“we’ll make one company; your ship is not much to look at.”
“Of the food that our father gave us,” said Cud, “there is no bit dry,
and we have plenty on board. If it is dry food that you have in that big
ship, leave it and come to us.”
The sons of the King of Hadone went to the small ship, and let the big
one go with the wind. When Cud saw that they let their own ship go, he
made great friends of them.
“Have you been on sea ever before?” asked he of the eldest of the
strangers.
“I am on sea since I was of an age to walk by myself,” replied he.
“This is my first voyage,” said Cud. “Now as we are brothers and
friends, and as you are taking us to visit your kingdom, I’ll give you
command of my ship.”
The king’s son took this from Cud willingly, and steered home in a
straight course.
When the sons of the King of Hadone were leaving home, they commanded all
in the kingdom, big and little, small and great, weak and strong, to be
at the port before them when they came back with the sons of the King of
Urhu. “These,” said they, “must never be let out alive on the shore.”
In the first harbor the ship entered, the shore was black and white with
people.
“Why are all those people assembled?” asked Cud.
“I have no knowledge of that,” said the king’s son; “but if you’ll let
your two brothers go with me and my brothers, we’ll find out the reason.”
They anchored the ship, put down a long-boat, and Cad and Micad went into
it with the three sons of the King of Hadone. Cud and his sister-in-law
stayed behind on the ship. Cud never took his eyes off his brothers as
they sat in the boat. He watched them when near the shore, and saw them
both killed. With one bound he sprang from the bowsprit to land, and went
through all there as a hawk through small birds. Two hours had not passed
when the head was off every man in the kingdom. Whatever trouble he had
in taking the heads, he had twice as much in finding his brothers. When
he had the brothers found, it failed him to know how to bury them. At
last he saw on the beach an old ship with three masts. He pulled out the
masts, drew the ship further on land, and said to himself, “I will have
my brothers under this ship turned bottom upward, and come back to take
them whenever I can.”
He put the bodies on the ground, turned the ship over them, and went his
way.
The woman saw all the slaughter. “Never am I to see Cud alive,” thought
she, and fell dead from sorrow.
Cud took the woman to shore, and put her under the ship with his
brothers. He went to his ship then, sailed away alone, and never stopped
till he came to the kingdom where lived Mucan Mor Mac Ri na Sorach. Cud
went ashore, and while walking and looking for himself, he came to a
castle. He was wondering at the pole of combat, such a terribly big one,
and he gave a small blow to it. The messenger came out, and looked up and
down to know could he find the man who gave the blow. Not a soul could he
see but a white-haired young child standing near the pole. He went into
the castle again.
“Who struck the pole?” asked Mucan Mor.
“I saw no one but a small child with white hair; there is no danger from
him.”
Cud gave a harder blow.
“That blow is harder,” said Mucan Mor, “than any child can give. Go and
see who is in it.”
The man searched high and low, and it failed him to find any one but the
child.
“It would be a wonder if you are the one, you little child, that struck
the blow.”
“What harm,” said the little child, “if I gave the pole a touch?”
“Mucan Mor is going to dinner soon,” said the messenger; “and if you vex
him again, ’tis yourself that he’ll eat in place of the dinner.”
“Is dinner ready?” asked Cud.
“It is going to be left down,” was the answer he got.
When the man went in, Cud gave the pole a hard blow, and didn’t leave
calf, foal, lamb, kid, or child awaiting its birth, or a bag of poor oats
or rye, that didn’t turn five times to the left, and five to the right
with the fright that it got. He made such a noise and crash that dishes
were broken, knives hurled around, and the castle shaken to its bottom
stone. Mucan Mor himself was turned five times to the left and five to
the right before he could put the soles of his feet under him. When he
went out, and saw the small child, he asked, “Was it you that struck the
pole?”
“I gave it a little tip,” said Cud.
“You are a child of no sense to be lying so, and it is yourself that I’ll
eat for my supper.”
He thought he had only to take Cud into the castle, and roast him on the
spit. He went to catch the child; but if he did, the child faced him, and
soon they were fighting like two bulls in high grass. When it was very
late in the day, Mucan Mor rose up in a lump of fog, and Cud didn’t know
where he had gone.
All Cud had to do was to go to the forest, and gather twigs for a fire
to keep himself warm until morning. It wasn’t many twigs he had gathered
when twelve swans came near him.
“Love me!” said he. “I believe ye are the blessed birds that came from my
father’s kingdom to be food to relieve me in need.”
“Sorry am I that I have ever looked on you or you on me,” said one of the
swans; and the twelve rose and flew away.
Cud gathered the twigs for the fire, and dried the blood in his wounds.
In the morning, Mucan Mor struck his own pole of combat. He and Cud
faced each other, and fought till late in the day, when Mucan Mor rose
as a lump of fog in the air. Cud went to the forest as before to gather
twigs. It was few he had gathered when the twelve swans came again.
“Are ye the blessed birds from my own kingdom?” asked he.
“No,” said one of the swans; “but I put you under bonds not to turn me
away as you did last night.”
“As you put me under bonds,” said Cud, “I will not turn you away.”
The twelve began to gather twigs, and it wasn’t long till they had a
great fire made. One of the twelve sat at the fire then with Cud, and
said, “There is nothing in the world to kill Mucan Mor but a certain
apple. For the last three days I have been looking for that apple. I
found it to-day, and have it here for you. To-morrow you’ll be getting
the upper hand of Mucan Mor earlier than other days. He has no power to
rise as a fog until a given hour. When the time comes, he’ll raise his
two hands and be striving to go in the air. If you strike him then in the
right side in the ribs with the apple, you’ll make a green stone of him.
If you do not, he’ll come down and make a green stone of you.”
Cud took the apple, and had great thanks for the swan. She left down the
best food then before him. She had the food with her always. Glad was
he, for he was greatly in want of it after the fast of two days. She put
her own wing and head over his head and sheltered him till day break.
There wasn’t a wound on him next morning that wasn’t cured. As early as
the day dawned she roused him.
“Be up now,” said she, “and have the soles of your feet under you.”
He went first to the pole and struck a blow that took three turns out of
the stomach of Mucan Mor and three more out of his brain, before he could
stand on the soles of his feet, so great was the dread that came on him.
They fought the third day, and it wasn’t very late when Cud was getting
the upper hand. Mucan Mor raised his two arms toward the sky, striving to
escape in a fog from his enemy. Cud struck him then with the apple, and
made a green stone of him. Hardly had he Mucan Mor killed when he saw an
old hag racing up; she took one hill at a step and two at a leap.
“Your face and your health to you,” said the hag, when she stood before
Cud. “I am looking at you for three days, fighting without food or drink.
I hope that you’ll come with me now.”
“It’s long that you were thinking of asking me,” said he.
“I hope you’ll not refuse me,” said the hag.
“I will not,” replied Cud.
“Give me your hand,” said the hag, “and I’ll help you to walk.”
He took the hag’s hand. There wasn’t a jump that she gave while she had a
grip of his hand but he thought she was dragging the arm from him.
“Curses on you for an old hag! Is it little I have gone through that you
treat me in this way?”
“I have a cloth about my shoulders. Go into that, and I will carry you,”
said the hag.
There wasn’t a joint in the hag’s back that wasn’t three inches long.
When she had him on her back there wasn’t a leap that she gave that the
joints of her backbone were not going into Cud’s body.
“Hard luck to you for a hag, after all I have gone through to have me
killed at last.”
“You have not far to go now,” said she; and after a few leaps she was at
the end of her journey. She took him into a grand castle. The best table
of food that he had ever set eyes on was left down there before him.
“Sit there, now, son of the King of Urhu; eat and drink.”
“I have never taken food without company,” said Cud, “and I will not take
it this time.”
“Will you eat with me?”
“Bad luck to you for a hag, I will not.”
She opened a door and let in twelve pigs, and one pig, the thirteenth,
without a head.
“Will you take food with these, son of the King of Urhu?”
“Indeed, then, old hag, bad as you are yourself, I’d rather eat with you
than with these, and I’ll not eat with you.”
She put them back, opened another door and let out twelve of the
rustiest, foulest, ugliest old hags that man could set eyes on.
“Will you take food with these?” asked she.
“Indeed, then, I will not.”
She hurried them back, opened a door, and brought out twelve beautiful
young women.
“Will you take food with these?”
“These are fit to take food with any one,” said Cud.
They sat down and ate with good-will and pleasure. When they had the
dinner eaten the hag opened the door, and the twelve went back to their
own chamber.
“I’ll get great blame,” said the old hag, “for all the delay I’ve had.
I’ll be going now.”
“What trouble is on you that you’ll be blamed for your delay?”
“Those twelve pigs that you saw,” said the hag, “are twelve sons of
mine, and the pig without a head is my husband. Those twelve foul, yellow
hags that you saw are my twelve daughters. The twelve beautiful women who
ate with you are my daughters’ attendants.”
“Why are your twelve sons and your husband pigs, and your twelve
daughters yellow old hags?”
“The Awus in that house there beyond has them enchanted and held in
subjection. There isn’t a night but I must go with a gold apple to him.”
“I will go with you to-night,” said Cud.
“There is no use in going,” said the hag.
They were talking a long time before she would let him go. She went
first, and he followed. She knocked, and they opened the door. Cud was
in with her that instant. One Awus rose and put seven bolts and seven
locks on the door. Cud rose and put on seven locks and seven bolts more.
All began to laugh when they saw Cud doing this. The old chief, who was
standing at the hearth, let such a roar out of him that Cud saw the heart
inside in his body.
“Why are you laughing?” asked Cud.
“We think you a nice bit of meat to roast on the spit. Rise up,” said he
to a small attendant, “and tie that fellow.”
The attendant rose and tried to tie Cud, but soon Cud had him down and
tied.
“Bad luck to you, ’tis sorry I am that I ever lost food on the like of
you,” said the old chief to the small attendant. “Rise up,” said he to a
big attendant, “and tie him.”
The big one rose up, and whatever time the small one lasted, the big one
didn’t last half that length. Cud drew strings from his pocket and began
tying the Awuses. He caught the old Awus by the shins, dragged him down,
and put his knee on him.
“You are the best champion ever I have seen,” said the old Awus. “Give me
quarter for my soul; there is never a place where you need it but my help
will attend you with bravery. I’ll give you also my sword of light that
shines in the dark, my pot of cure that makes the dead alive, and the rod
of enchantment to help the pot of cure.”
“Where can I find them?” asked Cud.
“In a hole in the floor under the post of my bed. You cannot get them
without help.”
“It cannot be but I can do anything that has been done ever in your
house,” said Cud.
With that he went to the bed, and whatever work he had in his life he
never found a harder task than to move the post of the bed; but he found
the sword of light, the pot of cure, and the rod of enchantment. He came
to the Awus with the sword in one hand, and the two other things in the
other hand.
“The head off you now if you don’t take this hag and her family from
under enchantment. Make men and women of her sons and daughters, a king
of her husband, and a queen of herself in this kingdom, while water is
running, and grass is growing, and you are to go to them with a gold
apple every evening and morning as long as you live or any one lives who
comes after you to the end of all ages.”
“I will do that,” said the Awus.
He gave the word, and the hag was as fine a queen as she was before. She
and Cud went back to the castle. The twelve pigs were twelve young men,
and the thirteenth without a head was the king. She opened the chamber of
the twelve yellow hags, and they were as beautiful as ever. All were very
grateful to Cud for the good turn he had done them.
“I had one son,” said the queen; “while he was here he gave the old Awus
enough to do.”
“Where is he now?” inquired Cud.
“In the Eastern World, in a field seven miles in length, and seven in
width, and there isn’t a yard of that field in which a spike is not
standing taller than a man. There is not a spike, except one, without a
king’s son or a champion on it, impaled through his chin.”
“What name had your son?”
“Gold Boot.”
“I promise to bring Gold Boot here to you, or leave my own head on the
spike.”
As early as the day rose Cud was ready, and away he went walking, and
very little food had he with him. About midday he was at the enchanted
field, in the Eastern World. He was walking till he came to Gold Boot.
When he touched the body, the foot gave him a kick that sent him seven
acres and seven ridges away, and put three bunches of the blood of his
heart out of him.
“I believe what your mother said, that when you were living you were
strong, and the strength you have now to be in you.”
“Don’t think we are dead,” said Gold Boot; “we are not. It is how we are
enchanted and unable to rise out of this.”
“What put you in it?” asked Cud.
“A man will come out by and by with pipes, making music, and he’ll bring
so much sleep on you that he’ll put you on that empty spike, and the
field will be full. If you take my advice you will not wait for him.”
“My grief and my sorrow! I will never stir till I see all that is here,”
replied Cud.
It wasn’t long he was waiting when the piper came out, and the very first
sound that he heard Cud ran and caught the pipes; whatever music the man
was making, Cud played seven times better.
When Cud took the pipes, the piper ran crying into the castle where the
wizard was.
“What is on you?” asked the wizard.
“A man caught my pipes, and he is a twice better player than what I am.”
“Never mind that, take these with you; these are the pipes that won’t be
long in putting sleep on him.”
When Cud heard the first note of these pipes, he struck the old ones
against a stone, and ran and caught the new pipes. The piper rushed to
the wizard; the old man went out, threw himself on his knees, and begged
mercy.
“Never give him mercy,” said Gold Boot, “till he burns the hill that is
standing out opposite him.”
“You have no pardon to get till you set that hill there on fire,”
answered Cud.
“That is as bad for me as to lose my head,” said the wizard.
“That same is not far from you unless you do what I bid,” replied Cud.
Sooner than lose his head he lighted the hill. When the hill began to
burn, all the men except Gold Boot came from under enchantment as sound
as ever, and rose off the spikes. Every one was making away, and no one
asking who let him out. The hill was on fire except one spot in the
middle of it. Gold Boot was not stirring. “Why did you not make him set
all the hill on fire?” asked he.
“Why did you not set the whole hill on fire?” demanded Cud of the wizard.
“Is it not all on fire?”
“Do you see the centre is not burning yet?”
“To see that bit on fire,” said the wizard, “is as bad for me as to lose
the head itself.”
“That same is not far from you,” said Cud.
“Sooner than lose the head I will light it.”
That moment he lighted the hill, and Cud saw the very woman he saw the
first day sleeping in the little boat come toward him from the hill. He
forgot that he had seen Gold Boot or the enchanted hag and her sons. The
wizard, seeing this, stopped the centre fire, and Gold Boot was left on
the spike. Cud and the woman embraced till they smothered each other with
kisses and drowned each other with tears. After that they neither stopped
nor stayed till they reached his little ship and sailed away on it; they
never delayed till they came to where his two brothers and sister-in-law
were under the boat. Cud took out the three bodies, put a drop of the
cure on each one, and gave each a blow of the rod. They rose up in good
health and sound vigor. All entered the ship and sailed toward Urhu.
They had only the sailing of one day before them, when Cud recollected
his promise to bring Gold Boot to his mother.
“Take the wife to Fermalye,” said he to his brothers. “I must go for Gold
Boot; the king will give you food till I come. If you were to go to our
own father he’d think that it is dead I am.”
Cud drew out his knife, cut a slip from a stick; this he threw into the
sea. It became a ship, and away he sailed in that ship, and never stopped
till he entered the harbor next the enchanted field. When he came to
Gold Boot he gave him a drop of cure and a blow of the rod. He rose from
the spike, well and strong. The two embraced then, went to the ship, and
sailed away. They had not gone far when such a calm came that they cast
anchor near shore, and Gold Boot began to get dinner. It wasn’t long he
was at it when they saw food at the foot of a tree on the shore.
“Who would be getting trouble with cooking, and such food as that on the
shore?” said Gold Boot.
“Don’t mind that food,” replied Cud.
“Whatever I think of I do,” said Gold Boot.
He went to shore with one jump, caught the food, sprang back, and laid it
down for himself and Cud. When this was done there was food seven times
better on the land again.
“Who would taste of this, and that table over there?” cried Gold Boot.
“Never mind it,” said Cud. “If the man who owns this table was sleeping
when you took it, he is not sleeping now.”
“Whatever I think of I must do,” replied Gold Boot.
“If you did that before, I will do it now,” said Cud, and he sprang to
land. He looked up in the tree, and there he saw a man ready to take the
life from him.
“Grief and sorrow!” said the man. “I thought it was Gold Boot again. Take
this table, with welcome, but I hope you’ll invite me to dinner.”
“I will, indeed,” said Cud; “and what name am I to give you?”
“The Wet Mantle Champion.”
Cud took one end of the table and the champion the other. Out they went
to the ship with one bound. They sat down then together with Gold Boot
at the table. When dinner was over, the wind rose, and they sailed on,
never delaying till they came to the castle of Gold Boot’s father, where
there was a great welcome before them, and thanks beyond estimate.
“I will give you half my kingdom while I live and all of it when I die,”
said the king, “and the choice of my twelve daughters.”
“Many thanks to you,” replied Cud; “the promise of marriage is on me
already, but perhaps Wet Mantle is not married or promised.”
“I am not,” said Wet Mantle.
“You must have my chance,” said Cud.
Wet Mantle took Cud’s place, and the king sent for a big dish priest, and
a great wooden clerk. They came, and the couple were married. When the
three days’ wedding was over, Cud went away alone. While sailing near
land he saw a castle by the sea, and as he drew near he wondered more and
more. A raven was going in and out at the uppermost window, and each time
bringing out something white. Cud landed, walked up from the strand, and
went to the top of the castle. He saw a woman there, and the whole room
full of white pigeons. She was throwing them one by one from a loft to
the raven.
“Why do you throw those to the raven?” asked Cud of the woman.
“The raven is an enchanted brother of mine, who comes to this castle once
in seven years. I can see him only while I am throwing him pigeons. I get
as many pigeons as possible, to keep him with me while I can.”
“Keep him for a while yet,” said Cud.
He rushed to the ship, took his rod, and ran to the loft where the woman
was. “Entice him in further,” said Cud.
Cud struck the raven a blow, and he rose up as fine a champion as ever
was seen.
“Your blow on me was good,” said the champion, “and ’tis work you have
now before you. Your two brothers are killed and under seven feet of
earth in Fermalye. Your wife and her sister are to their knees in foul
water and filth in the stable, and are getting two mouthfuls of water,
and two of bread in the day till they die.”
Cud did not wait to hear more of the story. Away he went, and never
stopped till he came to Fermalye. When he was coming to the castle all
the children he met he was throwing at each other, he was so vexed. He
took the wife and sister out of the stable, then dug up the brothers and
brought them to life with the rod. The five made no delay after that, but
went to the ship and sailed to Urhu. When near land he raised white flags
on every mast.
“A ship is coming!” cried a messenger, running to the king. “I am
thinking it is Cud that is in it.”
“That’s what I will never believe,” said the king, “till he puts his hand
into my hand.”
Since Cud left home, the father and mother had never risen from the
fireside, but were sitting there always and crying. When the ship was
three miles from land, Cud ran from the stern to the stem, sprang to
land, ran into the castle, gave one hand to his mother, and the other to
his father.
It wasn’t one boat, but boats, that went out to the ship for the brothers
and the women. When they came, all spent the night with great pleasure
in the castle. Next day the king sent seven score of ships and one ship
to sea to bring supplies for the wedding. When the ships came back laden
from foreign parts, he sent messengers to invite all the people in the
kingdom. They were coming till they blackened the hills and spotted the
valleys. I was there myself, and we spent nine nights and nine days in
great glee and pleasure.
CAHAL, SON OF KING CONOR, IN ERIN, AND BLOOM OF YOUTH, DAUGHTER OF THE
KING OF HATHONY.
There was a king in Hathony long ago who had an old castle by the sea.
This king went out walking one day along the clean, smooth strand, and,
while walking, the thought rose in him to take a sail near the shore. He
stepped into his boat with attendants and men, and was sailing about in
enjoyment and pleasure, when a wind came with a mist of enchantment, and
drove the boat away through the sea with the king and his men.
They were going before the wind, without a sight of sky or sea; no man in
the boat could see the man who sat next to him. They were that way moving
in the mist without knowledge of where they were, or where they were
going, and the boat never stopped till it sailed into a narrow harbor in
a lonely place without house or habitation.
The king left the boat well fastened at the shore, and went his way,
walking till he came to a castle, and what castle should it be but the
castle of King Conor, in Erin.
King Conor received the King of Hathony with great hospitality and
welcome.
When the two had spent some days in company, they became great friends,
and made a match between their two children. The King of Hathony had a
daughter called Bloom of Youth, who was nine years of age, and King Conor
had a son ten years old, named Cahal.
When the King of Hathony wished to go back to his own land, King Conor of
Erin gave a ship to him, and the king sailed away with good wishes and
with supplies for a day and a year.
Bloom of Youth grew up in such beauty that she had not her equal in
Hathony or in other lands, and Cahal, King Conor’s son, became such a
hero that no man knew was the like of him in any place.
On a day Cahal said to his father, “Make up some treasure for me and
stores for my ship. I must leave home now and be travelling through the
world till I know is there a better man than myself in it.”
“It is, indeed, time for you to be going,” said King Conor, “for in
three years you are to marry Bloom of Youth, the daughter of the King
of Hathony, and you should be making out the place now where her father
lives.”
Next morning Cahal took what treasures his father gave him, and
provisions, went to his ship and raised sails. Away he went on his
voyage, sailing over the sea in one way and another, in this direction
and that. He sailed one year and three-quarters of a second year, but
found no man to give tale or tidings of the King of Hathony.