The Fight of Cuchulain with his son Conla
When Cuchulain was yet a youth in Shadowland, living with Scáth,
and learning feats of her, there had come from afar another
woman-warrior to make war upon Scáth, a terrible, fierce princess
named Aiffe, who had under her many mighty men. Sore was the war
between them, and of Scáth’s warriors a great multitude were slain
and her two sons also fell in battle. Then Scáth called Cuchulain
and persuaded him to go in embassage to Aiffe to induce her to make
terms of peace and to withdraw her troops into her own country.
Cuchulain went on that embassage, and he pleased Aiffe, and she
said that she would return into her own country if he would go with
her and tarry awhile, and aid her in her wars. So Cuchulain went
with her and Aiffe delighted in him and they were wedded, and for
a short time they were happy in each other’s company, and waged
wars together; but soon Cuchulain wearied of her, when he saw her
cruelty and fierceness, and that nothing of a woman’s gentleness
was known to her. And though she besought him not to leave her, he
bade her farewell, and returned to Scáth to finish his training,
for the time drew near when he must go back to Ireland. When he
bade Aiffe farewell, he told her that if a son should be born to
him, she was to send him to Ireland at the end of seven years
to seek his father. He gave her a golden arm-ring to keep for
the child, and he said that as soon as the arm-ring should fit
his wrist, the lad was to come. He laid upon her, too, three
stipulations for the child. First, that he should be called Conla,
but that he never was to make known his name to any; secondly, that
if any man offered him single combat, he must on no account refuse;
and thirdly, that he must never turn back from any journey that he
had undertaken, no matter what perils stood in his way. Cuchulain
prayed Aiffe also to send his son to learn feats of arms with
Scáth, as he himself had done. And Aiffe promised him all these
things.
Seven years passed away, when, one day in summer, the men of Ulster
were holding an assembly beside the seashore, at the place that is
called “The Strand of the Track.” Their business over, they were
amusing themselves along the beach, until they saw coming towards
them over the waves a skiff of bronze, light and swift-moving,
rowed by two golden oars. Within the skiff, as firmly as though
he were on dry land, there stood a little lad playing at games of
skill. At his feet was a heap of stones and in his hand a sling,
and as the boat moved on, he would take a stone in his hand and fit
it to the sling, launching it at the wild sea-birds that soared
above his head in the deep, unclouded sky. So cleverly did he hit
them that the birds fell at his feet unhurt, and he would throw
them up again, and shoot another stone and so bring them down a
second time alive. When he tired of this strange feat, he played
the apple-feat upon his breath, sending little golden apples into
the air, by the blowing of his mouth, so high that the eye could
not discern them, first one and then the other until they danced
and sparkled in the sun. Each golden ball was of a different size,
and he would tune his voice to different notes, the balls dancing
up and down, in answer to his singing, each to its own note. And
the men of the Gathering watched him with surprise as he drew near.
“Alas!” said the King, who was passing by, “there is woe to the
land to which that little boy comes. For, if a child like that can
do such feats, of what sort must be the men of the land from which
he comes? They would grind us all to powder if they came to fight
with us. Let one of you go and speak with the boy, but let him not
land on our shores at all.” “Who shall go to meet him?” said they;
for not one of them wished to approach the little boy, so greatly
had his skill put them in dread. “Let Condere go,” said the King,
“he is ready in speech and wise in argument, and he will find
excuses for us, why the stranger should not land.” And Condere was
content to go.
As the boy drew near the shore, he was about to leap upon the
beach when Condere accosted him. “Stay,” said he, “thou hast come
near enough, good lad, for us to hear who thou art, and from what
people and country thou dost come.” “I make not myself known to
any,” replied the boy; “but, if there is a man here who would fight
me, ready am I to meet him, for never have I turned back from any
combat.”
“Thou canst not land here,” persisted Condere, “until thou hast
made thyself known to us.”
“Then needs must I return whence I have come, though it is not my
wont to turn back from a journey,” said the boy, and he made as
though he would move away again. When Condere saw that, he was
sorry, for the child was fair and brave and had an open face,
and the high look of a prince upon him; so he changed his words
quickly, and called after him, “Come back, come back, brave boy;
no doubt the King himself will take you under his protection,
Conor the valiant son of Ness shall be your guard. Or Amergin the
poet will take you to his care, or Conall Cernach will be your
protector; and he whom Conall shall protect is ever welcome to the
men of Ulster. No one dare go against an unripe beardless boy when
under Conall’s safeguard; for he himself would avenge the deed. Pay
therefore the tribute of the Bridge, which all who come from far
must pay to Ulster; then will the men of Ulster make welcome to you
here.”
“Kindly hast thou spoken,” said the lad, “nor do I doubt that
thou dost mean me well; yet, not to seek protection of Conall the
Victorious, nor of Amergin your poet, nor even of the king himself,
did I seek out this land; nor yet to hear myself dubbed, ‘an unripe
beardless boy,’ did I come hither. If therefore thou wilt don thy
arms, and come to meet me in single combat at the Bridge, thou
there wilt get thy answer; though the might of a hundred were in
thy arms, no tribute will I pay, unless in fair fight I first be
overthrown.”
But when Condere saw the spirit of the lad, he grew afraid, for
though he was an orator and spoke brave words, he had no mind to
face the boy in fight. “Well, well, my boy,” thought he, “I will
let some better warrior than myself go and speak with thee in words
of war, since words of peace do not suffice thee.”
Then the King commanded that warriors of good renown should go down
and speak to the boy in the battle-speech of arms and combat. And
a goodly company of men went down to withstand the stranger. When
the little lad saw that, the power of a full-grown fighting-man
came upon him, and he donned his arms, and one after another as
they came to the waterside, he fell upon them, and stretched them,
dead or dying, on the beach.
“This must not be,” exclaimed the King, “fetch Conall Cernach here
and let him make an end of this presumptuous youth.”
While they went for Conall Cernach, the little lad, instead of
sitting down to rest, betook himself straight to his games again.
One would have thought he had no other end in life but to perfect
himself in games of skill, and that to bring a hundred foes into
the agonies of death was but an interruption to his game. When
Conall came above the cliff that over-looked the water’s edge, and
saw the boy practising his feats, he stopped awhile and watched
him; but when he saw his cleverness, and how the balls rose in the
air upon his singing voice: “One only other than this boy,” he
said, “can do a trick like that, even Cuchulain, Ulster’s Hound;
and indeed, I know not whether he can do it quite so well.” And
Conall was astonished, but he would not let the lad perceive his
admiration or his fears.
“Thy play is pretty, my good boy,” said Conall, as he came down
to meet him on the beach. “Dost thou find it so?” said the child;
“then I play now against thee.” With that he put a stone, larger
than all the others, in his sling, and shot it up into the air with
the force of a great thunder-bolt and with the noise of thunder;
and Conall was taken unawares and fell upon his back with the
suddenness of the commotion, as though he had been dead. Before he
could rise again, the boy had leapt ashore and with the strap of
his shield he bound him where he lay, so that he could not move.
When the host of the Ulstermen saw Conall bound, a wail went up
from them, for never since the day that Conall the Victorious first
took arms had any man been able to overthrow him, though he had
fought with the most famous warriors of the world. With one voice
they cried, “Send for Cuchulain here, for the honour of Ulster is
at stake before this child. Now that Conall lies bound in fetters,
Cuchulain alone can retrieve our honour.” And the King said: “It is
well; send now for Cuchulain.”
Cuchulain was in his own fort at Dundalgan when the messengers
arrived. But he refused to go with them, saying, “Where Conall
Cernach falls there is no hope for me; bravest and best of all the
warriors of Ulster is Conall the Victorious, and skilled in every
feat of championship. Who then is this stranger who has come, and
what is his name and lineage? where has he learned arts to fright
the men of Ulster?” For in his own mind Cuchulain thought, “There
is but one who can have learned those feats which Scáth teaches
only to her most valiant pupils; what if it be my son who comes?”
So, on that account, he was unwilling to go with the men.
But the messengers urged him, saying, “The honour of Ulster is at
stake; the king also commands thee and thy people wait for thee.
Wilt thou that Ulster be put to shame before her foes?”
When Cuchulain heard that the honour of Ulster was at stake, he
said, “Go on before me, I will but don my fighting-gear, and I will
come.” For he thought on Conall Cernach lying bound upon the beach,
and he remembered their old love and pledge of ancient friendship;
for they had sworn in youth that if either of the twain were in any
trouble or peril, the other should go forth to his aid, wherever he
might be, and thinking on this, he put on his fighting array, and
took his massive broad-sword in his hand, and the terrible spear,
the Gae Bolga, which no man could withstand, and that moved like a
living thing upon the water to find its enemy.
But for all that, Cuchulain’s heart was sad, for he thought on
Aiffe, and on Scáth, and on the child that was to be born to him.
Then when the men of Ulster saw Cuchulain coming towards them, clad
in all the panoply of war, and his shield and massive two-edged
sword held in his hand, their grief was turned to gladness, and
their weakness to power, and their fear to courage. And they
cried, “Welcome Cuchulain, Welcome, Hound of Ulster! With thee the
honour of Ulster is secure! Lo! thy comrade and thy lasting friend
is bound before thy eyes; lo! the glory of Ulster is laid low.
Welcome, Cuchulain!”
But Cuchulain came on slowly, and his head was bowed, for his mind
was troubled within him, and he liked not the combat of that day.
And he thought to put it off a while, so he stood and watched the
boy, who was gone back to his games again. He took no heed of
Cuchulain nor of the hosts; nor did any sign of weariness appear
on him, though he had bound a hundred of the foe, and Conall the
Victorious with them.
Then Cuchulain said: “You make delightful play, my boy. Who are
you yourself? what is your name? what your nation and people, that
we may know?” But the boy said: “I came not over-seas to tell my
name or to give tidings of my people; never shall any man get such
news from me. It is not to tell my name that I am come, but to get
peaceful landing here; and if I get not peaceful landing in this
place, I will give combat to any that resists me, for this is the
condition that is laid upon me, that I should never turn back from
any journey, and that I refuse not combat with any man that offers
combat to me. Willingly would I now do battle and combat with thee,
O noble warrior, save that I like thy face and mien, and thy person
is as the person of a prince of men, and not with good-will would
I do hurt to thee. Moreover, thou hast brought with thee no strong
comrade and warrior to protect thee from my blows.”
Now when Cuchulain heard the little fellow talk like that, he
laughed, and all the men of Ulster sent up one shout of mirth and
of derision. “It would have been necessary for me to bring with me
a tiny boy, or a wee baby in my arms,” said the Hound, “if I were
to fight without odds with thee. However, lad, no warrior or little
boy can pass this bridge unless the toll be paid and unless the
stranger tell his name and whence he comes. Therefore stand upon
thy guard. And as I wish no harm to thee, come thou on shore and we
will wrestle with each other.” Then the lad left his currach, his
little boat of bronze, and stood upon the shore. But when he came
beside Cuchulain he reached not up to his knees. “This will never
do,” said the little fellow, “I cannot reach thy belt to wrestle
with thee; set me up upon two stones that I may come on a level to
fight with thee.” Then Cuchulain helped him up on two large stones,
and he thought to play with him gently, but the lad planted his
feet so firmly on the rock that Cuchulain could not move him the
smallest hair-breadth from his place; while before ever he was
aware of what was happening, the child had caught him, and thrust
him backward between two standing pillar-stones, so that he was
wedged between them, and could not free himself. And the men of
Ulster groaned aloud when they saw their champion used like that.
“Come down to the water, now,” said the boy, “and we will see
which can pull the other under.” And they went into the sea, and
swam out a good space from the land, and they caught each other
and each tried to hold the other down beneath the waves to drown
him. And twice the stranger-boy got the head of Cuchulain down and
held him there, so that he was like to loose his breath, and to be
suffocated in the sea.
Then all his fury and his red battle-anger came upon Cuchulain,
because he was being made game of, and because his comrade and his
ancient friend Conall was lying bound and helpless on the beach.
He knew, too, that the honour of Ulster was at stake, and he could
do nothing with this youth to hold it from dishonour. Therefore
he loosed his belt that had in it the deadly weapon, from which
no mortal could escape, and he set it on the water towards the
stranger-boy, and the weapon moved of its own will across the waves
of the sea, and it struck the lad and entered him, and the water of
the ocean was stained with his blood.
“Now this was what Scáth never taught me,” cried the lad, for he
knew it was the Gae Bolga, from which he could not escape alive.
“Alas!” said Cuchulain, “it is true”; and he took the lad tenderly
in his arms and carried him out of the water, and laid him down
upon the beach. And as he carried him, he saw upon his wrist the
golden ring that he had left with Aiffe to give the lad, and he
knew it was his son. “Here is my son for you, O men of Ulster,”
said Cuchulain, for they gathered round to see. And when they heard
that it was his own son that he had slain for the honour of Ulster,
a wave of grief and of mourning went through the host, and they
were silent with shame and said no word, grieving for Cuchulain and
his son. Then Cuchulain said, “Alas! Alas! my son,” and he drew
the Gae Bolga gently from his wounds, and he sat down beside him
and staunched the blood, and he began to call upon Aiffe, that she
might comfort and support his son. But Conla said, “Grieve not,
Cuchulain, Hound of Ulster, by whom the honour of Ulster is avenged
to-day. Call not on Aiffe, O my father, for through her wiles it
was that I came hither to do combat with thee; evil and cruel is
that woman, and her ways are evil; for it was to avenge herself on
thee because thou hadst left her that she sent me hither, that I
might bring thee to death or die myself in the attempt. I am Conla
thy son, indeed; yet, until to-day, has no man known my name; as
thou didst lay command upon me, never have I refused combat to any
man, nor have I turned back from any journey, or revealed my name
to any. And now, O Father, first of Heroes, it is well for me that
I have fallen by thy hand. No shame it is to fall by the hand of
the Guardian of Ulster, but to have fallen by a lesser hand, that,
O Father, would have been unworthy thee and me. And yet it is woe
that I must die so young, for had I been but five years beside
thee, I would have vanquished the champions of the world for the
honour of Ulster and for thy honour, and I would have made thee
king of the world as far as the walls of Rome. Since I must needs
die, and my strength is passing fast away, lose not this little
space in grief, but point me out the heroes of Ulster of whom Scáth
used to tell, that I may take leave of each before I die.”
Then the heroes of Ulster drew near, and Cuchulain named them all,
and Conall Cernach amongst them, and the boy put his arms round the
neck of one hero after the other, and kissed them, and then once
more he put his arms round the neck of his own father, and with
that he died.
When Cuchulain saw that his son was dead, he laid him on the earth,
and he stood up, and a burst of anguish like the breaking of a
heart came from him. And he cried aloud: “The end is come indeed
for me:
“‘I am a man without son, without wife,
I am the Father who slew his own child,
I am a broken, rudderless bark,
Tossed from wave to wave in the tempest wild;
An apple blown loose from the garden wall,
I am over-ripe, and about to fall.’”
Then the men of Ulster came about Cuchulain and tried to comfort
him, and they raised the body of Conla on a shield, as it is wont
to do with heroes, and they made for him a noble grave, and buried
him there, with a pillar-stone to mark the spot, and his name and
his deeds written thereon. And all Ulster wept for him, and the
King commanded that for three days no merriment or feasting should
take place within the borders of Ulster, as is wont to be done on
the death of a king.