The Humbling of Queen Meave
Towards the fall of day, Cuchulain reached the ford of the Shannon
at the place that is now called Athlone. He saw the army of Meave
flying, broken and disbanded, across the river, and weariness and
dislike of the rout overtook him, so that he turned aside into a
wood close by to rest awhile, for of his chariot there remained
but a few bent ribs, and the wheels were loosened from the pole.
“I will watch the flying host,” he thought, “until the Ulstermen
come up, and together we will smite them and cut off their rear.”
As he pushed his way into the wood, he saw before him, in the
dimness of the fading light, Queen Meave herself, fallen, forsaken
and exhausted, on the ground. So close was she that he could have
smitten her from behind, and taken off her head, had he so willed.
But it was not the wont of Cuchulain to smite from behind, or ever
to hurt a woman. But he stood over her, and sternly spoke.
“What dost thou here, O Meave, O captain of the host of Erin?
Behold thy army flies, broken and discomfited, across the stream,
seeking its native province, and the army of the men of Ulster
presses hard upon their rear. No leader have they to guide their
flying bands; why liest thou here alone?”
Then the haughty queen replied sadly, and with all her spirit
gone: “Queen as I am, and captain of mine host, yet have I but a
woman’s strength; my forces are exhausted, and my power is gone;
fain must I lie and rest. Help me, O generous foe, I claim a boon
from thee!”
“What boon is this that thou dost crave of me, O Meave, mine enemy?”
“I ask of thee to take myself and all my host under the strong
protection of thy arm; keep thou the ford for them; ward off the
men of Ulster who press on us from behind; let Connaught’s bands
return in peace and safety to their homes. Guard me besides till to
my help Ailill and Fergus come, and safe to Cruachan escort me back
again. Full many and many a time have I, in folly, bragged about my
strength and all the power of my enormous host; now all is come to
nought, and I am spent and ill. To thee, my foe, I turn; protect me
now.”
“Never shall it be said,” Cuchulain replied, “that I was heedless
of a woman’s appeal. Lie there in peace. I will protect the host.”
So while the twilight deepened into night, Cuchulain stood up,
dauntless and alone, between the men of Erin and their foes. Safely
they crossed the stream, while his own followers Cuchulain held at
bay, hindering and staying them from cutting off the rear. Chafing
and vexed they stood, yet at Cuchulain’s command they restrained
themselves, nor was one man of Erin’s host cut off till all in
safety reached the further side.
Late in the evening came Fergus up, looking for Meave to conduct
her back to Cruachan. Strange was the sight he saw. In peace and
quiet, Meave was taking rest beneath the forest trees; her troops
all passed across the ford, save for late stragglers who came
safely through the Ulster troops, no one destroying them. There
on the brink Cuchulain stood, leaning upon his sword the ‘Little
Hard,’ his face lined deep with toil and thought. He seemed to
guard the enemy’s troops from his own men. Amazed, and uttering not
a sound, Fergus stood still awhile to watch. Then in a mighty laugh
that reached the firmament he burst forth: “Verily and indeed,”
he cried, “strange is the ending of this day. A woman’s lead we
followed in this war, fighting against the bands of our own kith
and kin, to gratify a woman’s jealousy. To-day our host is cleared
and swept away; it flies without a path, without a lead, caring for
nought but safely to reach home. Our queen lies at her ease, and
our worst enemy is he who guards and shields our troops. Surely and
in truth, ’tis wise and champion-like to follow where a woman leads
the way.”
Cuchulain heard that scornful laugh, and looking up, saw Fergus
standing contemplating him and them.
“High time thou camest, my foster-father Fergus, to guard and help
thy queen. I leave her now to thee; my task is done. Yet that it
never may be said that cowardice or weakness made Cuchulain spare
the flying troops of Ulster’s foes, one blow I strike in Ulster’s
honour here.” Then turning quickly, his ‘Little Hard’ he swung
aloft, and on the summit of a hillock near at hand he brought it
down, shearing its top clean off. “Between Connaught and Ulster
let that hill stand evermore, a witness to our strength and to our
gentleness!”
Then once again into his ruined chariot he sprang, and fast as
his two steeds would bear him on, he hurried back to Ulster and
the king, returning glad and full of victory among his troops to
Emain and to Emer once again. And from that time Connaught withheld
its hand, nor did Meave venture ever again to dispute or war with
Ulster.
Now the Brown Bull had passed over the Shannon westward,
accompanied by his fifty heifers. With head in air and bellowing
loudly he surveyed the great trackless land that lay before him.
The Whitehorned heard his bellowing and came to meet him, and when
they saw each other, straightway with terrific force they rushed
together.
A paroxysm of exceeding fury came upon them, and up and down they
moved, their nostrils distended and with lowered horns, pushing
and driving and goring, until the ground was red with blood and
the sods torn up and flung on high. Had any ventured near them, he
would without doubt have been crushed to death beneath their hoofs;
and when night came, no one in all the country dared to sleep, for
terror at the bellowing and noise they made. But at length the
Whitehorned gave way before the Brown Bull, and by him was chased
and gored until no spark of life was left in him, and portions of
his flesh were caught upon the Brown Bull’s horns. Then, as he was,
all red with blood and fearful to behold, the Brown Bull took his
path back to his native home, scattering the people right and left
before him, or trampling them into the earth beneath his hoofs.
And, at the last, exhausted with his flight, the spirit fled from
him, and with a mighty roar and fearful bellowings, the great Brown
Bull of Cooley’s raid fell dead.