The End of the Boy-Corps
Hardly had the King arisen from his sleep, than he remembered the
Boy-corps. “Go,” said he to one of his heralds, “and see how the
Boy-corps fares. Tell the youths that we depart hence within a
while to battle on the Hill of Slane in Meath, but that before we
set forth on our march, we fain would see them once again at play.
Bid Follaman and bid them all prepare.” So the herald went out to
warn the Boy-corps, but the playing-field was silent and deserted,
nor was there any sign of Follaman or of the boys. “What is become
of the corps?” he asked, alarmed, for among the boys were the sons
of the bravest chiefs of Ulster and the King’s own son besides. But
none could give him a reply. In one corner of the playing-field
he espied a little lad, the youngest of the corps, who sat alone,
crying by himself. The herald asked him what it was that ailed
him, and where were all the others, his companions. “The boys are
gone to help Cuchulain, their comrade, who is sorely wounded,”
said the child; “they heard the words of Sualtach, calling on the
Ulstermen to rise and come to Cuchulain’s help against the men of
Erin. But all the champions were asleep and heard not; only they,
the Boy-corps, heard. And Follaman their leader said, ‘Cuchulain,
our comrade, is in sore distress, and none are ready to go to his
aid; therefore we ourselves will go.’ And all the Boy-corps said
that they would follow him, and protect the coasts of Ulster while
Cuchulain was asleep, and do combat for him with the enemy. But me
they left behind,” the child continued, weeping, “because they said
I was too young to go; but I would have handled my little sword
as well as any of them. I heard Follaman say that he would never
return to Emain unless he brought with him Ailill’s head, with its
coronet of gold, to lay at Conor’s feet.”
When the herald heard this tale, he went hurriedly to the palace
and told the King what the child had said. A great cry arose in
the palace when it was known that the boys had gone to do battle
with grown warriors of Erin; for each chief and each champion had
a son, or two or three sons, among the corps, and the King himself
had Follaman, his youngest and his darling. Then the King sent
out word that before one hour should be past, he and his troops
would take the road to Slane; if so perchance they might arrive in
time to save the Boy-corps from its fate. For all his strength and
vigour returned to Conor when he heard of the peril which beset the
Boy-corps, and bitterly did he rue the inaction in which he and his
warriors had lain, when the children had gone forth to fight.
Now at the end of his three days’ sleep, Cuchulain had awakened
from his trance; he passed his hand across his face, and opened his
eyes and saw Lugh sitting beside him. From head to foot he blushed
a rosy red, for he felt shame that a champion like himself should
be found sleeping before his foes. “Warrior, how long have I been
sleeping here?” said he. “Three days and three nights,” said Lugh,
“and no shame to thee that thou shouldst sleep, for even yet thou
art not fit to rise.” “That indeed is true,” replied Cuchulain, for
he tried to sit up on his couch, and fell back again. “Though my
wounds are closed and healing, my strength has not returned; and
all this time the hosts of Erin have been unmolested.”
“Nay, nay, indeed,” cried Lugh, “no step forward have they made;
my hand hath held them back. Moreover,” but here his voice grew
grave and stern, “the Boy-corps from Emain were here last night.”
“The Boy-corps from Emain,” Cuchulain cried; “what did they here?
No games or child’s play have we here suited to their age, but grim
and deadly deeds of war. I trust no hurt or damage came to them.”
“Alas, alas,” said Lugh, “they came at night; I knew not they were
here. Straight to the tent of Ailill and of Meave marched on the
boys, clad in their mimic armour, with all their pennons flying in
the wind. Follaman, Conor’s son, was at their head, a brave and
dauntless lad; and on them all, although they were but growing
boys, men say was seen the dignity of heroes, and the fearlessness
of seasoned warriors. Follaman demanded combat with Ailill himself,
he being a King’s son, and thus, he said, unfit to fight with
common men.
“With jeers and taunts they drove the brave lads back out of the
camp and downward to the ford; but there at last the Boy-corps
took its stand. ‘Here wait we,’ cried the lads, ‘here stand we to
the death; the honour of Cuchulain and of Ulster is in our hands.
Come out and fight!’ Alas, alas,” said Lugh again, “this morning
when I walked beside the ford, to guard the banks from any man of
Meave’s, all up and down the strand fair bodies lay, mangled and
cut and hewn by cruel hands, and on the stream bright hair was
tossing from fair severed heads. Follaman lay prone on the farther
side, his cold hand grasping still a warrior’s hair, his arms
locked tightly in that warrior’s arms, dragged down together and
o’erwhelmed beneath the wave. And all around a bloody fight had
been. Many a good warrior had gone down before those hero boys;
many a strong arm by them was stilled in death. Brave lads! the
pride of Ulster and of Ulster’s chiefs!”
“The Boy-corps dead!” Cuchulain cried, “dead to retrieve my honour
and the darkened fame of Ulster’s chiefs! Ill is the deed that thou
hast done me, O my Father Lugh; had I been roused from sleep the
Boy-corps had not perished thus. Follaman, Conor’s son, would not
have fallen, and this shame would not have been added to Ulster’s
other shames. Alas, and thrice alas! And now, my Father Lugh,
hark to my prayer; stay but one night beside me, and together we
will avenge the fall of the Boy-corps. Before the arm of Lugh the
Long-handed and the might of Ulster’s Hound, no foe could stand;
let us then do a glorious deed, that Ulster’s honour be by us
avenged.”
“Nay, not so,” said Lugh, “for thine own strength is not come back
to thee, and I must back to fairy-land again. My work is done, the
gods await me there. The wrong will be avenged, as is most meet, by
Ulster’s champions, the fathers of the boys. See, even now over the
Hill of Slane their pennons wave.”
Most true it was; Cuchulain looked and saw, right in the north
and passing out beyond him to the west, the gathering of a mighty
host. Far as the eye could reach they came with swinging gait,
battalion on battalion, up the hill; their tents on every side they
pitched, and martial strains and trampling of men’s feet resounded
through the plain. Beneath their heavy tread the very earth seemed
quivering as they moved; the trees of the forest crashed their
branches, and their tops swung together in the violence of the
wind they made in passing up the glen. In the dim mist of early
morn their spearpoints glittered like sparks of fire, caught by
the first beams of the rising sun; the thunder of their chariots,
the clatter of their arms and horses’ hoofs, so terrified the wild
things of the woodlands, that they fled panting before them to the
open plain.
“Carry me where I can mark the clans as they come up, O Laeg,”
Cuchulain said. Laeg lifted up the wounded hero in his arms, and
laid him on the north side of a rising mound whence he could see
the path by which the armies came. He marked the Druids marching
on in front, scanning the sky for portents and muttering their
spells. Then came the bards, pouring forth rhapsodies, and singing
battle-chants, and near them were the bright-faced men of healing,
carrying salves and medicines in their bags, to succour wounded men.
Right well Cuchulain recognized them all, the corps of Laery, named
Triumphant, marching in impetuous style; the clan of Conall the
Victorious, his early friend, all young and hardy men; the clan
of Conor’s son, he whom men called “The Stutterer,” because he
stammered in his speech. These latter were so eager for the fray,
that, fearing to spring forth before the time, they knelt upon the
ground, their chins resting on the rims of their enormous shields.
All day they came, from morn to fall of night, till the whole hill
and wide surrounding plain were covered with their tents. But
in the midst Cuchulain saw his own corps swinging up the hill,
brilliant in their flying plaids, all mighty men and strong. They
only, among all the host, marched mournfully and sadly to their
camp; no sound of music, no martial warrior-chant, rose from
their lips, for they as orphans marched without a father, or as a
body left without a head. Now when Cuchulain marked his own corps
coming up, no words of Laeg could stay him, nor could his bands
and shackles tie him down. Violently and with tremendous force he
sought to rise, to greet his own battalion. So vigorous were the
efforts that he made, that even Meave and Fergus heard. “Surely it
is Cuchulain trying to arise and join his own battalion!” Fergus
said; “well is it for us that he is lying ill! Happy the men who
have the aid of Cuchulain’s corps, and woe to those whom they
oppose! Were but their chief amongst them at this time, no other
clan had need to be called out against the men of Erin.”
“I fear them not,” said Meave; “we have good men and brave to
answer them.”
“I swear by Ulster’s gods,” Fergus replied, “that when once Ulster
is aroused, no host on earth can answer them.”
“Send satirists and men of evil nature from us to Cuchulain,” said
Meave to her attendants, “and let them jeer him in his weakness,
saying to him that Conor will be routed, Ulster put to shame, and
Fergus slain while he is lying on his couch in idleness. Let him
not think that it is we who send, but his own people jeering at his
wounds. Tell him his own corps call on Ulster’s Hound, but, like a
pet-dog in a lady’s lap, he lies down to be fondled and caressed.
Send women mourners to weep over him false noisy tears, and tear
their hair, and keen, as though he even now were dead. Thus will he
fall into despair and do himself some harm, and so our victory will
be assured. Away, and spare him not.”
So keening women and hired mourning men went to the mound whereon
Cuchulain lay, exhausted with his effort to arise; for Laeg had
bound the hero fast with cords, so that he might not struggle to
get up. For much he feared that he might inflict some injury on
himself in trying to rejoin his corps. But Cuchulain thought not on
his wounds at all, for all his mind was bent in following Laeg’s
account of what was passing in the camp; and when the messengers
of Meave came close, and began to weep and wail, and hurl at him
abuse and scornful words, he neither saw nor heard them, so that at
length they ceased, disheartened and ashamed.
Eagerly Cuchulain addressed himself to Laeg. “Tell me, O Laeg, how
stands our host together, and what do they now?”
“So close stand now the serried ranks, that though Conall’s
charioteer and mine tried side by side to force our way across the
clustered spearpoints of the host, no smallest object from our
chariots dropped among the men could find its way between them to
the ground. I see King Conor’s chosen men-at-arms coming toward the
hill, where Conor’s tent is pitched, higher and far more spacious
than the rest. I see Meave’s warriors withstanding them; they make
a hollow circle, hoping, I think, to take the King alive. But, as
though they hardly saw the opposing band, the King and his brave
followers stride on. I see them now entering the hollow mass of
fighting men; alas, they will be caught and fall. But no! I see, I
see them soon emerge again, unharmed and safe. Right through the
enemy they have forced their way, to join the main contingent of
the troops. The clans of Ulster rise on every side as Conor gains
his tent upon the utmost summit of the hill, and in a mighty shout,
rending the clouds of heaven, the men of Ulster now acclaim their
King.”
“There is the stuff for a great battle among those hosts,”
Cuchulain cried; “bloody the deeds that will be wrought at sunrise
on the morrow’s morn. Let nothing pass you; tell me all you see.”
“So far as I can mark, you shall know all,” replied the charioteer;
“but shades of evening fall apace on us, and hard it is to
distinguish friend from foe. The warriors all betake them to their
rest. Watchfires are lighted, and around their blaze they sit in
peace and eat their evening meal. Far in the west, I see a little
herd emerge upon the plain, a great Bull at its head, and all
around a troop of cows and heifers, fifty or more, their heads held
well in air. A band of youths are trying to restrain them and turn
them back into the camp of Meave; but still they advance, careering
o’er the plain, as though to join the hosts of Ulster’s King. The
youths of Ulster are battling with those other youths, trying to
gain possession of the Bull.” “And so indeed they may,” Cuchulain
said, “the Dun of Cooley is that Bull you see, for whom this war
is fought. How are the youths of Ulster bearing themselves in this
fray?” “They fight like men,” said Laeg, “but now I see the Bull
has broken from them all. Away he goes, toward the west, making as
though for Connaught.” “He feels in him the call of war,” replied
the wounded man; “he seeks the Whitehorned, left in Cruachan. No
man, nor any band of men can stay the Dun, when once the time is
come for his great onset on the Connaught Bull. Fearful will be
the war between those twain. All Ireland will hear their furious
charge, and tremble at their fall.”