That day those many hosts and bands and throngs,

Ending their feasting on Moy Wee, had moved

Forth on their travel and their arduous hosting.

Their travel unto Ulster now we tell;

And all the ways they went by; and events

That chanced upon those ways. First, then, they went

South-eastward from Rath Croohan; and they crossed

Moy Cronn, and passed Toom Mona, and the lake

Where three bounds march; and at that first day’s end

They camped on Cool Shillinny. There his tent

That night was pitched for Al-yill son of Mawta.

Fit furniture of cloths and coverlets

Was ranged in it; and in that plenished tent

On Al-yill’s right at pleasant feasting sat

Fergus the son of Roy, Cormac Conlinghish,

And Feeaha, young son to Conall Carna;

While on his left sat Maev daughter of Yóhee;

And Findabair, daughter of Maev and Al-yill.

Servants, attendants, and distributors

Were also in that tent. At eve that day

Maev’s band had come the last of all those hosts;

For Maev had lingered and delayed that day,

Searching for prophecy and knowledge. Then,

When she at length had come, she had commanded

Her charioteer to fit for her her nine

War-chariots (for ’twas in this manner ever,

On every hosting, Maev was wont to fare:—

Namely,—with two war-chariots in her front,

Two in her rear, and two upon each side,

The chariot on the which she rode herself

Being amidmost of them. For this cause

She so was wont to fare—namely, that so

The turves and ooze flung from the hooves of steeds,

Or flakes of foam flung from their bridle-bits,

Or clouds of dust caused by vast, moving hosts,

Might not attain to tarnishing or spoiling

The flashing mĭnd of gold worn by the queen).

The charioteer had brought these chariots then;

And Maev had taken a circuit through the camp,

Riding—that she herself might ascertain

Which of those many bands were loth and slow,

And which were active, rapid, animated

Upon that hosting. Now she had come (that done)

Into the tent, and sat by Al-yill’s side.

Maev’s mind within her vexed her grievously

That night; and she was troubled and perturbed

And chafed and anxious, thinking of those things

Which she had heard in way of prophecy.

Then Al-yill asked for tidings of the camp.

“There is no need,” said Maev, “for any folk

To fare upon this hosting, save one folk—The

cantred of the Leinster-men.” “What good,”

Asked Al-yill, “have they wrought, so to be praised

Beyond all others?” “When the others first

Halted to camp,” said Maev, “these had already

Built up their bothies and their booths and shelters.

And when the others had built up their shelters,

Those men of Leinster had served round their meat

And ale; and when the others had served their meat,

The Leinster-men had made an end of eating,

And harpers played to them. As thus their slaves

And bond-folk are distinguished ’mid the slaves

And bond-folk of all Erin: so their leaders

Will be distinguished ’mid the battle-leaders

Of Erin; and ’tis with that Leinster cantred

Each victory will be.” “The better that

For us,” said Al-yill; “for it is with us

They travel, and for us they will contend.”

“With us they shall not travel,” Maev affirmed,

“And for us not contend.” “Then,” answered Al-yill,

“Let them stay here.” “They shall not stay,” said Maev;

“When we have gone from Connaught with our hosts,

They will rise up and take our land from us,

If they stay here.” Findabair, Bright-beam,

Daughter of Maev and Al-yill, asked her then:

“What shall the Leinster-men then do, if thus

They neither bide nor go?” And Maev replied:

“Their death and violent end and slaughter—that

Is what I crave for them!” “Woe,” answered Al-yill,

“That thou shouldst say that thing,—only for this,

That with dexterity and speed and swiftness

They made their camp to-night! We will not hide

That that is woman-counsel!” Fergus, then,

The son of Roy, said: “By our truth of conscience!

It shall not fall out so. They are a people

Bound to us Ulster-men by bonds. No man

Shall give them death but him who first gives death

To me myself.” “E’en that we could achieve,

O Fergus,” Maev responded. “We have numbers

Enough to slay thee and thy Ulster-men

And all those Leinster-men around thee. Here

We have of Connaught folk upon this hosting

The seven Mahn-yas with their seven cantreds,

The seven sons of Mahga with their cantreds,

Al-yill the son of Mawta with his cantred,

And I myself with my own household troops.

We are enough to slay you Ulster-men

And all the Leinster-men around you.” Fergus

Replied: “O Maev, it would not happen so.

Upon my side there are the seven chiefs

From wide and mirthful Munster; and with each

Is his own cantred. I have here with me

Two cantreds of the best of fighting-men

Of Erin all, namely, our Ulster Exiles,

And this same cantred of the Leinster-men.

And to these last I have been pledge and surety,

Since first they left their native territory,

And came to Connaught; and ’tis on my part

That they would fight in every place of battle.

There is a thing, however, now,” said Fergus.

“These men need not be made a cause of strife

Between us. It is all one thing to me

So that they be not injured. They by me

Shall now be scattered and distributed

Amongst the men of Erin, so that henceforth

Not five of them shall be in the one place.”

“It is one thing to me, indeed,” said Maev,

“So that they stay not in that strong array

Wherein they are this hour.” That, then, was done.

The cantred of the Leinster-men was scattered

Amidst the men of Erin, so that thenceforth,

Not five of them were found in the one place.

The hosts next day moved on from Cool Shillinny,

Continuing their progress and their course.

They passed by Doolough, and they crossed Slieve Bawne,

And reached Mone Coltna. There, on that wide moor,

They chanced on eight score deer in one thick herd,

Which they surrounded; and in whate’er place

There was a man of those same Leinster-men,

’Twas he who got the deer, except five deer,

Which were obtained by others on that hosting.

Across the wide, reed-bordered Shannon next

The hosts passed eastward. On Moy Traega next

They camped to east of it. Now, it was hard

To wield and manage that vast host, composed

Of many various folks and tribes and kindreds,

And to make sure that everyone should be

With his own friends and his own tribe and kindred.

And then all said this was the fitting mode

For their advance, namely, that each great throng

Should be round its own king, and each division

Round its own sub-king, and each lesser band

Round its own captain; and that every king

And everyone of kingly rank should make

A camping-mound apart. Further, they said

It must be thought of who was the fit man

To go before the hosts, and show the way

Between the two great Fifths. And then all said

That Fergus was that man; because to him

This hosting was a hosting for revenge

And for retaliation on that king

Who had insulted him, in causing death

To those who had come to Erin ’neath his safeguard

And sworn protection. So to Fergus then

The leadership was given, and Fergus went

Before the hosts to guide them on to Ulster.

Then, e’en as he so led those warlike throngs

Toward Ulster, toward the east, on Fergus fell

His fervent love for his own land, that land

Of proud-high Ulster. Each renowned old doon

Therein was known to him. Famed men therein,

Who now in resting-houses of old age

Rested from wars, had been his fosterers.

Famed battle-breakers, war-trained men therein,

Had been his comrades in the use of arms,

His dear, near foster-brothers. And young men

Therein, and eager striplings, and fresh youths

Had been his foster-children. And he thought

Of one young lad, his foster-son, who dwelt

Nigh Cooley—thinking of whom Fergus sent

Swift warnings privily to Ulster. Then,

By a long, devious route o’er bogs and streams

He led the hosts, delaying their advance

Toward Ulster, till they came at length to Granard

In Northern Teffia. There a while they camped.

Again the hosts moved onward, and again

On Fergus came his pity for his land

And kindred; and again sharp memory

Of that young foster-son who dwelt beside

The bounds of Cooley came; and then again

He led the hosts by a long devious course.

Through Northern Teffia and Southern Teffia

Southward in loops he went, till he arrived

Beside the streaming Inn-yone. Al-yill, then,

And Maev perceived that thing which Fergus did.

Maev challenged Fergus; and he answered her.

“Fergus,” said Maev, “what kind of way is this?

Wandering to north and south, in turn we stray

Through every other folk.” “O Maev,” said Fergus,

“Wherefore be troubled? ’Tis not for the harm

Of these your hosts that I go wandering

On every way in turn. ’Tis to avoid

A certain Slaughter-hound of Moy Mweerhevna

Who else would spring at you; and I forewarn you

To fear that Hound.” Maev said, “It is unrighteous

In thee to work the harm of this our hosting,

O Fergus son of Roy! Thou, in thy exile,

Hast found much kindness at our hands, O Fergus.”

Then Fergus said, “I will no longer go

Before these hosts. Let some one else,” said Fergus,

“Go on before these battle-throngs to Ulster.”

So Fergus yielded up the leadership.

The hosts then took the nearest course to Ulster.

Through Meath and by the great high road of Assal

They went; and crossed the Finnglass, Delt, and Delind;

And so drew near the Ultonian outer bounds.

On high Ardcullin, at the pillar-stone

Which marks the boundary of Ulster, soon

Two scouts arrived, the sons of Renc of Croohan.

Their names were Err and Inn-yel: and the names

Of those who drove their chariots, Frae and Fohnam.

The function these men had was, to precede

The hosts in every hosting and encampment,

Protecting all the clasps, blankets, and bratts,

Brought by the royal sons, from getting soilure

Through dust or mire raised by the moving hosts.

These now, arriving on Ardcullin, gazed

Abroad upon the trackless, unknown land—

To them all strange and trackless and unknown—

The land of Ulster. They began to see,

Then, that around that boundary pillar-stone

Steeds had been grazing. On the northern side

The grass was cropped away e’en with its roots

From out the earth. Upon the southern side

The earth was licked away down to the stones

And flags beneath the grass. And then they saw,

Hooping the thick part of the pillar-stone,

A new-made spancel-withe, made from an oakling

New-felled and twisted: and a graven inscription

In ogam was upon the withe. At that,

They sat and rested; and their men of music

Played to them till the host should come. First Fergus

Arrived upon that height. They gave the withe

Into his hand: and Fergus read the ogam

Engraven upon the withe. When Maev arrived,

She asked, “Why wait you here?” “We wait,” said Fergus,

“Owing to yonder withe. There is an ogam

Engraven on it.” Fergus gave the withe

Into the hands of Maev’s own Druids. Then

He said, “Good Druids, here is a spancel-withe.

Whom names it to us? What now is its secret?

What number threw it there, few or a host?

Will it work injury to these great hosts

If they shall journey past it? Find, O Druids,

The secret of the withe.” Whereon the Druids

Answered:—“This withe is a delay of chieftains,

Misfortune unto fighters, fierce in import.

By one man it was flung, who, using only

One hand, one eye, one foot, felled from the forest

The sapling tree, and firmly twisted it

Into this withe and wrote the ogam. And now

’Tis gass to all your hosts to pass yon stone

Without their spending here one night encamped,

Unless some man amongst your hosts can make

A spancel-withe like this one, using only

One hand, one eye, one foot, and shaping it

From the one stick. And thus the ogam closes:—

‘And I prohibit my dear Master, Fergus,

From making it.’” “I give my word,” said Fergus,

“If ye shall set that spancel-withe at nought,

Insulting him who made it, if—that is—

Ye neither camp one night upon these bounds,

Nor see that some one from among yourselves

Construct an equal withe, using one foot,

One eye, one hand, as this one was constructed,

Then, wheresoever ye may lie to-night,

In house or doon or lodgment underground,

That hero will for certain find you out;

And some of you will pale in red death-pools

Ere comes the hour of rising in the morn.”

“Not that,” said Maev, “is it, which pleases us—One

to take blood from us and redden us

On our first entering yon foreign Fifth,

The Ulster Fifth. Rather it pleases us

To draw first-blood ourselves.” Al-yill then spake.

“We will not violate this withe,” said he.

“We will not violate the kingly hero,

Who made the withe: we will not cross this height.

Into the neck of yonder wide, great forest

To southward, we will go till morning. There

Our camp and our encampment shall be made.”

The hosts turned southward then. With their strong swords

They hewed the wood before them, hewing so

A road-path for their chariots. Slahta, therefore,

“Hewn road,” that place is named. In Cool Shibrilly,

Just where the Little Partry is, it is,

South-west of Cennannus of Kings. That night

A heavy snow fell round the men of Erin.

So much it was, it mounted to men’s shoulders;

It reached the thick parts and the thighs of steeds,

And reached their chariot shafts. One even floor

Were the Five Fifths of Erin with that snow

That night. And no pavilions and no booths

And huts were made that night. There was no service

Of food and ale; no eating or regalement

Was there; and no one of the men of Erin

That night knew whether ’twas his friend or foe,

Who was next man to him, till the light came

At rising-hour upon the morrow. Surely

The men of Erin ne’er before had found

A night in camp wherein they had more hardness

And hardship to endure than they endured

That night in Cool Shibrilly. On the morrow,

As the sun rose and flashed along the snow,

The four Great Fifths of Erin started onward;

And from that territory to another

They passed; they crossed the boundary, and passed

Into the land of Ulster. Then those two,

Who e’er were wont to go before the hosts—

On every hosting and on every foray,

In every pass and gap and river-ford—

Inn-yel and Err, to wit, two of Maev’s people,

Rode onward now as always. And each hoped

He might himself be first to find and slay

That warrior who had flung the withe; and thus

Might gain much praise and fame. The hosts moved eastward;

They crossed the Duv, the Ohawn, and the Caha,

The Cromma and the Thromma and Fo-dromma

Which flow into the Boyne. They came to Slane;

And passed the field of Slane, and reached Drum Leek;

And entered on the Pass through the great forest,

Northward of Knowth of Kings. There something chanced.

Those folks who were to vanward of the hosts

Perceived the chariots of swift Err and Inn-yel

Returning toward them, and the bloody forms

Of Err and Inn-yel headless, and the forms

Of their two charioteers, Fohnam and Frae,

Headless, upon the chariots; and the blood

From the four headless necks flowed o’er the wicker

And frame-parts of the chariots. At that sight

The vanguard halted; all the hosts were put

To fear and dread and weapon-shuddering.

Maev, then, with Fergus and the seven Mahn-yas

And seven sons of Mahga, reached the front

Which halted; and Maev asked, “What is this here?”

“Not hard to tell,” said all; “these are the steeds

Of that small band which ever went before us

On every hosting and on every foray,

In every pass and gap, river and ford.

Here are the bodies of the heroes, headless.”

Advice was shaped thereafter; and it seemed

Certain to them that this was evidence

Of numbers; and that some great host was there;

And that it was the Ultonians who had come

Into that place; and this was the advice

There shaped by them:—namely, to send from them

Cormac Conlingish son of Conor son

Of Fahtna Fahee, that he might find out

Who held the ford in front of them. They said,

That e’en should the Ultonian hosts be there

Upon that ford, they would not slay the son

Of their own Ulster king. Cormac Conlingish

The son of Conor son of Fahtna Fahee

Then went from them to see who held the ford;

And twenty hundred and ten hundred men

Armed, made the force who went with him. He reached

The turlough ’mid the forest, and the ford

Whereby to pass that water; and he saw

Nothing, save, lonely ’mid the water there,

A four-pronged shaft, from every point whereof

A head of one of those four slain dropped blood

Down to the joining of the prongs and down

Thence to the water’s current. And he saw

Out of the ford, eastward, beyond, the ruts

Of a chariot, and the hoof-prints of two steeds,

The track-marks of one man. The chiefs of Erin

Came to the ford; and all began to gaze

On that pronged shaft; and on them all was wonder

As to who could have placed the trophy there.

“What name with you was on this ford, O Fergus,

Until this hour?” said Al-yill. Fergus said:

“Ath Greena; but henceforth, till Doom, Ath Greena

Shall be Ath Gowla. From yon bold, rough deed;

From yon pronged shaft upon two points of which

Ye see the heads of In-yel and of Err,

And on the other two the heads of Frae

And Fohnam, this famed ford shall now be called

Ath Gowla, ‘Ford of the forked tree.’” Then Fergus

Said to Maev’s Druid, “O Druid, Pleasing One,

What is yon ogam on the shaft? And were they

Few or a host who dug this turlough-bed,

Planting it there?” The Druid answered him,

“That four-pronged tree which I see there, O Fergus,

By one man it was cut: with one swift sword-sweep

He cut it, root and branches. And he cast it

With a choice cast from off the hinder-part

Of his war-chariot, using one hand alone;

And its two-thirds went firm into the earth;

So that one-third of it alone is there

Outside the earth. And he dug not its road

Before it with his sword; but through the stones

And flags and gravel of the turlough-bed

It pierced its road. And to the men of Erin

’Tis gass to reach the mid-part of yon ford

Before one man amongst themselves has drawn it

Out of its bed, using one hand alone,

Even as with one hand alone ’twas cast

Into yon ford but now.” Al-yill then said:

“There is much wonder and perplexity

With me, O Fergus, owing to the speed

Wherewith those four were slain.” Fergus replied:

“Fitter it were to marvel at the skill

Wherewith yon shaft was hurled; and this I tell you—

If ye shall set that four-pronged tree at nought,

Insulting him who hurled it—if ye pass

This ford without that one among yourselves

Have drawn this shaft, using one hand alone,

Even as with one hand alone ’twas hurled

Into the ford but now—then verily

Wherever ye may make your camp to-night,

He whom ye so insult will visit you,

And many will be slain, as these were slain,

Ere comes the hour of rising in the morn.”

“Thou art thyself of these our hosts, O Fergus,”

Said Maev. “Avert this hindrance. Pluck us up

This pole from out the ford.” “Bring me a chariot,”

Said Fergus, “Ye shall see whether ’tis true

That with one curvéd sword-sweep it was cut,

Both root and head.” A chariot then was brought

To Fergus; and he stood on it, and gave

A strong pull at the pole: and of the chariot

He made small bits and pieces. “Bring me a chariot,”

Said Fergus; and they brought a second chariot

To Fergus; and he gave a stronger pull

At the fixed pole, but made small bits and pieces

And splinters of the chariot. “Bring me a chariot,”

Cried Fergus. A third chariot then was brought;

And Fergus put forth powerful strength and effort

To draw the pole; but made crushed bits and pieces

And fragments of that chariot. Seven and ten

Chariots of Connaught, each after each, men brought;

And of them all, each after each, great Fergus

Made broken, bruiséd bits, splinters, and fragments,

But had not yet been able to drag up

The pole from midmost of the ford. Then Maev

Cried to him, interposing: “Good, now, leave it,

O Fergus. Be no longer breaking down

The chariots of our people. Well we know

That hadst thou not been with us on this hosting,

On this occasion, we long since had reached

The Ultonians, and had driven forth great prey

Of captives and of kine. And well we know

Why thou art acting thus. It is to stay

And to delay the advance of our great hosts,

Until the Ultonians rise from out their Kesh,

And haste to give us battle, the great battle,

The battle of the Táin.” Then Fergus cried,

“Bring me my own good chariot.” And men brought

To Fergus his own chariot. He put forth

The utmost measure of his strength and effort;

And not a pole or shaft or wheel or frame-bit

Of that good chariot cried, grated, or groaned.

Though great the prowess and the hero-strength

Wherewith the pole was cast into the ford

By him who cast it, yet with equal strength

And equal prowess it was now plucked up

Out of the ford again by that renowned,

Famed battle-warrior and that hurdle-fence

Against a hundred, that strong-smiting hammer,

That foeman of vast hosts, that cutter-off

Of multitudes, that flaming link, that chief

Of huge battalions. Fergus drew it up

With his one hand, steadily, till it reached

His shoulder’s level; and he took and gave it

Into the hands of Al-yill. Al-yill gazed

Upon the pole, and scrutinized it. “True,”

Said he, “I see that with one cut, one stroke,

This has been finished, foot and head. This tells us

The nature and the training of that people

Toward whom we go. Go we to-day no further;

But let our tents and booths be placed for us:

Let pleasant food and ale be served to us:

Let music and old lays be sung to us:

Let us have banqueting and mirth. For never

On any hosting did the men of Erin

Meet with a night of camping in a camp,

Wherein they had more dolour to endure

Than they endured last night in Cool Shibrilly

In the thick-driving snow.”

A camp was made

Beside Ath Gowla then. Bondmen and serfs

From out the forest carried kindling-wood

For fires, and young trees and bending boughs

For bothies and for shelters: all began

To broil their food and to make hot their ale.

Maev made the circuit of the camp: whereon,

She, seeing that thronged camp within the bounds

Of Ulster, much exulted. “For when Conor

Hears of this thing,” said she, “’twill be to him

A fire within his heart, a gnawing cancer

Beside his girdle.” So Maev thought, exulting.

And Al-yill spake to Frae the son of Eedath.

“O Frae,” said Al-yill, “bring thy three musicians—

Thy three melodious and far-famed musicians—

And let them play for us.” “Yea, let them play,”

Frae said; and then those harpers were led forth.

And the first harper touched his strings and played

The mournful Goltree, the deep weeping-song,

Until twelve men amongst Maev’s household troops,

Hearing it, died with wailing and with grief.

The second harper touched his strings and played

The merry Gantree, the fresh laughing-song,

So that the men around forgot their woe

In laughter, and enjoyment, and delight.

Last, the third harper touched his strings and played

The Sooantree, the low, sweet sleeping-song,—

Until on all the weary men around

A sleep of soothingness descended. So,

Slept those o’er-weary hosts. Howbeit, not yet

Slept the great chieftains; but in Al-yill’s tent

Of ample wideness, round the glowing brands

Assembled, they conversed. Then Al-yill spake,

The while they sat thus in the kingly tent,—

“There is with me,” said he, “marvel and wonder

As to who came to-day unto these bounds,

Slaying those four who ever went before us

On every hosting. Tell us, is it likely

That it was Conor son of Fahtna Fahee,

High-king of Ulster?” “Verily,” said Fergus,

“It is not likely. Had it been great Conor

Who came there, there had come along with him

Those culled, choice bands and troops, which are the best

Amongst the men of Erin, and which serve him

Continually. Though the men of Erin,

Together with the men of Alba, Britain,

And Saxon-land should gather in one stead,

One meeting-place, one course, one camp, one hill,

Over against him, he would give them battle;

Before him they would be defeated, scattered,

And not o’er him would they gain victory.”

“Who, then,” asked Al-yill, “was it? Is it likely

That it was Cooscree Mend, the son of Conor,

From Innish Cooscree?” “Nay, it is not likely,”

Fergus replied, “for had it been the son

Of the High-king who came there, there had come

Together with him all those sons of kings

And sons of chieftains who are ever with him

In tutelage and training. Though the men

Of Erin, with the men of Alba, Britain,

And Saxon-land were gathered in one stead

Over against him, he would give them battle

With courage, and he would not flee before them.”

“Who was it, then?” said Al-yill. “Is it likely

That it was Owen son of Doorha king

O’er wooded Farney?” “Nay, not so,” said Fergus.

“Had it been he, he would have brought with him

His goodly forces of the men of Farney:

He would have stayed to fight a hard-fought battle.”

“Who was it, then?” said Al-yill. “Thinkest thou

That it was Keltar son of Oohider

Who came there?” “Nay, in sooth, not he,” said Fergus.

“He is a bruising quern-stone to the foes

Of all the Fifth: he is a head of battle:

He is an oaken door against the foes

Of all his country! Though the men of Alba,

With men of Britain and of Saxon-land,

Together with the men of Erin all,

From west to east, from south to north, should meet

In the one stead, one doon, one camp, one hill,

Over against him, he would give them battle:

Before him they would be dispersed and scattered,

And not o’er him would they gain victory.”

“Who was it, then, that came unto these bounds?”

Al-yill exclaimed. “I know not,” Fergus said;

“Unless, indeed, there came that little lad,

My fosterling and Conor’s fosterling,

Whom we all called Cucullin of the Forge.”

“Ah!” Al-yill said, “full many a time in Croohan

I heard thee speak of that young child. Well, then,

What may his age be now?” “’Tis not his age

At all that matters to you,” Fergus said,

“He was more celebrated for his actions

When he was but a babe, than even now

At his full seventeen years.” “How, then,” said Maev,

“Have you among the Ultonians now some youth

Of a like age with him, who is yet harder

In combats and encounters?” “No,” said Fergus,

And spake with vehemence. And as they sat

At pleasant feasting in the kingly tent,

And drank the sweet, enlivening wine which Maev

Had brought with her from Croohan, he began

Passionately to praise and glorify

His foster-child Cucullin. “No,” said Fergus,

“Ye will not find among the Ulster youths

Another like him. ’Midst all other youths,

He is a ram amid the flocks, a bull

’Mid timorous herds, a high and flaming torch

Of a king’s house amidst the little lights

Of shepherd-booths. Yea, and I say this, too:—

Ye will not find over to northward there,

Amongst the mighty warriors of this land,—

Hard, dire sledge-hammers, barricades of battle,

Huge gates against flood-waters, though these be,—

Ye will not find among them all, I say,

One of more firm resistance in a fight,

Of greater vehemence in rapid onrush,

Of faculty more airy, swift, and fresh

In varied weapon-play, feats, and exploits

Than is Cucullin. No, ye will not find

Over against you, in this land ye enter,

Another of like power, or a youth

Who, in illustrious noble qualities,—

In trophy-taking, in the feat of nine

O’er pointed weapons, in address, in valour,

In voice, in sweet and skilful utterance,

In charm, in courtesy, in all distinction,—

Attains unto the third part or the fourth

Of that which is attained by that distinguished

And noble Hound, Cucullin.” “Of this all,”

Said Maev, “we will not make too much. One body

Is all he has; and it, like any other,

Receiving sore death-wounds will die. Moreover,

It is the age of a but just-grown girl

That ye attribute to him. Not for long

Will this young beardless stripling ye describe

Hold out against our armies!” “Think not so,”

Said Fergus, “for the deeds of that young lad

Were even more great and manly at the time

When he was but a babe than even now

At his full seventeen years.” Then Al-yill said:

“On entering a strange and foreign land,

To hear the adventures and the histories

Of the famed, warlike tribes toward whom one goes,

Is pleasant and a pastime. Tell us, then,

The adventures of this child ye speak of.”

Fergus

Began to tell the adventures and exploits

Wrought by his foster-child in those glad days

Ere the Black Exile; and with joy the tale

Of those old, happy days was taken up

In turn by Cormac and by Feeaha.

[Illustration: “FERGUS RELATES THE YOUTHFUL ADVENTURES OF CUCULLIN.”]

BOOK V

BOOK V

That little lad (said Fergus) was reared up

On Moy Mweerhevna, in the noble house

Where dwelt his father, and his mother, namely,

In bright Doon Dalgan. There men told him tales

About the boys in Avvin. For ’twas thus

Conor was wont to spend his sovereignty

Since first he took the sovereignty: at morn,

On rising, he adjusted and arranged

All business of that Fifth; and then he dealt

The day in three. One third of it he passed

Watching the boys upon the green of Avvin

Perform their games of skill. One third he passed

Playing himself at feehill and at branduv.

And the last third he passed consuming food

And ale, till sleep unto all men drew down;

Whereat the skilful men of music came

To gladden and to soothe them to their sleep.

Aye, though we now be exiled (Fergus said),

Though Conor dealt me a most grievous wrong,

And a most grievous insult,—I aver,

That not in noble Erin, not in Alba,

Is there another hero-king, the like

Of wise, red-sworded Conor. Well, the child

Was told the tidings and adventurous tales

Of that incorporated band of youths

In Avvin Maha. So, the little lad

Besought his mother to permit him straightway

To go and play upon the playing-green

Of Avvin Maha. “Nay, it is too soon,”

The mother answered. “Thou must wait awhile,

Until some champion of the mighty champions

Of Ulster, or some house-friend of good Conor’s,

Come to convey thee safely, and to put

The firm protection of the boys upon thee.”

“It seems to me too long to wait till then,

O Mother,” said the child; “I may not wait.

But teach me now the quarter and direction

Where Avvin is.” His mother answered him:

“’Tis far from thee,—the place where Avvin is;

For all the lone hill-region of Slieve Foo-id

Lies between thee and Avvin.” But the child

Said: “I will try to find it.” And he went,

Leaving the sheltering doon, and took with him

All his play-weapons; for he took with him

His small bronze hurley and his silver ball,

His feathered dart for shooting, and his spear,

With butt flame-hardened; and he straightway fell

To shortening and enlivening of his way

With these child’s-weapons. With his hurley first

He struck the ball, compelling it to spring

To a far distance. Fleetly he let fly

The hurley in its track, with the like force;

And then he flung the dart, and then the spear.

And lastly, with a playful rush, he flew

After them all; and caught the hurley first;

And then the ball, and then the feathered dart;

Nor did the charred butt of his playing-spear

Ere reach the ground; but by the point he caught it

While it was whirling in mid-air. So, gaily,

Athwart the lonely hills, he came at length

To glorious Avvin Maha.

And he saw

The green, cleared plain of Avvin, where the boys

Were gathered at their sports. Thrice fifty boys

He saw, commanded nobly by Folloon

The son of Conor, at their game of hurling

Upon the green of Avvin. Then the child

Made for the green; and, all unbidden, he went

Amongst the boys to play with them. He grasped

Their ball betwixt his legs and held it there;

Nor let it travel higher than his knees

Upwards, nor lower than his ankle-bones

Downward; but he did so manœuvre it

That not one player of them all could reach it

With stroke or thrust or blow; and so he brought it

Over the goal’s brink; and he won the goal

From all those others; and they stared at him

Befooled and dazed by utter wonderment.

Thereat upspake Folloon the son of Conor:

“Good now, O youths! fall on that youngster there.

Through me his death shall come. ’Tis gass to you

To let an outside youth come to your green,

Unless he courteously hath placed himself

Beneath your firm protection. Fall on him;

We know he is the son of some Ultonian.

’Tis not the rule for your compatriots

To intrude into your game without first seeking

Your safeguard and protection.” Then it was

That all at once, and moving all together,

They fell upon the child. Aloft they raised

Their three times fifty hurleys, to strike blows

Upon his crown. He, standing all alone,

Lifted his one small playing-club, and parried

Their three times fifty hurleys. Then they took

Their three times fifty balls; and all at once

They cast them at the child. He with his fists,

And with his fore-arms, and his palms, put back

The three times fifty balls. They lastly aimed

Their three times fifty playing-spears, with butts

Flame-hardened; but he raised his little shield,

Which was designed for childish feats of skill,

And fended off the three times fifty spears.

And then it was that with swift energy

He turned on them, attacking; and he laid

Fifty kings’ sons upon the ground beneath him.

Five more of them (said Fergus, telling the tale)

Came up between myself and wide-eyed Conor,

Where we sat playing feehill on the board

Of Conor, namely, the bright Kenncaem. There

The little lad came, rushing after them.

And Conor, with his kingly hands, laid hold

Of the child’s fore-arms; and he said to him:

“Halt, little lad, I see thou art ungentle

Towards thy companions here!” “I have much cause,”

The child replied. “I came from a far land;

And when I came, they did not give to me

A guest’s good welcome.” “Why, who art thou then?”

The king inquired; and the child answered: “I

Am little Setanta son of Sooaltim,

And son of thine own sister, Dectora;

And not from thee did I expect to find

Reception like to this.” “Why, little lad,”

Said Conor, “Didst thou then not know the law

Which binds the corps of boys? ’Tis gass to them

To let a youth of our own country come

Into their games, till he hath placed himself

Beneath their firm protection.” “Nay, in truth,”

The child replied; “for had I known their law,

I should have had some fear and care before them.”

“Well, youths,” said Conor, “now receive the child

Beneath your firm protection.” And they said:

“We will receive him.” So the little lad

Went underneath the safeguard of the youths;

And the good king released him. But the child

Turned on them once again, attacking them

With energy and violence, and laid

Fifty kings’ sons upon the ground beneath him.

Their fathers thought that they were stilled in death.

It was not so; but they were stilled by terror

Of those great forehead-blows, and middle-blows,

And blows from underneath, which with swift skill

He dealt against them. “How now?” Conor said,

Checking the boy; “what art thou doing now?”

“I swear by all the gods of my own folk,”

Exclaimed the child, “unless they place themselves

Beneath my safeguard and my firm protection,

Even as I was forced to place myself

Beneath their safeguard and their firm protection,

I will not stay my hands from striking them

Till I have laid them all upon the ground!”

“Well, little lad,” said Conor, “take the youths

Beneath thy safeguard.” “I accept them gladly,”

The child said. And those three times fifty lads

Passed underneath the safeguard and protection

Of the young child, Setanta.

“Now (said Fergus,

Ending his tale), if as a mere young child,

At ending of the fifth year from his birth,

He overthrew those sons of kings and heroes,

Before the very gate of their own liss,

And doon, and city—namely, of Avvin Maha—

Is there a marvel or a wonder now,

E’en though he come unto a boundary,

And set a four-pronged pole into a stream,

And slay a man, or two, or three, or four,

Now that he hath fulfilled his seventeen years,

On this, your Táin, to take the bull of Cooley?”

Cormac Conlingish, now, the son of Conor,

Began to speak; he said: “That child we speak of,

At ending of the next succeeding year,

Performed his next great deed.” “What deed was that?”

Asked Al-yill. Cormac said:

Cullan the smith

Lived in the land of Ulster. He prepared

A feast for Conor; and he went to Avvin

To bid the king unto his feast. He said:

“O king, bring with thee but a few. Not land

Or territory have I; but alone

My hammer and my anvil and my tongs,

And my own two skilled hands.” The kindly king

Said he would go to him, and bring but few.

Cullan went back unto his doon, to arrange

And to set forth his food and ale. The king

Abode in Avvin till day’s closing. Then

He donned his light, free garb of travelling,

And went down to the green to say farewell

To the young band of boys. When Conor came

Out on the green, he witnessed a thing there

Which caused him wonder. Three times fifty boys

Defended one end of the green; one boy

Stood at the other end; and that one boy

From those thrice fifty others gained the goal.

After, they played that hole-game, which is played

By custom on the green of Avvin Maha;

And first it was their turn to drive the balls,

And his turn to defend. Thrice fifty balls

Arrived before the hole; but not one ball

Shot past him, reaching to the hole itself.

And next it was their turn to guard the hole,

And his to drive the balls; and, one by one,

He safely launched the three times fifty balls

Into that hole, without mistake or error.

Thirdly, they played at reaving of their clothes

From one another; and he quickly reft

Their three times fifty coverings. As for them—

Not so much as the pin which held his bratt

Could they deprive him of. They lastly played

At oversetting of each other. He

Laid those thrice fifty on the ground, while they

Could not so much as win firm hold of him.

And Conor wondered while he watched the child.

“O men-at-arms,” he said, “if but this child

Come to excel in manly deeds, as now

He doth excel in these, his deeds of childhood,

It will be well for this our land, and well

For all the lands of Ulster!” “’Tis not right

To doubt that he will so excel,” said Fergus.

“E’en as his limbs will grow, so will his deeds.”

“Let the young child be summoned,” said the king,

“And he shall go with us to drink this feast,

To which we go.” The child was summoned then.

“Well, little one,” said Conor, “wilt thou come

With us to drink this feast?” “Nay,” said the child.

“Why, how is that?” the king said. He replied:

“Those, my companions, the brave band of youths,

Have not yet had their fill of games and sports.

I will not leave till they have had their fill.”

“It is too long for us to wait till then,”

The king replied; “we cannot wait for thee.”

“Wait not,” the child said. “Go, and I will follow.”

“Thou dost not know that road at all, my son,”

The King replied, demurring; but the child

Said: “I will follow on thy chariot-trail,

And on the track left by the host and steeds.”

Thereafter Conor went unto the house

Of Cullan the artificer. With honour

The king was welcomed; and the guests were ranged

In keeping with each rank and art and law,

And noble breeding and fair habitude.

And green-topped rushes, paling towards the roots,

Were strown beneath them; and all straightway fell

To quaffing and to merriment. “O king!”

Cullan inquired of Conor, “tell me now,

Hast thou appointed e’er a one to come

To-night unto this doon?” “Nay,” said the king,

“I have not done so”; for he had forgotten

That the young lad was going to follow him.

“Why dost thou ask?” said Conor. Cullan answered:

“’Tis that I have a ban-dog, huge and fierce,

To guard the doon throughout the long, dark night.

When he is loosened from his hound-chain, none

Dare stay in the one cantred with him, he

Making his nightly circuit round the doon.

In him there dwells the vigour of an hundred;

And he knows no one save myself alone.”

Then Conor said, “Let the good hound be loosened

That he may guard the cantred.” So that hound

Was loosened from his hound-chain; and he made

His circuit of the cantred, and then came

Unto that bench whence he was wont to guard

The doon and dwellings; and he couched thereon,

With head on paws, and he was fierce and cruel,

And wild and savage, and filled with rage and ire

Toward everyone who would approach that stead.

Now, with regard to the fair band of youths,

They ’bode at Avvin till the hour for parting;

Then each of them went home unto the house

Of his own father and mother, or the house

Of his kind foster-parents. Then the child

Followed with speed upon the chariot-trail

To reach the house of Cullan. And he fell

To shortening and enlivening of his way

By sporting with his small toy-weapons. Soon

He reached the green which spread around the doon

Where Conor was with Cullan; and he cast

His weapons all in front of him, reserving

His ball alone. And the great dog perceived

The child approaching; and he uttered forth

His snarling growl, so that men heard that growl

Throughout the region round. It did not seem

That he would even rend his prey; it seemed

He would engulf it whole within the breadth

Of his huge throat and his wide breast. The child

Had not one weapon of defence before him.

But, on the instant, with his playing-ball,

He made a choice, swift cast into the jaws

Of the great hound, and into his huge throat,

And through his inward part and entrails; then,

While the great hound was staggering helpless, swift

He seized him by the feet; and with the body

Dealt such a blow against the pillar-stone

Which stood upon the green, that from his hands

It fell in dead and scattered pieces. Now,

Conor had heard the belling of the hound.

“Alas! O heroes,” he cried out, “alas!

That e’er we came to drink this feast!” “Why so?”

Asked everyone; and Conor spake with haste:

“There is a little gillie whom I bade

To follow us. He is my sister’s son,

Setanta son of Sooaltim; and now

He has fallen by the hound!” All in an instant

Rose the renowned Ultonians; though the gates

Were flung wide open, out o’er the ring-fence

Which topped the ramparts, each man stormed in haste.

And swiftly though each went, swiftlier than all

Went Fergus; and he seized the little lad

From the ground’s surface, and he hoisted him

On to his own broad shoulder; and he bore him

Into the presence of Conor. Cullan came

Out on the green, and saw his noble hound

In its dead, scattered pieces. Then his heart

Made mighty blows against his chest; he went

Inside into the house forthwith and said:

“Welcome, thy coming, child, now for the sake

Of thy most noble mother and thy father.

For thine own sake thou art unwelcome!” “Why,

What grudge hast thou against the lad?” asked Conor,

“It was a day of evil fate,” said Cullan,

“That day when I set forth my ale to make

A feast for thee, O King. To-day my substance

Is substance wasted; and my livelihood

Is a lost livelihood. Thou, little lad,

Of one of mine own kindly household folk

Hast robbed me now; for thou hast slain the guardian

Of all my goods and of my flocks and herds.”

Then the child spake: “Be thou not wroth with me,

My master Cullan. I will speak the doom

And the just judgment now upon myself.”

“What judgment wilt thou speak upon thyself?”

Conor inquired; and the boy replied:

“If in all Erin there exist a whelp

Of that hound’s seed, by me he shall be reared,

Till he be able like his sire. Meanwhile,

I will be Hound of Watching at this doon,

And will defend the flocks and goods and kine.”

“Good is the judgment thou hast given, my son,”

Said Conor. “And I think Cathbad himself

Could not have given a better. Wherefore, now,

Hence, from this hour, I thee will designate

_Cucullin, Hound of Cullan_.” “Nay, not so,”

Besought the child. “I like my own name more,

Namely, Setanta son of Soo-altim.”

But Cathbad spake. “O little lad,” he said,

“Reject not this. It is thy hero-name.

The men of Erin and the men of Alba,

Telling their famous tales, shall speak that name.

Long as the wave-great sea shall girdle Erin

Men’s lips shall speak it; yea, the mouths of men

In Erin and in Alba shall be full

Of that renownéd name.” “Then,” said the child,

“I take the name. I take it willingly.”

And so it came to pass that from that hour

Wherein he slew the hound, there clung to him

This most distinguished name, Cucullin.

So,

If as a little lad he did that deed

(Cormac Conlingish said, ending his tale),

If at the end of six years from his birth,

He slew that ban-dog, which the hosts and troops

Of all the cantred did not dare to approach,

Is there a marvel or a wonder, now,—

E’en though he come unto a boundary,

And set a four-pronged pole into a stream,

And slay a man, or two, or three, or four,—

He having now fulfilled his seventeen years,

On this, your Táin, to take the kine of Cooley?

Next, Feeaha the son of Conall Carna

Took up the tale. “That little child,” said he,

“At ending of the next succeeding year,

Performed his third and most renownéd deed.”

“What deed was that?” asked Al-yill. Feeaha

Made answer, saying:

Cathbad, the good Druid,

One day, north-eastward of resplendent Avvin,

Was giving knowledge, wisdom, and instruction

To his own pupils. Eight there were around him

Of those who learnt druidic art and lore.

And one of these asked of great Cathbad then

Whether it chanced that any special charm

Or mystic virtue rested on that day

Wherein they were. And Cathbad straight replied:

“The little lad who shall take arms to-day

Will win great fame and glory, though his life

Will be but brief and transitory.” Now

Our little lad, playing his childish games

To the south-west of Avvin, heard this thing;

And straightway he flung down his childish arms

And his toy-weapons; and with speed he sought

The sleeping-house of Conor. “Every good

Be thine, O King of Warriors!” cried the child.

“That is an asker’s greeting,” the king said;

“What dost thou ask, child?” “To take arms to-day,”

The boy cried breathlessly. “Who taught thee that?”

Questioned the king. “Great Cathbad,” said the child

“If it was Cathbad, I must not refuse thee,”

Conor replied, and straight bestowed on him

An outfit of two spears with sword and shield.

The boy, to test their virtue, brandished these,

Bent them, and bowed them; and he made of them

Small bits and broken pieces. Then the king

Gave him two other spears with sword and shield;

And these he likewise brandished, bent, and bowed:

Making them bits and pieces. So the king

Led him unto that house wherein were stored

The fourteen suits of arms which he reserved

For service of the corporate band of youths.

—To this end he reserved them: that each youth

On first assuming arms might be invested

By the High-king himself, and so win luck

And happy fortune for his arms thereafter.

Howbeit, of these fourteen suits of arms,

The little lad, testing them one by one,

Made broken bits and pieces. Last, the king

Gave him his own two spears, and his own shield,

And his own sword; and the boy brandished them,

And curved and bent them; and he doubled them,—

Yea, even till head met butt and point met hilt, and yet

They brake not, but endured him. “These are good!”

Exclaimed the child; “these are a match for me!

Long live the king, whose arms and gear these are!

Long last the land he reigns o’er!” It was then

That Cathbad, the good Druid, came. He asked,

Dismayed: “Is yonder child taking on arms?”

“He is,” replied the king; and Cathbad said:

“Not for his mother’s son would I have chosen

This day, of all the days, to be the day

Of his first taking arms!” “How?” said the king,

“Was it not thou thyself who taught him this?”

“Not I,” said Cathbad. Then the king, in wrath,

Turned to the child, saying: “What ailed thee, then,

Thou changeling imp, that thou shouldst lie to me

About this thing?” “Nay, be not wroth with me,

My guardian, Conor,” said the child. “In truth

It was great Cathbad who incited me.

For one of his own pupils asked him, saying:

‘What charm or luck pertains unto this day

Wherein we are?’—And Cathbad answered him:

‘The little lad who shall take arms to-day

Will win great fame and glory, but his life

Shall quickly pass; and early he will die.’”

“He tells the truth of me,” said Cathbad. “So

Thou, little child, shalt win great fame and glory,

But early thou shalt perish!” “What reck I,”

Exclaimed the lad, “though I remain in being

But one day and one night; so that my deeds

Live after me, and my exploits be told?”

“Well, little lad,” said Cathbad, “since ’tis so,

Arise and mount a chariot! ’Tis thy first.”

He leapt on to a chariot; and he shook

And bent it round about him, testing it;

And brake it into fragments. Then a second

He likewise brake; and then the seventeen

New chariots that by Conor were held reserved

For service of the corporate band of youths,

The little lad, testing them one by one,

Brake likewise into bits. “These are not good,

These chariots! My kind guardian, Conor, not

From these may I obtain my fitting match!”

So spake the child. Then Conor called out, loudly:

“Where now is Ivor son of Reeangowra?”

“Here am I,” Ivor answered. Conor said:

“Harness my own two steeds there, and prepare

My own war-chariot.” Then the charioteer

Prepared the chariot; and the little lad

Mounted it; and he shook and bent it round him;

And it endured him; and it brake not. “Good!”

The child cried gaily. “This is my fit match!”

“Well, little lad,” said Ivor, “let the steeds

Be now turned out to graze.” “It is too soon,”

Replied the little lad. “Drive now ahead,

Three times round Avvin Maha; for to-day

Is my first day of taking arms; and I

Must now win fortune for my deeds.” They drove

Three times round Avvin Maha. “Let the steeds

Be now turned out to graze,” said Ivor. “Nay!

’Tis still too soon,” the boy said. “Drive ahead!

That my companions, the brave band of youths,

May speak their blessing to me, on this day,

The first day of my taking arms.” They drove,

And reached the plain where the boys played; and all

Shouted, “Arms hast thou really?” “Yea!” he said;

And then they gave to him their blessing, saying:

“Victory, first-wounding, every triumph,

Be thine henceforward! But to us it seems

Too soon for thee to leave us. We shall miss thee

In all our sports and games.” “Nay!” said the child;

“I am not yet to part from you at all.

’Twas but to win a happy sign of fortune

That I took arms for the first time to-day.”

“Now, little lad,” said Ivor, “let the steeds

Be turned to graze.” “It is, indeed, too soon,

O Ivor,” said the child. “And tell me now,

What is the name of yonder great high-road,

Which passes there; and whither does it go?”

“Why, how can that concern thee?” Ivor said.

“Howbeit, I see thou art a talking youth,

A dallier and a trifler.” “It seems well

To me,” the child replied with dignity,

“To ask, concerning one of the chief roads

Of Ulster, where it leads to.” Ivor so

Replied to him: “The road, then, leads straight on

To Ath na Foraire, the Ford of Watching,

On wild Slieve Foo-id.” “Wherefore is it named

The Ford of Watching, knowest thou, perchance?”

The boy made question. “To be sure, I know!”

Said Ivor. “Daily there some man-at-arms

Of the Ultonians keeps good watch and ward,

Guarding the way, lest outside warriors come

To challenge the Ultonians. If such come,

It is his duty to do combat with them

For the whole Fifth. Howbeit, if men of verse

And science pass there, passing out of Ulster

Indignant at their treatment, ’tis his duty

To soothe them with rich gifts, and so to save

The honour of all Ulster. And, again,

If men of verse arrive there, entering

Rich Ulster, ’tis his duty to provide

Safe-conduct for them to the pillared couch

Of Conor; so that their own songs and lays

May be the first that shall be sung in Avvin

When they arrive there.” “Knowest thou, perchance,

O Ivor,” said the child, “what man to-day

Keeps watch upon that ford?” “I know,” said Ivor,

“’Tis combat-great, courageous Conall Carna,

The son of Avver-guin, a king of heroes

Amongst the battle-heroes of all Erin.”

“Drive thou ahead, O gillie,” said the child,

“That we may reach that ford.” They drove ahead,

And reached the ford whereon great Conall was.

“Has yonder one been armed?” asked Conall. “Truly,

That is just it,” said Ivor. “Well,” said Conall,

“Victory and trophies and first-wounding

Be thine, O little lad; but to my mind

’Twas far too soon to arm thee; for indeed

Thou art not fit for deeds. However, though,

If it be merely to provide protection

To any who may come unto these bounds,

It is enough for any who may come

Unto these bounds; for the Ultonians all

Will rise on thy behalf.” “What dost thou here,

My good friend, Conall?” asked the child. “I keep,”

Conall replied, “incessant watch and ward

Over all Ulster here.” “Rise to thy house,

O Conall,” said the child, “leave me here now

To keep that watch and ward for Ulster here.”

“Not so, O little lad,” Conall replied;

“Thou art not yet of force or skill to combat

With a trained man-at-arms.” “Then,” cried the child,

“I will ride past thee straightway toward the south,

E’en to the Fertas of Loch Ahtra. There

I will seek out some chance of reddening

My hands on friends or foemen on this day.”

“I will go with thee, little lad,” said Conall,

“To guard thee, that thou mayst not go alone

Over a boundary.” “Not so,” the child said.

“Yea, I will go,” said Conall. “The Ultonians

Would blame me greatly all, did I permit

Thee all alone to cross a boundary.”

For Conall then his chariot was prepared:

His steeds were caught for him; and he rode forth

To guard the little lad. When Conall’s chariot

Came thus abreast of his, it to the child

Became a certainty that even if

He should obtain a chance for some great deed,

Great Conall would not let him do the deed.

He from the ground picked up a handstone, then,

Which filled his grasp. He made a choice, good cast

With this against the yoke of Conall’s chariot,

So that he broke the yoke of Conall’s chariot

In two; and Conall through the broken yoke

Fell to the ground, and with the fall his shoulder

Was cut and wounded. “What caused that, my son?”

Asked Conall. “It was I,” the child replied.

“I made the cast to try whether my cast

Was straight and true, and whether I could aim

At all, and whether there were yet in me

The makings of a warrior.” “Venom, then,

Be on thy cast!” cried Conall. “Venom be

Upon thyself as well. Leave or leave not

Thy head amongst thy foes. I now will go

No further to protect thee.” “That exactly

Is what I asked of thee,” the child said then;

“Because ’tis gass to all of you in Ulster

To ride on in the company of one

Who in such way has done you injury.”

Conall went north again to keep his watch

Upon the Ford of Watching in Slieve Foo-id.

As for the little lad, southwards he went,

E’en to the Fertas of Loch Ahtra; and there

He waited till day’s ending. Then spake Ivor:

“If I may dare to say so much to thee,

My little lad, ’tis time for us to turn

And journey back to Avvin. There already

The carving, and the dealing-out and sharing

Have well begun; and now, whereas for thee

There is a place reserved, where thou wilt sit

Between the feet of Conor, there for me

Is nothing but to be among the jesters

And messengers and horsemen that belong

To the great house of Conor. It is time

That I were back to scramble with them.” “Well,”

The boy replied, “harness the steeds again.”

The steeds were harnessed; and the little lad

Mounted the chariot-seat. “Why, tell me, Ivor,”

He said, “What hill is yonder hill up there?”

“That is Slieve Mourne,” said Ivor. “And what cairn

Is that white cairn I see upon its summit?”

The child asked. “That is Finncarn of Slieve Mourne,”

Said Ivor. “It is pleasant at that cairn,”

The child said. “It is pleasant,” answered Ivor.

“Then drive ahead, that we may reach that cairn!”

The boy commanded. “Well, in sooth,” said Ivor,

“Thou art a dawdling and a lingering youth!

But this is my first journey with thee. Be it

My last until the ending of the world,

If ever we reach Avvin once again!”

Howbeit, soon they came to the white cairn

Upon the summit of Slieve Mourne. “Now, Ivor,”

The child said, “teach me Ulster on all sides;

As yet I do not know my way at all

About this country of my guardian Conor.”

The gillie from that vantage pointed out

The hills and hillocks and green steep-down fields

Of Ulster all around. He pointed out

Its plains and doons and strongholds. “That will do,

Good Ivor,” said the boy. “And tell me now

What is the name of yonder square, cleared plain,

All dappled, and all seamed with vales, that reaches

Beneath us towards the south?” “That is Moy Bray,”

Said Ivor. And the boy said: “Point me out

The doons and buildings and great fortresses

Of yonder plain.” Then Ivor pointed out

Taltin and lordly Tara, Knowth and Cletty,

The Broo of Angus Ōg, and the dark doon

Where dwelt the sons of Nahta Scaena. “Tell me,”

The child cried eagerly, “are those the sons

Of Nahta who are wont to vaunt and boast

That the whole number of Ultonians living

Doth not exceed the number they have slain?”

“They are the same,” said Ivor. “Drive ahead!”

The child cried joyously. “Away with us,

That we may reach the doon of Nahta’s sons!”

“Woe waits thy speech!” said Ivor. “But we know

’Tis childish folly to give such commands.

And this is sure,” said Ivor, “whosoever

May now go thither, it shall not be I.”

“Living or dead, thou shalt go thither now,”

The little lad said sternly. “Well, then, living

I will go southward,” Ivor said, “but dead

I shall be left beside that doon we know of,

The doon of Nahta’s sons.” They drove ahead,

And reached the doon. The little lad leapt down

From off his chariot, lighting on the green.

And thus that green was.—In the midst of it

There stood a pillar-stone; a ring of iron

Encircled this; and round the ring of iron

Was cut an ogam script. This was the ogam:

“Whoso arrives upon this green—he holding

The rank of an armed man—’tis gass to him

To leave the green, without first challenging

To combat some one dweller in this doon.”

The child perused the ogam. Then with strength

He flung his arms around that pillar-stone,

As though it had been a faggot of small wood,

And cast it in the pool; and the bright wave

Laughed over it. “It seems to me,” said Ivor,

“It is no better there than where it was

Before; and this is clear to me: that here

Thou wilt obtain that thing which thou art seeking,

Namely, thy death and sudden, violent end.”

“Good Ivor,” said the child, “prepare for me

The blankets of the chariot. I will sleep

Now for a little while.” “Alas!” said Ivor,

“This is thy foeman’s country, not some green

Of gatherings.” Yet obediently he spread

The blankets of the chariot; and the child

There, on the foeman’s green, slept his deep sleep.

And then it was that a dread son of Nahta,

Namely, great Foill, the first-born son of Nahta,

Came forth upon the green. “Unharness not

Those steeds,” he shouted. Ivor quickly said:

“I did not try to do so. See, their bridles

Are still within my hand.” “Whose are the steeds?”

Asked Foill. “They are two piebald steeds of Conor’s,

The two Cannbracks,” said Ivor. “That is true,”

Said Foill, “I recognize them. And what man

Has brought them thus hither across the frontier?”

“It was a tender youth,” Ivor replied,

“Who in our country first took arms to-day.

Merely to show his beauty and his form,

He came unto these marches.” Foill cried out:

“May it not bring him victory or triumph!

And if I knew that he were fit for deeds,

Dead he should journey back, northward, to Avvin,

And not in life.” “He is not fit for deeds,”

Urged Ivor; “and whoever calls him fit

Speaks wrongly; for this year, in which we are,

Is only the seventh year since he was born.”

Just then the little lad lifted his face

From off the ground, and quickly passed his hand

Across his face; and, hearing Ivor’s words,

He flushed from crown to ground. “I am, in truth,

Fit for great actions and for hero-deeds,”

He cried. Great Foill replied: “I rather think

Thou art unfit.” “Thou shalt know what to think

When once I meet thee at the battle-ford,”

The child made answer. “Rise now. Fetch thine arms.

I see that like a coward thou hast come,

Knowing ’tis not my wont to wound or slay

Heralds or charioteers, or folk unarmed.”

Then Foill went headlong for his weapons. Ivor

Said breathlessly: “’Tis fit that thou beware

Of yonder man, my little lad.” “Why so?”

The child demanded. Ivor said: “That man

Is Foill the son of Nahta Scaena. Him

Nor point nor edge may wound.” “I think, good Ivor,

It is not fit that thou shouldst so address me,”

The boy said. “See now. I will set my hand

To my own dael-feat, namely, to my apple

Of tempered iron, which shall make its way

Through his shield’s tract and through his forehead’s tract,

Hewing a blood-red roadway through his head

And through his nape, and making a free way

For the clear air beyond.” Foill son of Nahta

Came to that combat. The child set his hand

To his own dael-feat; and he made a cast

That pierced the shield’s tract, and the forehead’s tract,

And made a blood-red roadway through the head

Of Foill the son of Nahta; and Foill fell;

And then the little lad severed the head

Clean from the neck, to be his sign and trophy.

The second son of Nahta now came forth,

Namely, great Toohal son of Nahta. “Well,”

Cried Toohal, “so thou wouldst exult and triumph

About this deed!” “Nay,” said the child, “not yet

Have I e’er deemed the slaying of one man

A cause for triumph or for exultation.”

“This time, at least, thou shalt not boast,” said Toohal.

“By me thou shalt be slain.” “Go, fetch thine arms,”

The boy said. “Like a coward thou hast come,

Knowing ’tis not my wont to wound or slay

Heralds or charioteers or folk unarmed.”

And Toohal went for his war-weapons. Ivor

Said anxiously: “’Tis fit that thou beware

Of yonder man, my little lad.” “Why so?”

The boy demanded. Ivor said: “That man

Is Toohal son of Nahta Scaena. Him,

Unless thou slay him at thy first attempt,

By thy first blow, first cast, or first strong thrust,

Thou mayst not slay at all, so great his skill

In warding off, and parrying, and defence,

In front of pointed weapons.” “My good Ivor,

It is not fit that thou shouldst so address me,”

The boy replied. “See, I will set my hand

To Conor’s own great spear, the Venomed Spear,

And it shall pierce the shield above his breast,

And pierce the heart within his breast, and break

Three ribs upon his further side; ’twill be

A stern, determined cast. It will not be

A deed of tenderness. For mighty Toohal

There will be no delightful house of healing,

Or sick man’s bed, until the end of time,

After that cast.” Then Toohal son of Nahta

Came on the green; and the child set his hand

To Conor’s own great spear, the Venomed Spear,

Which pierced the shield o’er Toohal’s breast, and clove

The heart within his breast, and broke three ribs.

And the boy swept his head clear from his neck,

Even or ere his body touched the ground.

And now the last of the three sons of Nahta,

Namely, swift Fannla, youngest son of Nahta,

Came forth upon the green. “They were but fools,”

He cried, “these two, who have encountered thee!”

“How so?” the boy inquired. “Come!” said Fannla,

“Down unto yonder water, where thy feet

Will not touch ground.” And Fannla darted thence,

And out upon the water. “It is fit,”

Urged Ivor, “that thou be upon thy guard

Before yon man.” “Why so?” the child demanded

Impatiently. And Ivor said: “That man

Is Fannla son of Nahta. For this cause

He bears that name: that with a weasel’s swiftness,

And with the swiftness of a swallow flying,

He travels o’er the water. In this world

There is no swimmer who can cope with him.”

“It is not right that thou shouldst warn me so,”

The boy replied; “for it is known to thee,

That river which we have at Avvin Maha,

The green-banked Callan. Once upon a time,

The band of youths, leaving their games of skill,

Plunged in the stream; and I held up a lad

On each one of my shoulders, and a lad

On each one of my wrists, nor did I wet

More than my under part.” The boy went down

To wrestle on the stream with Fannla. Quickly

He flung his fore-arms above Fannla, forcing

His body downwards, level with the wave;

And then he struck a powerful downward stroke

With Conor’s sword, severing Fannla’s head

Clear from his neck. He let the body float

Down the wide stream; but brought the head to shore,

To be the trophy of his victory.

So were those dreadful foes of Ulster slain;

And the child gathered up his heads and trophies,

And gave them to his charioteer; and then,

Hearing the cries of Nahta, their fierce mother,

And tumult of men issuing from the doon,

To avenge those deaths, he said to Ivor: “Rise,

And drive ahead, northward, across Moy Bray.

I will not part with these my heads and trophies

Till we reach Avvin Maha.” So they placed

The three heads on the chariot; and they rode,

With speed like to the speed of flying birds,

Or to the speed of the cold, pure, spring wind,

Northward across Moy Bray; and they outstripped

Those who pursued them, and arrived in safety

At the lone region of Slieve Foo-id.—There,

Crossing the red-haired mountains, they descried

A far-off herd of deer; and the young lad

Said: “Tell me, Ivor, what is that great herd

Of moving cattle? Are they tame or wild?”

“Why, wild,” said Ivor; “those are the wild deer

Who on these lonely spaces of Slieve Foo-id

Do keep and roam.” “Now prick the steeds, good Ivor,

And we will try to reach them.” Ivor pricked

The steeds; howbeit, the o’er-weary steeds

Could not come up with the swift mountain-deer.

Then the young lad leaped from his chariot-seat,

And darted o’er the heather and the rocks;

And captured one swift, stalwart buck of them,

And bound him to the chariot. On they drove,

Northward, and reached the brink of the cleared land

Which lies round Avvin. There they chanced to see

A flock of beautiful wild geese, which flew

Straight past them. “What are those white birds, O Ivor?”

The boy inquired. “Are they pets or wild?”

“Wild,” replied Ivor. “They are flocks of geese

Who from the rocks and cliffs of the Great Sea

Fly inland, seeking goodly food and pasture

On the green plains of Erin.” “Which were rarer

And more distinguished,” asked the eager child,

“To bring them living, or to bring them dead,

Home unto Avvin Maha?” “It were rarer

To bring them living,” Ivor said; “for not

By everyone is owned the art and skill

To capture them alive.” Thereon the boy

Made with his sling a little, gentle cast,

Arresting eight of them. A second time

He made a cast, but with a heavier stone,

And stopped sixteen of them. “Alight, O Ivor!

Collect the birds,” he said, “for if I go

To gather them myself, this untamed stag

Will spring at thee.” “It is, indeed, not easy

For me to go,” the charioteer said. “See,

The two steeds have grown mad; I dare not pass them.

I dare not pass either of these two wheels

Of iron, for the sharpness of their rims.

I dare not pass behind, for the stag’s antlers

Have filled the space ’twixt the two chariot poles.”

“I see, indeed, O Ivor,” said the child,

“Thou art not yet a true, accomplished hero.

Step from the antlers of the stag. I swear

Now by the gods by whom the Ultonians swear,

The bending wherewith I will bend my head

Upon him, and the eye that I will make

While eyeing him, will hold him; so that truly

He will not dare to turn his head at thee,

And will not dare to move.” This, then, was done.

The charioteer gathered the birds. The child

Tethered them then with ropes, braces, and thongs

Belonging to the chariot. Then, “Good Ivor,”

He shouted gleefully, “convey the birds

Along with me to Avvin.” And ’twas thus

He rode toward Avvin: the three severed heads

Of foes upon his chariot, white-bright birds

Fluttering above it, a wild mountain-stag

Running behind it. And in a short time

They came to Avvin Maha.

Lowercam

Daughter of Oy and I-ark saw them coming.

She said to Conor: “Yon a chariot-rider

Approaches terribly. Red, bleeding heads

Of foes are on his chariot; bright, white birds

Are round about him; a wild, untamed stag

Is bound and tethered at the chariot’s rear.

We must make ready to receive that rider.”

Then Conor said: “Indeed, I know that rider!

It is the little lad, my sister’s son,

Who went to-day unto a boundary

To seek first-reddening of his hands. Make ready

Now to receive him fitly!” Then three vats

Of pure, cold water were prepared; and raiment

Was laid out fairly. And the warriors met

The child; and quick, obedient servitors

Took him, and plunged him, first in the one vat,

Then in the second vat, and last of all

In the third vat; and so his battle-rage

Was cooled; and all his skin was cleansed, and shone,

And flushed a crimson-pink from crown to ground.

And then they combed his tresses of fair hair,

Which gleamed pale-golden, like the wax of bees,

Or like a clasp of fair, pale gold, when shining

Towards the bright sun. This done, they took a layna,

That was inwoven with bright threads of gold,

And put it round him; and they took a bratt

Of bright grass-green, and pinned it with a pin

Of white, wrought silver o’er his breast. And then

They led the child to sit between the feet

Of Conor, the great king, who, with his hand,

Stroked the child’s brow.

So, now (said Feeaha),

If, as a little lad, he did that deed—

If, at the end of his first seven years

He slew those champions and those battle-fighters

By whom two-thirds of all the men of Ulster

Had fallen, and had fallen unavenged—

There is indeed no wonder and no marvel,

E’en though he come unto a boundary,

And plant a four-pronged pole into a mere,

And slay a man, or two, or three, or four,

Now that he hath fulfilled his seventeen years,

On this, your Táin, to waste the land of Cooley.

BOOK VI

BOOK VI

Now, there was in the tent with them that night,

Amidst the warriors and the noble chiefs,

A warrior of the men of Domnann, namely,

Faerdeeah son of Daman son of Dawra,

A young, choice warrior of the men of Domnann,

From Irrus Domnann in the far-off west;

And while all quaffed still in that kingly tent

Beside Ath Gowla, and discoursed and wondered,

Wondering at those boy-deeds, Faerdeeah said:

“O King and Queen,” he said, “I, if ye will,

Will tell you all the tale and history

How that Cucullin was trained up to arms

And wondrous deeds and feats of warlike skill

By Scawtha in the East; for I can tell it,

Having been there with him myself; and that

Which I saw not myself my dear companion,

Cucullin, hath narrated to me. Truly,

If ye shall hear this tale, when ye have heard it,

Ye will no longer wonder at yon deed,

Namely, his coming to this boundary,

And setting yon pronged pole into the mere,

And slaying those who ever went before you

In every war and hosting.” Al-yill said:

“Good, O Faerdeeah, tell us, then, that tale.”

Whereon Faerdeeah told his tale in order,

And in progression, and with oratory

And choice and learned words.

O men (said he)

Ye have heard tell of the restraint and rule

And excellent lordship found in Avvin Maha

Under the admirable, able king,

Conor the son of Fahtna, in whose time

Concord and quietness and peaceful pleasure,

With plenteous yield from forest, field, and ocean,

Have stayed with the Ultonians. Ye have heard

Of the great dignity and rank and plenty

In the king’s house in Avvin. That king’s house,

The long Creev Roe of Conor, was designed

After the likeness of the Meadhall House

In Tara. Nine score feet and fifteen feet

Its length from door to door; and it is built

Of fitted planks of rich, red yew, and roofed

With planks of yew thatched o’er with lapping shingles.

Inside the house from fire-hearth unto wall

There are nine imdas; and of these each pillar

Of bronze has thrice ten feet in height, and each

Partition is of rich, red boards of yew.

Within the chief place in that house is placed

The imda of Conor; and round about it stand

Pillars of bronze with silvern capitals;

And on each capital a bird of gold

Perches; and flashing gems of carbuncle

They are which serve for the birds’ eyes; and so

These flash that in that house the day and night

Seem of like brightness. A tall, narrow band

Of silver reaches from above the king

Up toward the roof-tree of the kingly house

And what time Conor with his royal wand

Strikes the resounding silver, all the men

Of Ulster become silent, so that even

A needle falling on the vast house-floor

Is heard, because of the great hush and silence

Wherein men are through reverence for him.

Ranged

About this imda are the twelve tall imdas

Of the twelve chariot-chiefs of Ulster. Yea,

And all the valiant warriors of the land

Of Ulster find a place in the Creev Roe

At feasting. Many noble gatherings

And many wonderful and varied pastimes

Are there; and nightly, when the twilight falls,

The I-arn Gool, that wondrous cask, is filled

With heart-enlivening wine. One hundred brewings:

That is the measure that is poured at eve

Into the Gool: that is the goodly measure

Which satisfies the Ulster men assembled

At the one time. And when the night descends,

And the tall, kingly candle of the house

Is lighted, then from door to door are stretched

Long ropes on which the chariot-chiefs of Ulster

Perform with skill. Three other feats of skill

Those chiefs perform as well:—the apple-feat,

The sword-edge feat, the dart-feat. Well ye know

The names of those renownéd chariot-chiefs,

As Conall Carna son of Avver-guin,

And Laery the Victorious son of Connud,

And mighty Keltar son of Oo-hider;

But, in the happiest time, the Sons of Usna,

Since slain, were there; and Fergus son of Roy

Was there, the noblest chief of all; and there

Were Duffa Dael and Cormac son of Conor.

They three are absent now; but Avvin yet

Is wonderful and splendid. So at night

The chariot-chiefs perform their feats of skill

In the great house; and, as the night goes on,

The folk of music and of art and verse

Arise and sound their stringed melodious harps

And their bright timpans; and they chant aloud

The boughs of genealogy and boughs

Of Ulster kinship; and they sing their songs

Of skilful harmony, until sweet sleep

Falls on the hosts, and all the house is still.

Now, when Cucullin had fulfilled from birth

His fifteen years, in feats and in swift skill

He went beyond all others of his time;

And greatly did the Ulster women love him

For his swift skill and for his nimble leap,

For his sweet utterance, and for the beauty

Of his fresh face, and for his ardent looks,

And for his wisdom. Many were his gifts;

For—saving when his battle-rage flamed high—

He had the gift of wisdom and of reason:

He had a wondrous gift for feats of skill:

He had a gift for booanbac and feehill:

He had the gift of estimating numbers:

He had the druid’s gift of prophecy:

He had the gift of shape in face and form.

Three faults alone he had. He was too young;

And older warriors hailing from strange lands

Would taunt him for his ungrown beard. Besides,

He was too daring and too beautiful.

The men of Ulster then deliberated

About Cucullin; for they held in mind

Great Cathbad’s prophecy; and they were troubled,

Being in great fear that their beloved Cucullin

Would perish from them early; and they wished

To give a wife to him, that he might leave

A son. They knew that only from himself

Could such another as himself gain life.

Thereafter Conor sent nine messengers

Into each Fifth of the Five Fifths of Erin,

To see whether in any royal doon

Or chieftain’s doon in Erin they could find

The daughter of a king or of a chieftain

Or of a wealthy brewy, whom Cucullin

Might choose to woo. The messengers returned,

But had not found a maiden whom Cucullin

Could choose to woo. Beyond the white-bright Boyne,

Beyond the bounds of Ulster, in the plain

Of rich Loolohta Loha, nigh the sea,

Cucullin knew a maiden whom he loved

And chose to woo. And this, indeed, was Emer,

A daughter of the wily Forgall Mona,

The lordly, wealthy brewy, who is nephew

To Tethra, king of the Fomorians. Her

Alone, of all the maidens of wide Erin,

Cucullin chose to visit and to woo.

For she had the six gifts:—the gift of beauty,

The gift of a sweet voice, the gift of utterance,

The gift of needlework, the gift of wisdom,

The gift of chastity. Cucullin said

He would woo none but one who should be equal

Unto himself in lineage and in age,

In beauty and in skill, and who should be

The best hand-worker of the maids of Erin.

And only Emer, daughter of Forgall Mona,

Had this description. Therefore her alone

Cucullin chose to woo.

In bright array

Cucullin travelled south to visit Emer

And show to her his beauty. For at first

He called unto his own good charioteer,

Laeg son of Reeangowra, who was brother

To the good charioteer of Conor, namely,

To Ivor son of Reeangowra. “Now,

My good friend Laeg,” Cucullin said, “bring up

My own two steeds. Bring up the Leea Maha,

Who rose from out the lake in wild Slieve Foo-id,

So that I cast my arms about his neck

And wrestled with him, making him my own.

Bring up the black Doo Sanglenn, whom I found

In that dark lake I named him after. Bring

My chariot which no steeds of all the steeds

Of Ulster may o’ertake, it being drawn

By those two steeds I speak of.” Laeg brought up

The steeds, and he prepared the chariot. Then

In festive raiment and in bright array

Cucullin travelled south to visit Emer

And show to her his beauty.

On a day

In rich Loolohta Loha, Emer came

Out on her playing-field, outside the doon;

And round her were her foster-sisters, daughters

Of lords of land who lived around the doon

Of Forgall. On the bench of gatherings

Beside the doon these sat; and they were learning

Rich needlework and fair, choice handiwork

From Emer. As they sat upon the bench,

The maidens heard somewhat approaching them.

They heard the rapid thuds of hooves of steeds,

The creaking of a chariot, the quick cracks

Of leathern straps, the grinding of swift wheels,

The clang of weapons. Emer spake to them.

“Let one of you rise up,” said she, “and see

Who is’t that through the land rides towards us so.”

Then Feeal daughter of Forgall rose and said:

“I see two steeds equal in size and beauty

And bounding speed; and they are broad of brow

And slender-mouthed, with crispéd manes and tails,

And heads uplifted haughtily. The steed

Against the chariot’s right pole is dark grey,

And he looks fierce and wild. The rock-strewn turf

Flames underneath his four hard hooves. A flock

Of swift birds follows. While he takes his course

Along the track there darts from him a flash

Of fiery breath, and bright-red sparkling fire

Streams from his curbéd jaws. The second steed

Is black as is the dael; and beautiful

He looks, as easily he bounds along,

Following the levels of the green mid-glen

And the cleared river-mead. Behind I see

A chariot of fine wood and woven osiers,

Whereto are white bronze wheels, and a long pole

Of white bright silver set with white findrinny.

Its yoke is high, arched, and o’erlaid with gold.

The plaited reins are yellow. The hind poles

Are straight as are two daggers. On the seat

Sits a fresh, ardent youth, most beautiful

Of all the youths of Erin. Round him falls

A crimson and five-folded fooan, held

By a gold, graven brooch, against the which

His white breast heaves, beating full strokes. The layna

He wears is white, and has a pure, white hood

All interwoven red with flaming gold.

Two blue-white, blood-red cheeks breathe fire and flame.

Darker than is a winter night is each

Of his two eyebrows. Underneath them flash

Seven red dragon-gems within the midst

Of each of his two eyes. I think, indeed,

A ray of love burns in his look. A sword,

Long and gold-hilted, rests on his two thighs.

His spear is bound fast to the chariot-frame.

Upon his shoulders hangs his crimson shield,

All silver-rimmed and decked with beasts of gold.

And now he leaps the hero’s salmon-leap;

And many other wondrous feats he shows,

That chariot-chief of the distinguished chariot.

In front of him there is a charioteer,

A man tall, stooping, slender, freckled greatly,

With very curly, gold-red hair confined

About his brow by a findrinny circlet,

And at his neck by cups of shining gold.

He wears a small, short cloak with openings

At his two elbows. In his hand he bears

A red-gold rod for ruling of the steeds.”

Thus Feeal daughter of Forgall spake. Ere long

Cucullin came upon the playing-field

Wherein the maidens were. He greeted them;

And Emer lifted up her sweet, fair face,

And recognized Cucullin. Then she said:

“May Dess make smooth thy travelling-way before thee.”

He answered: “May all here be safe from harm!”

“Whence hast thou come?” she asked. And he replied,

Speaking in learnéd language: “I have come

From the resounding, smooth-bright City of Twins.”

“Where did you sleep?” she asked. “We slept,” he said,

“Within the house of him who tends the kine

Of the green plain of Tethra.” “In that house

What was your food?” she asked. He answered her:

“The Ruining of a Chariot there was cooked

To be our food.” “And what way did ye come?”

She asked. “Betwixt two Hard ones of the Forest,”

He said. “By which way did ye travel then?”

She further asked. He said. “Not hard to tell;

Athwart the thick-green Covering-Veil of Sea,

O’er the Great Secret of the men of Deea,

Across the Foam of the Two Steeds of Avvin,

Across the Garden of the Red More-reega,

Over the back of the Great Sow, and down

The Glen of Dam, and down the trodden road

Between the God and his great Druid-Seer;

Then o’er the Marrow of the Woman Fedelm,

Between the Boar and his own Dam; and then

Over the Washing of the Steeds of Deea,

Between the King of Ahna and his Servant,

O’er the four-cornered Manncool, o’er Great Crime;

And, lastly, o’er the Remnants of the Banquet,

Unto these fields of Loo the son of Ethlenn,

Namely, Loolotha Loha. Here I greet

The daughters of the nephew of great Tethra,

The king of the Fomorians.—And for thee,

O maiden, what is the account of thee?”

Cucullin asked. “It is not hard to tell,”

The maiden said, “for I am called indeed

The high and well-walled Tara among women;

The unattainable, fair, glittering star

Of chastity; the secret jewelled worm,

Deep in a well; the flame of fire; the road

Which none may enter.—For around me here

Are champions and strong men that follow me,

Guarding me always that I be not taken

Without their knowledge, or great Forgall’s will.”

“Who are the champions who thus follow thee,

O maiden?” said Cucullin. Emer said:

“Two Looees, and three Looaths, and Lath Gobla

The son of Tethra; Tuath and Trescath too;

Brian and Balor; Bas the son of Omna;

Eight Connlas; and my brother Conn the son

Of Forgall. Every separate man of them

Has in himself the vigour of one hundred,

Besides the feats of nine. Forgall alone

Is such that it were hard indeed to tell

His many powers. He is stronger far

Than any bondman; and more learned far

Than any druid; of more sharp perception

Than any poet. More than all the feats

Of skill that thou mayst own would not suffice

For fighting against Forgall. Great the deeds

Of valour that have been narrated of him.”

“Why dost thou not account me as the match

Of these strong men, O maiden?” said Cucullin.

“Why should I not account thee so,” said Emer,

“If deeds like theirs have been recounted of thee?”

“Maiden, I swear,” Cucullin said, “my deeds

Shall be recounted amidst glorious deeds

Of battle-heroes.” “What then, is thy strength?”

The maiden asked. “It is not hard to tell,”

He said; “when I am weak in fight, I fend

For twenty; and the third part of my strength

Suffices thirty. I alone give combat

To forty; and the mention of my name

Protects one hundred. Fords and battle-fields

Are shunned for dread of me; and multitudes

And hosts of arméd men flee far away

Through terror of my look and face alone.”

“Those are good fights for a young, tender lad,”

The maiden said; “but thou hast not as yet

Attained the strength of chariot-chiefs.” “O maiden,”

Cucullin said, “if I have so attained,

It is not strange; for not as a churl rears

His child between the flagstone and the hearth

Have I been reared by my kind guardian, Conor.

I have been reared among the learnéd men,

Among the druids and among the poets,

Among the chieftains and the battle-champions,

Among the jesters, harpers, and musicians,

Among the brewies and rich lords of land,

Of our dear realm of Ulster; and by them

I have been given their manners and their gifts.”

“Who, then, have brought thee up to all these deeds

Whereof thou vauntest?” Emer said. He answered:

“It is not hard to tell. Sweet-worded Shenca

Has taught me, so that I am wise in judgment

And not forgetful. Blai, the lord of lands

Of Tara in the Ards of Ulster, took me

Because of the close kinship of his race:

So that I got my due of wealth with him,

And learnt the way to entertain the men

Of Ulster, for the week of entertainment,

Together with their king, red-sworded Conor;

And for that week to settle all their gifts

And spoils, and aid them in each fine and eric,

And in their honour. While I yet was small,

And ere through woful cause he left our land,

The noble Fergus fostered me. From him

I learnt to slay great warriors through the strength

Of valour: yea, by valour and by prowess

I guard our border against foreign foes—

Being a bush of shelter to the poor,

And a protecting rampart to the wealthy.

I comfort each poor wight, and slay the strong,

All through the kindly fosterage of Fergus.

Then to the knee of Avver-guin I came,

The skilful poet and father of Conall Carna,

So that I learnt the way to praise a king

For any excellency that he has;

And the sweet Finncaem, mother of Conall Carna,

Cared for me kindly, that victorious Conall

Might thus become my foster-brother. Cathbad,

The good, renownéd druid, taught me then,

For the dear sake of Dectora, my mother—

Making me skilful in druidic arts,

And learnéd in the excellence of knowledge.

Yea, all the men of Ulster equally

Have brought me up, both kings and kingly poets,

Both chariot-chiefs and their good charioteers;

So that I am the loved one of the host

And multitude; and for them all I fight,

And for the honour of them all. Moreover,

O maiden, one amongst the bright Immortals,

Namely, great Loo, long-handed son of Ethlenn,

Hath noticed me; and there will come a day

When he will help me. So, for thee, O maiden,”

Cucullin asked, “say how hast thou been reared

Here in Loolohta Loha?” Emer said:

“It is not hard to tell. I have been reared

In antique virtues and in fine behaviour,

In noble manners, in a queenly carriage,

In truth, in courtesy, in chastity;

So that to me there is attributed

Each noble quality which men may find

Amongst the hosts of women.” He replied:

“Good are these virtues verily. Why, then,

O maiden, should it not be right and fit

For us two to be one? I never yet

Have found a maiden able to converse

In this wise at a meeting.” Emer said:

“A question first. Hast thou a wife?” “Not so,”

Cucullin answered. Emer spake again,

And said: “This thing would not become me well,

I thus to go unto a man, ere goes

My elder sister Feeal daughter of Forgall,

Whom thou seest near me here. She is distinguished

For wondrous handiwork.” “Nay,” said Cucullin,

“It is not she whom I have loved.” Just then

Cucullin saw the two breasts of the maiden

Athwart her layna’s opening. Then he said:

“Fair is this plain, the Plain of the Noble Yoke.”

And Emer, understanding, answered him:

“None comes unto this plain but him who slays

As many as one hundred at each ford

Between the Ford of Skenn-menn at Ollbinny

And Banquin Airked where the swift Brae breaks

The brow of Fedelm, fleeing wife of Nahtan.”

“Fair is this plain, the Plain of the Noble Yoke,”

Cucullin said; and Emer answered him:

“None comes unto this plain but him who slays

Thrice nine men at one blow, and with such skill

As to save one man ’midst each nine of them.”

“Fair is this plain, the Plain of the Noble Yoke,”

Cucullin said; and Emer answered him:

“None comes unto this plain but him who slays

Benn Sooan son of Rossmelc, from the end

Of summer till the opening of the spring,

And from the opening spring until May-day,

And from May-day until full winter falls.”

Cucullin said: “’Tis said. It shall be done.”

“It is accepted,” Emer said. And so

Those two were plighted. When those noble words

Had thus been said, Cucullin moved from her,

Holding no longer converse.

O’er Moy Bray

He rode to northward. Silently he rode

Awhile, but in a while his charioteer,

Namely, good Laeg, aweary of the silence,

Said to him: “Good, now, Cucuc, those strange words

And unknown names the which I heard thee use—Thee

and the maiden as ye talked together—

What did ye mean to say by them?” Cucullin

Replied: “Dost thou not know, good Master Laeg,

How that I woo that maiden? We concealed

The sense of our discourse, enfolding it

In learnéd terms of scholars and of poets,

That her companions who were round her there

Might not have understanding of it. Forgall,

Were he aware I wooed her, would prevent

Our meeting thus for converse.” Then Cucullin

Began at the beginning of that talk

Which he had held with Emer. He explained

Its terms to Laeg, who listened. So with tales

And antique lore he shortened and made joyful

The tedious way; and ever north they travelled.

“Well, first of all,” said he, “I said I came

From the resounding, smooth-bright City of Twins.

That is great Avvin Maha. Well thou knowest

The story of Maha, wave-swift wife of Crunniuc,

Who raced the steeds of the High-king of Ulster,

And at the goal bore twins, from whom men named

The city raised there. Next, I said we slept

Within the house of him who tends the kine

Of the Green Plain of Tethra. That is Roncu,

King Conor’s fisherman. He with his line

Catches his fish; and poets call the fishes

The kine of the green sea. “The Plain of Tethra,”

That is the sea; for Tethra is a king

Above the fierce Fomorians who range

The seas in search of plunder. Guileful Forgall

Is sister’s son to him. We ate, I said,

The Ruining of a Chariot. Now, thereby,

I meant that little foal which in that house

Was killed and cooked for us. Thou dost remember

How for three nomads there we were detained,

Having partaken of it. For ’tis gass

On every chariot that a man should mount it

For three whole nomads, when he hath partaken

Of flesh of steeds; because the steed it is

Which doth bear up the chariot. After that,

I said, betwixt two Hard Ones of the Forest

We came: I meant Slieve Gullion and Slieve Foo-id.

We came through Orkill, the dark wood which fills

The space between them. Then, I said, we rode

Athwart the thick-green Covering-Veil of Sea;

That is green Moy Mweerhevna, where we passed

My own dear doon, Doon Dalgan. In old days

A dark enchanted sea covered that plain—

A sea so dense that warriors dressed in arms

Might rest upon its billows—till the Dagda,

Distinguished God o’er the fruit-bearing earth,

Arriving with his Club of Storm and Tempest,

Conjured it; and it dried and left the plain

For the sweet grass to grow on. Then, I said,

We passed the Secret of the Men of Deea;

And that is Grellah Dollud. On that moor

In old, old days—ere came the Sons of Mil—

The Thoo-aha Dae Danann, Men of Deea,

Assembled secretly; and there they planned

That battle of Moy Twirra, where at last

They freed themselves from the hard rent and tribute,

That the Fomorians, the strong Ocean-rangers,

Exacted from them year by year. Good, then,

Over the Foam of the two Steeds of Avvin,

I said: I meant the river Oo-anub,

The Foaming One. Within the hollow Mound

Of Ercmon, by the Thoo-aha Dae Danann,

Two steeds were reared—reared for a famous king

Then ruling in great Avvin. When the steeds

Were freed from out the mound, a glorious stream

Broke after them; and it was white with foam;

And foam o’erspread the country. Thence is named

White Oo-anub, that water which we forded.

Across the Garden of the Red More-reega,

We came, I said; and that is Oughter Netmon.

The Dagda gave that height to the More-reega,

To the great horror-breathing Queen, the quaffer

Of men’s red blood, inciter by her cries

To furious, blood-red battle. In that place

She made her herb-field, and there dwelt. Well, then,

Over the Back of the Great Sow we climbed,

I said: I meant Drum Bray; for when from Spain

Our ancestors, the noble sons of Mil,

Arrived against these shores, on every hill

And every ridge the Thoo-aha Dae Danann,

By powerful spells, impressed the loathly shape

Of a long-sided sow. So by their spells,

Breeding dislike and dread, they hoped to drive

The sons of Mil from off their shores. And then,

Down through the Glen of Dam—that is Glen Bray—

I said we came; and down the trodden road

Between the God and his great Druid-seer.

The God I meant is Angus Ōg, bright son

Of the great Dagda; and his habitation

Is, as thou knowest, in his lordly Broo,

Beside the white-bright Boyne. West of the Broo

One sees the Shee of Brassil, who is Druid

And Seer to Angus; and the great South Road

Passes between the two. And now we crossed,

I said, the Marrow of the Woman Fedelm:

That is the reach of the bright river Boyne

Betwixt the river Thromma and the Inver,

Where the Boyne mingles with the sea. And then—

But now (Faerdeeah said), to tell the tale

Of all those names upon the river Boyne,

Which then Cucullin told; and all the tales

He told besides of famous forts and doons

South of the Boyne; and the long tale he told

Of beautiful, sweet women who abide

On a large plain beneath the sea and give

Gold urns to those who visit them,—to tell

These at this time would surely weary you.

Laeg asked Cucullin: “Those strange, darksome words

The maiden spake at parting, what were they?”

Cucullin answered: “When I said to her,

‘Fair is this plain, the Plain of the Noble Yoke,’

’Twas not Moy Bray, good Laeg, that thus I praised.

It was the maiden’s shape. I saw the yoke

Of her two breasts athwart the opening

Of her fair layna; and of them I spoke

Those words; and when she answered me, she meant

She is so strictly guarded that no man

May come unto that plain, but him who slays

As many as one hundred at each ford

Between Ollbinni and the Boyne. No man

May come unto that Plain but him who leaps

The hero’s salmon-leap o’er the three ramparts

That fortify the doon; and who—that done—

Meets her three brothers, Ibbur, Skibbur, and Catt,

And slays the eight each brother has with him;

But in such wise that not a blow may reach

Or hurt those brothers. Finally, she said,

In way of prophecy, that I shall fight

Incessantly and all alone against

Great odds, from Sowin unto Balt-thana,

Ere I shall find my time to pass the Boyne

And journey south to win her. So good Laeg,

Thou seest now all that I must needs perform

Ere I can wed the maid.” Cucullin so

Went driving on his way. In Avvin Maha,

His cheerful travelling done, he slept that night.

BOOK VII

BOOK VII

Now (said Faerdeeah, as he told his tale)

Their daughters told those brewies and those lords

Of land, who dwelt around the doon of Forgall,

About that youthful warrior, who had come

In his resplendent chariot, and had talked

Upon the green with Emer. What the two

Had said, these said they knew not; but they knew

That he had turned to northward o’er Moy Bray

On taking leave of them. The brewies told

That thing to Forgall. “It is true,” said Forgall.

“It was the Ree-astartha who came there

From Avvin Maha; and the maid has yielded

Her heart-affection to him. Therefore talked they.

Yet it shall not avail them. I by craft

Will balk them; so that that which they desire

Shall not be gained by them.”

Then Forgall Mona

Called to himself two of his own sure folk,

And told them all his plan; whereon, they three

Featly arrayed themselves in foreign raiment,

And crossed Moy Bray and grass-green Moy Mweerhevna,

And wild Slieve Foo-id; and they fared to Avvin

As though they were a Gaulish embassy,

Bringing sweet wine of Gaul and costly gifts

To Conor from the Gaulish King. Great joy

And welcome greeted them. On the third day,

At banqueting, it chanced that Conall Carna,

Cucullin, and the champions all of Ulster,

Were praised in Forgall’s presence. Then he said:

“That praise is just. The method of their feats

Is wonderful; yet if your bright and gifted

And much-beloved Cucullin were to go

To Domnall, the great warrior on the Alps,

There to be trained by him, his feats would be

E’en the more wonderful; and if thereafter

He were to reach to Scawtha, who is daughter

To Airdgama, a king in Scythia, there

By that fierce warrior-woman, that renowned

Preceptress of the heroes of the east,

To be well taught, he—gifted as he is—

Would soon excel the warriors of all Europe.”

Cucullin said that he would go. He vowed

He never would return to Avvin Maha

Till he had learnt from Domnall and from Scawtha

All which they had to teach. And Conall Carna

And Laery the Victorious said they too

Would go to get that training, and began

To make them ready for that long, hard travel.

Forgall took courteous leave of Conor, and went

To his own house. Now for this cause and reason

Forgall had spoken so: he thought Cucullin,

Being in training with that warrior-woman,

Namely, with Scawtha, through her well-known hardness

And her severity and battle-wildness,

Would get his death; and so would ne’er return

Again to Avvin Maha.

Ere he went,

Cucullin rode across Moy Bray to visit

The maiden once again. Beyond the Boyne,

Beyond the bounds of Ulster, on the plain

Of rich Loolohta Loha, nigh the sea,

He spoke with her at night-fall; and she told him

That it was Forgall who in smooth-bright Avvin

Had urged his travel thus; and that he had urged it

So that she—Emer, namely—and himself

Never might come together. Then she told him

To have much heed; for Forgall would send snares

To be destroying him and breaking him

On every road and land where he might go.

Each vowed unto the other then the keeping

Of chastity until that day should come

When they should come together. And Cucullin

Vowed that if once he should return with safety

He straight would tell the maiden of his safety.

The Enga, Conall Carna’s long-famed ship,

Was waiting nigh that strand. Cucullin, then,

And Emer daughter of Forgall, spake their partings;

And o’er the bitter-green, salt, great-waved sea,

O’er the green-sided and white-ridgéd billows,

O’er the wild, treacherous currents and swift streams

Of Ocean, the three friends fared on their way

For distant warrior-training.

Of their deeds

Until they came to Domnall on the Alps,

And of the feats which there they learned from Domnall

(Faerdeeah said) I treat not. Dorndoll daughter

Of Domnall afterward desired Cucullin.

That damsel’s shape was vile. Her knees were big,

Her heels in front, her feet behind, her eyes

Inside her head black-grey and big. As black

As is the side of a burnt, lonely ruin,

After its burning by night-reaving foemen,

Her face appeared; and round about her bulking

Strong brow her earth-red hair wound in thick wisps.

When he denied her, she vowed utter vengeance

On him for that. She said unto Cucullin,

He would not win his finished warrior-training,

Till he should reach to Scawtha far in Scythia

To eastward of those Alps. Thereon they three,

Laery and Conall Carna and Cucullin,

Fared eastward o’er the Alps; and it was then,

E’en as they passed those places lofty, dreadful,

Unfruitful, barren, hungry, perilous,

That there appeared to them before their eyes

Their smooth-bright Avvin Maha, plentiful

In bright, melodious feastings and ale-banquets

’Mid lands of health and joy. Nor Conall Carna

Nor Laery the Victorious then could pass

That vision and appearance. Dorndoll daughter

Of Domnall—it was she who had given that vision,

So that Cucullin at it might turn back

And win reproach and shame through his thus breaking

That vow which he had made, to reach to Scawtha

Or find his death; or—should he not turn back—

So that he, being parted from his friends,

Might the more surely find his death. Cucullin

Of his own mind and will fared on alone

Over the unknown ways; though, as he fared,

He was sad, sorrowful, and very heavy

For loss of his companions. And he knew not

Whither to wend to reach the doon of Scawtha,

And yet had sworn to reach the doon of Scawtha

Or find his death. He lingered then some while;

For he perceived his straying and his darkness.

While he thus lingered for a while in darkness

Of counsel, he espied, coming straight towards him,

An awe-inspiring beast, dreadful and huge

And lion-like. It came to him and watched him,

And hurt him no-wise. On whichever way

He tried to go, it came to him and met him,

And turned its side to him. With confidence

He sprang aloft then on to the beast’s neck,

Letting it travel on each way it would;

And so for four full days they in that mode

Travelled, until at last they reached a land

Where dwellers were, and saw there some young lads

Rowing athwart a lake; and the lads laughed,

Owing to the great wonder which was on them

At that so harmful beast’s being in service

So to a man. Cucullin leapt from it;

And the beast parted from him; and he blessed it.

He went then on the road he saw before him,

And chanced on a great house in a great glen.

A damsel very fair and shapely came

Out from that house then; and she greeted him,

And spoke his welcome. “Welcome is thy coming,

Cucullin,” she exclaimed to him. He asked her

How she thus knew him; and she said to him:

“We two were friendly fellow-fosterlings

With Ulbecawn the Saxon, at that time

When we were learning from him melody

And eloquence and poetry.” She gave him

For maintenance of strength, then, drink and viands;

And he went from her, wending towards his way.

He chanced ere long upon an admirable

Young warrior, who then also spake a welcome.

They made exchange of tidings and of knowledge.

Cucullin asked for knowledge of the way

To the great doon of Scawtha. Then the youth

Gave him the knowledge of the way. “It lies,”

He said, “across the Plain of Evil there,

Which widely spreads, upon whose hither half

The feet of men will freeze, and will be frozen

To the ground’s face; but on whose further half

The grass will rise, and will impale men’s feet,

Even as on a battle-field of spears.”

That youth then gave a wheel unto Cucullin,

And bade him follow it o’er the hither half

Of the Plain of Evil. Then he gave an apple,

And bade him follow it o’er the further half.

And then he told him that beyond that plain

He would discover a great valley-gorge,

And through it one thin path; and all the gorge

He would find full of horrors and of shapes,

Of spectres and of loathly apparitions,

Which had been sent, some by shrewd Forgall Mona,

And some by incenséd Dorndoll, to destroy

His courage and to be his end and ruin.

Mounting the gorge, the path would lead him on

Through high and strong and terrible regions: it,

And it alone, would lead him unto Scawtha.

Then the youth taught Cucullin how to win

Respect and honour in great Scawtha’s house.

They blessed each other. And Cucullin passed

In safety o’er the perilous Plain of Evil,

And through the spectred gorge, and through the high

And strong and terrible regions. And he came

To a wide green nigh to the doon of Scawtha,

And saw bright bands of fresh and glittering youths,

Pupils of Scawtha, playing at hurling there

In mingled groups. He, after his long travel,

Was tired and drooping, weak and hunger-worn.

Now (said Faerdeeah, as he told his tale)

Amidst great Scawtha’s pupils at that time

Were certain youths from Erin. Six we were,—

Faerbay the son of Baetan; and Faerbay

Son of Faerbend; and Bress the son of Ferb;

And Lewy son of Solmoy; and Faerdaet,

A son of Daman; and myself, Faerdeeah,

A son of Daman. And we six from Erin,

Perceiving thus a youth from Erin come,

Ran to him; and we each one, fervently,

Gave him three kisses. And we asked of him

Tidings of Erin for ourselves; and he,

All weary as he was, asked for himself

What arts of valour and what feats of skill

We six had learnt. “We six have learnt,” I said,

“To cross the Bridge of the Cliff, whereby men go

To the seven-doored house of Scawtha.” Then he asked:

“How long have ye been learning it?” We said:

“We have been learning it three nights and days

And one month and one season and one year.”

“Youths, quick,” Cucullin said, “show me this bridge.”

“It will not profit thee to see the bridge,”

We said, “till Scawtha shall begin to teach thee

Safely to pass it, as she taught us all.”

“I would but see it,” he replied. Thereat

We led him to the bridge. And thus it was:

At one time when a youth should leap on it,

It would put on the thinness of a hair,

And the sleek smoothness of a long lake-eel:

Another time it would rise up and grow

E’en to the height of a ship’s mast. Cucullin

Leapt on the bridge and fell; and leapt again

And fell; and a third time he leapt; that time

He reached the mid-part of the bridge, and there

He wavered, and he hovered in mid-air

Over the black lake-waters which it bridged.

That now was seen by Ooaha, the daughter

Of Scawtha from their seven-doored house, their high

And rooféd stronghold; and she paled and whitened,

And cried to her dread mother, Scawtha, crying:

“My grief! a beautiful unrivalled youth

Stands poised amidmost of yon bridge. He shakes

And wavers toward a fall. I fear, indeed,

That he will never more behold the land

Of his dear father and his mother.” Scawtha,

Her mother, warlike fighter and renowned

Preceptress of the heroes of the east,

Replied: “It was foretold to me long since

That a fresh, child-like youth should come to us

From Erin in the west. It was foretold

That in one hour alone he would achieve

The victory of the Bridge, which every other

Only achieves after three days and nights

And one month and one season and one year.

And ’twas foretold that his great deeds of valour

Would be related by the mouths of men

Until the ending of the world. I think

Thou seest that youth whose coming was foretold.”

Cucullin wavered still upon the crest

Of the Bridge of the Cliff. Then, nigh in act to fall,

He leapt aloft his hero’s salmon-leap:

He lighted on the island of the doon

Of Scawtha, at the door of the huge doon

Of Scawtha; and we six of Erin, pupils

Of Scawtha, raised aloud our shouts of joy

And wonder, at that passing of the bridge.

Howbeit, notwithstanding this achievement,

Great Scawtha placed Cucullin for a time

Beneath her daughter Ooaha, to learn

Amidst the youthful pupils. Ooaha

Then spake unto Cucullin, and she said:

“If thou wilt learn true valour, thou must go

To Scawtha in the vast and antique yew

Wherein she holds communion with her gods,

Wherein she doth instruct her own two sons,

Coo-ar and Ket. And thou must set thy sword

Betwixt her breasts, until she promise thee

Three wishes. Then demand of her to train thee

Without neglect: to send thee with Faerdeeah

The son of Daman to be taught by Weefa,

The hardest woman-warrior of this world,

Who in Great Greece abides: last, to foretell

What shall befall when thou again shalt go

To far-off, noble Erin.” Then Cucullin

Obeyed her; and he leapt his salmon-leap

Into the yew-tree; and he set his sword

Betwixt the breasts of Scawtha; and he cried:

“Death is above thee!” Then she said to him:

“I give thee thy three wishes. Utter them

In the one breath.” Thereat he uttered them.

“Train me,” he said, “in arms and feats of skill

Without neglect: then send me with Faerdeeah

The son of Daman to be taught by Weefa,

The hardest woman-warrior of this world,

Who in Great Greece abides: lastly, foretell

What shall befall when I again shall go

To far-off, noble Erin.” After that

Scawtha herself trained him to skill in arms;

And—for that I was more in years than he—

(Faerdeeah said, telling his warrior-tale)

She placed him under me, to dress my spears,

And to prepare my bed, and to perform

A gillie’s service. We together practised

All feats which Scawtha taught:—the apple-feat,

The blade-feat, the small-javelin feat, the faen-feat,

The body-feat, the rope-cord feat, the cat-feat,

The chariot-hero’s rapid salmon-feat,

The wielding of the chariot-driver’s staff,

The leap across a fence, the “baw-ee brashee,”

The red whirl of a finished valiant champion,

The wheel-feat, the mouth-fury feat, the breath-feat,

The warrior’s whoop, the furious counter-blow,

The sod-blow, the swift running up a lance

And poising of the body above its point,

The feat of the scythed chariot. And we went

Together amidst crags and through dark forests,

And many wild and lone and desert places,

Learning from Scawtha. And she taught us well.

And ’twixt Cucullin and myself there grew

Heart-friendship. Of one kindred and one tribe

We seemed to be, so strong was our affection.

Ere long great wars occurred. The foes of Scawtha

Pressed on her densely. We went out with her

Into hard battles; and we fought her foes.

Howbeit, of these fights I tell not now.

We fought the king of the great Snowy Land

Which lay to northward. Then upon the south

Fresh trouble came; and one day Scawtha spake

Her words of rousing import. “Get ye ready,”

She said, “to go unto the able battle,

That will be fought against us on the south

By cruel, battle-skilled, grey-haired Germanus.”

Thereat Cucullin, who was ever daring,

Spake unto me and to the son of Baetan,

“Let us arise,” he said, “and gather men,

And seize the fort of battle-skilled Germanus

Ere he can give us battle.” So we went.

We took with us four hundred fighting men

Out of the Islands of the Athishec.

We reached the doon which towers above the loch

Of sparkle-bright Lind Format. On the beach

I slew great Blawth son of red-sworded Calba.

The son of Baetan slew a grim, fierce man,

Mugarny of the Tyrrhene Sea. We reached

The gate-way of the doon; and there Cucullin

Slew Rind who guarded it; and I slew Rooad.

We forced our way within: Cucullin slew

Four fifties of strong fighters; and I slew

Two terrible companies. We pillaged all

The wealthy doon; and battle-wise Germanus—

For all his plans and skilful strategy—

We brought with us alive out of his doon

That towers above the waters. To great Scawtha,

With swift exhilaration and with triumph,

We carried him a captive.

And so Scawtha

(Faerdeeah said, telling his valour-tale)

Had trained us up in arms and feats of skill

Without neglect. Cucullin and myself,

She now, fulfilling so her second promise,

Sent from her, therefore, to be taught by Weefa,

The hardest warrior-woman of the world,

Who in Great Greece abides. After long travel,

We reached the doon of Weefa; and loyally

And kindly Weefa welcomed us. She put us

Soon to a sword-fight with her; and Cucullin

Fought first; and straightway, with her weapon-play,

She broke his sword, till what remained of it

Was hardly longer than his hand. Thereafter

She taught us all that wondrous weapon-play.

She took us into battles and to combats.

She led us on a dangerous expedition,

Even to the Mountain of Armenia. Great

The war-experience and the battle-knowledge

We gained while thus we served her.

Now, awhile,

I leave to speak of these our deeds of arms

(Faerdeeah said), and, instead, speak awhile

Of things that chanced—I tell a truthful tale—

In Erin here. While we two were with Weefa,

An admirable man who was in Munster,

And who is with you now upon your hosting,

A king renowned, Lewy the son of Nōs

The son of Alamac—a foster-brother

Unto Cucullin—fared from the south-west,

From Munster, taking with him twelve good chiefs

Of Munster, to this end, that these might woo

Twelve maids in Tara, twelve fair daughters, namely,

Of Neea Faer the son of Ross the Red.

Those maids, howbeit, had been all affianced

Ere Lewy reached to Tara. Forgall Mona,

Hearing of that, journeyed to Tara straightway.

He said to Lewy that there was with him

In rich Loolohta Loha nigh the sea,

The maid who was the best of maids of Erin—

The best for beauty and sweet voice and language,

The best for chastity and for handiwork,

The best for wisdom. Lewy said to him

That that to him seemed well; and Forgall Mona

Plighted his daughter, therefore, to that king;

And the twelve daughters of the lords of land,

Who dwelt around his doon—folk of Moy Bray—

He plighted to the twelve good chiefs of Munster,

Who had arrived with Lewy. So then Lewy

The son of Nōs the son of Alamac,

Went in one band and troop with Forgall Mona

To Forgall’s doon in rich Loolohta Loha

To have his marriage and bride-festival.

The time, howbeit, when Emer was brought forth

To Lewy, to the place in which he was,

To sit at his one hand, she with her hands

Took his two cheeks. “Upon thy truth of honour

And truth of soul to me,” she said; and then

She made confession that it was Cucullin

Who loved her and who had her love. She said

It, therefore, would be hot, face-reddening insult,

And honour-violation toward Cucullin,

To take her—whosoe’er should take her from him.

At that, that king dared not then sleep with Emer:

He feared Cucullin. Straightway he returned

To his own doon and fort in the south-west.

I now again (Faerdeeah said) set forth

Cucullin’s own adventures. When—our time

With Weefa in Great Greece being fulfilled—

We journeyed to the Island of the doon

Of Scawtha, again, and reached the seven-doored house

Of Scawtha, we found there those five of Erin,

Our comrades, and our friends, and our co-pupils:

Faerbay the son of Baetan; and Faerbay

Son of Faerbend; and Bress the son of Ferb;

And Lewy son of Solmoy; and Faerdaet,

My brother, son of Daman. And those five,

Having fulfilled their training with great Scawtha,

Were now in point to leave her: they were saying

Their blessings and their partings. Then Cucullin

Said he desired to fare back to Erin

In company with those companions. Scawtha

Spoke to him words of solemn warrior-import.

“Thou shalt not go with them,” she said, “till I

Have tied a hard, encircling fold and friendship

About you all; so that the men of the world

May never put you one against the other

Unto a combat. For there is no danger

That any other man in all this world

Will cause you danger, unless danger rise

From one of you against his fellow. Therefore,

These are the gassa which I leave to you:

If it shall be the better man of you,

Who shall seek combat with the less good man,

Then it shall be the better man of you

Who shall be conquered; and, in the same way,

If it shall be the less good man of you

Who shall seek combat with the better man,

Then it shall be the less good man of you

Who shall be conquered. Let not one of you

Transgress these gassa and this testament.”

Thereat we gave our hands unto each other,

So covenanting fulfilment of that league,

Each toward the other, till the Breast of Doom.

And then it was that upon me great Scawtha

Bestowed a conganess, a horn-skin armour;

And then it was that to renowned Cucullin

She gave her dread Gae Bulg. No other man

Of Erin has its like; and to him only

She taught the wielding of it. After that

Scawtha fulfilled her third great vow to him,

Namely, to tell him what things should befall,

When he, with all of us, should go again

To far-off, noble Erin. And she sang,

Through power of the Imbas Forosnai,

These words to him, foreshowing deeds to come:

“My strong affection to thee, welcoming,

O Shield of Fury, Shield of Victory!

I see, O Shield, thy hound-strong combating.

Alone against rough, reaving multitudes,

By Maev brought east with great hostility,

I view thee, unsubdued, yet combating.

On fords from Sowin unto Balt-thana,

I see high heroes, huge, illustrious,

Fall in death-pools, with thee, Shield, combating.

I see thy three-day sleep—sleep wonderful:

I see three fifties slain—deed sorrowful:

I see thy Bressla More, red, terrible.

I see thee lying, wounded, languishing:

Erin contends in battle pitiless:

The bive screams o’er that field, wild, ravenous.

Thy fill of years is brief, ephemeral;

But thy war-deeds men hold in memory,

While Erin yet by waves is combated.

My strong affection to thee, welcoming,

O Shield of Fury, Shield of Victory!

I see, O Shield, thy fame uncombated.”

Well, after that (Faerdeeah said) we said

Our partings and farewells. On that same night

We started on our long and arduous travel,

To our own land, to Erin. I relate

One event only of that arduous travel.

Toward summer’s end we reached the doon of Rooad,

King of the Isles; and there were Conall Carna,

And Laery the Victorious, gathering tribute

And rent; for on those islands of the Gall

There is strong tribute to the men of Ulster.

Cucullin heard a sorrowing in the doon

Ere yet he reached it. “Wherefore is that cry?”

Cucullin asked. “The daughter of our king,”

They said, “is being handed o’er as tribute

To the Fomorians, to the Sea-plunderers,

And therefore this hard sorrowing in our doon.”

“Where is the maid?” he said. “Down on yon shore,”

They answered him. Cucullin went from them,

And came into the presence of the maid

On the shore-sands. He asked of her her tidings;

And the maid told that grief fully, completely.

“Whence will the men arrive?” Cucullin asked.

“From yonder somewhat distant isle,” she said;

“And bide not here to face their violence.”

Cucullin, notwithstanding, bode with her

To face them; and he slew the three Fomorians

With one-man valour. The last man of them

Had wounded him, however, in his hand;

And the maid wound a piece from her own raiment

About his wounded hand. Cucullin then

Went up to the king’s doon like every other:

He had not told his name unto the maiden.

The maiden came then to the doon and told

Her father all that tale. Cucullin came

Like every other guest; and Conall Carna

And Laery the Victorious had great joy

At seeing him; and much they welcomed him.

Many a man within that doon then boasted

Himself the slayer of those ocean-thieves;

But the maid credited no whit his boasting.

And then it was that the king caused a bath

To be prepared; and every man in turn

Was brought to it; and when Cucullin came,

As each one came, the maiden knew him straightway.

“I give my daughter to thee,” Rooad said;

“And her bride-outfit I myself will pay.”

“Not so,” Cucullin said. “After a year,

Let her come after me, if so she will,

To Erin; and I, ’midst my comrades there

Will find for her a very noble consort.”

After that hour (Faerdeeah said) we stayed

Three nights beneath kind tendance in that doon,

With banqueting. At ending of that time

We put our hands unto our ships to sail

Again to Erin. We put prow on shore

On a North Ulster strand. We blessed each other,

We comrades; and each one of us fared then

To his own people, his own tribe and land.

I (said Faerdeeah) fared to my own folk

In Irrus Domnann in the west. Cucullin

Fared to smooth, beautiful, bright Avvin Maha,

Where was great Conor son of Fahtna Fahee,

High-king of Ulster. There he told his tidings,

And put his weariness away. And then—This

(said Faerdeeah) I have heard from one

Who tells true tidings—to his own bright doon,

Doon Dalgan, next he journeyed, where he had,

O King and Queen, some warning of these hosts

And this your hosting. He with Sooaltim,

His father—husband unto Dectora,

His noble mother—rode then to the marches,

And reached Ardcullin. While their steeds grazed there

He made that spancel-withe, made from an oakling

New-felled and twisted; and he cut the inscription

In ogam; and he flung the spancel-withe

Around the pillar-stone, so to delay

Your hosts for one full night while he should go

South o’er the Boyne to rich Loolohta Loha,

There to tell Emer daughter of Forgall Mona

How he again had come to noble Erin

In safety from his travel. Sooaltim

He sent with words of warning north to Avvin.

And now (Faerdeeah said) I have related

The tale I said I would relate. A thing

There is, howbeit:—One of our battle-comrades,

Faerbay the son of Baetan, said to me

That Scawtha, one hour prophesying, said

It was in Destiny, or that Cucullin

Should fall by me, or else that I, Faerdeeah,

Should fall by him. Therein the son of Baetan

Reported erringly. It were a thing

Not possible; for this I say to you:

A dearer, truer friend I never found

Than was Cucullin son of Dectora.

Oh! he was half my heart, and I to him

Was half his heart; and this I say to you:

By my hard shield, by my ringed battle-shield,

Were sword of mine to slay that valiant Hound,

I would then thrust my dripping slender sword

Through my own side, through my own breast and heart.

Yea, by my sword, by my red battle-sword,

Were I to slay that Hound of Moy Mweerhevna,

I would be buried in his raised earth-mound,

And the one stone should lie o’er him and me.

By my war-spear, by my far-flaming spear,

If any folk should come betwixt us two,

And should incite me, so that I should slay him,

I would then turn against that folk in fury,

And they with all their armies should be slain.

By my strong hand, by my trained hero’s hand,

Rather than that in unjust battle-fight

I should destroy that glorious, valiant Hound,

I would myself be slain and thrown as meat

To every wolf and every screaming bive.

Faerdeeah ended so his warrior-tale

Of all Cucullin’s training-up to arms

By Ooaha, by Scawtha, and by Weefa

Far in the East. Beside Ath Gowla still

The Four Great Fifths of Erin stayed that night.

BOOK VIII

BOOK VIII