The Plucking out of the Four-pronged Pole
Then Meave gathered her hosts together and set out from Cruachan,
each party under its own leader, marching in order of rank, with
Fergus mac Roy guiding the entire army, and Meave bringing up the
rear, in order that she might keep all her troops under her own
eye. Meave’s way of travelling when she went into battle was in a
chariot, with her bodyguard of chosen warriors around her, who, in
any time of danger, interlocked their shields to form a rampart and
protection on every side as she moved along.
Gaily her troops marched in their many-coloured garb, their short
kilts falling to the knee, their long cloaks over that. And the
colour of the kilts of each troop was different, so that each man
knew his own comrades by the pattern of his kilt. In their hands
they carried shields and spears upon long shafts, while others had
five-pronged spears, or mighty swords, or javelins.
It was in the beginning of winter that they set out, and already
snow lay heavy on the ground; on the very first night it fell so
thickly, that it reached to the chariot-wheels and almost to their
very shoulders, nor could they find any track or way.
Meave called Fergus, and said to him: “Go on before the hosts, O
Fergus, and find us out the shortest road into Ulster, for in such
weather as this, it is not well that we lose time by wandering
out of the right way.” So with a few companions Fergus went on
ahead; but as he drove along, the memory of old friends and of his
home and country came upon him, and an overwhelming affection for
Ulster took hold on him, and in his mind there arose shame and
bitter self-reproach that he, the former King of Ulster, should
be leading Ulster’s foes against her. For he liked Meave and he
liked her not; her kindness to himself and the exiles of Ulster had
prevailed with him to aid her in her war upon the province; but her
wiles and cunning and manlike ways he cared not for, and in his
heart he had no wish to see the province subdued to her. So to the
North and the South he misled the host, making them walk all day by
difficult paths far out of their way, while in the meantime he sent
swift messengers to Conor and the Ulster chiefs, but especially to
his own foster-son Cuchulain, whom he loved, to call their men at
arms together, because Meave and a host of warriors from all the
provinces of Ireland were on their borders. At night, after a long
day’s march, the army found itself back in the very spot from which
it had set out, not far beyond the banks of the River Shannon. Then
Meave called Fergus, and angrily she spoke to him: “A good guide to
an army art thou, O Fergus, bringing it back at night to the very
place from which in the morning it set out. A good enemy of Ulster
this. A good friend to Connaught and its queen!” “Seek out some
other leader for your troops, O Meave,” said Fergus, “for never
will I lead them against the province of Ulster and against my own
people and my foster-son! But this I tell you, beware and look out
well for your troops to-night and every night from this; for it
may be that Cuchulain will stand between you and Ulster, and the
standing of Cuchulain will be as the crouching of the Hounds of War
upon your path; therefore beware and guard yourselves well before
him!”
Now that very night Cuchulain got the message of Fergus, for he
was with his father, Sualtach, not far from this place. Together
in their chariot they drove to the borders of the country where
the army was encamped to seek for the trail of the hosts; but they
found it not easy to discover the trail, because of the snow and
because of the wandering path that Fergus had taken the troops.
They unyoked the chariots, and turned the horses out to graze
at a certain pillar-stone beside a ford; and on one side of the
pillar-stone the horses of Sualtach cropped the grass down to the
very ground, and on the other the horses of Cuchulain did the same.
Then Cuchulain said: “To-night, O father, I have a shrewd suspicion
that the host is near; depart thou therefore to warn Ulster, and to
bid them arise and come by secret ways to meet the men of Erin.”
Now in his heart was Sualtach glad and pleased to be gone, because
he was not a man who loved to stand in the gap of danger, nor to
risk his life before an enemy stronger than himself; but yet he was
loth to leave his son alone. So he said, “And thou, beloved, what
wilt thou do?”
“I will stand between the men of Ireland and the province of
Ulster,” said the boy, “so that no harm or hurt befall the province
until Ulster be ready for battle; here on the borders do I take my
stand, and I will so harry and trouble the hosts of Meave that they
will wish the expedition had never been undertaken.”
So Cuchulain hastened his father, and Sualtach bade him farewell,
and slipped away to Emain Macha. But when he found the warriors
were asleep, his old lethargy came over Sualtach, and he forgot the
message of Cuchulain, and under Emain’s ramparts he took up his
abode. “Here will I wait in safety,” he thought; “and when the King
and chiefs awake, I, with the first of them, will march to war with
Meave. I will not be behind, but all alone I have not the heart to
fight.”
No sooner had Sualtach gone his way than Cuchulain entered a forest
close at hand and out of an oak sapling cut a four-pronged pole,
which with one sweep of his swift sword he cleared of all its twigs
and leaves and small branches. With the finger-tips of his right
hand he hurled it out behind his chariot, going at full pace, so
that it sank into the ground in the middle of the stream, and stood
up just above the water. Upon the pole he flung a ring or twisted
collar of young birch, and on the ring he carved his name and a
message in secret runes. Just at that moment two young men of the
host of Meave, gone out before the troops to scout, came near and
watched him. No time had they to turn and flee, for with one leap
Cuchulain was upon them, and both their heads struck off. These and
the two heads of their charioteers were soon impaled on the four
points of the forked pole; but the chariots he turned back, driving
them towards the host of Meave. When the warriors saw the chariots
return with headless men, they thought the army of Ulster must be
close before them, waiting their coming at the ford. Therefore a
great company of them marched forward to the stream, ready and
armed for battle, but nothing did they see but a tall pole that
stood upright in the swirling waters of the stream, bearing a rude
carved collar on its top, and on the point of every branching prong
a bleeding new-slain head.
“Go now,” said Ailill to his man, “fetch me the collar here.” But
all in vain he tried to read the words engraven on the ring. “What,
Fergus, are the words inscribed upon this ring?” said he. “Who
could have written them? A strange thing, verily, it seems to me,
that two brave scouts could have been slain like this, well-nigh
within the sight of all our men. A marvel, I confess, this thing to
me.”
“Not that it is at which I marvel,” Fergus said; “I marvel rather
that with one sweep of the sword this tree was felled and cleaned
of all its twigs. See, it is written on the ring that with one hand
this pole was thrown, and fixed firmly in its bed; it is written
here, moreover, that the men of Erin are forbidden to pass this
ford, until in exactly the same manner it is plucked up again.”
“One man only in the army can do that, namely, you yourself, O
Fergus!” answered Meave. “Now help us in this strait and pluck the
pole out of the river’s bed for us.”
“Bring me a chariot, then, and I will see what I can do.”
A chariot was brought and Fergus mounted into it. With all his
force he dashed down into the water, and with his finger-tips in
passing by he tried to draw the pole out of its place. But all in
vain; the pole stood fast, and though he tugged and strained, so
that the chariot flew into little bits and fragments, he could
not stir or move the pole an inch. One chariot after another he
essayed, and all of them went into splinters, but not one whit the
looser was the pole. At last Meave said: “Give over, Fergus; enough
of my people’s chariots are broken with this game. Get your own
chariot and pull out the pole. Right well I guess your purpose;
for you have in mind to hamper and delay the progress of our host
till Ulster be aroused and come to meet us; but that your guidance
led us all astray, we might be even now in Ulster’s border-lands.”
Then Fergus’s own mighty chariot was brought, all made of iron,
studded o’er with nails, heavy and massive in its make. Upright he
stood in it, and with a powerful, superhuman pull he wrenched with
one hand’s finger-tips the pole from out its bed, and handed it to
Ailill.
Attentively and long the King considered it, and then he asked,
“Whom thinkest thou, O Fergus, it might be who threw this pole
into the river-bed and slaughtered our two scouts? Was it Conall
the victorious, or Celtchar, or even Conor himself? Surely it was
some brave, well-seasoned man, some warrior of old renown, who did
a deed like this!” “I think,” said Fergus, “that not one of these
three heroes would have come alone from Ulster, unattended by
their bodyguard and troops.” “Whom, then, thinkest thou was here?”
persisted Ailill; “who could have done this deed?” “I think,” said
Fergus, “that it was Cuchulain, Ulster’s Hound.”