Queen Meave and the Woman-Seer
Craftily Fergus wrought upon Queen Meave that she should espouse
his cause and lead an army into Ulster’s coasts, to win the kingdom
back for him again. And Meave was no way sorry to make war, for
Connaught and the North at all times were at strife, and frays and
battle-raids were common between them. So with light heart Queen
Meave sent heralds out and messengers through Connaught to collect
her armed bands, bidding them meet her within three months’ space
before her palace-fort of Cruachan. And in three months a goodly
host was gathered there, and tents were pitched, and for awhile
they tarried round the palace-courts, eating and drinking, so that
with good heart and strength they might set forth to march towards
Ulster’s borders.
Now, in the dark and dead of night before the break of day when
all the host should start their forward march, Meave could not
sleep; and stealthily she rose and bid them make her chariot ready,
that she might seek a Druid whom she knew, and learn from him the
prospects of the expedition and what should be the fate before her
hosts.
[Illustration: Queen Meave and the Druid]
Far in the depths of a wide-spreading wood the Druid dwelt. An
old and reverend man was he, and far and wide men knew him for
a prophet and a seer. The “Knowledge that enlightens” he
possessed, which opened to his eyes the coming days and all the
secret things the future held. Gravely he came out to meet the
troubled Queen, and he from her chariot handed her, as proudly she
drew up before his door.
“We have come to thee, O Druid and magician,” said the Queen, “to
ask of thee the fate and fortune of this expedition against Ulster
which we have now in hand, whether we shall return victorious or
not.”
“Wait but awhile in patience,” said the aged man, “and I will read
the future, if the gods allow.”
For two long hours Meave waited in the hut, while on the hearth the
fire of peat burned low, and a strange dimness spread about the
house as though a mist had risen between herself and the magician,
who, on his palms performed his curious rites, and in a slow and
solemn chant sang charms and incantations; by strange and magic
arts known to his craft seeking the “Knowledge that enlightens.”
And, at the last, when all was still, he rose to his full height,
stretched out his arms, and called upon the gods of fire, and air,
and wind, and light, to open up and lay before his gaze the future
things that were in store for Meave and for her hosts.
Then he made total darkness in his hut, and ate a curious food,
concocted by magicians; and when he had eaten, he fell into a
sleep, his servant watching over him, his two palms laid upon his
cheeks. Then in a minute, or two minutes, he uttered sounds, but
like one talking in his sleep, and the servant bade Meave question
him, for his sleep of inspiration was upon him. So Meave said: “In
mine host this day are many who do part from their own people and
their friends, from their country and their lands, from father and
from mother. Now, if these all return not safe and sound, upon me
will be the anger of their friends, and me they will upbraid. Tell
me, then, will these return alive?”
And the magician said: “These might return; but yet I see a little
boy who stands upon the way to hinder them. Fair he is and young
and but a boy; and yet on every path I see him, holding back
thy hosts, slaughtering and pursuing, as though the strength of
the gods were in his arms. On every path they fall, in every
battlefield the ground is strewn with dead, and in the homes of
Connaught men and women weep the sons and husbands who return no
more. Who this youth may be I know not, but I see that he will
bring trouble on thy hosts.”
Then Meave trembled at the saying of the Druid; but she asked
again, “Among all those who will remain behind and those who go,
there is none dearer to us than we are to ourselves; inquire
therefore of thy gods if we ourselves shall come alive out of this
hosting?”
The wizard answered: “Whoever comes or comes not, thou thyself
shalt come.”
Then Meave mounted her chariot again, and turned her horses’
heads towards Cruachan. But heaviness was at her heart, and deep
dejection lay upon her mind, and moodily she thought of what the
Druid prophesied to her.
They had not driven far when suddenly the horses swerved aside and
reared and snorted with affright. Meave started up, and shaking off
her reverie, in the dim twilight of the breaking dawn, close up
beside her chariot-shaft, she saw a woman stand. Red as a foxglove
were her cheeks and blue as the spring hyacinth beneath the forest
trees her sparkling eyes. Like pearls her teeth shone white between
her lips, and all her skin was fair as the white foam that dances
on the wave. Around her fell, in waving folds of green, a cloak
such as the fairy women wear, which hides them from the eyes of
mortal men.
But while she looked in wonder on the maid, astonished at her
lovely face and mien, Meave saw her garment change to dusky red.
And in the dimness, she perceived the maiden held a sword, point
upward, in her hand, a massive sword, such as a mighty man-of-war
might wield. And from the point blood dripped, and one by one the
drops fell on the Queen, till all her cloak, and garments, and the
chariot-floor ran red with streams of blood.
And terror came on Meave, and all in vain she sought to force her
horses forward, but still they reared and curvetted, but would not
advance. “Girl,” cried the Queen at last, “what doest thou here,
and who and what art thou?”
“I am a woman of the fairy race,” the maid replied; “I come
to-night to tell thee of thy fortunes, and the chance that shall
befall thee and thy hosts upon this raid that thou dost make on
Ulster.”
“What is thy name, and wherefore thus, without my will, hast thou
presumed to come and speak with me?” replied the angry Queen.
“Great cause have I to come; for from the fairy-rath of thine own
people, near to Cruachan, am I here; and Feidelm the prophetess my
name.”
“Well, then, O prophetess Feidelm,” said Queen Meave, “how seest
thou our host?” but yet she trembled as she spoke. And Feidelm
said, “I see thy hosts all red, I see them all becrimsoned.”
“Thou seest ill, O prophetess,” said Meave; “for in the courts of
Emain now the King lies sick and ill; my messengers have been to
him, and nought there is that we need fear from Ulster. Therefore,
O Feidelm, woman-prophet Feidelm, tell us now but the truth; how
seest thou our hosts?”
“I see them all dyed red, I see them all becrimsoned,” said the
girl again.
“It cannot be,” said Meave. “For many months my spies have been
in Ulster, and this well I know; that in Ulster they dream not of
the coming of a host. Now tell us this time true, O Feidelm, O
woman-prophet Feidelm, how seest thou our host?”
But again the maiden answered as before: “I see all red on them, I
see them all becrimsoned.”
Then Meave grew angry, and fury came upon her, and she called on
her charioteer to slay the fairy maid. But the man was afraid to
touch her, so strange and formidable did she stand there, holding
the dripping sword upright.
Then once again Meave answered her: “Girl, I care not for thy
threats, for well I know, that when the men of Ulster come
together, frays and quarrels will arise among themselves, either
as regards the troop which shall precede the host, or that one
which shall follow; or about precedence among the leaders, or about
forays for cattle and for food. Therefore, I conclude that they
will fall upon each other, and that it will be but a little matter
for me to disperse them, and return again with spoils to Cruachan.”
Then the maiden’s face grew grave, and she spoke as though she
saw a vision, and Meave trembled as she listened to her words. “I
see thy host,” she said, “crimson and red, fall back before the
men of Ulster. Yet the host of Ulster seems not a mighty host,
but faint and weak through sickness, and the King of Ulster lies
on his bed. Through all my dreams there comes a lad, not old in
years, but great in weapon-feats. Young though he is, the marks of
many wounds are on his skin, and round his head there shines the
‘hero’s light.’ A face he has the noblest and the best, and in his
eyes sparkle the champion’s gleams; a stripling, fair and modest in
his home, but in the battle fierce and tough and strong, as though
he wore a mighty dragon’s form. In either of his hands four darts
he holds, and with a skill before unknown, he plies them on your
host. A formidable sword hangs by his side, and close beside him
stands his charioteer, holding his pointed spear. A madness seems
to seize him in the fight; by him your hosts are all hewn down, and
on the battle-field the slain, foot laid to foot and hand to hand,
do thickly lie. Before the hosts of Ulster all unmoved he stands
as if to guard them from the fight; all on himself the burden of
the uneven contest falls. Strong heroes cannot stand before his
blows, and in the homes of Connaught women weep the slain who come
not back. This is the vision that I see, and this the prophecy of
Feidelm, Cruachan’s woman-seer.”
Then all her pride and courage fled from Meave, and fearfully she
asked the woman-seer, “What is the name by which this youth is
known?”
And Feidelm said: “To all the world the youth’s name will be known,
Cuchulain son of Sualtach, of the Feats; but in the North, because
he guards their homes as a good watch-dog guards the scattered
flocks upon the mountain-side, men call him lovingly, ‘The Hound of
Ulster.’”
Then to her fairy-dwelling Feidelm returned, and Meave went to her
tent again.