Ulster, Awake!
After the combat with Ferdia weariness and great weakness fell
upon Cuchulain. From the beginning of winter to early spring he
had watched and safe-guarded the frontier of Ulster, alone and
single-handed, and all that time he had never slept a whole night
through. Saving only a brief snatch at midday, he often did not
sleep at all, and even what he had was taken sitting, with his
spear ready in his hand, and his head resting upon the shaft, as it
stood between his knees.
The host of Meave was encamped on the plain of Murthemne, in
Cuchulain’s district, but the Brown Bull and the cattle they had
sent away northward for safety into the hill passes of eastern
Ulster.
Beside the grave of Lerga, overlooking the camp of the men of
Erin, Cuchulain lay beside a fire that Laeg had kindled. Now, as
the shades of evening fell, the hero looked abroad, slowly and
with pain raising himself upon his elbow, and on every hand he saw
the glint and gleam of the weapons of the men of Erin, caught by
the light of the setting sun. Before him lay the great expanse of
tents, and the multitude of the host, and he would have rushed upon
them then and there, but all his body was riddled with wounds, and
his strength was utterly gone from him. In his anger and despair
he brandished his sword and waved his shield and uttered forth
his hero’s shout. So horrible was that shout that the goblins and
sprites and daft people of the air and of the glens answered it,
and many of the men of Erin died of pure terror at the sound.
Then across the camp of the enemy Laeg descried a figure, as of a
tall and stately champion advancing calmly towards them. Straight
through the tents of Erin he passed on, but no man seemed to see;
no head was turned as he went by, nor did the sentries bar his way,
yet in his hand he carried a drawn sword.
Astonishment and awe fell upon Laeg as, from his seat beside his
master, he beheld the warrior draw near.
“It seems to me, O little Hound,” he said, “as though a visitant
from fairy-land drew near. Like one in high authority is this
young man, and like the sun at junction of the day and night the
gentle radiance of his lofty brow; methinks that in its midday glow
no mortal eyes could bear the shining of its wondrous light. The
armour of Manannan clothes him round, and none can pierce or wound
him through its joints; the sword of Manannan is in his hand, from
which no enemy returns alive, while on his head the jewelled helmet
of Manannan gleams.”
“’Tis true, indeed,” replied the wounded man, “Lugh the
Long-handed, mightiest of the gods, is come to succour me. Bright
as the sun rising at early dawn out of the glowing east the hero’s
face, giver of light and warmth to human-kind; with his long arms
stretching across the sky he floods the world with light. In his
right hand he bears the sword of day, though now in shades of night
his face is veiled. No human eye, save his whose inward mind has
pierced the realms of fairy mysteries, can see the god, when in
Manannan’s helmet of invisibility he comes to earth. To comfort
and to solace me he comes, for well he knows my plight. My comrades
of the fairy-folk have pity on my pain and my despair.”
The warrior stood close beside Cuchulain’s bed and gazed upon his
wounds, and noble pity stood within his eyes. “A manly fight, I
see, you made, my son, and worthy are those wounds.”
“I think not much about the wounds, O Lugh, but this is troubling
me; behold, below, yon host of mighty men who threaten Ulster’s
land, and here I lie, as weary as a child, and cannot rise to wreak
my wrath on them. Were but my strength returned and my wounds
healed, I would not long be lying here in grief, idle and cast
away. But if, O Father Lugh, for this one night you would keep
watch and ward for me the while I sleep, then could I for a space
take peaceful rest.”
“I come for that,” said Lugh, “from fairy land. Sleep then, O
Ulster’s Hound, and by the grave of Lerga deeply rest; no harm
shall come to Ulster while you sleep, for I will watch and battle
with the host.” Then in deep peace and slumber Cuchulain took his
rest, and for three days and nights he stirred not once, but slept
a dreamless, torpid sleep. And fairy-folk brought magic herbs to
put into his wounds, to soothe and heal him while he slept, and all
the while Lugh sat at his right hand, guarding his rest, save when
some feat of slaughter was to do upon the men of Erin.
But Sualtach, father of Cuchulain, heard of the distressed
condition of his son, and well he knew that unless the warriors
of Ulster woke from their magic sleep, and gathered to his help,
the hero must give way before his foes. Now Sualtach was no
battle-champion or warrior of renown, but just a passable good
fighting-man; he had no thought or wish to stand by his son when
he fought single-handed with the choicest of Meave’s host; nor had
he gone to help him even when he heard that between life and death
he lay, covered with gaping wounds. Yet still the news stirred
some increase of courage in him, and though he would not fight in
an uneven war, he now resolved to arm himself and ride to Emain’s
gates and call the sleeping Ulstermen to rise and hurry down to aid
Cuchulain, before it was too late. He caught the Grey of Macha,
Cuchulain’s horse, and mounted him, and, spear and shield in hand,
he rode straight up within the gates of Emain Macha. Silent and
still as death was all the kingly fort. No sentinel looked forth to
guard the door, no warrior strode round the deserted walls, and all
within was silent as the grave, save for the weeping women and the
little children’s play, and lowing of the untended cows wandering
between the outer and the inner raths. Within, in Emain’s halls,
each warrior sat apart sunk deep in sleep, his head upon his hands,
his arms clasping his knees, or stretched in slumber full-length
upon the floor; and round them lay their weapons, idle and rusting
from long want of use, dropped from their nerveless hands. Mighty
they looked, well-built and good men all, but no more strength had
they than little babes but newly come to birth. Even when the women
shook them, thy looked up but for one moment with lack-lustre eyes,
and straightway sank to sleep again. Young children played about
and over them, as though they had been statues made of stone, and
yet they heeded not. Beside them, at their feet, lay crouched their
noble hounds, loose from the leash, stretched out asleep, each one
his muzzle lying on his paws. From time to time, the war-dogs
turned and growled, as though they dreamed bad dreams; the warriors
moaned as if they were in pain, but no one moved or rose.
Within the inner fort King Conor lay, surrounded by his chiefs,
sunk deep in coward slumber each upon his couch; for Macha’s hand
lay heavy on them all, and her revenge was come.
But in the playing-fields outside, the Boy-corps still kept up
their sports, and played at mimic warfare as of yore, though all
their chiefs and teachers were asleep; and still their laughter,
shrill and bright, rang through the silent halls, as one boy caught
the hurley ball a good swing with his club, or threw his fellow in
their feats of strength. The little son of Conor, Follaman, had
made himself their leader, and willingly they mustered under him.
Then up rode Sualtach upon the Grey, and three times over he gave
forth his cry. The first shout went up from the playing-fields, the
second from the rampart wall, the third he gave standing aloft upon
the summit of the mound where lay imprisoned the hostages of Ulster
chained in their hut beside the kingly fort.
“Your men are being slain,” he cried, “your cattle driven away,
your women fall as captives to the men of Erin. In wild Murthemne’s
plain Cuchulain all alone still held the foemen back until the
fight with Ferdia robbed him of his strength. Wounded in every
joint Cuchulain lies, his gaping sores stuffed in with sops and
bits of grass, his clothes held on with spikes of hazel twigs. On
Emain Macha press the enemy, all eastern Ulster is in their hands;
Ailill and Meave have harried all your coasts. Ulster, Arise,
arise!”
Three times he gave the shout, ringing and clear upon the silent
air, but still no watchman’s voice gave forth reply.
Now in the kingly fort a rule of courtesy forbad that any man
should speak before the King, save only his three Druids, who were
his counsellors. After a while, as for the third time the voice of
Sualtach came floating through the hall, one of the Druids stirred
and said, “Who is the fellow brawling in the court? Fitting it were
to take his head from him.” “Fitting it were, indeed,” replied the
King, “and yet I think the thing he says is true.” And all the
warriors muttered in their sleep, “Fitting it were, indeed.”
When Sualtach found that no man answered him, in violent anger he
turned back again. In his fierce wrath he dragged the bridle-rein,
so that the Grey of Macha reared, and stumbled on a sleeping man,
and swerved aside, flinging Sualtach forward on its neck. His head
struck on the sharp edge of his missile-shield, so that it sheared
it off, and the shield fell from his hand, his head within it, at
the horse’s feet, the body hanging yet upon its back. At that the
Grey turned round, and made its way into the inner court and onward
to the hall, the lifeless body still upon its neck, dragging the
head along upon the shield, whose strap had caught into its feet.
And all the way they went, passing the outer and the inner courts
into the very presence of the King, the voice of Sualtach from the
dissevered head still called aloud, as though he were alive, “Your
men are being slain, your cattle driven away; your women fall as
captives to the men of Erin. In wild Murthemne’s plain Cuchulain
all alone still holds the foemen back. Ulster, Arise, arise!”
“Too noisy is that head,” King Conor said, moving again and
stirring in his sleep; “put it upon the pillar of the house that
it may go to rest.” Then one of the warriors, hearing his King’s
voice, bestirred himself, and lifted up the head and set it on a
pillar; but again, and even louder than before, the head cried out:
“Your men are being slain, your cattle driven away, your women fall
as captives. Ulster, Arise, arise!” So noisy was the head, that one
warrior and then another rose upon his elbow and looked up at it,
and bade it hold its peace, but when they spoke the head but called
out louder than before. Then, looking round, they saw the mighty
horse standing, gaunt and stock-still, within the very centre of
the hall, the headless rider sitting on its back. And when they saw
the horse bearing the headless rider in their midst, and heard the
head still calling from the pillar top, as though it were alive,
a shout of laughter, as of olden days, went up from one and all,
and the King bestirred himself at the unwonted sound. Then all the
chiefs, seeing the King arise, shook themselves lightly and began
to stand or sit up where they slept. They stooped to pick their
weapons from the ground, to try the edges of their swords, to rub
the rust that dulled their scabbards and the fine points of their
spears. For memory and the love of life and war began to stir in
them, and wonder at their own long idleness. And at the last the
King stood up and cried, “True is the message that the head has
brought. Ulster lies bound before her enemies, while we rust here
in sleep. By all the gods my nation loves, I swear, unless the
stars of heaven shall fall upon our heads, or the strong solid
earth give way beneath our feet, I and my chiefs will restore each
captive woman to her child and home, each cow to her own meadow,
and each stolen piece of land to its own lords, so that in shame
with heavy loss the foes of Ulster shall return to their own
country.”
Then a great shout went up from the men of Ulster, and their
warrior spirit began to revive in them. And to each in turn
the King applied, bidding him go forth and summon his clan and
followers to meet him that day week upon the Hill of Slane in
Meath, for he himself would call a muster there.
Gladly and eagerly the chiefs issued forth, for they heard the
sounds of stirring men and the welcome bark of the hounds without.
As for the King himself, his mind was so confused with the magic
sleep in which he had lain, that he remembered not the dead from
the living, but stood, calling on the dead to come to his aid, as
though they had been yet alive.
Throughout all the land he sent heralds to call together his
men-at-arms; and with one heart and mind the men of Ulster
responded to his call. Troop on troop they flocked to Emain, from
North and West and East, each mighty leader surrounded by his host
clad in the kilt and colours of his clan. As for the clans that
were south of Emain, they tarried not to assemble at the kingly
fort, but made their way, each by his own route, straight forward
to the Hill of Slane.
For after their long rest and weakness their hands itched to be
upon their swords again.