The King of Ireland’s Son rode towards the East the next day, and in the
first hour’s journey he saw the blue falcon sailing above. He followed
where it went and the falcon never lifted nor stooped, but sailed
steadily on, only now and again beating the air with its wings. Over
benns and through glens and across moors the blue falcon flew and the
King of Ireland’s Son followed. Then his horse stumbled; he could not go
any further, and he lost sight of the blue falcon.
Black night was falling down on the ground when he came back to the
King’s Castle. Art, the King’s Steward, was waiting for him and he
walked beside his limping horse. And Art said when they were a little
way together, “The Coming of the King of the Cats is a story still to be
told.
“To your father’s Son in all truth be it told “--
By the magic powers they possessed it was made known to all the cats
in the country that their King was being pursued by the hounds. Then on
every hearthstone a cat howled. Cats sprang to the doors, overturning
cradles upon children. They stood upon the thresholds and they all made
the same curse--“That ye may break your backs, that ye may break your
backs before ye catch the King of the Cats.”
When he heard the howls of his vassals, retainers and subjects, the King
of the Cats turned over on his back and clawed at the first hound that
came after him. He stood up then. So firmly did he set himself on his
four legs that those that dashed at him did not overthrow him. He
humped up his body and lifted his forepaws. The hounds held back. A horn
sounded and that gave them an excuse to get away from the claws and the
teeth, the power and the animosity of the King of the Cats.
Then, even though it might cost each and every one of them the loss of
an eye, the cats that had sight of him came running up. “We will go with
you, my lord, we will help you, my lord,” they cried all together.
“Go back to the hearthstones,” said the King of the Cats. “Go back and
be civil and quiet again in the houses. You will hear of my deeds. I go
to find the tracks of our enemy, the Eagle-Emperor.”
When they heard that announcement the cats lamented, and the noise of
their lamentation was so dreadful that horses broke their harnesses
where they were yoked; men and women lost the color of their faces
thinking some dreadful visitation was coming on the land; every bag of
oats and rye turned five times to the right and five times to the left
with the fright it got; dishes were broken, knives were hurled round,
and the King’s Castle was shaken to the bottom stone.
“It is not the time to seek the tracks of the Eagle-Emperor,” said
Quick-to-Grab. “Stay for a while longer in men’s houses.”
“Never,” said the King of the Cats. “Never will I stay by the
hearthstone and submit to be abused by cocks and hounds and men. I will
range the world openly now and seek out the enemy of the Cat-Kind, the
Eagle-Emperor.”
Without once turning his back he went towards the wood that was filled
with his enemies, the birds. The cats, when they saw their petitions
were no use, went everyone back to the house where he or she stayed.
Each one sat before a mouse-hole and pretended to be watching. But
though mice stirred all round them the cats of Ireland never turned a
head that night.
It was the wren, the smallest of birds, that saw him and knew him for
the King of the Cats. The wren flew through the wood to summon the
Hawk-Clan. But it was towards sunset now and the hawks had taken up
their stations at the edge of the wood to watch that they might pick up
the farmers’ chickens. They wouldn’t turn an eye when the wren told
them that a cat was in the wood during the time forbidden to cats to be
outside the houses of men. “It is the King of the Cats,” said the wren.
None of the hawks lifted a wing. They were waiting for the chickens that
would stray about the moment after sunset.
But if the wren couldn’t rouse the Hawk-Clan she was able to rouse the
other bird-tribes. “A cat, a cat, on your lives a cat,” she called out
as she flew through the wood. The rooks that were going home now rose
above the trees, cawing threats. The blackbirds, thrushes and jays
screamed as they flew before the King of the Cats. The woodpeckers,
hedge-sparrows, tom-tits, robins and linnets chattered as they flew
behind him. Sometimes the young rooks made a great show of attacking
him. They flew down from the flock. “He is here, here, here,” they cawed
and flew up again. The rooks kept telling themselves and the other birds
in the wood what they were going to do with the King of the Cats. But a
single raven did more against him than the thousand rooks that made so
much noise. This raven was in a hole in the tree. She struck the King of
the Cats on the head with her beak as he went past.
The King of the Cats was annoyed by the uproar the birds were making and
he was angered by the raven’s stroke, but he did not want to enter into
a battle with the birds. He was on his way to the house of the Hag of
the Wood who was then known as the Hag of the Ashes. Now as this is the
first time you have heard of the Hag of the Ashes, I’ll have to tell
you how the King of the Cats had heard of her and how he knew where her
house was in the wood.
V
The next day the King’s Son put a bridle on the Slight Red Steed and
rode towards the East again. He saw the blue falcon and he followed
where it flew. Over benns, and through glens and across mountains and
moors the blue falcon went and the Slight Red Steed neither swerved nor
stumbled but went as the bird flew. The falcon lighted on a pine tree
that grew alone. The King’s Son rode up and put his hands to the tree
to climb and put his head against it, and as he did he heard speech from
the tree. “The stroke of the Sword of Light will slay the King of the
Land of Mist and the stroke of the Sword of Light that will cut a tress
of her hair will awaken Fedelma.” There was no more speech from the tree
and the falcon rose from its branches and flew high up in the air. Then
the King of Ireland’s Son rode back towards his father’s Castle.
He went to the meadow and stood with Art and listened to what Art had to
tell him. And as before the King’s Steward began--
“To your father’s Son in all truth be it told”--
Quick-to-Grab had said to the King of the Cats, “If ever you need the
counsel of a human being, go to no one else but the Hag of the Ashes who
was once called the Hag of the Wood. In the very centre of the wood four
ash trees are drawn together at the tops, wattles are woven round these
ash trees, and in the little house made in this way the Hag of the Ashes
lives, with no one near her since her nine daughters went away, but her
goat that’s her only friend.” The King of the Cats was now in the centre
of the wood. He saw four ash trees drawn together at the tops and he
jumped to them.
Now the Hag of the Ashes had a bad neighbor. This was a crane that had
built her nest across the roof of the little house. The nest prevented
the smoke from coming out at the top and the house below was filled
with it. The Hag could hardly keep alive on account of the smoke and she
could neither take away the nest nor banish the bird.
The crane was there when the King of the Cats sprang on the roof. She
was sitting with her two legs stretched out, and when the King of the
Cats came down beside her she slipped away and sailed over the trees.
“Time for me to be going,” said the crane. And from that day to this she
never came back to the house of the Hag of the Ashes.
“Oh, thanks to you, good creature,” said the Hag of the Ashes, coming
out of the house. “Tear down her nest now and let the smoke rise up
through the roof.”
The King of the Cats tore up the sticks and wool that the crane’s nest
was made of, and the smoke came up through the top of the house. “Oh,
thanks to you, good creature, that has destroyed the cross crane’s nest.
Come down on my floor now and I’ll do everything that will serve you.”
The King of the Cats jumped down on the floor of the Hag’s house and saw
the Hag of the Ashes sitting in a corner, She was a little, little woman
in a gray cloak. All over the floor there were ashes in heaps, for
she used to light a fire in one corner and when it was burnt out light
another beside the ashes of the first. The smoke had never gone through
the hole in the roof since the crane had built her nest on the top of
the house. Her face was yellow with the smoke and her eyes were half
closed on account of it.
“Do you know who I am, Hag of the Ashes?” said the King of the Cats when
he stood on the floor.
“You are a cat, honey,” said the Hag of the Ashes. “I am the King of the
Cats.”
“The King of the Cats you are indeed. And it was you who let the smoke
out of the top of my little house by destroying the nest the cross crane
had built on it.”
“It was I who did that.”
“Welcome to you then, King of the Cats. And what service can the Hag of
the Ashes do for you in return?”
“I would go to where the Eagle-Emperor is. You must show me the way.”
“By my cloak I will do that. The Eagle-Emperor lives on the top of the
Hill of Horns.”
“And how can I get to the top of the Hill of Horns?”
“I don’t know how you can get there at all. All over the Hill is bare
starvation. No four-footed thing can reach the top--no four-footed
thing, I mean, but my goat that’s tied to the hawthorn bush outside.”
“I will ride on the back of your goat to the top of the Hill of Horns.”
“No, no, good King of the Cats. I have only my goat for company and how
could I bear to be parted from him?”
“Lend me your goat, and when I come back from the Hill of Horns I will
plate his horns with gold and shoe his hooves with silver.”
“No, no, good King of the Cats. How could I bear my goat to be away from
me, and I having no other company?”
“If you do not let me ride on your goat to the top of the Hill of Horns
I will leave a sign on your house that will bring the cross crane to
build her nest on the top of it again.”
“Then take my goat, King of the Cats, take my goat but let him come back
to me soon.”
“I will. Come with me now and bid him take me to the top of the Hill of
Horns.”
The King of the Cats marched out of the house and the Hag of the Ashes
hobbled after him. The goat was lying under the hawthorn bush. He put
his horns to the ground when they came up to him.
“Will you go to the Hill of Horns?” said the Hag of the Ashes.
“Indeed, that I will not do,” said the goat.
“Oh, the soft tops of the hedges on the way to the Hill of Horns--sweet
in the mouth of a goat they should be,” said the Hag of the Ashes. “But
my own poor goat wants to stay here and eat the tops of the burnt-up
thistles.”
“Why didn’t you tell me of the hedges on the way to the Hill of Horns
before?” said the goat, rising to his feet. “To the Hill of Horns I’ll
go.”
“And will you let a cat ride on your back to the Hill of Horns?”
“Indeed, I will not do that.”
“Then, my poor goat, I’ll not untie the rope that’s round your neck, for
you can’t go to the Hill of Horns without this cat riding on your back.”
“Let him sit on my back then and hold my horns, and I’ll take no notice
of him.”
The Hag of the Ashes untied the rope that was round his neck, the King
of the Cats jumped up on the goat’s back, and they started off on the
path through the wood. “Oh, how I’ll miss my goat, until he comes back
to me with gold on his horns and silver on his hooves,” the Hag of the
Ashes cried after them.