The Hound at Bay
Yet all this while Cuchulain’s foes drew closer round him, watching
their opportunity, and the land was filled with smoke and flame,
and omens foretold that the Hound was at bay at last, and that
the King of the Heroes of Erin was doomed to die. For though
Meave entered not again into open war with Ulster, never had she
forgotten the disgrace put upon her armies by Cuchulain, in that he
alone had beaten and held back her troops during the whole winter’s
length, slaying and destroying her chosen men. His kindness to her
in her weakness she soon forgot, or if she remembered it, it was
made bitter by the laugh of Fergus; she felt humiliated that she,
the mighty warrior queen, and leader of her forces, had stooped to
ask help from the hands of her enemy. So she awaited the moment of
revenge.
Throughout all Ireland she sent messengers to stir up strife
against Cuchulain, so that he was harassed and pursued on every
hand; nor did he ever sleep a night in peace. To all those men
whose fathers or brothers or sons Cuchulain had slain she whispered
of revenge, and glad and pleased she was when one and another fell
upon him unawares or led a raid into the country of Murthemne, to
burn and spoil the land. Above all, she stirred up Luga, son of
Curoi, prince of Munster, and Erc, the son of Tara’s royal king;
and these awaited but a chance to fall upon Cuchulain unawares.
But worst of all, she sent a brood of monstrous, ill-shaped
sprites, half-women, half-goblins, in their forms and minds, to
learn throughout the whole wide distant world some secret way to
bring Cuchulain to his death. Monstrous they were, for but one
single eye was in their foreheads, and their right legs and left
arms were lopped off at the stump. They did not move along the
earth like men, but on the broad back of the whistling winds and
wrapped in magic clouds of their own making, they sped o’er land
and sea.
Hideous and frightful were they to behold, and hideous were their
thoughts and their designs. When they drew near, a poisonous
ill-wind preceded them, and all the sky was dark with venomous
clouds about them and above, so that although they saw them not,
men shrank with fear and felt but ill at ease. These creatures
then she sent through the wide spaces of the universe to learn all
cruel magic arts that hurt and trouble men. And for five years they
wandered through the earth, until they reached the fearful realm
where Vulcan forged his weapons in the fire.
The secret of all poisonous herbs they learned, the use of every
charm that spoils men’s lives and drives them to despair; they
learned to raise a magic stormy sea upon dry land, in which men
might be drowned; and out of forest twigs and fluttering leaves
they learned to form a host of fighting-men and armed them with the
spiked thorn of the thistle leaves or with the blackthorn’s barb.
From Vulcan’s hand three cruel spears they took, their names,
‘Wind,’ ‘Good-luck,’ and ‘Cast’; three swords of magic power,
too, they got, the ‘Wounder,’ and the ‘Hacker,’ and the ‘Hewer.’
“By these three spears or these three swords the splendid Hound
shall die,” was Vulcan’s word; “each one of them shall kill a king
of Erin, and among those kings will be the mighty king of Erin’s
hero-chiefs, the triumphant, heavy-smiting, noble youth, whom men
call ‘Ulster’s Hound.’”
Then with a fierce and cruel glee those hideous children of the
storm bade Vulcan and his crew farewell, and on the rough and
whistling blast that blows keen from the east, they rose on high
and made their way to Erin’s coasts, alighting on the plain before
the fort of Meave. She, rising early on the morrow, looked forth
out of her bower, and saw them resting, each upon one leg perched
on the rampart’s top. Her five-fold crimson mantle flung about her,
straightway she stepped forth and made them welcome, and with a
cruel joy she heard their news. The venomed spears and hard-wrought
swords she took into her hands, and waved and brandished them to
try their power, but though from point to hilt she bent them back,
no sign of crack or failure could she find. “Well-tempered swords
are these, indeed,” she cried, “by these my deadly foe shall fall
at last.”
Then straight to Ulster she sent forth the brood of ill-formed
goblin women. “Seek out Cuchulain where he lies,” she said, “and
on him try your spells. Set right before his face your magic tide
of ocean-waves that he may rush into the flood and come thus to
his death; or, if that fail, tempt him with magic troops and armed
battalions made out of puff-balls or of fluttering leaves and armed
with sharp and prickly thistle-spikes. Thus lure him forth, for I
have heard it said that Emer and her women hold him with their
gentle wiles within his own strong fort, till he be healed of all
his pain and wounds. Tempt you him out into the open plain, and
there his foes will find and speak with him and utterly and for
ever strike him down. My hosts are there, and Luga’s hosts and
Erc’s. Give to each one of them your magic spears, that he may not
escape. Thus shall the strength of Ulster fall at last! Thus shall
our vengeance come! Within the space of three short days bring in
his head to me.”
So with deep wiles Meave laid her cruel plans, plotting Cuchulain’s
death; Murthemne and Cuchulain’s country she filled with war-bands,
marching through the land wasting and marauding, and they burned
the villages and the forests of the plain, so that the whole region
was a cloud of fire about them. Now the friends of Cuchulain, and
Emer, his dear wife, had taken the hero away with them from his own
home at Dun Dalgan to a secret glen in Ulster, that is called the
Glen of the Deaf, because no sound of war or tumult reached it,
where was a pleasant summer palace retired from mankind. There they
entertained him with sweet music and pleasant tales and games of
chess, to hold him back from rushing to meet the foe; and they took
from him his chariot and his weapons, and turned his chariot-steeds
out into the fenced green, for they knew that if he should go forth
at this time, he must surely fall. But the hero was restless and
unhappy, and save that he had plighted his word to Emer and to all
his friends he would not have entered the Glen. For Emer’s sake and
theirs he went with them to the lightsome summer palace, and sat
down with the poets and artists and the women-folk to listen to
sweet beguiling music and tales of ancient deeds to while away the
time.
Everywhere throughout the Province the horrid brood of mis-shaped
children sought him, but they found him not, neither in Dun Dalgan
nor in Emain, nor in his own country of Murthemne’s Plain; but
at last one of them soared up to the very clouds of heaven and
surveyed the whole wide land of Ulster, and from a hidden forest
glen she heard the sound of joyous revelry and the high, shrill
voice of women’s laughter, and the cheerful noise of a great
company keeping festival together.
Then she transformed herself into the shape of a black raven, and
swooped down and perched above the seat on which Cuchulain sat.
And it seemed to Cuchulain that he heard words, inciting him to go
forth.
“Dun Dalgan is burned,” they said to him, “and all the province is
laid waste; the war-bands and the hosts of Meave have ravaged all
the land, and everywhere but smoke and flames are seen. Arise, O
Hound, arise!”
But to the rest it seemed as though the raven croaked, and they
laughed loud to hear the bird of ill-omen croaking in the house.
Cuchulain sprang to his feet to rush forth; but, as he rose, his
mantle caught beneath his feet, and he was thrown backwards on his
seat. Once more he rose in haste and red with shame, but the great
kingly brooch that fastened his mantle, being loosened by his fall,
dropped on his foot, and dropping pierced his skin. “Alas! alas!”
he cried, “even my mantle warns me of ill-luck!” And Emer said,
“’Tis even so; heed now the warning of a friend. Let this pass,
Cu; for three days stay with us, and then in peace thou mayest go
forth to fight. For three days only have the Children of the Blast
their fatal power. Not for thyself or thine own safety do we thus
entreat, but for the sake of Ulster and her king. For Ulster is
destroyed if Cuchulain falls. For three days then abide.” And for
the sake of Ulster Cuchulain stayed, though heaviness and shame sat
deep upon him, and in his heart he longed to go. And wearily he sat
down again to play his game of chess.
For that night the Wild Women of the Blast went back, and they
waited until another day was past, but towards the fall of night
the horrid brood of mis-shaped children betook them to the Glen.
On the swift magic wind of their own making they soared aloft,
and at the very entrance to the Glen they lighted on the ground.
There they began to work their noisome spells. Out of the light
wee puff-balls and the rustling forest leaves they formed great
lines of fighting-men, all armed with battle-weapons of the hooded
sharp-spiked thistle-stalks. All round the lightsome, pleasant
house the army stood, in marshalled band on band, and all the
country rang with battle-shouts and cries of war and trumpetings,
and loud pealing laughter, and the taunts of strong men when they
mock at cowards.
In the palace Cuchulain caught the uproar and the mocking laughter
of the phantom fairy hosts. He started up and would have rushed
madly from the hall, but those around him stayed and hindered.
“Close fast the doors,” they said, “if for this one day and
to-morrow we can keep him fast, the magic evil spell is past.” And
Emer came to him and said, “This one day yet abide, O dear one,
noblest of the whole world’s race, my one and only love. These are
but shows and phantoms that thou hearest wrought by the sprites to
lure thee to thy doom. To-morrow, or the next day, or the next,
comes Conall Cernach back from travelling. Alone, thou fallest;
with him thou art a match for any host. For Ulster’s sake and ours,
and for thine own, abide.”
Then at this thing Cu felt a mighty shame; his soul was filled with
storms of anger and reproach. “Alas! alas!” he cried, “henceforth
there is no cause to guard my life. My span is ended, my honour is
destroyed. Better for me than all the gold and riches of the world,
if I had died before there fell on me this shame. In every tongue
this noble saying is recorded, “Fame outlives life”; but by your
urgency I keep my life, when all my fame and honour is destroyed.
Come death, come life, to-morrow I go forth.”
And gloomily and sadly he sat down, nor would he play or listen to
the music of the bards, or hold sweet converse with the women, but
all that night, till break of day, he tried and proved his weapons,
and his spears and sword he polished lovingly, and he sent Laeg out
to catch his chariot-steeds and bring them to the green beside the
house. And his heart revived within him when he heard without the
neigh of the Grey of Macha and the Black Steed of the Glen.
But the foul Children of the Blast were disappointed and dismayed
because they could not tempt Cuchulain out. And all that night they
sat in council, devising plans to snare him. “We have but one day
more,” they said, “before our power is lost. To-morrow then and
verily, we lure him forth.”
Before the morning’s sun was well arisen, on the blast of the
swift moaning wind of their own making, and all unseen, they came
around the glen. Then they put forth their magic spells and round
the house they made the likeness of a mighty sea that wave on wave
rolled ever nearer to the pleasure-house, threatening to overwhelm
it as it stood. Amid the women’s talk and loving laughter, and
the sweet music of the harps and singing men, Cuchulain heard
the lapping of the waves, and the low distant ocean’s roar, and
whistling of the wind upon the sea. Then he rose up and seized
his weapons in his hand, and for all Emer and the rest could do,
he rushed forth from the house. And madness came upon him when he
saw the rolling billows rising ever towards the house, and all the
land covered with mist and spray; and he called Emer, and would
have lifted her up above the waves to carry her in safety through
the billows. But Emer and the rest could see no waves, only the
green waving grasses of the pleasure-field, and nought they heard
save the soft rustling breath of spring that whispered through the
leaves. And Emer said: “Little Cu, O my first love and darling
of all earth’s men, never until this hour have I or any of thy
women-folk put hindrance in thy way in any exploit or battle-raid
that thou didst desire. Though oft we wept, and many a time we
thought thou never wouldst return, we never held thee back. But
now for my sake, my own chosen sweetheart, go not forth. No sea is
that thou seest upon the green, but only waving grasses and the
fluttering leaves. Heed not the magic noisome spells of those thy
enemies, but one day more abide. Then never till the end of life or
time will we restrain or hold thee back again.” But Cuchulain said,
“Emer, restrain me not; I see the horses of Manannan riding on the
waves; I hear Manannan’s fairy harp play gently o’er the billows;
Manannan’s ancient face I see beckoning me o’er the main.”
Then Emer knew that the hour of Cuchulain’s fate was come, and
that nought of all that ever they could do would avail to turn him
back. For the seer had prophesied that when Cuchulain should see
the horses of the ancient Ocean god upon the waves, and when he
should hear Manannan’s harp play sweetly, the hour of his fate was
come, and he must e’en go back to Shadowland.
Then she herself called Laeg to prepare his chariot and harness
his horses, and to set his fighting-gear in order, that not by
phantasies or magic wild imaginings, but as a chariot-chief and
champion facing his foes he might go forth to die; and she brought
out his helmet and set it upon his head, and placed his mighty
shield within his hand, that he might die as a hero should.
And when Cuchulain saw his chariot standing ready for him, and
Laeg therein awaiting him, and the noble steeds pawing the ground,
the phantoms of his brain passed away from him, and his warrior
strength and joyousness of mind came back, and he donned his armour
with good-will and gladness, and made to spring into the chariot.
But for the first time since the day when they rose out of the
magic lake, the steeds obeyed not his hand, but started from him
and turned the chariot round, evading him. And when Laeg drew them
back, and Cuchulain prepared to spring again into the chariot, they
fled away before him. “How now, how now is this, good steeds?”
said Laeg; “full oft before ye two came bounding at your master’s
call, nor ever turned away. Ill deed is this of thine, for never
upon any former day did he and I need help from you as now we need
it. Presage of evil is this freak of thine!” This when the Grey of
Macha heard he stood quite still, the Black Steed by his side, and
they let Cuchulain mount into the chariot; but even as he sprang
to take his seat, his weapons all fell down about his feet; to
him a grim foreshadowing of ill. He saw, moreover, that from the
horses’ eyes and down their cheeks coursed tears of dusky blood.
Yet for all that he stayed not, but without farewells or partings
of any kind at all, joyously he set forth towards Murthemne’s
Plain, to meet the hosts of Meave. But when the cruel Children of
the Blast saw the imprisoned champion go forth and take the level
road across the plain, up to the highest heavens they rose aloft
with wild shrill cries and shriekings of delight, and through
the air upon the whistling wind they sped before him, hastening
to arouse the hosts of Meave to meet him in their strength.
Before Cuchulain’s eyes they raised a vision of battle-troops and
marshalled lines standing round Emain, with chariots, steeds and
weapons in great plenty. He saw the city red and dark with flames,
and heard the shouting of the foe as Emain sank in ashes. That
vision passed away, and then another came before his mind. He saw
Dun Dalgan, his own home, aglow, like Emain, in the ruddy flame.
He saw the women flying from the flames, with hair dishevelled,
and with streaming eyes. He heard the crashing of the blazing
walls, as inward one and then another fell. He saw the foe behind
with swords upraised, slaying and cutting down the women as they
ran. Then he saw Emer, his own loving wife, standing alone upon
the outer wall, scanning the distant plain. She raised her hands
and called on him for help, and down her face ran torrents of salt
tears. Then he could see behind her, creeping slowly on, a fierce
relentless warrior of Meave’s host. And with one spring he saw him
seize her hair, the soft long locks Cuchulain loved to touch, and
backward with his cruel pitiless hand he drew her head, and with a
single blow he sheared it off, flinging it in disdain out o’er the
rampart’s wall, and trampling her fair body under foot. When he had
seen that deed, Cuchulain groaned, and sped along the plain with
greater haste.
Then passing o’er a stream they saw a maiden stooping on the brink,
as though she washed and rinsed the garments of the slain. Slender
and white her body and her hands, but all the waters ran with
crimson blood, and still she washed, and wept, and wrung her hands,
and all her yellow hair hung down in tresses slowly dropping blood.
Sharply and quick, without a word or pause, Laeg turned the chariot
when he saw the girl, and made as though to flee. “How now?” said
Cu; “what dost thou, Master Laeg? What spoils are these the maiden
wrings and washes in the stream? and who and what is she?” “She is
the Watcher of the Ford,” Laeg cried, “the daughter of the goddess
of grim war. She wrings the garments of the slain, or those about
to die. Dost thou not see that they are thine own garments that she
washes out to-day; that it is thine own sword that runs with blood,
dying the river red? Alas! alas! while there is time, let us now
turn and flee.”
“Dear comrade, it is well,” the hero said, “I may not turn me back
from this my hour of vengeance on the men of Erin, revenge for all
the ill that they have wrought on us. What though the fairy woman
wash my spoils? great spoil of arms, of armour and of gear, is that
which by my spear shall shortly fall and lie there drenched in
blood. None knows it better than I know myself that in this coming
onslaught I must fall; whether I stay I am devoted to death, or
whether I go, the span of my life is run out. No more then hinder
or delay my course, for sad as you may be to see me go to Death,
even so glad and cheerful I myself go forth to meet my fate. Let me
but once more thus avenge my country’s wrongs, and gladly and with
joy I give my life.”
So he turned again and faced the enemy, and all his gloom and
heaviness passed from Cuchulain, and the delusions of the gruesome
fairy folk troubled him no more. Cheerfully and free from care he
rode on towards the host, and from his forehead, brighter than the
sun, shone out the Hero’s Light. Right terrible and beautiful he
stood, his mighty sword uplifted in his hand, his eyes beneath his
helmet flashing fire. And when they saw him coming thus alone, a
shout of triumph rose from all the host, and mounted to the very
clouds of heaven.