How Cuchulain Wooed his Wife
It was on a day of the days of summer that Emer, daughter of
Forgall the Wily, sat on a bench before her father’s door, at his
fort that is called Lusk to-day, but which in olden days men spoke
of as the Gardens of the Sun-god Lugh, so sunny and so fair and
fertile was that plain, with waving meadow-grass and buttercups,
and the sweet may-blossom girdling the fields. Close all about the
fort the gardens lay, with apple-trees shedding their pink and
white upon the playing fields of brilliant green; and all the air
was noisy with the buzz of bees, and with the happy piping of the
thrush and soft low cooing of the doves. And Emer sat, a fair and
noble maid, among her young companions, foster-sisters of her own,
who came from all the farms and forts around to grow up with the
daughters of the house, and learn from them high-bred and gentle
ways, to fashion rich embroideries such as Irish women used to
practise as an art, and weaving, and fine needlework, and all the
ways of managing a house. And as they sat round Emer, a bright
comely group of busy girls, they sang in undertones the crooning
tender melodies of ancient Erin; or one would tell a tale of early
wars, and warrior feasts or happenings of the gods, and one would
tell a tale of lover’s joys or of the sorrows of a blighted love,
and they would sigh and laugh and dream that they too loved, were
wooed, and lost their loves.
And Emer moved about among the girls, directing them; and of all
maids in Erin, Emer was the best, for hers were the six gifts of
womanhood, the gift of loveliness, the gift of song, the gift of
sweet and pleasant speech, the gift of handiwork, the gifts of
wisdom and of modesty. And in his distant home in Ulster, Cuchulain
heard of her. For he was young and brave, and women loved him for
his nobleness, and all men wished that he should take a wife. But
for awhile he would not, for among the women whom he saw, not one
of them came up to his desires. And when they urged him, wilfully
he said: “Well, find for me a woman I could love, and I will marry
her.” Then sent the King his heralds out through every part of
Ulster and the south to seek a wife whom Cuchulain would care to
woo. But still he said the same, “This one, and this, has some bad
temper or some want of grace, or she is vain or she is weak, not
fitted as a mate to such as I. She must be brave, for she must
suffer much; she must be gentle, lest I anger her; she must be fair
and noble, not alone to give me pleasure as her spouse, but that
all men may think of her with pride, saying, ‘As Cuchulain is the
first of Ulster’s braves, the hero of her many fighting-fields, so
is his wife the noblest and the first of Erin’s women, a worthy
mate for him.’”
So when the princely messengers returned, their search was vain;
among the daughters of the chiefs and noble lords not one was
found whom Cuchulain cared to woo. But one who loved him told him
of a night he spent in Forgall’s fort, and of the loveliness and
noble spirit of Forgall’s second girl Emer, the maiden of the
waving hair, but just grown up to womanhood. He told him of her
noble mien and stately step, the soft and liquid brightness of her
eyes, the colour of her hair, that like to ruddy gold fresh from
the burnishing, was rolled around her head. Her graceful form he
praised, her skilfulness in song and handiwork, her courage with
her father, a harsh and wily man, whom all within the house hated
and feared but she. He told him also that for any man to win the
maiden for his wife would be a troublesome and dangerous thing, for
out of all the world, her father Forgall loved and prized but her,
and he had made it known that none beneath a king or ruling prince
should marry her, and any man who dared to win her love, but such
as these, should meet a cruel death; and this he laid upon his sons
and made them swear to him upon their swords, that any who should
come to woo the girl should never leave the fort alive again.
All that they said but made Cuchulain yet the more desire to see
the maid and talk with her. “This girl, so brave, so wise, so fair
of face and form,” he pondered with himself, “would be a fitting
mate for any chief. I think she is the fitting mate for me.”
So on the very day when Emer sat upon her playing-fields, Cuchulain
in the early morn set forth in all his festal garb in his chariot
with his prancing steeds, with Laeg before him as his charioteer,
and took the shortest route towards the plain of Bray, where lie
the Gardens of the Sun-god Lugh. The way they went from Emain lay
between the Mountains of the Wood, and thence along the High-road
of the Plain, where once the sea had passed; across the marsh that
bore the name the Whisper of the Secret of the Gods. Then driving
on towards the River Boyne they passed the Ridge of the Great Sow,
where not far off is seen the fairy haunt of Angus, God of Beauty
and of Youth; and so they reached the ford of Washing of the Horses
of the Gods, and the fair, flowering plains of Lugh, called Lusk
to-day.
Now all the girls were busied with their work, when on the
high-road leading to the fort they heard a sound like thunder from
the north, that made them pause and listen in surprise.
Nearer and nearer yet it came as though at furious pace a band of
warriors bore down towards the house. “Let one of you see from the
ramparts of the fort,” said Emer, “what is the sound that we hear
coming towards us.” Fiall, her sister, Forgall’s eldest girl, ran
to the top of the rath or earthen mound that circled round the
playing-fields, and looked out towards the north, shading her eyes
against the brilliant sun. “What do you see there?” asked they all,
and eagerly she cried: “I see a splendid chariot-chief coming at
furious pace along the road. Two steeds, like day and night, of
equal size and beauty, come thundering beneath that chariot on the
plain. Curling their manes and long, and as they come, one would
think fire darted from their curbed jaws, so strain and bound they
forward; high in the air the turf beneath their feet is thrown
around them, as though a flock of birds were following as they go.
On the right side the horse is grey, broad in the haunches, active,
swift and wild; with head erect and breast expanded, madly he moves
along the plain, bounding and prancing as he goes. The other horse
jet-black, head firmly knit, feet broad-hoofed, firm, and slender;
in all this land never had chariot-chief such steeds as these.”
“Heed not the steeds,” the girls replied, “tell us, for this
concerns us most, who is the chariot-chief who rides within?”
“Worthy of the chariot in which he rides is he who sits within.
Youthful he seems, as standing on the very borders of a noble
manhood, and yet I think his face and form are older than his
years. Gravely he looks, as though his mind revolved some serious
thought, and yet a radiance as of the summer’s day enfolds him
round. About his shoulders a rich five-folded mantle hangs, caught
by a brooch across the chest sparkling with precious gems, above
his white and gold-embroidered shirt. His massive sword rests on
his thigh, and yet I think he comes not here to fight. Before him
stands his charioteer, the reins held firmly in his hand, urging
the horses onward with a goad.”
“What like is he, the charioteer?” demand the girls again.
“A ruddy man and freckled,” answered Fiall; “his hair is very curly
and bright-red, held by a bronze fillet across his brow, and caught
at either side his head in little cups of gold, to keep the locks
from falling on his face. A light cloak on his shoulders, made with
open sleeves, flies back in the wind, as rapidly they course along
the plain.” But Emer heard not what the maiden said, for to her
mind there came the memory of a wondrous youth whom Ulster loved
and yet of whom all Erin stood in awe. Great warriors spoke of him
in whispers and with shaking of the head. They told how when he was
a little child, he fought with full-grown warriors and mastered
them; of a huge hound that he had slain and many feats of courage
he had done. Into her mind there came a memory, that she had heard
of prophets who foretold for him a strange and perilous career; a
life of danger, and an early death. Full many a time she longed to
see this youth, foredoomed to peril, yet whose praise should ring
from age to age through Erin; and in her mind, when all alone she
pondered on these things, she still would end: “This were a worthy
mate! This were a man to win a woman’s love!” And half aloud she
uttered the old words: “This were a man to win a woman’s love!”
Now hardly had the words sprung to her lips, when the chariot
stood before the door, close to the place where all the girls were
gathered. And when she saw him Emer knew it was the man of whom
she dreamed. He wished a blessing to them, and her lovely face she
lifted in reply. “May God make smooth the path before thy feet,”
she gently said. “And thou, mayest thou be safe from every harm,”
was his reply. “Whence comest thou?” she asked; for he had alighted
from his seat and stood beside her, gazing on her face. “From
Conor’s court we come,” he answered then; “from Emain, kingliest
of Ulster’s forts, and this the way we took. We drove between the
Mountains of the Wood, along the High-road of the Plain, where
once the sea had been; across the Marsh they call the Secret of
the Gods, and to the Boyne’s ford named of old the Washing of the
Horses of the Gods. And now at last, O maiden, we have come to the
bright flowery Garden-grounds of Lugh. This is the story of myself,
O maid; let me now hear of thee.” Then Emer said: “Daughter am I to
Forgall, whom men call the Wily Chief. Cunning his mind and strange
his powers; for he is stronger than any labouring man, more learned
than any Druid, more sharp and clever than any man of verse. Men
say that thou art skilled in feats of war, but it will be more
than all thy games to fight against Forgall himself; therefore be
cautious what thou doest, for men cannot number the multitude of
his warlike deeds nor the cunning and craft with which he works. He
has given me as a bodyguard twenty valiant men, their captain Con,
son of Forgall, and my brother; therefore I am well protected, and
no man can come near me, but that Forgall knows of it. To-day he is
gone from home on a warrior expedition, and those men are gone with
him; else, had he been within, I trow he would have asked thee of
thy business here.”
“Why, O maiden, dost thou talk thus to me? Dost thou not reckon me
among the strong men, who know not fear?” “If thy deeds were known
to me,” she said, “I then might reckon them; but hitherto I have
not heard of all thy exploits.” “Truly, I swear, O maiden,” said
Cuchulain, “that I will make my deeds to be recounted among the
glories of the warrior-feats of heroes.” “How do men reckon thee?”
she said again. “What then is thy strength?” “This is my strength,”
he said. “When my might in fight is weakest, I can defend myself
alone against twenty. I fear not by my own might to fight with
forty. Under my protection a hundred are secure. From dread of
me, strong warriors avoid my path, and come not against me in the
battle-field. Hosts and multitudes and armed men fly before my
name.”
“Thou seemest to boast,” said Emer, “and truly for a tender boy
those feats are very good; but they rank not with the deeds of
chariot-chiefs. Who then were they who brought thee up in these
deeds of which thou boastest?”
“Truly, O maiden, King Conor is himself my foster-father, and
not as a churl or common man was I brought up by him. Among
chariot-chiefs and champions, among poets and learned men, among
the lords and nobles of Ulster, have I been reared, and they have
taught me courage and skill and manly gifts. In birth and bravery I
am a match for any chariot-chief; I direct the counsels of Ulster,
and at my own fort at Dun Dalgan they come to me for entertainment.
Not as one of the common herd do I stand before thee here to-day,
but as the favourite of the King and the darling of all the
warriors of Ulster. Moreover, the god Lugh the Long-handed is my
protector, for I am of the race of the great gods, and his especial
foster-child. And now, O maiden, tell me of thyself; how in the
sunny plains of Lugh hast thou been reared within thy father’s
fort?” “That I will tell thee,” said the girl. “I was brought up in
noble behaviour as every queen is reared; in stateliness of form,
in wise, calm speech, in comeliness of manner, so that to me is
imputed every noble grace among the hosts of the women of Erin.”
“Good, indeed, are those virtues,” said the youth; “and yet I
see one excellence thou hast not noted in thy speech. Never
before, until this day, among all women with whom I have at times
conversed, have I found one but thee to speak the mystic ancient
language of the bards, which we are talking now for secrecy one
with the other. And all these things are good, but one is best of
all, and that is, that I love thee, and I think thou lovest me.
What hinders, then, that we should be betrothed?” But Emer would
not hasten, but teasing him, she said, “Perhaps thou hast already
found a wife?” “Not so,” said he, “and by my right-hand’s valour
here I vow, none but thyself shall ever be my wife.” “A pity it
were, indeed, thou shouldst not have a wife,” said Emer, playing
with him still; “see, here is Fiall, my elder sister, a clever girl
and excellent in needlework. Make her thy wife, for well is it
known to thee, a younger sister in Ireland may not marry before an
elder. Take her! I’ll call her hither.” Then Cuchulain was vexed
because she seemed to play with him. “Verily and indeed,” he said,
“not Fiall, but thee, it is with whom I am in love; and if thou
weddest me not, never will I, Cuchulain, wed at all.”
Then Emer saw that Cuchulain loved her, but she was not satisfied,
because he had not yet done the deeds of prime heroes, and she
desired that he should prove himself by champion feats and deeds of
valour before he won her as his bride.
So she bade him go away and prove himself for a year by deeds of
prowess to be indeed a worthy mate and spouse for her, and then, if
he would come again she would go with him as his one and only wife.
But she bade him beware of her father, for she knew that he would
try to kill him, in order that he might not come again. And this
was true, for every way he sought to kill Cuchulain, or to have him
killed by his enemies, but he did not prevail.
When Cuchulain had taken farewell of Emer and gained her promise,
he returned to Emain Macha. And that night the maidens of the
fort told Forgall that Cuchulain had been there and that they
thought that he had come to woo Emer; but of this they were not
sure, because he and Emer had talked together in the poet’s mystic
tongue, that was not known to them. For Emer and Cuchulain talked
on this wise, that no one might repeat what they had said to
Forgall.
And for a whole year Cuchulain was away, and Forgall guarded the
fort so well that he could not come near Emer to speak with her;
but at last, when the year was out, he would wait no longer, and
he wrote a message to Emer on a piece of stick, telling her to
be ready. And he came in his war-chariot, with scythes upon its
wheels, and he brought a band of hardy men with him, who entered
the outer rampart of the fort and carried off Emer, striking
down men on every side. And Forgall followed them to the earthen
out-works, but he fell over the rath, and was taken up lifeless.
And Cuchulain placed Emer and her foster-sister in his chariot,
carrying with them their garments and ornaments of gold and silver,
and they drove northward to Cuchulain’s fort at Dun Dalgan, which
is Dundalk to-day.
And they were pursued to the Boyne, and there Cuchulain placed Emer
in a house of safety, and he turned and drove off his enemies who
followed him, pursuing them along the banks and destroying them, so
that the place, which had before been called the White Field, was
called the Turf of Blood from that day. Then he and Emer reached
their home in safety, nor were they henceforth parted until death.