And having come to the River of the Ox he sought the ford and waited
there for Laheen the Eagle. When it was high noon he saw the shadow of
the Eagle in the water of the ford. He looked up. Laheen let something
fall into the shallows. It was a wheel. Then Laheen lighted on the rocks
of a waterfall above the ford and spoke to the King of Ireland’s Son.
“Son of King Connal,” she said, “roll this wheel before you and follow
it where it goes. It will bring you first where Blackfoot the Elk
abides. Ask the Elk has he knowledge of the Unique Tale. If he has no
knowledge of it start the wheel rolling again. It will bring you then
where the Crow of Achill abides. If the Crow cannot tell you anything of
the Unique Tale, let the wheel bring you to where the Old Woman of Beare
lives. If she cannot tell you of the Unique Tale, I cannot give you any
further help.”
Laheen the Eagle then spread out her wings and rising above the mist of
the waterfall flew away.
The King of Ireland’s Son took the wheel out of the shallow water and
set it rolling before him. It went on without his touching it again.
Then he was going and ever going with the clear day going before him
and the dark night coming behind him, going through scrubby fields and
shaggy bog-lands, going up steep mountain sides and along bare mountain
ridges, until at last he came to a high mound on a lonesome mountain.
And as high as the mound and as lonesome as the mountain was the Elk
that was standing there with wide, wide horns. The wheel ceased rolling.
“I am from Laheen the Eagle,” said the King of Ireland’s Son.
The Elk moved his wide-horned head and looked down at him. “And why have
you come to me, son?” said the Elk.
“I came to ask if you had knowledge of the Unique Tale,” said the King
of Ireland’s Son.
“I have no knowledge of the Unique Tale,” said the Elk in a deep voice.
“And are you not Blackfoot, the Elk of Ben Gulban, one of the five of
the oldest creatures in the world?” said the King of Ireland’s Son.
“I am the Elk of Ben Gulban,” said Blackfoot, “and it may be that there
is no creature in the world more ancient than I am. The Fianna hunted me
with their hounds before the Sons of Mile’ came to the Island of Woods.
If it was a Tale of Finn or Caelta or Goll, of Oscar or Oisin or Conan,
I could tell it to you. But I know nothing of the Unique Tale.”
Then Blackfoot the Elk of Ben Gulban turned his wide-horned head away
and looked at the full old moon that was coming up in the sky. And the
King of Ireland’s Son took up the wheel and went to look for a shelter.
He found a sheep-cote on the side of the mountain and lay down and slept
between sheep.
V
When the sun rose he lifted up the wheel and set it going before him. He
was going and ever going down long hillsides and across spreading plains
till he came to where old trees and tree-stumps were standing hardly
close enough together to keep each other company. The wheel went through
this ancient wood and stopped before a fallen oak-tree. And sitting on a
branch of that oak, with a gray head bent and featherless wings gathered
up to her neck was a crow.
“I come from Laheen the Eagle,” said the King of Ireland’s Son.
“What did you say?” said the Crow, opening one eye.
“I come from Laheen the Eagle,” said the King of Ireland’s Son again.
“Oh, from Laheen,” said the Crow and dosed her eye again.
“And I came to ask for knowledge of the Unique Tale,” said the King of
Ireland’s Son.
“Laheen,” said the Crow, “I remember Laheen the Eagle.” Keeping her eyes
shut, she laughed and laughed until she was utterly hoarse. “I remember
Laheen the Eagle,” she said again. “Laheen never found out what I did
to her once. I stole the Crystal Egg out of her nest. Well, and how is
Laheen the Eagle?” she said sharply, opening one eye.
“Laheen is well,” said the King of Ireland’s Son. “She sent me to ask if
you had knowledge of the Unique Tale.”
“I am older than Laheen,” said the Crow. “I remember Paralon’s People.
The Salmon of Assaroe always said he was before Paralon’s People. But
never mind! Laheen can’t say that. If I could only get the feathers to
stay on my wings I’d pay Laheen a visit some day. How are Laheen and her
bird-flocks?”
“O Crow of Achill,” said the King of Ireland’s Son, “I was sent to ask
if you had knowledge of the Unique Tale.”
“The Unique Tale! No, I never heard of it,” said the Crow. She gathered
her wings up to her neck again and bent her gray head.
“Think, O Crow of Achill,” said the King of Ireland’s Son. “I will bring
you the warmest wool for your nest.”
“I never heard of the Unique Tale,” said the Crow. “Tell Laheen I was
asking for her.” Nothing would rouse the Crow of Achill again. The King
of Ireland’s Son set the wheel rolling and followed it. Then he was
going and ever going with the clear day before him and the dark night
coming behind him. He came to a wide field where there were field-fares
or ground larks in companies. He crossed it. He came to a plain of tall
daisies where there were thousands of butterflies. He crossed it.
He came to a field of buttercups where blue pigeons were feeding. He
crossed it. He came to a field of flax in blue blossom. He crossed it
and came to a smoke-blackened stone house deep sunk in the ground. The
wheel stopped rolling before it and he went into the house.
An old woman was seated on the ground before the fire basting a goose. A
rabbit-skin cap was on her hairless head and there were no eye-brows on
her face. Three strange birds were eating out of the pot--a cuckoo, a
corncrake and a swallow. “Come to the fire, gilly,” said the old woman
when she looked round.
“I am not a gilly, but the King of Ireland’s Son,” said he.
“Well, let that be. What do you want of me?”
“Are you the Old Woman of Beare?”
“I have been called the Old Woman of Beare since your
fore-great-grandfather’s time.”
“How old are you, old mother?”
“I do not know. But do you see the three birds that are picking out
of my pot? For two score years the swallow was coming to my house and
building outside. Then he came and built inside. Then for three score
years he was coming into my house to build here. Now he never goes
across the sea at all, and do you see the corncrake? For five score
years she was coming to the meadow outside. Then she began to run into
the house to see what was happening here. For two score years she was
running in and out. Then she stayed here altogether. Now she never goes
across the sea at all. And do you see the cuckoo there? For seven score
years she used to come to a tree that was outside and sing over her
notes. Then when the tree was gone, she used to light on the roof of my
house. Then she used to come in to see herself in a looking glass. I
do not know how many score years the cuckoo was going and coming, but I
know it is many score years since she went across the sea.”
“I went from Laheen the Eagle to Blackfoot the Elk, and from the Elk of
Ben Gulban to the Crow of Achill, and from the Crow of Achill, I come to
you to ask if you have knowledge of the Unique Tale.”
“The Unique Tale, indeed,” said the Old Woman of Beare. “One came to me
only last night to tell me the Unique Tale. He is the young man who is
counting the horns.”
“What young man is he and what horns is he counting?”
“He is no King’s Son, but a gilly--Gilly of the Goat-skin he is called.
He is counting the horns that are in two pits outside. When the horns
are counted I will know the number of my half-years.”
“How is that, old mother?”
“My father used to kill an ox every year on my birthday, and after my
father’s death, my servants, one after the other, used to kill an ox for
me. The horns of the oxen were put into two pits, one on the right-hand
side of the house and one on the left-hand side. If one knew the number
of the horns one would know the number of, my half-years, for every
pair of horns goes to make a year of my life. Gilly of the Goatskin is
counting the horns for me now, and when he finishes counting them I will
let him tell the Unique Tale.”
“But you must let me listen to the tale too, Old Woman of Beare.”
“If you count the horns in one pit I will let you listen to the tale.”
“Then I will count the horns in one pit.”
“Go outside then and count them.”
The King of Ireland’s Son went outside. He found on the right-hand side
of the house a deep quarry-pit. Round the edge of it were horns of all
kinds, black horns and white horns, straight horns and crooked horns.
And below in the pit he saw a young man digging for horns that were sunk
in the ground. He had on a jacket made of the skin of a goat.
“Who are you?” said the young man in the quarry-pit. “I am the King of
Ireland’s Son. And who may you be?”
“Who I am I don’t know,” said the young man in the goatskin, “but they
call me Gilly of the Goatskin. What have you come here for?”
“To get knowledge of the Unique Tale.”
“And it was to tell the same Unique Tale that I came here myself. Why do
you want to know the Unique Tale?”
“That would make a long story. Why do you want to tell it?”
“That would make a longer story. There is a quarry-pit at the left-hand
side of the house filled with horns and it must be your task to count
them.”
“I will count them,” said the King of Ireland’s Son. “But you will be
finished before me. Do not tell the Old Woman of Beare the Tale until we
both sit down together.”
“If that suits you it will suit me,” said Gilly of the Goatskin, and he
began to dig again.
The King of Ireland’s Son went to the left-hand side of the house.
He found the quarry-pit and went into it to count the horns that were
there--black horns and white horns, straight horns and crooked horns.
And now, while the King of Ireland’s Son is in the quarry-pit, I
will tell you the adventures of Gilly--the Lad or the Servant--of the
Goatskin, which adventures are written in “The Craneskin Book.”