his home, and drove out the clerics that were there, with his wife and
children along with them, and drove out also the nobles of his own clan,
the children of Niall, two great and gallant battalions. And Duivsech,
his wife, went crying along the road with her children around her to
seek Bishop Cairnech, the half-brother of her husband, and her own
soul-friend, that she might obtain help and shelter from him.
But Sheen went gladly and light-heartedly into the House of Cletty, and
when she saw the lovely lightsome house and the goodly nobles of the
clan of Niall, and the feasting and banqueting and the playing of the
minstrels and all the joyous noise of that kingly dwelling, her heart
was lifted within her, and "Fair as a fairy palace is this house of
Cletty," said she.
"Fair, indeed, it is," replied the King; "for neither the Kings of
Leinster nor the Kings of mighty Ulster, nor the lords of the clans of
Owen or of Niall, have such a house as this; nay, in Tara of the Kings
itself, no house to equal this house of mine is found." And that night
the King robed himself in all the splendour of his royal dignity, and on
his right hand he seated Sheen, and a great banquet was made before
them, and men said that never on earth was to be seen a woman more
goodly of appearance than she. And the King was astonished at her, and
he began to ask her questions, for it seemed to him that the power of a
great goddess of the ancient time was in her; and he asked her whence
she came, and what manner was the power that he saw in her. He asked
her, too, did she believe in the God of the clerics, or was she herself
some goddess of the older world? For he feared her, feeling that his
fate was in her hands.
She laughed a careless and a cruel laugh, for she knew that the King was
in their power, now that she was there alone with him, and the clerics
and the Christian teachers gone. "Fear me not, O Murtough," she cried;
"I am, like thee, a daughter of the race of men of the ancient family of
Adam and of Eve; fit and meet my comradeship with thee; therefore, fear
not nor regret. And as to that true God of thine, worker of miracles and
helper of His people, no miracle in all the world is there that I, by
mine own unaided power, cannot work the like. I can create a sun and
moon; the heavens I can sprinkle with radiant stars of night. I can call
up to life men fiercely fighting in conflict, slaughtering one another.
Wine I could make of the cold water of the Boyne, and sheep of lifeless
stones, and swine of ferns. In the presence of the hosts I can make
gold and silver, plenty and to spare; and hosts of famous fighting men I
can produce from naught. Now, tell me, can thy God work the like?"
"Work for us," says the King, "some of these great wonders." Then Sheen
went forth out of the house, and she set herself to work spells on
Murtough, so that he knew not whether he was in his right mind or no.
She took of the water of the Boyne and made a magic wine thereout, and
she took ferns and spiked thistles and light puff-balls of the woods,
and out of them she fashioned magic swine and sheep and goats, and with
these she fed Murtough and the hosts. And when they had eaten, all their
strength went from them, and the magic wine sent them into an uneasy
sleep and restless slumbers. And out of stones and sods of earth she
fashioned three battalions, and one of the battalions she placed at one
side of the house, and the other at the further side beyond it, and one
encircling the rest southward along the hollow windings of the glen. And
thus were these battalions, one of them all made of men stark-naked and
their colour blue, and the second with heads of goats with shaggy beards
and horned; but the third, more terrible than they, for these were
headless men, fighting like human beings, yet finished at the neck; and
the sound of heavy shouting as of hosts and multitudes came from the
first and the second battalion, but from the third no sound save only
that they waved their arms and struck their weapons together, and smote
the ground with their feet impatiently. And though terrible was the
shout of the blue men and the bleating of the goats with human limbs,
more horrible yet was the stamping and the rage of those headless men,
finished at the neck.
And Murtough, in his sleep and in his dreams, heard the battle-shout,
and he rose impetuously from off his bed, but the wine overcame him, and
his strength departed from him, and he fell helplessly upon the floor.
Then he heard the challenge a second time, and the stamping of the feet
without, and he rose again, and madly, fiercely, he set on them,
charging the hosts and scattering them before him, as he thought, as far
as the fairy palace of the Brugh. But all his strength was lost in
fighting phantoms, for they were but stones and sods and withered leaves
of the forest that he took for fighting men.
Now Duivsech, Murtough's wife, knew what was going on. She called upon
Cairnech to arise and to gather together the clans of the children of
his people, the men of Owen and of Niall, and together they went to the
fort; but Sheen guarded it well, so that they could by no means find an
entrance. Then Cairnech was angry, and he cursed the place, and he dug a
grave before the door, and he stood up upon the mound of the grave, and
rang his bells and cursed the King and his house, and prophesied his
downfall. But he blessed the clans of Owen and of Niall, and they
returned to their own country.
Then Cairnech sent messengers to seek Murtough and to draw him away from
the witch woman who sought his destruction, but because she was so
lovely the King would believe no evil of her; and whenever he made any
sign to go to Cairnech, she threw her spell upon the King, so that he
could not break away. When he was so weak and faint that he had no power
left, she cast a sleep upon him, and she went round the house, putting
everything in readiness. She called upon her magic host of warriors, and
set them round the fortress, with their spears and javelins pointed
inwards towards the house, so that the King would not dare to go out
amongst them. And that night was a night of Samhain-tide, the eve of
Wednesday after All Souls' Day.
Then she went everywhere throughout the house, and took lighted brands
and burning torches, and scattered them in every part of the dwelling.
And she returned into the room wherein Murtough slept, and lay down by
his side. And she caused a great wind to spring up, and it came soughing
through the house from the north-west; and the King said, "This is the
sigh of the winter night." And Sheen smiled, because, unwittingly, the
King had spoken her name, for she knew by that that the hour of her
revenge had come. "'Tis I myself that am Sigh and Winter Night," she
said, "and I am Rough Wind and Storm, a daughter of fair nobles; and I
am Cry and Wail, the maid of elfin birth, who brings ill-luck to men."
After that she caused a great snowstorm to come round the house; and
like the noise of troops and the rage of battle was the storm, beating
and pouring in on every side, so that drifts of deep snow were piled
against the walls, blocking the doors and chilling the folk that were
feasting within the house. But the King was lying in a heavy, unresting
sleep, and Sheen was at his side. Suddenly he screamed out of his sleep
and stirred himself, for he heard the crash of falling timbers and the
noise of the magic hosts, and he smelled the strong smell of fire in the
palace.
He sprang up. "It seems to me," he cried, "that hosts of demons are
around the house, and that they are slaughtering my people, and that the
house of Cletty is on fire." "It was but a dream," the witch maiden
said. Then he slept again, and he saw a vision, to wit, that he was
tossing in a ship at sea, and the ship floundered, and above his head a
griffin, with sharp beak and talons, sailed, her wings outspread and
covering all the sun, so that it was dark as middle-night; and lo! as
she rose on high, her plumes quivered for a moment in the air; then down
she swooped and picked him from the waves, carrying him to her eyrie on
the dismal cliff outhanging o'er the ocean; and the griffin began to
pierce him and to prod him with her talons, and to pick out pieces of
his flesh with her beak; and this went on awhile, and then a flame, that
came he knew not whence, rose from the nest, and he and the griffin were
enveloped in the flame. Then in her beak the griffin picked him up, and
together they fell downward over the cliff's edge into the seething
ocean; so that, half by fire and half by water, he died a miserable
death.
When the King saw that vision, he rose screaming from his sleep, and
donned his arms; and he made one plunge forward seeking for the magic
hosts, but he found no man to answer him. The damsel went forth from the
house, and Murtough made to follow her, but as he turned the flames
leaped out, and all between him and the door was one vast sheet of
flame. He saw no way of escape, save the vat of wine that stood in the
banqueting hall, and into that he got; but the burning timbers of the
roof fell upon his head and the hails of fiery sparks rained on him, so
that half of him was burned and half was drowned, as he had seen in his
dream.
The next day, amid the embers, the clerics found his corpse, and they
took it up and washed it in the Boyne, and carried it to Tuilen to bury
it. And they said, "Alas! that Mac Erca, High King of Erin, of the noble
race of Conn and of the descendants of Ugaine the Great, should die
fighting with sods and stones! Alas! that the Cross of Christ was not
signed upon his face that he might have known the witchdoms of the
maiden what they were."
As they went thus, bewailing the death of Murtough and bearing him to
his grave, Duivsech, wife of Murtough, met them, and when she found her
husband dead, she struck her hands together and she made a great and
mournful lamentation; and because weakness came upon her she leaned her
back against the ancient tree that is in Aenech Reil; and a burst of
blood broke from her heart, and there she died, grieving for her
husband. And the grave of Murtough was made wide and deep, and there
they laid the Queen beside him, two in the one grave, near the north
side of the little church that is in Tuilen.
Now, when the burial was finished, and the clerics were reciting over
his grave the deeds of the King, and were making prayers for Murtough's
soul that it might be brought out of hell, for Cairnech showed great
care for this, they saw coming towards them across the sward a lonely
woman, star-bright and beautiful, and a kirtle of priceless silk upon
her, and a green mantle with its fringes of silver thread flowing to the
ground. She reached the place where the clerics were, and saluted them,
and they saluted her. And they marvelled at her beauty, but they
perceived on her an appearance of sadness and of heavy grief. They asked
of her, "Who art thou, maiden, and wherefore art thou come to the house
of mourning? For a king lies buried here." "A king lies buried here,
indeed," said she, "and I it was who slew him, Murtough of the many
deeds, of the race of Conn and Niall, High King of Ireland and of the
West. And though it was I who wrought his death, I myself will die for
grief of him."
And they said, "Tell us, maiden, why you brought him to his death, if so
be that he was dear to thee?" And she said, "Murtough was dear to me,
indeed, dearest of the men of the whole world; for I am Sheen, the
daughter of Sige, the son of Dian, from whom Ath Sigi or the 'Ford of
Sige' is called to-day. But Murtough slew my father, and my mother and
sister were slain along with him, in the battle of Cerb upon the Boyne,
and there was none of my house to avenge their death, save myself alone.
Moreover, in his time the Ancient Peoples of the Fairy Tribes of Erin
were scattered and destroyed, the folk of the underworld and of my
fatherland; and to avenge the wrong and loss he wrought on them I slew
the man I loved. I made poison for him; alas! I made for him magic drink
and food which took his strength away, and out of the sods of earth and
puff-balls that float down the wind, I wrought men and armies of
headless, hideous folk, till all his senses were distraught. And, now,
take me to thee, O Cairnech, in fervent and true repentance, and sign
the Cross of Christ upon my brow, for the time of my death is come."
Then she made penitence for the sin that she had sinned, and she died
there upon the grave of grief and of sorrow after the King. And they
digged a grave lengthways across the foot of the wide grave of Murtough
and his spouse, and there they laid the maiden who had wrought them woe.
And the clerics wondered at those things, and they wrote them and
revised them in a book.
ELEANOR HULL.
The Red Pony
(_As told by an Irish Peasant._)
There was a poor man there. He had a great family of sons. He had no
means to put them forward. He had them at school. One day, when they
were coming from school, he thought that whichever of them was last at
the door he would keep him out. It was the youngest of the family that
was last at the door. The father shut the door. He would not let him in.
The boy went weeping. He would not let him in till night came. The
father said he would never let him in--that he had boys enough.
The lad went away. He was walking till night. He came to a house on the
rugged side of a hill on a height, one feather giving it shelter and
support. He went in. He got a place till morning. When he made his
breakfast in the morning he was going. The man of the house made him a
present of a red pony, a saddle, and bridle. He went riding on the pony.
He went away with himself.
"Now," said the pony, "whatever thing you may see before you, don't
touch it."
They went on with themselves. He saw a light before him on the high
road. When he came as far as the light, there was an open box on the
road, and a light coming out of it. He took up the box. There was a lock
of hair in it.
"Are you going to take up the box?" said the pony.
"I am. I cannot go past it."
"It's better for you to leave it," said the pony.
He took up the box. He put it in his pocket. He was going with himself.
A gentleman met him.
"Pretty is your little beast. Where are you going?"
"I am looking for service."
"I am in want of one like you among the stable-boys."
He hired the lad. The lad said he must get room for the little beast in
the stable. The gentleman said he would get it. They went home then. He
had eleven boys. When they were going out into the stable at ten o'clock
each of them took a light with him but he. He took no candle at all with
him.
Each of them went into his own stable. When he went into his stable, he
opened the box. He left it in a hole in the wall. The light was great.
It was twice as much as in the other stables. There was wonder on the
boys--what was the reason of the light being so great, and he without a
candle with him at all. They told the master they did not know what was
the cause of the light with the last boy. They had given him no candle,
and he had twice as much light as they had.
"Watch to-morrow night what kind of light he has," said the master.
They watched the night of the morrow. They saw the box in the hole that
was in the wall, and the light coming out of the box. They told the
master. When the boys came to the house, the King asked him what was the
reason why he did not take a candle with him to the stable, as well as
the other boys. The lad said he had a candle. The King said he had not.
He asked him how he got the box from which the light came. He said he
had no box. The King said he had, and that he must give it to him; that
he would not keep him, unless he gave him the box. The boy gave it to
him. The King opened it. He drew out the lock of hair, in which was the
light.
"You must go," said the King, "and bring me the woman to whom the hair
belongs."
The lad was troubled. He went out. He told the red pony.
"I told you not to take up the box. You will get more than that on
account of the box. When you have made your breakfast to-morrow, put the
saddle and bridle on me."
When he made his breakfast on the morning of the morrow, he put saddle
and bridle on the pony. He went till they came to three miles of sea.
"Keep a good hold now. I am going to give a jump over the sea. When I
arrive yonder, there is a fair on the strand. Everyone will be coming up
to you to ask for a ride, because I am such a pretty little beast. Give
no one a ride. You will see a beautiful woman drawing near you, her in
whose hair was the wonderful light. She will come up to you. She will
ask you to let her ride for a while. Say you will, and welcome. When she
comes riding, I will be off."
When she came to the sea, she cleared the three miles at a jump. She
came upon the land opposite, and everyone was asking for a ride upon the
beast, she was that pretty. He was giving a ride to no one. He saw that
woman in the midst of the people. She was drawing near. She asked him
would he give her a little riding. He said he would give it, and a
thousand welcomes. She went riding. She went quietly, till she got out
of the crowd. When the pony came to the sea, she made the three-mile
jump again, the beautiful woman along with her. She took her home to the
King. There was great joy on the King to see her. He took her into the
parlour. She said to him she would not marry anyone until he would get
the bottle of healing water that was in the eastern world. The King said
to the lad he must go and bring the bottle of healing water that was in
the eastern world to the lady. The lad was troubled. He went to the
pony. He told the pony he must go to the eastern world for the bottle of
healing water that was in it, and bring it to the lady.
"My advice was good," said the pony, "on the day you took the box up.
Put saddle and bridle on me."
He went riding on her. They were going till they came to the sea. She
stood then.
"You must kill me," said the pony. "That, or I must kill you!"
"It is hard to me to kill you," said the boy. "If I kill you, there will
be no way to myself."
He cut her down. He opened her up. She was not long opened when there
came two black ravens and one small one. The two ravens went into the
body. They drank their fill of the blood. When they came out, the little
raven went in. He closed up the pony. He would not let the little bird
come out till he got the bottle of healing water that was in the eastern
world. The ravens were very troubled. They were begging him to let the
little bird out. He said he would not let it out till they brought him
the bottle. They went to seek the bottle. They came back, and there was
no bottle with them. They were entreating him to let the bird out to
them. He would not let out the bird till he got the bottle. They went
away again for the bottle. They came again at evening. They were tossed
and scorched, and they had the bottle. They came to the place where the
pony was. They gave the bottle to the boy. He rubbed the healing water
to every place where they were burned. Then he let out the little bird.
There was great joy on them to see him. He rubbed some of the healing
water to the place where he cut the pony. He spilt a drop into her ear.
She arose as well as she ever was. He had a little bottle in his pocket.
He put some of the healing water into it. They went home.
When the King perceived the pony coming, he rose out. He took hold of
her with his two hands. He took her in. He smothered her with kisses,
and drowned her with tears; he dried her with finest cloths of silk and
satin.
This is what the lady was doing while they were away. She boiled pitch,
and filled a barrel, and that boiling. Now she went beside it. She
rubbed the healing water to herself. She came out; she went to the
barrel. She gave a jump in and out of the barrel. Three times she went
in and out. She said she would never marry anyone who could not do the
same. The young King came. He went to the barrel. He fell half in, half
out.
He was all boiled and burned. Another gentleman came. He gave a jump
into the barrel. He was burned. He came not out till he died. After that
there was no one going in or out. The barrel was there, and no one at
all was going near it. The lad went up to it. He rubbed the healing
water on himself. He came to the barrel. He jumped in and out three
times. He was watching her. She came out. She said she would never marry
anyone but him.
Came the priest of the pattens, and the clerk of the bells. The pair
were married. The wedding lasted three days and three nights. When it
was over, the lad went to look at the place where the pony was. He never
remembered to go and see the pony during the wedding. He found nothing
but a heap of bones. There were two champions and two girls playing
cards. The lad went crying when he saw the bones of the pony. One of the
girls asked what was the matter with him. He said it was all one to
her--that she cared nothing for his troubles.
"I would like to get knowledge of the cause why you are crying."
"It was my pony who was here. I never remembered to see her during the
wedding. I have nothing now but her bones. I don't know what I shall do
after her. It was she who did all that I accomplished."
The girl went laughing.
"Would you know your pony if you saw her?"
"I would know," said he.
She laid aside the cards. She stood up.
"Isn't that your pony?" said she.
"It is," said he.
"I was the pony," said the girl, "and the two ravens who went in to
drink my blood my two brothers. When the ravens came out, a little bird
went in. You closed the pony. You would not let the little bird out till
they brought the bottle of healing water that was in the eastern world.
They brought the bottle to you. The little bird was my sister. It was my
brothers were the ravens. We were all under enchantments. It is my
sister who is married to you. The enchantments are gone from us since
she was married."
W. LARMINIE.
(_From "West Irish Folk Tales."_)
King O'Toole and St Kevin
(_A Legend of Glendalough._)
There was wanst a king, called King O'Toole, who was a fine ould king in
the ould ancient times, long ago; and it was him that owned the Churches
in the airly days.
"Surely," said I, "the Churches were not in King O'Toole's time?"
"Oh, by no manes, your honor--throth, it's yourself that's right enough
there; but you know the place is called 'The Churches' bekase they wor
built _afther_ by St. Kavin, and wint by the name o' the Churches iver
more; and, therefore, av coorse, the place bein' so called, I say that
the King owned the Churches--and why not, sir, seein' 'twas his
birthright, time out o' mind, beyant the flood? Well, the King (you see)
was the right sort--he was the _rale_ boy, and loved sport as he loved
his life, and huntin' in partic'lar; and from the risin' o' the sun up
he got, and away he wint over the mountains beyant afther the deer: and
the fine times them wor; for the deer was as plinty thin, aye throth,
far plintyer than the sheep is now; and that's the way it was with the
King, from the crow o' the cock to the song o' the redbreast. Well, it
was all mighty good as long as the King had his health; but, you see, in
coorse o' time, the King grewn ould, by raison he was stiff in his
limbs, and when he got sthricken in years, his heart failed him, and he
was lost intirely for want o' divarshin, bekase he couldn't go a huntin'
no longer; and, by dad, the poor King was obleeged at last for to get a
goose to divart him. You see, the goose used for to swim acrass the
lake, and go down divin' for throut (and not finer throut in all Ireland
than the same throut) and cotch fish on a Friday for the King, and flew
every other day round about the lake divartin' the poor King that you'd
think he'd break his sides laughin' at the frolicksome tricks av his
goose; so, in coorse o' time, the goose was the greatest pet in the
counthry, and the biggest rogue, and divarted the King to no end, and
the poor King was as happy as the day was long. So that's the way it
was; and all wint on mighty well antil, by dad, the goose got sthricken
in years, as well as the King, and grew stiff in the limbs, like her
masther, and couldn't divart him no longer; and then it was that the
poor King was lost complate, and didn't know what in the wide world to
do, seein' he was gone out of all divarshin by raison that the goose was
no more in the flower of her blume.
"Well, the King was nigh broken-hearted and melancholy intirely, and was
walkin' one mornin' by the edge of the lake, lamentin' his cruel fate,
an' thinkin' o' drownin' himself, that could get no divarshin in life,
when all of a suddint, turnin' round the corner beyant, who should he
meet but a mighty dacent young man comin' up to him.
"'God save you,' says the King (for the King was a civil-spoken
gintleman, by all accounts), 'God save you,' says he to the young man.
"'God save you kindly,' says the young man to him back again; 'God save
you, King O'Toole.'