THE NEW BOY
“I to surrender, to fling away this! So owned by God and Man! so
witnessed to! I had rather be rolled into my grave and buried with
infamy.”--Battle-chaunt of a hero of the Saxons.
Once, struck sideways out of the press, the ball bounded into a clear
space not far from Setanta. “Thou of the Javelins,” cried the captain
of the distressed party, “the ball is with thee.” He roared mightily at
Setanta. On a sudden Setanta, filled with all the glow and ardour of the
mimic battle, cast his javelins to the ground, slipped the strap of his
shield over his head, flung the shield beside his javelins on the grass
and pursued the bounding ball. He out-ran the rest and took possession
of the ball. Now to the right he urged it, now to the left. He played it
deftly before every opponent who sought to check his career, and swiftly
and cunningly carried it past each of these, and finally with a clear
loud stroke sent it straight as a sling-bolt through the middle of the
north goal. The boys of his adopted party shouted, and they praised his
playing and that final victorious stroke. Setanta went back after that
and stood by himself near the south goal. His face was flushed and his
eyes sparkled, and he himself trembled with joy, yet was he not in the
least exhausted or out of breath.
The captain of the northern company came down with his boys and all the
boys who were chief in authority, and they surrounded Setanta and said,
“Thou art here a stranger and on sufferance. We know thee not, but thou
art a good hurler and not otherwise, as we think, unmeet to bear us
company. Receive now our protection, and we will divide the sides again
with a new division and continue the game, for thou art very swift and
truly expert in the use of thy hurle.”
The boys regulated all things according to the laws and customs of their
elders. And everywhere it was the custom that the weak should accept
the protection of the strong and submit themselves to their command.
So slaves received masters, so runaways and fugitives got to themselves
lords, and sheltered themselves under their protection and paid dues.
Setanta’s brow fell, and he answered, “Put not upon me, I pray you,
these hard terms. I would be your friend and comrade, I cannot be your
subject being what I am.”
And they said, “Who art thou?”
And he answered, “I am the son of Dectera of Dun Dalgan, and nephew of
the king.”
Then the boy who was captain of the whole school, and the biggest and
strongest, stood over him, and said--
“Thou, the king’s nephew! the son of Sualtam and Dectera of Dun Dalgan!
and comest hither without chariots and horsemen and a prince’s retinue
and guard. Nay, thou art a churl and a liar to boot, and hie thee hence
now with wings at thy heels or verily with sore blows I shall beat thee
off the lawn.”
Thereat the blood forsook thy face, O Setanta, O peerless one, and thou
stoodest like a still figure carved out of white marble, with the pallor
of death in thy immortal face. But that other, indignant to see him
stand as one both deaf and dumb, and mistaking his pallor for fear,
raised his hurle and struck with all his might at the boy. Setanta
sprang back avoiding the blow, and ere the other could recover himself,
struck him back-handed over the right ear, whose knees were suddenly
relaxed and the useless weapon shaken from his hands. Then some stood
aside, but the rest ran upon Setanta to beat him off the lawn and struck
at him all together, as well as they could, for their numbers impeded
them, and fiercely the stranger defended himself, and many a shrewd
stroke he delivered upon his enemies, for the slumbering war-spirit now,
for the first time, had awaked in his gentle heart. Many times he was
overborne and flung to the ground, but again he arose overthrowing
others, never quitting hold of his hurle, and, whenever he got a free
space, grasping that weapon like a war-mace in both hands, he struck
down his foes. The skirts of his mantle were torn, only a rag remained
round his shoulders, fastened by the brooch; he was covered with blood,
his own and his enemies’, and his eyes were like burning fire. Then
Conall Carna being enraged ran towards the boys, meaning to rebuke
their cowardice and with his strong hands hurl them asunder and save the
stranger boy. There was not a knight in all Ireland those days who loved
battle-fairness better than Conall Carna. Truly he was the pure-burning
torch of the chivalry of the Ultonians in his time. But as he ran one
withheld him and a voice crying “Forbear” rang in his ears. Yet he saw
no man. He stood still, being astonished, and became aware that
this tumult was divinely guided, for as in a trance he saw and heard
marvellous things. For the war-steeds of the Ultonians neighed loudly
in their stables, and from the Tec Brac, the Speckled House of the Red
Branch, rose a clangour of brass, the roar of the shield called Ocean,
and the booming of the Gate-of-Battle, and the singing of swords long
silent, and the brazen thunder of the revolution of wheels; and he saw
strange forms and faces in the air, and the steady sun dancing in the
heavens, and a man standing beside the stranger whose face was like
the sun. The son of Amargin saw and heard all, for he was a seer and a
prophet no less than a warrior. But meantime his battle-fury descended
upon Setanta, his countenance was distraught and his strength was
multiplied tenfold, and the steam of his war-madness rose above him. He
staggered to no blow, but every boy whom he struck fell, and he charged
this way and that, and wherever he went they opened before him. Then
seeing how they closed in behind him and on each side, he beat his
way back to the grassy rampart in which was the goal, and, facing his
enemies, bade them come against him again in their troops, many against
one. “You have offered me your protection,” he said, “and I would not
endure it, but now I swear to you by all my gods that you and I do
not part this day till you have accepted my protection, or till I lie
without life on this lawn a trophy of your prowess and a monument of the
chivalry and hospitality of the Red Branch.” Then a boy stood out from
the rest. He was freckled, and with red hair, and his voice was loud and
fierce.
“Thou shalt have a comrade in thy battle henceforward,” he said,
“O brave stranger. On the banks of the Nemnich, [Footnote: Now the
Nanny-Water, a beautiful stream running from Tara to the sea.] where it
springs beneath my father’s dun on the Hill of Gabra, nigh Tara, I met a
prophetess; Acaill is her name, the wisest of all women; and I asked
her who would be my life-friend. And she answered, ‘I see him standing
against a green wall at Emain Macha, at bay, with the blood and soil of
battle upon him, and alone he gives challenge to a multitude. He is thy
life-friend, O Laeg,’ she said, ‘and no man ever had a friend like him
or will till the end of time.’”
So saying he ran to Setanta, and kneeling down he took him by his right
hand, and said, “I am thy man from this day forward.” And after that he
arose and kissed him, and standing by his side cried, “O Cumascra Mend
Macha, O stammering son of Concobar, if ever I was a shield to thee
against thy mockers, come hither; and thou too come O Art Storm-Ear, and
thou Art of the Shadow, and thou O Fionn of the Songs, and you O Ide and
Sheeling, who were nursed at the same breast and knee with myself.” So
he summoned to him his friends, and they came to him, and there came to
him, uninvited, the three sons of Fergus and others whose hearts were
stirred with shame or ruth. Yet, indeed, they were few compared with
the multitude of his enemies. Then for the first time the boy’s soul was
confused, and he cried aloud, and bowed his head between his hands, and
the hot tears gushed forth like rain from his eyes, mingled with blood.
Soon, hearing the loud mockery and derisive laughter of his enemies, he
hardened his heart and went out against them with these his friends, and
drove them over the whole course of the playing-ground, and, hard by
the north goal, he brake the battle upon them and they fled. Of the
fugitives some ran round the King and the Champion where they sat,
but Setanta running straight sprang lightly over the chess table. Then
Concobar, reaching forth his left hand, caught him by the wrist and
brought him to a stand, panting and with dilated eyes.
“Why art thou so enraged?” said the King, “and why dost thou so maltreat
my boys?”
It was a long time before the boy answered, so furiously burned the
battle-fire within him, so that the King repeated his question more than
once. At last he made answer--
“Because they have not treated me with the respect due a stranger.”
“Who art thou thyself?” said the King.
“I am Setanta, son of Sualtam and of Dectera thy own sister, and it is
not before my uncle’s palace that I should be dishonoured.”
Concobar smiled, for he was well pleased with the appearance and
behaviour of the boy, but Fergus caught him up in his great arms and
kissed him, and he said--
“Dost thou know me, O Setanta?”
“I think thou art Fergus Mac Roy,” he answered.
“Wilt thou have me for thy tutor?” said Fergus.
“Right gladly,” answered Setanta. “For in that hope too I left Dun
Dalgan, coming hither secretly without the knowledge of my parents.”
This was the first martial exploit of Setanta, who is also called
Cuculain, and the reward of this his first battle was that the boys at
his uncle’s school elected him to be for their captain, and one and all
they put themselves under his protection. And a gentle captain made he
when the war-spirit went out of him, and a good play-fellow and comrade
was Setanta amongst his new friends.
That night Setanta and Laeg slept in the same bed of healing after the
physicians had dressed their wounds; and they related many things to
each other, and oft times they kissed one another with great affection,
till sweet sleep made heavy their eyelids.
So, impelled by the unseen, Setanta came to Emain Macha without the
knowledge of his parents, but in fulfilment of the law, for at a certain
age all the boys of the Ultonians should come thither to associate there
with their equals and superiors, and be instructed by appointed tutors
in the heroic arts of war and the beautiful arts of peace. Concobar Mac
Nessa was not only King of Ulster and captain of the Red Branch, but was
also the head and chief of a great school. In this school the boys did
not injure their eyesight and impair their health by poring over books;
nor were compelled to learn what they could not understand; nor were
instructed by persons whom they did not wish to resemble. They
were taught to hurl spears at a mark; to train war-horses and guide
war-chariots; to lay on with the sword and defend themselves with sword
and shield; to cast the hand-stone of the warrior--a great art in those
days; to run, to leap, and to swim; to rear tents of turf and branches
swiftly, and to roof them with sedge and rushes; to speak appropriately
with equals and superiors and inferiors, and to exhibit the beautiful
practices of hospitality according to the rank of guests, whether kings,
captains, warriors, bards or professional men, or unknown wayfarers; and
to play at chess and draughts, which were the chief social pastimes
of the age; and to drink and be merry in hall, but always without
intoxication; and to respect their plighted word and be ever loyal to
their captains; to reverence women, remembering always those who bore
them and suckled when they were themselves helpless and of no account;
to be kind to the feeble and unwarlike; and, in short, all that it
became brave men to feel and to think and to do in war and in peace.
Also there were those who taught them the history of their ancestors,
the great names of the Clanna Rury, and to distinguish between those who
had done well and those who had not done so well, and the few who had
done ill. And these their several instructors appointed by Concobar
Mac Nessa and the council of his wise men were famous captains of the
Ultonians, and approved bards and historians. And over all the high king
of Ulster, Concobar Mac Nessa, was chief and president, not in name
only but in fact, being well aware of all the instructors and all the
instructed, and who was doing well and exhibiting heroic traits, and who
was doing ill, tending downwards to the vast and slavish multitude whose
office was to labour and to serve and in no respect to bear rule,
which is for ever the office of the multitude in whose souls no god has
kindled the divine fire by which the lamp of the sun, and the candles
of the stars, and the glory and prosperity of nations are sustained and
fed. Such, and so supervised, was the Royal School of Emain Macha in the
days when Concobar Mac Nessa was King, and when Fergus Mac Roy Champion,
and when the son of Sualtam, not yet known by his rightful name, was a
pupil of the same and under tutors and governors like the rest, though
his fond mother would have evaded the law, for she loved him dearly,
and feared for him the rude companionship and the stern discipline, the
early rising and the strong labours of the great school.