How Cuchulain went to Fairy-Land
When Cuchulain left Emer, he went forward to the fairy-rath where
he had seen Liban, and he found her waiting for him to take him to
Labra’s Isle.
It seemed to him that the way they took was long, for they passed
over the Plain of Speech, and beyond the Tree of Triumphs, and over
the festal plain of Emain, and the festal plain of Fidga, until
they came to the place where the bronze skiff awaited them, to take
them to the Isle of all Delights. A noble and right hospitable
welcome was prepared for Cuchulain in that Isle, but he would not
rest for that, but bade Labra conduct him without delay to the
Plain of Combat. So Labra bade him mount his chariot and together
they passed on to the Plain of Combat, where the armies of the
phantom hosts were assembled for the fight upon the morrow. On one
side were the hosts of Labra, very few, but picked and chosen men
in splendid garb, with arms of the best in their hands; but on the
side of Senach the Spectral, as far as eye could reach on every
side, rose lines of black and gloomy tents, with black pennons
flying from their poles. Gaunt heroes clothed in black moved about
amongst the tents, and all the horses that they rode were red as
blood with fiery manes. And over the whole there hung a mist, heavy
and lowering, so that Cuchulain could not see how far the host
extended for the gloom of that heavy mist.
And sounds rose on the air, like the muttering of a demon host,
quarrelling and wrangling, so that a man might well shiver before
such a sound. But when he saw the demon host, the spirit of
Cuchulain revived within him, and he felt his old force and courage
and his strength returning to him, and all his weakness passed away.
And he said to Labra, “I would fain drive round the host and
number them.” In ever-widening circles he began to drive round the
tents. But, as he drove, on every side they sprang up before him
innumerable as the blades of grass on a meadow-field, or as the
stars on a brilliant summer’s night, or like the grains of sand
upon the ocean’s shore. Black and gloomy they stood on every hand,
and grim and gaunt the warriors who moved about amongst them, and
terrible their blood-red steeds. It seemed to Cuchulain that the
smell of blood was already in the air, and all the plain was dark
and dim with mist, so that he could not count or number them, or
see the end of them at all.
But the spirit of Cuchulain faltered not, and he returned to Labra,
and said to him, “Leave me now alone with this great army and take
away with you the champions you have brought. This battle I will
fight alone.”
So Labra and his men departed and Cuchulain remained alone facing
the phantom host. Then two ravens, the birds of knowledge and
destiny, with whom are the secrets of the druids, came between
Cuchulain and the host, and all that night they made a dismal
croaking, so that the demon men grew sore afraid.
“One would think,” they said, “that the Madman of Emain Macha were
close at hand, from the croaking of those ravens;” for it was thus
they spoke among themselves of Cuchulain, because he changed his
aspect in time of combat, and a wild and strange appearance came
upon him. And they chased away the ravens, and left no place of
rest for them in all that land.
All that night Cuchulain stood with his hand upon his spear,
watching the demon host. Very early in the morning, he saw one of
their chief leaders going forth out of his tent, to bathe his hands
at the spring; and his tunic fell back and left his shoulder bare.
At once, with a cast of his spear, Cuchulain transfixed him through
his shoulder to the earth.
When the demon host saw their captain fall, they arose, and in
swarms and close battalions they came down upon Cuchulain. Then
his war-fury came upon him, and wildly and terribly he attacked
them, scattering them to right and left; and so furious was he and
so deadly were his blows, that they feared to come nigh him. It
filled them with awe to see one single man fighting with a host;
but as the shining of the sun drives the mist before it on a dewy
morn of early spring, so did the radiance of the face of Cuchulain
disperse and drive away the army of the demons, for they could not
stand before the splendour and the shining of his countenance.
Then Senach the Spectral attacked him, and furious was the contest
fought between them, but in the end Cuchulain prevailed and slew
him; and all the host, when they saw that, turned and fled.
At length Cuchulain returned, his sword dripping with blood; and
the heat of his body after the fight was such that water had to
be thrown over him, before he could be touched; and the men of
Labra feared that his wrath would turn against themselves. They
brought him into the house and bathed him and changed his raiment,
and slowly his own appearance came back upon him; and after that,
they led him to Fand, who awaited his return with her fifty maidens
round her. Very beautiful was the house in which Fand and Labra
awaited Cuchulain. Couches of copper with pillars of fine gold were
ranged around the hall, and soft pillows and cushions of coloured
silk were piled on each of them; the flashing of the jewels from
the golden pillars giving light to all who were in the house.
Noble youths in glossy garments of smooth silk offered drink in
golden goblets, and as they drank, the harpers and musicians gave
forth sweet music, and the story-tellers recited their tales.
Laughter and merriment were heard throughout the house, while from
the eaves the fairy-birds warbled in harmony with the music of
the harps. Fifty youths of stately mien, and fifty maidens with
twisted hair bedecked with golden coronals waited on Fand, on Labra
and his spouse. Near the house to westward, where the sun went
down, stood dappled steeds, pawing the ground and ready for their
riders. On the east of the house stood three bright apple-trees,
dropping ruddy fruit, and in front of the door a tree that gave
forth sweetest harmony, such as would sooth wounded men to sleep,
or bring health to women in their sickness. Above the well another
tree, with silver leaves that reddened in the sunlight, dropped
fragrant food, pleasant to all who tasted it. Ever on the gentle
breeze the tops of the tree swayed together, and ever they swung
wide; and as they met food fell down sufficient for thrice three
hundred men. A vat stood in the hall, full to the top of mead
and sparkling ale, and all the porch, above its silver posts, was
thatched with wings of birds, in stripes of brown and red.
Now Fand sat on a daïs, waiting for Cuchulain. And when he came
before her, clothed as a king, his noble manly form bathed and
refreshed, his golden hair gathered above his brow round an
apple of bright gold, and all his face aflame with the vigour of
the fight, she thought that she had never looked upon a man so
brilliant as he.
And he, when he looked on her, knew that never in his life had
he seen woman half so fair as Fand. “Art thou he, Cuchulain of
Murthemne, the Hound of Ulster?” she asked, and even as she spoke
the whole band of youths and maidens rose to their feet, and sang a
chant of welcome to Cuchulain.
Then Fand placed Cuchulain at her right hand, and happy and
gladsome were they together, and for a while Cuchulain forgot
Ulster, and his place at Conor’s hand, and all the cares and
troubles of the other life; nay, he forgot Emer his own wife and
the feast she was preparing for him, and the days passed quickly
and joyously in the company of Liban and Labra and Fand. And it
seemed to him as though Erin were but a dark unquiet land beside
the clearness of Moy Mell, the Fairy-land of all Delights.
At length one night he could not sleep; not all the warbling of the
fairy-birds from the branches of the tree and from the eaves, nor
yet the sound of minstrel’s strains could soothe him into slumber.
For he remembered Ulster and his duty to his king, and Emer and the
feast she was to make for him, and all his warrior deeds which were
departing from him, and he felt he must needs forsake the Land of
all Delights and go back to his work in Erin once again.
In the morning he called Fand, and told her he must go that day,
for he knew not what troubles might be happening to Ulster while
he was away, or what was become of Emer, his wife. But Labra and
Fand besought him to stay yet awhile, and they called the musicians
and bid them chase away the sudden gloom of Cuchulain, and they
brought out the playing-games, hurley and chess, and raced the
horses to please him, and they harnessed the steeds of the chariots
for his delight. But even for all this Cuchulain would not stay.
For he said, “My warrior-strength is passing from me as I rest in
idleness, my vigour is decaying. Let me then go, for I am not as
the little dogs that play about their mistresses’ feet; I am a
Hound of war and conflicts to stand before the foe, and do battle
for my country and my king.”
And Cuchulain sang this lay:
“No pup am I to play about the feet of ladies fair,
But where the hounds of war are loosed you’ll find me ever there;
No mongrel whelp to watch the fire or crouch beside the hearth,
I stand beside the fords, I scare the champion from his path.
“My bark is not the yelp of curs cowed to the heels by fear,
But the deep bay of winded hounds chasing the leaping deer;
No swathes of wool shall bind my wounds, no cushioned couch have I,
Amidst the carnage of the slain I and my kind shall lie.
“No silky coat of well-combed hair, smooth ‘neath the children’s
hand,
But a fierce mastiff, gaunt and grim, when strife invades the land;
Where fords are weak, where forts blaze red, where trumpets sound
for war,
The ‘Hound of Ulster’ stands at guard, or drives the foe afar.”
Then when Fand saw that nothing would content him, she bade him a
gentle kind farewell; and all the youths and maidens came about
him, sorrowing that he was so soon weary of their land. But Labra
thanked him kindly and heartily for his help against the demon host
and he bade Liban take Cuchulain safely back across the lake to
Erin once again.
But, before he went, Fand lifted up her lovely witching face, and
said, “Tell me some place where, at the end of a year from now, I
may see your face once more. Never till now have I ventured forth
from fairy-land; but, for your sake, for one brief hour I will come
to the land of troubled mortal men. Give me a tryst.”
Cuchulain was fain to deny her this, for he thought on Emer, and
he dreaded her anger against Fand, if she should be aware of it.
But when he saw the crystal-fair, witching face of Fand, and her
ruby lips and eyes bright as stars on a summer’s night, he could
not say her nay; and he made a tryst with her on the Strand of the
Yew-tree’s Head, for a year and a day from then. And after that,
they bade one another farewell.
So Cuchulain came home again, and Emer and Laeg and his friends
greeted him right lovingly, and he told them that he had been in
fairy-land, and of all its splendours and beauty he told them
freely, but to Emer he said not anything of Fand.
Now when a year and a day were past, Cuchulain came to the place
of tryst at the Strand of the Yew-tree’s Head, and he and Laeg
sat beneath the ancient yew-tree playing chess, while waiting for
the coming of Fand. It chanced that, as Emer walked that way with
her fifty maidens to take the air beside the shore, she beheld
approaching a dignified lady, radiant as the clearness of a day
in June, who came with a troop of maidens towards Cuchulain. Very
swiftly and softly they moved across the plain, as though they
hardly touched the sod, and all the land was filled with their
brightness.
It appeared to Emer that they had come across the lake, yet no
sign of skiff or boat was to be seen, and the unknown queen came
where Cuchulain sat, and he rose up and made a glad gentle greeting
before her, and she sat down by him, and they talked pleasantly and
lovingly together.
When Emer saw this, she was filled with jealousy and anger against
the fairy-woman, and to herself she said, “This, then, O Cuchulain,
was the cause that kept thee so long in fairy-land, when I made
that feast to which thou earnest not.”
And anger and dark revenge filled Emer’s heart, and she turned to
her maidens and said, “Bring me here sharp-bladed knives, for I
myself will go softly behind them and I will kill the woman who
talks with Cuchulain.”
Then they went and fetched thin gleaming knives, and they hid them
beneath their mantles, and went stealthily behind the place where
Cuchulain sat. Now Cuchulain saw not what was going forward, but
Fand knew, for she sat over against Cuchulain, facing the way that
Emer came. She said to Cuchulain, “Emer thy wife comes here, with
fifty maidens, and there are sharp knives hidden beneath their
cloaks.”
But he said, “Fear nothing, lady, I myself will speak to Emer, my
own wife, and do thou wait here till my return.”
But Emer came close to Cuchulain and cried, “Why dost thou do
me this dishonour, O Cuchulain, to leave me for a fairy maid?
The women of Ulster will contemn me if they think that Cuchulain
loves another woman better than his wife; and what have I done to
displease thee, that thou shouldst need to talk with her? Never
have I left thee for any other, and well and truly have I loved
thee from the day thou earnest in thy chariot to the fort of
Forgall the Wily, my father, till to-day; and for ever shall I love
thee, and none other but thee alone.”
Then Cuchulain said, “You wrong me, Emer, and you wrong this
fairy-maid. No thought at all of harm have we, nor can any other
be to me what thou hast been. Fair and pure is this maiden, and a
worthy mate for any monarch in the world. Her race is noble, her
mind is firm and gentle and full of lofty thoughts, no harm or evil
will be found in her or me. Moreover, she is betrothed to a noble
spouse, Manannan of the Ocean Waves.”
“In very truth,” said Emer, bitterly, for her heart was sore within
her on account of the greatness of the love she bore Cuchulain,
“it is ever so with men! All that is new is fair, and all that is
old is of little worth; white is the last they see, and the others
are but grey or black. Sweet is the thing they have not, but sour
the fruit they hold within their hands! Once in peace and love
we dwelled together and no one came between us, and in peace and
honour we might dwell together again, O Youth, if but I were as
dear to thee as once I was!” And great tears rolled down Emer’s
cheeks, and her grief weighed heavily upon her.
“By my word and truly,” cried Cuchulain, “never wast thou more dear
to me than thou art to-day, and dear shalt thou be to me for all my
life.”
“I think,” said Fand, “that I had better go away, and return to my
own country, for I am troubling you all here.” “Nay, nay,” cried
Emer, smitten with reproach when she saw the nobleness that was in
the fairy woman, “go not away, ’twere better I should go.”
But Fand said, “Not so, indeed, from my own land they call me to
return. Take to thee thy man, O noble Emer, no harm or hurt hath
happened him with me. Though in the Land of all Delights warriors
and great men sought my friendship, better to me than the affection
of them all was the friendship of thy glorious spouse. Need is
there, now, that I should go my way, and leave my friend to thee;
but though bright and dazzling is the country of Moy Mell, some
shadow hath fallen on it since Cuchulain went away.”
Then she lifted up her lovely face, and Emer saw that tears like
drops of crystal stood within her eyes.
Long years ago had Fand been betrothed to Manannan, Lord of the
Ocean and the Waves, a great and hoary god. Ancient was he, for
no man knew his age, and wild and grey his hair, and all his brow
rugged and lined with storms. Very kingly and majestic was his
tread, but men feared him, because of his strange, tempestuous
moods, and his shape-shifting, and his little care for human life.
For Manannan was ever restless, wandering in distant lands, moving
now this way, now that, and visiting in turn all countries; and
years ago, as mortal men count time, he had gone away and returned
not, nor did Fand even know where he was to be found. So she
thought he had forsaken her, and, when Cuchulain came to fairy-land
and she saw his youth and beauty, her mind went out to him, for
never had she seen before a noble human man.
But Manannan knew within himself that Fand was in sore grief,
and he arose in haste to go and help her. For, although he had
tarried long in distant lands, daily he had news of Fand, and he
learned all she was doing and when she needed him. So now he saw
her trouble, for he it was who sent Cuchulain to fairy-land that
he might test her love for himself; and swiftly over the waves he
sped to go and save her. Invisible was he to mortal men, and he
rode the white sea-foam as though it were a horse, for no need had
he of any vessel, or of sail or oar; and as he passed by Fand, she
felt his presence and looked up at him as he passed by. But for a
moment she knew not that this was Manannan of the Waves, for his
look of hoary age had gone from him, and the man she saw was young
and strong, with a noble gentleness upon his face, like the sea on
a calm summer’s day.
For Manannan was a shape-shifter, and at one time he was terrible
and cruel to behold, but at another he showed a kindly face, for
he looked into the minds of men, and as he saw them, even so his
own face reflected the thing he saw. Then Manannan said to Fand, “O
Lady, what wilt thou now do? Wilt thou depart with me or abide here
with Cuchulain, if he comes for thee?”
“By my troth,” said Fand, “either of you two were a fitting spouse
for me, and a worthy friend to stay with; and in neither of you do
I see any one thing greater or better than is in the other; yet, O
thou princely One, it is with thee that I will go, for I have been
promised to thee for thy wife; thou hast no consort of worth equal
to thine own, while Cuchulain has a noble spouse; therefore take me
with thee, for Cuchulain needs me not.”
Then Manannan stretched his arms to Fand, and drew her with him,
and she followed him. And Cuchulain perceived her drawing away
from him, but he knew not whither she went, nor could he see who
was talking to her. And he cried out to Laeg, his charioteer, who
had knowledge of fairy-land, “What meaneth this, Laeg, that I see?
Whither goeth Fand?”
“She goeth with Manannan of the Sea,” replied Laeg. “He is drawing
her back to the Land of all Delights, but she is weeping as she
goes.”
Then Cuchulain uttered three sharp cries of sorrow and of grief,
and he fled away from men into desert places, and would take no
meat or drink, and he slept in the open rush-land beside the
high-road to Tara.
Emer went then to Emain, and sought King Conor, and told him
all that had happened, and that Cuchulain was out of his senses
because Fand had gone away; and she prayed him of his love for
Cuchulain, and because of her love for him, to send to him men
of skill and Druids who might bring him back to health. The king
did so willingly, but when they came, Cuchulain fled from them,
or sought to slay them, until at length he felt within himself a
terrible thirst, and he craved of them a drink. In the drink they
mingled herbs of forgetfulness, so that the memory of Fand slowly
faded from him, and the remembrance of the time he had spent in
fairy-land, and he came to his own mind again.
They gave soothing drinks to Emer also, for she was troubled,
too, and stricken, and her natural joyousness had gone from her.
But when Manannan heard in fairy-land of the trouble of Emer and
Cuchulain, he came unseen of any man, and shook his cloak of
forgetfulness between Fand and Cuchulain, so that from both of them
the memory passed away, as though it had been a dream, and they
thought of it no more.