The Deer of Ill-Luck
When Meave heard that already the Hound of Ulster stood upon her
path, the words spoken by the fairy Feidelm and the Druid came back
into her mind, and she resolved that not a moment would she linger
by the way, but now at once, before the men of Ulster were risen
from their weakness, she would push on direct to Emain Macha. “If
one man alone and single-handed be formidable to us,” she said
to Ailill, “still more formidable will he be with the gathered
hosts of Ulster at his back, fighting for their country and their
fatherland.”
So that very night she gave command that the army should move on,
taking the direct way into Ulster; and when the men complained
there was no road, she bid her soldiers take their swords and hew
for the chariots a path straight through the forests. Haughtily she
cried, “Though mountains and high hills stood in my way, yet should
they be hewn down before me and smoothed to level lands. So by new
paths mayhap we shall slip by Cuchulain unperceived, and fall on
Ulster sleeping; thus shall we take Cuchulain in the rear.”
But whichever way the army turned, from that night forward
Cuchulain was on the path before it, and though the warriors could
not catch sight of him, at every point he cut off twos and threes,
whenever scouts were sent before the host. At length they could
not get the scouts to go, and whole bands went out together, but
even so but few returned alive. And strange things happened, which
alarmed the men, and Meave herself at last grew sore afraid. One
evening, thinking that all was safe, Meave and her women walked
to take the air, she carrying on her shoulders her pet bird and
squirrel. They talked together of the wonders that Cuchulain
wrought, and how that very day he had fallen alone upon a troop of
men who cut a path through woods some miles away beyond the camp to
eastward, and how but one of them escaped to tell the tale. Just
as they spoke, a short sharp sound was heard, as of a sling-stone
passing near their heads, and at Meave’s feet the squirrel dropped,
struck through the heart. Startled, she turned to see whose hand
had killed her pet, but as she turned, down from the other shoulder
dropped the bird, slain also by a stone. “Cuchulain must be near,”
the women cried; “no other hand but his so surely and so straight
can sling a stone,” and hastily they turned and sought the shelter
of the camp again. Meave sat down beside the King to tell him what
had happened. “It could not be Cuchulain,” said the King; “he was
far off on the other side of the host to-day.” Even as the words
passed from his lips, close to them whizzed a hand-sling stone,
carrying off the coronet or golden ‘mind’ that bound Meave’s hair,
but hurting not so much as a lock upon her head. “A bad stroke
that,” laughed out the fool that gambolled round the King, joking
to make him merry; “had I been he who shot that stone, the head I
would have taken off and left the ‘mind’ behind.”
Hardly were the words out of his foolish mouth, than a second
stone, coming from the same direction as the first, in the full
middle of his forehead struck the fool, and carried off his head,
while at Meave’s feet dropped down his pointed cap. Then Ailill
started up and said, “That man will be the death of all our host,
before we ever step on Ulster’s soil. If any man henceforth makes
mock at Cuchulain, ’tis I myself will make two halves of him. Let
the whole host press on by day and night towards the coasts of
Ulster, or not one of us will live to see the gates of Emain Macha.”
So day and night the camp moved on, but not thus could they
outstrip Cuchulain; march as they would, he still was there before
them. Yet, though they chased and sought him day and night, they
caught no sight of him; only he cut off their men.
One day a charioteer of Orlam, Ailill’s son, was sent into a
wood to cut down poles to mend the chariots broken by the way.
It happened that Cuchulain was in this wood, and he took the
charioteer to be a man of Ulster come out before their host to
scout for them.
“The youth is foolhardy who comes so near the army of Queen Meave,”
Cuchulain thought; “I will e’en go and warn him of his danger.”
So he went forwards, and said, “And what, my lad, art thou doing
here?” Not knowing who it was who spoke to him, the lad replied, “I
am come out to polish chariot-poles, because our chariots have been
sorely damaged in our chase of that famous wild deer, Cuchulain;
and indeed, good warrior, I am making all the haste I can, for
fear this same Cuchulain may pounce down on me. Certainly he would
make short work of me; therefore, O Youth, if thou hast time, lend
me a hand and help me with my task.” “Willingly,” said Cuchulain,
“will I help thee. Take thou thy choice; shall I cut down the
holly-poles? or shall I smooth them for thee?” “To trim them is the
slowest work; therefore while I hew down the trees do thou smooth
off the branches and the twigs.”
Cuchulain set to work to trim the holly-poles, and quickly were
they done. Simply by drawing them between his fingers and his toes,
he finished them to perfect smoothness, and threw them down without
a twig or bit of bark or any rough excrescence on the ground.
Closely and with surprise the young man watched this feat. At last
he said: “I am inclined to think that thou art accustomed to some
higher work than cutting chariot-poles. Who art thou then at all?”
“I am that notable Cuchulain of whom just now thou spakest,” the
hero said. “Art thou indeed? then am I but a dead man,” the youth
cried, trembling as he spoke; “no one escapes Cuchulain’s hands
alive.”
“Fear nothing,” replied Cuchulain, “for I never slay a man unarmed
or charioteer. Whose man art thou, and where is thy master to be
found?” “A servant I of Orlam, son of Meave, who awaits my coming
near at hand,” replied the charioteer. “Take him this message
then,” Cuchulain said. “Tell him the Hound of Ulster is at hand,
and bid him guard his head, for if we meet, his head will surely
fall.”
Then the charioteer, right glad to get away, sought out his master
with all haste; but before he could reach him, Cuchulain had
outstripped him, and struck off the head of Orlam, holding it aloft
and shaking it before the men of Erin.
From that time forward Cuchulain took up his position nearer to the
host, cutting off and destroying them, and at evening he would
brandish and shake his weapons before the army, so that men died of
pure fear of him.
“Our army will be destroyed before ever we reach Emain Macha,”
said Meave at length. “If I could but see this hero who troubles
our armies, and speak to him myself, I would offer him terms; for
if we could persuade him to forsake Ulster, and come over to our
side, it would go hard with us, if all Ulster would not be subdued
before us, and ourselves return from this expedition the greatest
monarch in Ireland.” Calling Mac Roth, her herald, she said to him,
“Prepare your chariot, Mac Roth, and seek out for us this Deer of
Ill-luck who is pursuing our army and bringing misfortune upon us.
Offer him terms to forsake the service of Conor and to enter our
own service. Give him whatever terms he asks, and bid him come
himself to-morrow to confer with me, but not to cross the glen.
Well should I like to see this mighty man, but I would not have him
come too near.”
“I care not to go on this embassy,” quoth Mac Roth; “besides, I
know not where to find Cuchulain.” “Fergus will know,” said Meave,
for she believed that Fergus was in league with his foster-son, and
she forgave him not that he loved Ulster still, in spite of all
that she had done for him; so she said, “Fergus will surely know.”
“I know not,” said Fergus, “but this I know, that after any feat of
war or combat with an enemy it is not by sleep or lazy loitering
Cuchulain rests himself, but by exercising in the open air and sun,
letting the cool breezes blow upon his wearied body. Likely it is,
that somewhere ’twixt the mountains and the sea he will be found.”
Mac Roth set off. Now all the land was covered with a mantle
of fresh snow, and, true enough, Cuchulain warmed himself by
practising javelin feats out on the mountain-side, in the full air
and sun.
His charioteer looked forth and saw a man approach. “A warrior
comes, O little Cu,” he said. “What sort of warrior is he who
comes?” Cuchulain asked, but did not cease to fling his javelins
in the air. “A massive, goodly, dark-faced man, clad in an ample
mantle of dark brown, that fastens at his throat with a delicate,
richly ornamented pin of bronze. Beneath the mantle a strong coat
of skins, and sandals bound with leather thongs are on his feet. A
sharp-edged sword he carries in one hand, and in the other holds
a hazel-switch, to keep in order two great noble hounds that play
around his steps.”
“These are the trappings of a herald,” said Cuchulain; “no doubt he
comes from Meave and Ailill to propose terms to us.”
Mac Roth came to the place where Laeg was awaiting him. “Who is
your master, man?” said he. “My master is the young man over there;
I am his charioteer,” replied Laeg. Mac Roth turned half round and
saw Cuchulain. “And who may you serve, my young man?” quoth he. “I
serve King Conor,” said the hero. “Cannot you tell me something
more precise than that?” inquired Mac Roth again. “That much will
serve your turn,” replied the youth. “Can you then tell me where
I could find this renowned Cuchulain, who is so frightening the
men of Erin now?” pursued Mac Roth. “What do you want to say to
him that cannot be said as well to me?” “I come in embassage from
Ailill and from Meave, with power to propose terms of truce, and
with an invitation from the Queen that Cuchulain should meet and
confer with her.” “What terms do you propose?” he asked again.
“With bounteous offers I am come from Meave, promise of wealth in
cattle and in flocks, and welcome of an honoured guest to Cruachan
and a place near Meave’s own side; all this and more, if he will
quit the petty chieftain Conor, and will enter her service, and if,
moreover, he will hold his hand from smiting down our hosts; for,
in good sooth, the nightly thunder-feats he plays upon the warriors
please not the host at all.”
Anger came upon Cuchulain to hear King Conor styled a petty chief
by this contemptuous messenger of Meave. “Go back to those who sent
you,” he replied, “for if in truth Cuchulain heard your terms, he
would reject and fling them back with scorn. To-morrow I engage
that the hero will confer with Meave herself, but only if she come
under the escort and the charge of Fergus.”
Mac Roth returned with haste, and in the camp he sought out
Connaught’s Queen. Eagerly she asked, “Well, did you find the
champion, Mac Roth?” “All that I found was a terrible, angry,
surly fellow airing himself between the mountains and the sea;
but whether it were the formidable hero of whom men speak or no,
indeed, I know not.”
“Did he accept our terms?” pursued the Queen. “The man I saw
rejected them outright, flinging them back at us with angry scorn.
Only he promised that to-morrow, in the glen, Cuchulain would be
found to talk of terms, but that you needs must go in company with
Fergus.”
“To-morrow I myself will offer terms,” said Meave, “and he will not
refuse.” So on the morrow Meave and Fergus sought the glen, the
Queen keeping carefully to the far side of the valley, with the
wooded dell between themselves and the place where she believed
Cuchulain would be found. Eagerly she scanned the glen on every
side, expecting on the opposite ridge to see a mighty, ugly
warrior, fully armed, who waited for her coming. “Why comes he not,
Fergus?” she said at last. But Fergus answered not, for he was
standing all engrossed in watching a young stripling, lithe and
radiant, who on the other side the glen was practising sling-feats,
shooting at the passing birds that flew above his head, and
bringing them down alive.
“Cuchulain is there before you,” Fergus said. “I see no one at all
save one young lad, who seems expert in feats,” replied the Queen;
“I cannot see a warrior near or far.”
“That young lad it is who has done damage to your hosts, however,”
was the reply. “Is that boy, the young boy yonder, the famous
hero of whom all men speak?” Meave cried astonished. “Small need,
methinks, to be afraid of him, myself will speak to him and
offer him my terms.” Then in a high and haughty voice, as when a
Queen speaks to an underling, Meave called across the valley to
Cuchulain. She set before him honourable terms if he would leave
the service of King Conor and enter hers. Promptly, without an
instant’s thought, he set them all aside. Then as he seemed about
to turn away to practise feats again, in despair the Queen called
out, “Are there no terms whatever that you will accept? it is
not pleasant to our people, nor likes it them at all, to be cut
off and slaughtered night by night and harassed by your precious
thunder-feats.”
“I tell you not my terms,” replied the youth; “it is for you to
find them out yourself.”
As Meave and Fergus drove back to the camp, the Queen asked Fergus
if he knew the terms Cuchulain would accept.
“I do not know,” said Fergus, “but just now there came into my
mind a conversation that I had when Cuchulain was yet a child and
in my house as foster-son. We spoke together of a champion who had
accepted conditions of his country’s foes, and I remember that
Cuchulain thought not well of him for doing so. He coloured up and
said, ‘If I were offered conditions by my country’s enemies, these
are the sort of terms I would accept. I would demand of them each
day one of their foremost warriors to meet me at the ford in single
combat; and for the space of time while I am hewing down that man,
I would permit them to march onwards with their host, and short
would be that space of time, I ween! But when the man was dead,
until the sunrise on the morrow’s morn, I would not have them move.
Thus I would keep them well in sight, and would pluck off their
warriors one by one. Also,’ he said, and laughed, ‘I would require
my enemies to keep me well supplied with food and raiment while I
fought with them; so would there be much trouble saved, and with
their food I would grow strong to fight against themselves. These
are the terms that I would ask, O foster-father Fergus, of my
foes.’ Those were his words, O Queen, when he was but a child; I
trow he will not be contented now with less.”
Then Meave said thoughtfully: “It seems not worse that one man
should be slain each day than that a hundred men should fall at
night, even were that one man a champion of our host. I think it
better to accept his terms. Go back to him, O Fergus, and if he is
agreed, say we accept and will abide by those conditions. So we may
find at length a little peace.”