainach,” said Cian.
The speaker hurried in and told the king. The king went out and asked,
“Are you the man who wants my daughter and Glas Gainach?”
“I am,” answered Cian.
“You will get them if you earn them,” said the king.
“If I do not earn them, I want neither the daughter nor the cow,” replied
Cian.
The king ordered out then the four knights of valor to kill Cian. He was
as well trained as they, for he had been practising from his twelfth
year, and he was more active. They were at him all day, and he at them:
he did not let one blow from them touch his body; and if a man were to go
from the Eastern to the Western World to see champions, ’tis at them he
would have to look. At last, when Cian was hungry, and late evening near,
he sprang with the strength of his limbs out of the joints of his bones,
and rose above them, and swept the heads off the four before he touched
ground.
The young champion was tired after the day, and went to the old man. The
old man asked, “What have you done?”
“I have knocked the heads off the four champions of valor.”
The old man was delighted that the first day had thriven in that way with
Cian. He looked at the sword. “Oh, there is no danger,” cried he; “you
have the best sword I have ever seen, and you’ll need it, for you’ll have
more forces against you to-morrow.”
The old man and Cian spent the night in three parts,—the first part in
eating and drinking, the second in telling tales and singing songs, the
third in sound sleep.
The old man told how he had been the champion of Spain, and at last when
he grew old the king gave him that house.
Next morning Cian washed his face and hands, prayed for help and mercy,
ate breakfast with the old man, went to the pole of combat, and gave a
greater blow still than before.
“What do you want this day?” asked the Tongue-speaker.
“I want three hundred men on my right hand, three hundred on my left,
three hundred after my poll, three hundred out in front of me.” The king
sent the men out four deep through four gates. Cian went at them, and as
they came he struck the heads off them; and though they fought bravely,
in the evening he had the heads off the twelve hundred. Cian then left
the field, and went to the old man.
“What have you done after the day?” asked the old man.
“I have stretched the king’s forces.”
“You’ll do well,” said the old man.
The old champion put the cloth on the table, and there was food for a
king or a champion. They made three parts of that night,—the first for
eating and drinking, the second for telling tales and singing songs, the
third for sleep and sound rest.
Next morning, Cian gave such a blow on the pole of combat that the king
in his chamber was frightened.
“What do you want this time?” asked the Tongue-speaker.
“I want the same number of men as yesterday.”
The king sent the men out; and the same fate befell them as the other
twelve hundred, and Cian went home to the old man untouched. Next morning
Cian made small bits of the king’s pole of combat.
“Well, what do you want?” asked the Tongue-speaker.
“Whatever I want, I don’t want to be losing time. Let out all your forces
against me at once.”
The king sent out all the forces he wished that morning. The battle was
more terrible than all the others put together; but Cian went through the
king’s forces, and at sunset not a man of them was living, and he let no
one nearer than the point of his sword.
“How did the day thrive with you?” asked the old man when Cian came in.
“I have killed all the king’s champions.”
“I think,” said the old man, “that you have the last of his forces down
now; but what you have done is nothing to what is before you. The king
will come out and say to-morrow that you will not get the daughter with
Glas Gainach till you eat on one biscuit what butter there is in his
storehouses, and they are all full; you are to do this in the space of
four hours. He will give you the biscuit. Take this biscuit from me, and
do you hide the one that he will give you,—never mind it; put as much as
you will eat on this, and there’ll be no tidings of what butter there is
in the king’s stores within one hour,—it will vanish and disappear.”
Cian was very glad when the old man told him what to do. They spent that
night as they had the nights before. Next morning Cian breakfasted, and
went to the castle. The king saw him coming, and was out before him.
“What do you want this morning?” asked the king.
“I want your daughter and Glas Gainach,” said Cian.
“Well,” said the king, “you will not get my daughter and Glas Gainach
unless within four hours you eat on this biscuit what butter there is in
all my storehouses in Spain; and if you do not eat the butter, your head
will be on a spike this evening.”
The king gave him the biscuit. Cian went to the first storehouse, dropped
the king’s biscuit into his pocket, took out the one the old man had
given him, buttered it, and began to eat. He went his way then, and in
one hour there was neither sign nor trace of butter in any storehouse the
king had.
That night Cian and the old man passed the time in three parts as usual.
“You will have hard work to-morrow,” said the old man, “but I will tell
you how to do it. The king will say that you cannot have his daughter and
Glas Gainach unless within four hours you tan all the hides in Spain,
dry and green, and tan them as well as a hand’s breadth of leather that
he will give you. Here is a piece of leather like the piece the king
will give. Clap this on the first hide you come to; and all the hides
in Spain will be tanned in one hour, and be as soft and smooth as the
king’s piece.”
Next morning the king saw Cian coming, and was out before him. “What do
you want now?” asked the king.
“Your daughter and Glas Gainach,” said Cian.
“You are not to get my daughter and Glas Gainach unless within four hours
you tan all the dry and green hides in Spain to be as soft and smooth as
this piece; and if you do not tan them, your head will be on one of the
spikes there behind my castle this evening.”
Cian took the leather, dropped it into his pocket, and, taking the old
man’s piece, placed it on the first hide that he touched. In one hour all
the hides in Spain were tanned, and they were as soft and fine as the
piece which the king gave to Cian.
The old man and Cian spent this night as they had the others.
“You will have the hardest task of all to-morrow,” said the old man.
“What is that?” asked the young champion.
“The king’s daughter will come to a window in the highest chamber of
the castle with a ball in her hand: she will throw the ball through the
window, and you must catch it on your hurley, and keep it up during two
hours and a half; never let it touch the ground. There will be a hundred
champions striving to take the ball from you, but follow my advice. The
champions, not knowing where the ball will come down when the king’s
daughter throws it, will gather near the front of the castle; and if
either of them should get the ball, he might keep it and spoil you. Do
you stand far outside; you will have the best chance. I don’t know,
though, what you are to do, as you have no hurley, but wait. In my youth
I was great to play at hurley, and I never met a man that could match me.
The hurley I had then must be in this house somewhere.”
The old man searched the house through, and where did he find the hurley
but up in the loft, and it full of dust; he brought it down. Cian swung
it, knocked the dust from the hurley, and it was as clean as when made.
“It is glad I am to find this, for any other hurley in the kingdom would
not do you, but only this very one. This hurley has the virtue in it, and
only for that it would not do.”
Both were very glad, and made three parts of that night, as they had of
the nights before. Next morning Cian rose, washed his hands and face, and
begged mercy and help of God for that day.
After breakfast he went to the king’s castle, and soon many champions
came around him. The king was outside before him, and asked what he
wanted that day.
“I want your daughter and Glas Gainach.”
“You will not get my daughter and Glas Gainach till you do the work I’ll
give, and I’ll give you the toughest task ever put before you. At midday,
my daughter will throw out a ball through the window, and you must keep
that ball in the air for two hours and a half: it must never touch ground
in that time, and when the two hours and a half are spent, you must drive
it in through the same window through which it went out; if not, I will
have your head on a spike this evening.”
“God help us!” said Cian.
All the champions were together to see which man would get the ball
first; but Cian, thinking of the old man’s advice, stood outside them
all. At midday the king’s daughter sent out the ball through the highest
window; and to whom should it go but to Cian, and he had the luck of
getting it first. He drove the ball with his hurley, and for two hours
and a half he kept it in the air, and did not let another man touch it.
Then he gave it a directing blow, and sent it in through the window to
the king’s daughter.
The king watched the ball closely; and when it went in, he ran to Cian,
shook his hand warmly, and never stopped till he took him to his
daughter’s high chamber. She kissed him with joy and great gladness. He
had done a thing that no other had ever done.
“I have won the daughter and Glas Gainach from you now,” said Cian.
“You have,” said the king; “and they are both yours. I give them with all
my heart. You have earned them well, and done what no other man could do.
I will give you one-half of the kingdom till my death, and all of it from
that out.”