CHAPTER I. BODB DEARG

GODS AND FIGHTING MEN:

THE STORY OF THE TUATHA DE DANAAN

AND OF THE FIANNA OF IRELAND,

ARRANGED AND PUT INTO ENGLISH BY LADY GREGORY.

WITH A PREFACE BY W.B. YEATS

1905

DEDICATION TO THE MEMBERS OF THE IRISH LITERARY SOCIETY OF NEW YORK

My Friends, those I know and those I do not know, I am glad in the year

of the birth of your Society to have this book to offer you.

It has given great courage to many workers here--working to build up

broken walls--to know you have such friendly thoughts of them in your

minds. A few of you have already come to see us, and we begin to hope

that one day the steamers across the Atlantic will not go out full, but

come back full, until some of you find your real home is here, and say

as some of us say, like Finn to the woman of enchantments--

[Illustration: Irish Gaelic]

"We would not give up our own country--Ireland--if we were to get the

whole world as an estate, and the Country of the Young along with it."

AUGUSTA GREGORY.

PREFACE

I

A few months ago I was on the bare Hill of Allen, "wide Almhuin of

Leinster," where Finn and the Fianna lived, according to the stories,

although there are no earthen mounds there like those that mark the

sites of old buildings on so many hills. A hot sun beat down upon

flowering gorse and flowerless heather; and on every side except the

east, where there were green trees and distant hills, one saw a level

horizon and brown boglands with a few green places and here and there

the glitter of water. One could imagine that had it been twilight and

not early afternoon, and had there been vapours drifting and frothing

where there were now but shadows of clouds, it would have set stirring

in one, as few places even in Ireland can, a thought that is peculiar to

Celtic romance, as I think, a thought of a mystery coming not as with

Gothic nations out of the pressure of darkness, but out of great spaces

and windy light. The hill of Teamhair, or Tara, as it is now called,

with its green mounds and its partly wooded sides, and its more gradual

slope set among fat grazing lands, with great trees in the hedgerows,

had brought before one imaginations, not of heroes who were in their

youth for hundreds of years, or of women who came to them in the

likeness of hunted fawns, but of kings that lived brief and politic

lives, and of the five white roads that carried their armies to the

lesser kingdoms of Ireland, or brought to the great fair that had given

Teamhair its sovereignty, all that sought justice or pleasure or had

goods to barter.

II

It is certain that we must not confuse these kings, as did the mediæval

chroniclers, with those half-divine kings of Almhuin. The chroniclers,

perhaps because they loved tradition too well to cast out utterly much

that they dreaded as Christians, and perhaps because popular imagination

had begun the mixture, have mixed one with another ingeniously, making

Finn the head of a kind of Militia under Cormac MacArt, who is supposed

to have reigned at Teamhair in the second century, and making Grania,

who travels to enchanted houses under the cloak of Angus, god of Love,

and keeps her troubling beauty longer than did Helen hers, Cormac's

daughter, and giving the stories of the Fianna, although the impossible

has thrust its proud finger into them all, a curious air of precise

history. It is only when one separates the stories from that mediæval

pedantry, as in this book, that one recognises one of the oldest worlds

that man has imagined, an older world certainly than one finds in the

stories of Cuchulain, who lived, according to the chroniclers, about the

time of the birth of Christ. They are far better known, and one may be

certain of the antiquity of incidents that are known in one form or

another to every Gaelic-speaking countryman in Ireland or in the

Highlands of Scotland. Sometimes a labourer digging near to a cromlech,

or Bed of Diarmuid and Crania as it is called, will tell one a tradition

that seems older and more barbaric than any description of their

adventures or of themselves in written text or story that has taken form

in the mouths of professed story-tellers. Finn and the Fianna found

welcome among the court poets later than did Cuchulain; and one finds

memories of Danish invasions and standing armies mixed with the

imaginations of hunters and solitary fighters among great woods. One

never hears of Cuchulain delighting in the hunt or in woodland things;

and one imagines that the story-teller would have thought it unworthy in

so great a man, who lived a well-ordered, elaborate life, and had his

chariot and his chariot-driver and his barley-fed horses to delight in.

If he is in the woods before dawn one is not told that he cannot know

the leaves of the hazel from the leaves of the oak; and when Emer

laments him no wild creature comes into her thoughts but the cuckoo that

cries over cultivated fields. His story must have come out of a time

when the wild wood was giving way to pasture and tillage, and men had no

longer a reason to consider every cry of the birds or change of the

night. Finn, who was always in the woods, whose battles were but hours

amid years of hunting, delighted in the "cackling of ducks from the Lake

of the Three Narrows; the scolding talk of the blackbird of Doire an

Cairn; the bellowing of the ox from the Valley of the Berries; the

whistle of the eagle from the Valley of Victories or from the rough

branches of the Ridge of the Stream; the grouse of the heather of

Cruachan; the call of the otter of Druim re Coir." When sorrow comes

upon the queens of the stories, they have sympathy for the wild birds

and beasts that are like themselves: "Credhe wife of Cael came with the

others and went looking through the bodies for her comely comrade, and

crying as she went. And as she was searching she saw a crane of the

meadows and her two nestlings, and the cunning beast the fox watching

the nestlings; and when the crane covered one of the birds to save it,

he would make a rush at the other bird, the way she had to stretch

herself out over the birds; and she would sooner have got her own death

by the fox than the nestlings to be killed by him. And Credhe was

looking at that, and she said: 'It is no wonder I to have such love for

my comely sweetheart, and the bird in that distress about her

nestlings.'"

III

One often hears of a horse that shivers with terror, or of a dog that

howls at something a man's eyes cannot see, and men who live primitive

lives where instinct does the work of reason are fully conscious of many

things that we cannot perceive at all. As life becomes more orderly,

more deliberate, the supernatural world sinks farther away. Although the

gods come to Cuchulain, and although he is the son of one of the

greatest of them, their country and his are far apart, and they come to

him as god to mortal; but Finn is their equal. He is continually in

their houses; he meets with Bodb Dearg, and Angus, and Manannan, now as

friend with friend, now as with an enemy he overcomes in battle; and

when he has need of their help his messenger can say: "There is not a

king's son or a prince, or a leader of the Fianna of Ireland, without

having a wife or a mother or a foster-mother or a sweetheart of the

Tuatha de Danaan." When the Fianna are broken up at last, after hundreds

of years of hunting, it is doubtful that he dies at all, and certain

that he comes again in some other shape, and Oisin, his son, is made

king over a divine country. The birds and beasts that cross his path in

the woods have been fighting men or great enchanters or fair women, and

in a moment can take some beautiful or terrible shape. One thinks of him

and of his people as great-bodied men with large movements, that seem,

as it were, flowing out of some deep below the narrow stream of personal

impulse, men that have broad brows and quiet eyes full of confidence in

a good luck that proves every day afresh that they are a portion of the

strength of things. They are hardly so much individual men as portions

of universal nature, like the clouds that shape themselves and re-shape

themselves momentarily, or like a bird between two boughs, or like the

gods that have given the apples and the nuts; and yet this but brings

them the nearer to us, for we can remake them in our image when we will,

and the woods are the more beautiful for the thought. Do we not always

fancy hunters to be something like this, and is not that why we think

them poetical when we meet them of a sudden, as in these lines in

"Pauline":

"An old hunter

Talking with gods; or a nigh-crested chief

Sailing with troops of friends to Tenedos"

IV

One must not expect in these stories the epic lineaments, the many

incidents, woven into one great event of, let us say, the story of the

War for the Brown Bull of Cuailgne, or that of the last gathering at

Muirthemne. Even Diarmuid and Grania, which is a long story, has nothing

of the clear outlines of Deirdre, and is indeed but a succession of

detached episodes. The men who imagined the Fianna had the imagination

of children, and as soon as they had invented one wonder, heaped another

on top of it. Children--or, at any rate, it is so I remember my own

childhood--do not understand large design, and they delight in little

shut-in places where they can play at houses more than in great expanses

where a country-side takes, as it were, the impression of a thought. The

wild creatures and the green things are more to them than to us, for

they creep towards our light by little holes and crevices. When they

imagine a country for themselves, it is always a country where one can

wander without aim, and where one can never know from one place what

another will be like, or know from the one day's adventure what may meet

one with to-morrow's sun. I have wished to become a child again that I

might find this book, that not only tells one of such a country, but is

fuller than any other book that tells of heroic life, of the childhood

that is in all folk-lore, dearer to me than all the books of the western

world.

Children play at being great and wonderful people, at the ambitions

they will put away for one reason or another before they grow into

ordinary men and women. Mankind as a whole had a like dream once;

everybody and nobody built up the dream bit by bit, and the ancient

story-tellers are there to make us remember what mankind would have been

like, had not fear and the failing will and the laws of nature tripped

up its heels. The Fianna and their like are themselves so full of power,

and they are set in a world so fluctuating and dream-like, that nothing

can hold them from being all that the heart desires.

I have read in a fabulous book that Adam had but to imagine a bird, and

it was born into life, and that he created all things out of himself by

nothing more important than an unflagging fancy; and heroes who can make

a ship out of a shaving have but little less of the divine prerogatives.

They have no speculative thoughts to wander through eternity and waste

heroic blood; but how could that be otherwise, for it is at all times

the proud angels who sit thinking upon the hill-side and not the people

of Eden. One morning we meet them hunting a stag that is "as joyful as

the leaves of a tree in summer-time"; and whatever they do, whether they

listen to the harp or follow an enchanter over-sea, they do for the sake

of joy, their joy in one another, or their joy in pride and movement;

and even their battles are fought more because of their delight in a

good fighter than because of any gain that is in victory. They live

always as if they were playing a game; and so far as they have any

deliberate purpose at all, it is that they may become great gentlemen

and be worthy of the songs of poets. It has been said, and I think the

Japanese were the first to say it, that the four essential virtues are

to be generous among the weak, and truthful among one's friends, and

brave among one's enemies, and courteous at all times; and if we

understand by courtesy not merely the gentleness the story-tellers have

celebrated, but a delight in courtly things, in beautiful clothing and

in beautiful verse, one understands that it was no formal succession of

trials that bound the Fianna to one another. Only the Table Round, that

is indeed, as it seems, a rivulet from the same river, is bound in a

like fellowship, and there the four heroic virtues are troubled by the

abstract virtues of the cloister. Every now and then some noble knight

builds himself a cell upon the hill-side, or leaves kind women and

joyful knights to seek the vision of the Grail in lonely adventures. But

when Oisin or some kingly forerunner--Bran, son of Febal, or the

like--rides or sails in an enchanted ship to some divine country, he but

looks for a more delighted companionship, or to be in love with faces

that will never fade. No thought of any life greater than that of love,

and the companionship of those that have drawn their swords upon the

darkness of the world, ever troubles their delight in one another as it

troubles Iseult amid her love, or Arthur amid his battles. It is one of

the ailments of our speculation that thought, when it is not the

planning of something, or the doing of something or some memory of a

plain circumstance separates us from one another because it makes us

always more unlike, and because no thought passes through another's ear

unchanged. Companionship can only be perfect when it is founded on

things, for things are always the same under the hand, and at last one

comes to hear with envy of the voices of boys lighting a lantern to

ensnare moths, or of the maids chattering in the kitchen about the fox

that carried off a turkey before breakfast. This book is full of

fellowship untroubled like theirs, and made noble by a courtesy that has

gone perhaps out of the world. I do not know in literature better

friends and lovers. When one of the Fianna finds Osgar dying the proud

death of a young man, and asks is it well with him, he is answered, "I

am as you would have me be." The very heroism of the Fianna is indeed

but their pride and joy in one another, their good fellowship. Goll, old

and savage, and letting himself die of hunger in a cave because he is

angry and sorry, can speak lovely words to the wife whose help he

refuses. "'It is best as it is,' he said, 'and I never took the advice

of a woman east or west, and I never will take it. And oh, sweet-voiced

queen,' he said, 'what ails you to be fretting after me? and remember

now your silver and your gold, and your silks ... and do not be crying

tears after me, queen with the white hands,' he said, 'but remember your

constant lover Aodh, son of the best woman of the world, that came from

Spain asking for you, and that I fought on Corcar-an-Dearg; and go to

him now,' he said, 'for it is bad when a woman is without a good man.'"

VI

They have no asceticism, but they are more visionary than any ascetic,

and their invisible life is but the life about them made more perfect

and more lasting, and the invisible people are their own images in the

water. Their gods may have been much besides this, for we know them from

fragments of mythology picked out with trouble from a fantastic history

running backward to Adam and Eve, and many things that may have seemed

wicked to the monks who imagined that history, may have been altered or

left out; but this they must have been essentially, for the old stories

are confirmed by apparitions among the country-people to-day. The Men of

Dea fought against the mis-shapen Fomor, as Finn fights against the

Cat-Heads and the Dog-Heads; and when they are overcome at last by men,

they make themselves houses in the hearts of hills that are like the

houses of men. When they call men to their houses and to their country

Under-Wave they promise them all that they have upon earth, only in

greater abundance. The god Midhir sings to Queen Etain in one of the

most beautiful of the stories: "The young never grow old; the fields and

the flowers are as pleasant to be looking at as the blackbird's eggs;

warm streams of mead and wine flow through that country; there is no

care or no sorrow on any person; we see others, but we ourselves are not

seen." These gods are indeed more wise and beautiful than men; but men,

when they are great men, are stronger than they are, for men are, as it

were, the foaming tide-line of their sea. One remembers the Druid who

answered, when some one asked him who made the world, "The Druids made

it." All was indeed but one life flowing everywhere, and taking one

quality here, another there. It sometimes seems to one as if there is a

kind of day and night of religion, and that a period when the influences

are those that shape the world is followed by a period when the greater

power is in influences that would lure the soul out of the world, out of

the body. When Oisin is speaking with S. Patrick of the friends and the

life he has outlived, he can but cry out constantly against a religion

that has no meaning for him. He laments, and the country-people have

remembered his words for centuries: "I will cry my fill, but not for

God, but because Finn and the Fianna are not living."

VII

Old writers had an admirable symbolism that attributed certain energies

to the influence of the sun, and certain others to the lunar influence.

To lunar influence belong all thoughts and emotions that were created by

the community, by the common people, by nobody knows who, and to the sun

all that came from the high disciplined or individual kingly mind. I

myself imagine a marriage of the sun and moon in the arts I take most

pleasure in; and now bride and bridegroom but exchange, as it were, full

cups of gold and silver, and now they are one in a mystical embrace.

From the moon come the folk-songs imagined by reapers and spinners out

of the common impulse of their labour, and made not by putting words

together, but by mixing verses and phrases, and the folk-tales made by

the capricious mixing of incidents known to everybody in new ways, as

one deals out cards, never getting the same hand twice over. When one

hears some fine story, one never knows whether it has not been hazard

that put the last touch of adventure. Such poetry, as it seems to me,

desires an infinity of wonder or emotion, for where there is no

individual mind there is no measurer-out, no marker-in of limits. The

poor fisher has no possession of the world and no responsibility for it;

and if he dreams of a love-gift better than the brown shawl that seems

too common for poetry, why should he not dream of a glove made from the

skin of a bird, or shoes made from the skin of a fish, or a coat made

from the glittering garment of the salmon? Was it not Aeschylus who said

he but served up fragments from the banquet of Homer?--but Homer himself

found the great banquet on an earthen floor and under a broken roof. We

do not know who at the foundation of the world made the banquet for the

first time, or who put the pack of cards into rough hands; but we do

know that, unless those that have made many inventions are about to

change the nature of poetry, we may have to go where Homer went if we

are to sing a new song. Is it because all that is under the moon thirsts

to escape out of bounds, to lose itself in some unbounded tidal stream,

that the songs of the folk are mournful, and that the story of the

Fianna, whenever the queens lament for their lovers, reminds us of songs

that are still sung in country-places? Their grief, even when it is to

be brief like Grania's, goes up into the waste places of the sky. But

in supreme art or in supreme life there is the influence of the sun too,

and the sun brings with it, as old writers tell us, not merely

discipline but joy; for its discipline is not of the kind the multitudes

impose upon us by their weight and pressure, but the expression of the

individual soul turning itself into a pure fire and imposing its own

pattern, its own music, upon the heaviness and the dumbness that is in

others and in itself. When we have drunk the cold cup of the moon's

intoxication, we thirst for something beyond ourselves, and the mind

flows outward to a natural immensity; but if we have drunk from the hot

cup of the sun, our own fullness awakens, we desire little, for wherever

one goes one's heart goes too; and if any ask what music is the

sweetest, we can but answer, as Finn answered, "what happens." And yet

the songs and stories that have come from either influence are a part,

neither less than the other, of the pleasure that is the bride-bed of

poetry.

VIII

Gaelic-speaking Ireland, because its art has been made, not by the

artist choosing his material from wherever he has a mind to, but by

adding a little to something which it has taken generations to invent,

has always had a popular literature. One cannot say how much that

literature has done for the vigour of the race, for one cannot count the

hands its praise of kings and high-hearted queens made hot upon the

sword-hilt, or the amorous eyes it made lustful for strength and beauty.

One remembers indeed that when the farming people and the labourers of

the towns made their last attempt to cast out England by force of arms

they named themselves after the companions of Finn. Even when Gaelic has

gone, and the poetry with it, something of the habit of mind remains in

ways of speech and thought and "come-all-ye"s and poetical saying; nor

is it only among the poor that the old thought has been for strength or

weakness. Surely these old stories, whether of Finn or Cuchulain, helped

to sing the old Irish and the old Norman-Irish aristocracy to their end.

They heard their hereditary poets and story-tellers, and they took to

horse and died fighting against Elizabeth or against Cromwell; and when

an English-speaking aristocracy had their place, it listened to no

poetry indeed, but it felt about it in the popular mind an exacting and

ancient tribunal, and began a play that had for spectators men and women

that loved the high wasteful virtues. I do not think that their own

mixed blood or the habit of their time need take all, or nearly all,

credit or discredit for the impulse that made our modern gentlemen fight

duels over pocket-handkerchiefs, and set out to play ball against the

gates of Jerusalem for a wager, and scatter money before the public eye;

and at last, after an epoch of such eloquence the world has hardly seen

its like, lose their public spirit and their high heart and grow

querulous and selfish as men do who have played life out not heartily

but with noise and tumult. Had they understood the people and the game a

little better, they might have created an aristocracy in an age that has

lost the meaning of the word. When one reads of the Fianna, or of

Cuchulain, or of some great hero, one remembers that the fine life is

always a part played finely before fine spectators. There also one

notices the hot cup and the cold cup of intoxication; and when the fine

spectators have ended, surely the fine players grow weary, and

aristocratic life is ended. When O'Connell covered with a dark glove the

hand that had killed a man in the duelling field, he played his part;

and when Alexander stayed his army marching to the conquest of the world

that he might contemplate the beauty of a plane-tree, he played his

part. When Osgar complained as he lay dying, of the keening of the women

and the old fighting men, he too played his part; "No man ever knew any

heart in me," he said, "but a heart of twisted horn, and it covered with

iron; but the howling of the dogs beside me," he said, "and the keening

of the old fighting men and the crying of the women one after another,

those are the things that are vexing me." If we would create a great

community--and what other game is so worth the labour?--we must recreate

the old foundations of life, not as they existed in that splendid

misunderstanding of the eighteenth century, but as they must always

exist when the finest minds and Ned the beggar and Seaghan the fool

think about the same thing, although they may not think the same thought

about it.

IX

When I asked the little boy who had shown me the pathway up the Hill of

Allen if he knew stories of Finn and Oisin, he said he did not, but that

he had often heard his grandfather telling them to his mother in Irish.

He did not know Irish, but he was learning it at school, and all the

little boys he knew were learning it. In a little while he will know

enough stories of Finn and Oisin to tell them to his children some day.

It is the owners of the land whose children might never have known what

would give them so much happiness. But now they can read this book to

their children, and it will make Slieve-na-man, Allen, and Benbulben,

the great mountain that showed itself before me every day through all my

childhood and was yet unpeopled, and half the country-sides of south and

west, as populous with memories as are Dundealgan and Emain Macha and

Muirthemne; and after a while somebody may even take them to some famous

place and say, "This land where your fathers lived proudly and finely

should be dear and dear and again dear"; and perhaps when many names

have grown musical to their ears, a more imaginative love will have

taught them a better service.

X

I need say nothing about the translation and arrangement of this book

except that it is worthy to be put beside "Cuchulain of Muirthemne."

Such books should not be commended by written words but by spoken words,

were that possible, for the written words commending a book, wherein

something is done supremely well, remain, to sound in the ears of a

later generation, like the foolish sound of church bells from the tower

of a church when every pew is full.

W.B. YEATS.

CONTENTS

PART I. THE GODS

Book I. The Coming of the Tuatha de Danaan

Chap. I. The Fight with the Firbolgs

II. The Reign of Bres

Book II. Lugh of the Long Hand

Chap. I. The Coming of Lugh

II. The Sons of Tuireann

III. The Great Battle of Magh Tuireadh

IV. The Hidden House of Lugh

Book III. The Coming of the Gael

Chap. I. The Landing

II. The Battle of Tailltin

Book IV. The Ever-Living Living Ones

Chap. I. Bodb Dearg

II. The Dagda

III. Angus Og

IV. The Morrigu

V. Aine

VI. Aoibhell

VII. Midhir and Etain

VIII. Manannan

IX. Manannan at play

X. His Call to Bran

XI. His Three Calls to Cormac

XII. Cliodna's Wave

XIII. His Call to Connla

XIV. Tadg in Manannan's Islands

XV. Laegaire in the Happy Plain

Book V. The Fate of The Children of Lir

PART II. THE FIANNA

Book I. Finn, Son of Cumhal

Chap. I. The Coming of Finn

II. Finn's Household

III. Birth of Bran

IV. Oisin's Mother

V. The Best Men of the Fianna

Book II. Finn's Helpers

Chap. I. The Lad of the Skins

II. Black, Brown, and Grey

III. The Hound

IV. Red Ridge

Book III. The Battle of the White Strand

Chap. I. The Enemies of Ireland

II. Cael and Credhe

III. Conn Crither

IV. Glas, Son of Dremen

V. The Help of the Men of Dea

VI. The March of the Fianna

VII. The First Fighters

VIII. The King of Ulster's Son

IX. The High King's Son

X. The King of Lochlann and his Sons

XI. Labran's Journey

XII. The Great Fight

XIII. Credhe's Lament

Book IV. Huntings and Enchantments

Chap. I. The King of Britain's Son

II. The Cave of Ceiscoran

III. Donn, Son of Midhir

IV. The Hospitality of Cuanna's House

V. Cat-Heads and Dog-Heads

VI. Lomna's Head

VII. Ilbrec of Ess Ruadh

VIII. The Cave of Cruachan

IX. The Wedding at Ceann Slieve

X. The Shadowy One

XI. Finn's Madness

XII. The Red Woman

XIII. Finn and the Phantoms

XIV. The Pigs of Angus

XV. The Hunt of Slieve Cuilinn

Book V. Oisin's Children

Book VI. Diarmuid

Chap. I. Birth of Diarmuid

II. How Diarmuid got his Love-Spot

III. The Daughter of King Under-Wave

IV. The Hard Servant

V. The House of the Quicken Trees

Book VII. Diarmuid and Grania

Chap. I. The Flight from Teamhair

II. The Pursuit

III. The Green Champions

IV. The Wood of Dubhros

V. The Quarrel

VI. The Wanderers

VII. Fighting and Peace

VIII. The Boar of Beinn Gulbain

Book VIII. Cnoc-an-Air

Chap. I. Tailc, Son of Treon

II. Meargach's Wife

III. Ailne's Revenge

Book IX. The Wearing Away of the Fianna

Chap. I. The Quarrel with the Sons of Morna

II. Death of Goll

III. The Battle of Gabhra

Book X. The End of the Fianna

Chap. I. Death of Bran

II. The Call of Oisin

III. The Last of the Great Men

Book XI. Oisin and Patrick

Chap. I. Oisin's Story

II. Oisin in Patrick's House

III. The Arguments

IV. Oisin's Laments

GODS AND FIGHTING MEN.

PART ONE: THE GODS.

BOOK ONE: THE COMING OF THE TUATHA DE DANAAN.

CHAPTER I. THE FIGHT WITH THE FIRBOLGS

It was in a mist the Tuatha de Danaan, the people of the gods of Dana,

or as some called them, the Men of Dea, came through the air and the

high air to Ireland.

It was from the north they came; and in the place they came from they

had four cities, where they fought their battle for learning: great

Falias, and shining Gorias, and Finias, and rich Murias that lay to the

south. And in those cities they had four wise men to teach their young

men skill and knowledge and perfect wisdom: Senias in Murias; and Arias,

the fair-haired poet, in Finias; and Urias of the noble nature in

Gorias; and Morias in Falias itself. And they brought from those four

cities their four treasures: a Stone of Virtue from Falias, that was

called the Lia Fail, the Stone of Destiny; and from Gorias they brought

a Sword; and from Finias a Spear of Victory; and from Murias the fourth

treasure, the Cauldron that no company ever went away from unsatisfied.

It was Nuada was king of the Tuatha de Danaan at that time, but

Manannan, son of Lir, was greater again. And of the others that were

chief among them were Ogma, brother to the king, that taught them

writing, and Diancecht, that understood healing, and Neit, a god of

battle, and Credenus the Craftsman, and Goibniu the Smith. And the

greatest among their women were Badb, a battle goddess; and Macha, whose

mast-feeding was the heads of men killed in battle; and the Morrigu,

the Crow of Battle; and Eire and Fodla and Banba, daughters of the

Dagda, that all three gave their names to Ireland afterwards; and Eadon,

the nurse of poets; and Brigit, that was a woman of poetry, and poets

worshipped her, for her sway was very great and very noble. And she was

a woman of healing along with that, and a woman of smith's work, and it

was she first made the whistle for calling one to another through the

night. And the one side of her face was ugly, but the other side was

very comely. And the meaning of her name was Breo-saighit, a fiery

arrow. And among the other women there were many shadow-forms and great

queens; but Dana, that was called the Mother of the Gods, was beyond

them all.

And the three things they put above all others were the plough and the

sun and the hazel-tree, so that it was said in the time to come that

Ireland was divided between those three, Coll the hazel, and Cecht the

plough, and Grian the sun.

And they had a well below the sea where the nine hazels of wisdom were

growing; that is, the hazels of inspiration and of the knowledge of

poetry. And their leaves and their blossoms would break out in the same

hour, and would fall on the well in a shower that raised a purple wave.

And then the five salmon that were waiting there would eat the nuts, and

their colour would come out in the red spots of their skin, and any

person that would eat one of those salmon would know all wisdom and all

poetry. And there were seven streams of wisdom that sprang from that

well and turned back to it again; and the people of many arts have all

drank from that well.

It was on the first day of Beltaine, that is called now May Day, the

Tuatha de Danaan came, and it was to the north-west of Connacht they

landed. But the Firbolgs, the Men of the Bag, that were in Ireland

before them, and that had come from the South, saw nothing but a mist,

and it lying on the hills.

Eochaid, son of Erc, was king of the Firbolgs at that time, and

messengers came to him at Teamhair, and told him there was a new race of

people come into Ireland, but whether from the earth or the skies or on

the wind was not known, and that they had settled themselves at Magh

Rein.

They thought there would be wonder on Eochaid when he heard that news;

but there was no wonder on him, for a dream had come to him in the

night, and when he asked his Druids the meaning of the dream, it is what

they said, that it would not be long till there would be a strong enemy

coming against him.

Then King Eochaid took counsel with his chief advisers, and it is what

they agreed, to send a good champion of their own to see the strangers

and to speak with them. So they chose out Sreng, that was a great

fighting man, and he rose up and took his strong red-brown shield, and

his two thick-handled spears, and his sword, and his head-covering, and

his thick iron club, and he set out from Teamhair, and went on towards

the place the strangers were, at Magh Rein.

But before he reached it, the watchers of the Tuatha de Danaan got sight

of him, and they sent out one of their own champions, Bres, with his

shield and his sword and his two spears, to meet him and to talk with

him.

So the two champions went one towards the other slowly, and keeping a

good watch on one another, and wondering at one another's arms, till

they came near enough for talking; and then they stopped, and each put

his shield before his body and struck it hard into the ground, and they

looked at one another over the rim. Bres was the first to speak, and

when Sreng heard it was Irish he was talking, his own tongue, he was

less uneasy, and they drew nearer, and asked questions as to one

another's family and race.

And after a while they put their shields away, and it was what Sreng

said, that he had raised his in dread of the thin, sharp spears Bres had

in his hand. And Bres said he himself was in dread of the thick-handled

spears he saw with Sreng, and he asked were all the arms of the Firbolgs

of the same sort. And Sreng took off the tyings of his spears to show

them better, and Bres wondered at them, being so strong and so heavy,

and so sharp at the sides though they had no points. And Sreng told him

the name of those spears was Craisech, and that they would break through

shields and crush flesh and bones, so that their thrust was death or

wounds that never healed. And then he looked at the sharp, thin,

hard-pointed spears that were with Bres. And in the end they made an

exchange of spears, the way the fighters on each side would see the

weapons the others were used to. And it is the message Bres sent to the

Firbolgs, that if they would give up one half of Ireland, his people

would be content to take it in peace; but if they would not give up that

much, there should be a battle. And he and Sreng said to one another

that whatever might happen in the future, they themselves would be

friends.

Sreng went back then to Teamhair and gave the message and showed the

spear; and it is what he advised his people, to share the country and

not to go into battle with a people that had weapons so much better than

their own. But Eochaid and his chief men consulted together, and they

said in the end: "We will not give up the half of the country to these

strangers; for if we do," they said, "they will soon take the whole."

Now as to the Men of Dea, when Bres went back to them, and showed them

the heavy spear, and told them of the strong, fierce man he had got it

from, and how sturdy he was and well armed, they thought it likely there

would soon be a battle. And they went back from where they were to a

better place, farther west in Connacht, and there they settled

themselves, and made walls and ditches on the plain of Magh Nia, where

they had the great mountain, Belgata, in their rear. And while they were

moving there and putting up their walls, three queens of them, Badb and

Macha and the Morrigu, went to Teamhair where the Firbolgs were making

their plans. And by the power of their enchantments they brought mists

and clouds of darkness over the whole place, and they sent showers of

fire and of blood over the people, the way they could not see or speak

with one another through the length of three days. But at the end of

that time, the three Druids of the Firbolgs, Cesarn and Gnathach and

Ingnathach, broke the enchantment.

The Firbolgs gathered their men together then, and they came with their

eleven battalions and took their stand at the eastern end of the plain

of Magh Nia.

And Nuada, king of the Men of Dea, sent his poets to make the same offer

he made before, to be content with the half of the country if it was

given up to him. King Eochaid bade the poets to ask an answer of his

chief men that were gathered there; and when they heard the offer they

would not consent. So the messengers asked them when would they begin

the battle. "We must have a delay," they said; "for we want time to put

our spears and our armour in order, and to brighten our helmets and to

sharpen our swords, and to have spears made like the ones you have. And

as to yourselves," they said, "you will be wanting to have spears like

our Craisechs made for you." So they agreed then to make a delay of a

quarter of a year for preparation.

It was on a Midsummer day they began the battle. Three times nine

hurlers of the Tuatha de Danaan went out against three times nine

hurlers of the Firbolgs, and they were beaten, and every one of them was

killed. And the king, Eochaid, sent a messenger to ask would they have

the battle every day or every second day. And it is what Nuada answered

that they would have it every day, but there should be just the same

number of men fighting on each side. Eochaid agreed to that, but he was

not well pleased, for there were more men of the Firbolgs than of the

Men of Dea.

So the battle went on for four days, and there were great feats done on

each side, and a great many champions came to their death. But for those

that were alive at evening, the physicians on each side used to make a

bath of healing, with every sort of healing plant or herb in it, the way

they would be strong and sound for the next day's fight.

And on the fourth day the Men of Dea got the upper hand, and the

Firbolgs were driven back. And a great thirst came on Eochaid, their

king, in the battle, and he went off the field looking for a drink, and

three fifties of his men protecting him; but three fifties of the Tuatha

de Danaan followed after them till they came to the strand that is

called Traigh Eothaile, and they had a fierce fight there, and at the

last King Eochaid fell, and they buried him there, and they raised a

great heap of stones over his grave.

And when there were but three hundred men left of the eleven battalions

of the Firbolgs, and Sreng at the head of them, Nuada offered them

peace, and their choice among the five provinces of Ireland. And Sreng

said they would take Connacht; and he and his people lived there and

their children after them. It is of them Ferdiad came afterwards that

made such a good fight against Cuchulain, and Erc, son of Cairbre, that

gave him his death. And that battle, that was the first fought in

Ireland by the Men of Dea, was called by some the first battle of Magh

Tuireadh.

And the Tuatha de Danaan took possession of Teamhair, that was sometimes

called Druim Cain, the Beautiful Ridge, and Liathdruim, the Grey Ridge,

and Druim na Descan, the Ridge of the Outlook, all those names were

given to Teamhair. And from that time it was above all other places, for

its king was the High King over all Ireland. The king's rath lay to the

north, and the Hill of the Hostages to the north-east of the High Seat,

and the Green of Teamhair to the west of the Hill of the Hostages. And

to the north-east, in the Hill of the Sidhe, was a well called Nemnach,

and out of it there flowed a stream called Nith, and on that stream the

first mill was built in Ireland.

And to the north of the Hill of the Hostages was the stone, the Lia

Fail, and it used to roar under the feet of every king that would take

possession of Ireland. And the Wall of the Three Whispers was near the

House of the Women that had seven doors to the east, and seven doors to

the west; and it is in that house the feasts of Teamhair used to be

held. And there was the Great House of a Thousand Soldiers, and near it,

to the south, the little Hill of the Woman Soldiers.

CHAPTER II. THE REIGN OF BRES

But if Nuada won the battle, he lost his own arm in it, that was struck

off by Sreng; and by that loss there came troubles and vexation on his

people.

For it was a law with the Tuatha de Danaan that no man that was not

perfect in shape should be king. And after Nuada had lost the battle he

was put out of the kingship on that account.

And the king they chose in his place was Bres, that was the most

beautiful of all their young men, so that if a person wanted to praise

any beautiful thing, whether it was a plain, or a dun, or ale, or a

flame, or a woman, or a man, or a horse, it is what he would say, "It is

as beautiful as Bres." And he was the son of a woman of the Tuatha de

Danaan, but who his father was no one knew but herself.

But in spite of Bres being so beautiful, his reign brought no great good

luck to his people; for the Fomor, whose dwelling-place was beyond the

sea, or as some say below the sea westward, began putting tribute on

them, the way they would get them under their own rule.

It was a long time before that the Fomor came first to Ireland; dreadful

they were to look at, and maimed, having but one foot or one hand, and

they under the leadership of a giant and his mother. There never came to

Ireland an army more horrible or more dreadful than that army of the

Fomor. And they were friendly with the Firbolgs and content to leave

Ireland to them, but there was jealousy between them and the Men of Dea.

And it was a hard tax they put on them, a third part of their corn they

asked, and a third part of their milk, and a third part of their

children, so that there was not smoke rising from a roof in Ireland but

was under tribute to them. And Bres made no stand against them, but let

them get their way.

And as to Bres himself, he put a tax on every house in Ireland of the

milk of hornless dun cows, or of the milk of cows of some other single

colour, enough for a hundred men. And one time, to deceive him, Nechtan

singed all the cows of Ireland in a fire of fern, and then he smeared

them with the ashes of flax seed, the way they were all dark brown. He

did that by the advice of the Druid Findgoll, son of Findemas. And

another time they made three hundred cows of wood with dark brown pails

in place of udders, and the pails were filled with black bog stuff. Then

Bres came to look at the cows, and to see them milked before him, and

Cian, father of Lugh, was there. And when they were milked it was the

bog stuff that was squeezed out; and Bres took a drink of it thinking it

to be milk, and he was not the better of it for a long time.

And there was another thing against Bres; he was no way open-handed, and

the chief men of the Tuatha de Danaan grumbled against him, for their

knives were never greased in his house, and however often they might

visit him there was no smell of ale on their breath. And there was no

sort of pleasure or merriment in his house, and no call for their poets,

or singers, or harpers, or pipers, or horn-blowers, or jugglers, or

fools. And as to the trials of strength they were used to see between

their champions, the only use their strength was put to now was to be

doing work for the king. Ogma himself, the shining poet, was under

orders to bring firing to the palace every day for the whole army from

the Islands of Mod; and he so weak for want of food that the sea would

sweep away two-thirds of his bundle every day. And as to the Dagda, he

was put to build raths, for he was a good builder, and he made a trench

round Rath Brese. And he used often to be tired at the work, and one

time he nearly gave in altogether for want of food, and this is the way

that happened. He used to meet in the house an idle blind man, Cridenbel

his name was, that had a sharp tongue, and that coveted the Dagda's

share of food, for he thought his own to be small beside it. So he said

to him: "For the sake of your good name let the three best bits of your

share be given to me." And the Dagda gave in to that every night; but he

was the worse of it, for what the blind man called a bit would be the

size of a good pig, and with his three bits he would take a full third

of the whole.

But one day, as the Dagda was in the trench, he saw his son, Angus Og,

coming to him. "That is a good meeting," said Angus; "but what is on

you, for you have no good appearance to-day?" "There is a reason for

that," said the Dagda, "for every evening, Cridenbel, the blind man,

makes a demand for the three best bits of my share of food, and takes

them from me." "I will give you an advice," said Angus. He put his hand

in his bag then, and took out three pieces of gold and gave them to him.

"Put these pieces of gold into the three bits you will give this evening

to Cridenbel," he said, "and they will be the best bits in the dish, and

the gold will turn within him the way he will die."

So in the evening the Dagda did that; and no sooner had Cridenbel

swallowed down the gold than he died. Some of the people said then to

the king: "The Dagda has killed Cridenbel, giving him some deadly herb."

The king believed that, and there was anger on him against the Dagda,

and he gave orders he should be put to death. But the Dagda said: "You

are not giving the right judgment of a prince." And he told all that had

happened, and how Cridenbel used to say, "Give me the three best bits

before you, for my own share is not good to-night." "And on this

night," he said, "the three pieces of gold were the best things before

me, and I gave them to him, and he died."

The king gave orders then to have the body cut open. And they found the

gold inside it, and they knew it was the truth the Dagda had told.

And Angus came to him again the next day, and he said: "Your work will

soon be done, and when you are given your wages, take nothing they may

offer you till the cattle of Ireland are brought before you, and choose

out a heifer then, black and black-maned, that I will tell you the signs

of."

So when the Dagda had brought his work to an end, and they asked him

what reward he wanted, he did as Angus had bidden him. And that seemed

folly to Bres; he thought the Dagda would have asked more than a heifer

of him.

There came a day at last when a poet came to look for hospitality at the

king's house, Corpre, son of Etain, poet of the Tuatha de Danaan. And it

is how he was treated, he was put in a little dark narrow house where

there was no fire, or furniture, or bed; and for a feast three small

cakes, and they dry, were brought to him on a little dish. When he rose

up on the morrow he was no way thankful, and as he was going across the

green, it is what he said: "Without food ready on a dish; without milk

enough for a calf to grow on; without shelter; without light in the

darkness of night; without enough to pay a story-teller; may that be the

prosperity of Bres."

And from that day there was no good luck with Bres, but it is going down

he was for ever after. And that was the first satire ever made in

Ireland.

Now as to Nuada: after his arm being struck off, he was in his sickness

for a while, and then Diancecht, the healer, made an arm of silver for

him, with movement in every finger of it, and put it on him. And from

that he was called Nuada Argat-lamh, of the Silver Hand, for ever after.

Now Miach, son of Diancecht, was a better hand at healing than his

father, and had done many things. He met a young man, having but one

eye, at Teamhair one time, and the young man said: "If you are a good

physician you will put an eye in the place of the eye I lost." "I could

put the eye of that cat in your lap in its place," said Miach. "I would

like that well," said the young man. So Miach put the cat's eye in his

head; but he would as soon have been without it after, for when he

wanted to sleep and take his rest, it is then the eye would start at the

squeaking of the mice, or the flight of the birds, or the movement of

the rushes; and when he was wanting to watch an army or a gathering, it

is then it was sure to be in a deep sleep.

And Miach was not satisfied with what his father had done to the king,

and he took Nuada's own hand that had been struck off, and brought it to

him and set it in its place, and he said: "Joint to joint, and sinew to

sinew." Three days and three nights he was with the king; the first day

he put the hand against his side, and the second day against his breast,

till it was covered with skin, and the third day he put bulrushes that

were blackened in the fire on it, and at the end of that time the king

was healed.

But Diancecht was vexed when he saw his son doing a better cure than

himself, and he threw his sword at his head, that it cut the flesh, but

the lad healed the wound by means of his skill. Then Diancecht threw it

a second time, that it reached the bone, but the lad was able to cure

the wound. Then he struck him the third time and the fourth, till he cut

out the brain, for he knew no physician could cure him after that blow;

and Miach died, and he buried him.

And herbs grew up from his grave, to the number of his joints and

sinews, three hundred and sixty-five. And Airmed, his sister, came and

spread out her cloak and laid out the herbs in it, according to their

virtue. But Diancecht saw her doing that, and he came and mixed up the

herbs, so that no one knows all their right powers to this day.

Then when the Tuatha de Danaan saw Nuada as well as he was before, they

gathered together to Teamhair, where Bres was, and they bade him give up

the kingship, for he had held it long enough. So he had to give it up,

though he was not very willing, and Nuada was put back in the kingship

again.

There was great vexation on Bres then, and he searched his mind to know

how could he be avenged on those that had put him out, and how he could

gather an army against them; and he went to his mother, Eri, daughter of

Delbaith, and bade her tell him what his race was.

"I know that well," she said; and she told him then that his father was

a king of the Fomor, Elathan, son of Dalbaech, and that he came to her

one time over a level sea in some great vessel that seemed to be of

silver, but she could not see its shape, and he himself having the

appearance of a young man with yellow hair, and his clothes sewed with

gold, and five rings of gold about his neck. And she that had refused

the love of all the young men of her own people, gave him her love, and

she cried when he left her. And he gave her a ring from his hand, and

bade her give it only to the man whose finger it would fit, and he went

away then the same way as he had come.

And she brought out the ring then to Bres, and he put it round his

middle finger, and it fitted him well. And they went then together to

the hill where she was the time she saw the silver vessel coming, and

down to the strand, and she and Bres and his people set out for the

country of the Fomor.

And when they came to that country they found a great plain with many

gatherings of people on it, and they went to the gathering that looked

the best, and the people asked where did they come from, and they said

they were come from Ireland. "Have you hounds with you?" they asked them

then, for it was the custom at that time, when strangers came to a

gathering, to give them some friendly challenge. "We have hounds," said

Bres. So the hounds were matched against one another, and the hounds of

the Tuatha de Danaan were better than the hounds of the Fomor. "Have you

horses for a race?" they asked then. "We have," said Bres. And the

horses of the Tuatha de Danaan beat the horses of the Fomor.

Then they asked was any one among them a good hand with the sword, and

they said Bres was the best. But when he put his hand to his sword,

Elathan, his father, that was among them, knew the ring, and he asked

who was this young man. Then his mother answered him and told the whole

story, and that Bres was his own son.

There was sorrow on his father then, and he said: "What was it drove you

out of the country you were king over?" And Bres said: "Nothing drove me

out but my own injustice and my own hardness; I took away their

treasures from the people, and their jewels, and their food itself. And

there were never taxes put on them before I was their king."

"That is bad," said his father; "it is of their prosperity you had a

right to think more than of your own kingship. And their good-will

would be better than their curses," he said; "and what is it you are

come to look for here?" "I am come to look for fighting men," said Bres,

"that I may take Ireland by force." "You have no right to get it by

injustice when you could not keep it by justice," said his father. "What

advice have you for me then?" said Bres.

And Elathan bade him go to the chief king of the Fomor, Balor of the

Evil Eye, to see what advice and what help would he give him.

BOOK TWO: LUGH OF THE LONG HAND.

CHAPTER I. THE COMING OF LUGH

Now as to Nuada of the Silver Hand, he was holding a great feast at

Teamhair one time, after he was back in the kingship. And there were two

door-keepers at Teamhair, Gamal, son of Figal, and Camel, son of

Riagall. And a young man came to the door where one of them was, and

bade him bring him in to the king. "Who are you yourself?" said the

door-keeper. "I am Lugh, son of Cian of the Tuatha de Danaan, and of

Ethlinn, daughter of Balor, King of the Fomor," he said; "and I am

foster-son of Taillte, daughter of the King of the Great Plain, and of

Echaid the Rough, son of Duach." "What are you skilled in?" said the

door-keeper; "for no one without an art comes into Teamhair." "Question

me," said Lugh; "I am a carpenter." "We do not want you; we have a

carpenter ourselves, Luchtar, son of Luachaid." "Then I am a smith." "We

have a smith ourselves, Colum Cuaillemech of the Three New Ways." "Then

I am a champion." "That is no use to us; we have a champion before,

Ogma, brother to the king." "Question me again," he said; "I am a

harper." "That is no use to us; we have a harper ourselves, Abhean, son

of Bicelmos, that the Men of the Three Gods brought from the hills." "I

am-a poet," he said then, "and a teller of tales." "That is no use to

us; we have a teller of tales ourselves, Ere, son of Ethaman." "And I am

a magician." "That is no use to us; we have plenty of magicians and

people of power." "I am a physician," he said. "That is no use; we have

Diancecht-for our physician." "Let me be a cup-bearer," he said. "We do

not want you; we have nine cup-bearers ourselves." "I am a good worker

in brass." "We have a worker in brass ourselves, that is Credne Cerd."

Then Lugh said: "Go and ask the king if he has any one man that can do

all these things, and if he has, I will not ask to come into Teamhair."

The door-keeper went into the king's house then and told him all that.

"There is a young man at the door," he said, "and his name should be the

Ildánach, the Master of all Arts, for all the things the people of your

house can do, he himself is able to do every one of them." "Try him with

the chess-boards," said Nuada. So the chess-boards were brought out, and

every game that was played, Lugh won it. And when Nuada was told that,

he said: "Let him in, for the like of him never came into Teamhair

before."

Then the door-keeper let him pass, and he came into the king's house and

sat down in the seat of knowledge. And there was a great flag-stone

there that could hardly be moved by four times twenty yoke of oxen, and

Ogma took it up and hurled it out through the house, so that it lay on

the outside of Teamhair, as a challenge to Lugh. But Lugh hurled it back

again that it lay in the middle of the king's house. He played the harp

for them then, and he had them laughing and crying, till he put them

asleep at the end with a sleepy tune. And when Nuada saw all the things

Lugh could do, he began to think that by his help the country might get

free of the taxes and the tyranny put on it by the Fomor. And it is what

he did, he came down from his throne, and he put Lugh on it in his

place, for the length of thirteen days, the way they might all listen to

the advice he would give.

This now is the story of the birth of Lugh. The time the Fomor used to

be coming to Ireland, Balor of the Strong Blows, or, as some called

him, of the Evil Eye, was living on the Island of the Tower of Glass.

There was danger for ships that went near that island, for the Fomor

would come out and take them. And some say the sons of Nemed in the old

time, before the Firbolgs were in Ireland, passed near it in their

ships, and what they saw was a tower of glass in the middle of the sea,

and on the tower something that had the appearance of men, and they went

against it with Druid spells to attack it. And the Fomor worked against

them with Druid spells of their own; and the sons of Nemed attacked the

tower, and it vanished, and they thought it was destroyed. But a great

wave rose over them then, and all their ships went down and all that

were in them.

And the tower was there as it was before, and Balor living in it. And it

is the reason he was called "of the Evil Eye," there was a power of

death in one of his eyes, so that no person could look at it and live.

It is the way it got that power, he was passing one time by a house

where his father's Druids were making spells of death, and the window

being open he looked in, and the smoke of the poisonous spells was

rising up, and it went into his eye. And from that time he had to keep

it closed unless he wanted to be the death of some enemy, and then the

men that were with him would lift the eyelid with a ring of ivory.

Now a Druid foretold one time that it was by his own grandson he would

get his death. And he had at that time but one child, a daughter whose

name was Ethlinn; and when he heard what the Druid said, he shut her up

in the tower on the island. And he put twelve women with her to take

charge of her and to guard her, and he bade them never to let her see a

man or hear the name of a man.

So Ethlinn was brought up in the tower, and she grew to be very

beautiful; and sometimes she would see men passing in the currachs, and

sometimes she would see a man in her dreams. But when she would speak of

that to the women, they would give her no answer.

So there was no fear on Balor, and he went on with war and robbery as he

was used, seizing every ship that passed by, and sometimes going over to

Ireland to do destruction there.

Now it chanced at that time there were three brothers of the Tuatha de

Danaan living together in a place that was called Druim na Teine, the

Ridge of the Fire, Goibniu and Samthainn and Cian. Cian was a lord of

land, and Goibniu was the smith that had such a great name. Now Cian had

a wonderful cow, the Glas Gaibhnenn, and her milk never failed. And

every one that heard of her coveted her, and many had tried to steal her

away, so that she had to be watched night and day.

And one time Cian was wanting some swords made, and he went to Goibniu's

forge, and he brought the Glas Gaibhnenn with him, holding her by a

halter. When he came to the forge his two brothers were there together,

for Samthainn had brought some steel to have weapons made for himself;

and Cian bade Samthainn to hold the halter while he went into the forge

to speak with Goibniu.

Now Balor had set his mind for a long time on the Glas Gaibhnenn, but he

had never been able to get near her up to this time. And he was watching

not far off, and when he saw Samthainn holding the cow, he put on the

appearance of a little boy, having red hair, and came up to him and told

him he heard his two brothers that were in the forge saying to one

another that they would use all his steel for their own swords, and make

his of iron. "By my word," said Samthainn, "they will not deceive me so

easily. Let you hold the cow, little lad," he said, "and I will go in to

them." With that he rushed into the forge, and great anger on him. And

no sooner did Balor get the halter in his hand than he set out, dragging

the Glas along with him, to the strand, and across the sea to his own

island.

When Cian saw his brother coming in he rushed out, and there he saw

Balor and the Glas out in the sea. And he had nothing to do then but to

reproach his brother, and to wander about as if his wits had left him,

not knowing what way to get his cow back from Balor. At last he went to

a Druid to ask an advice from him; and it is what the Druid told him,

that so long as Balor lived, the cow would never be brought back, for no

one would go within reach of his Evil Eye.

Cian went then to a woman-Druid, Birog of the Mountain, for her help.

And she dressed him in a woman's clothes, and brought him across the sea

in a blast of wind, to the tower where Ethlinn was. Then she called to

the women in the tower, and asked them for shelter for a high queen she

was after saving from some hardship, and the women in the tower did not

like to refuse a woman of the Tuatha de Danaan, and they let her and her

comrade in. Then Birog by her enchantments put them all into a deep

sleep, and Cian went to speak with Ethlinn. And when she saw him she

said that was the face she had seen in her dreams. So she gave him her

love; but after a while he was brought away again on a blast of wind.

And when her time came, Ethlinn gave birth to a son. And when Balor knew

that, he bade his people put the child in a cloth and fasten it with a

pin, and throw him into a current of the sea. And as they were carrying

the child across an arm of the sea, the pin dropped out, and the child

slipped from the cloth into the water, and they thought he was drowned.

But he was brought away by Birog of the Mountain, and she brought him to

his father Cian; and he gave him to be fostered by Taillte, daughter of

the King of the Great Plain. It is thus Lugh was born and reared.

And some say Balor came and struck the head off Cian on a white stone,

that has the blood marks on it to this day; but it is likely it was some

other man he struck the head off, for it was by the sons of Tuireann

that Cian came to his death.

And after Lugh had come to Teamhair, and made his mind up to join with

his father's people against the Fomor, he put his mind to the work; and

he went to a quiet place in Grellach Dollaid, with Nuada and the Dagda,

and with Ogma; and Goibniu and Diancecht were called to them there. A

full year they stopped there, making their plans together in secret, the

way the Fomor would not know they were going to rise against them till

such time as all would be ready, and till they would know what their

strength was. And it is from that council the place got the name

afterwards of "The Whisper of the Men of Dea."

And they broke up the council, and agreed to meet again that day three

years, and every one of them went his own way, and Lugh went back to his

own friends, the sons of Manannan.

And it was a good while after that, Nuada was holding a great assembly

of the people on the Hill of Uisnech, on the west side of Teamhair. And

they were not long there before they saw an armed troop coming towards

them from the east, over the plain; and there was a young man in front

of the troop, in command over the rest, and the brightness of his face

was like the setting sun, so that they were not able to look at him

because of its brightness.

And when he came nearer they knew it was Lugh Lamh-Fada, of the Long

Hand, that had come back to them, and along with him were the Riders of

the Sidhe from the Land of Promise, and his own foster-brothers, the

sons of Manannan, Sgoith Gleigeil, the White Flower, and Goitne

Gorm-Shuileach, the Blue-eyed Spear, and Sine Sindearg, of the Red Ring,

and Donall Donn-Ruadh, of the Red-brown Hair. And it is the way Lugh

was, he had Manannan's horse, the Aonbharr, of the One Mane, under him,

that was as swift as the naked cold wind of spring, and the sea was the

same as dry land to her, and the rider was never killed off her back.

And he had Manannan's breast-plate on him, that kept whoever was wearing

it from wounds, and a helmet on his head with two beautiful precious

stones set in the front of it and one at the back, and when he took it

off, his forehead was like the sun on a dry summer day. And he had

Manannan's sword, the Freagarthach, the Answerer, at his side, and no

one that was wounded by it would ever get away alive; and when that

sword was bared in a battle, no man that saw it coming against him had

any more strength than a woman in child-birth.

And the troop came to where the King of Ireland was with the Tuatha de

Danaan, and they welcomed one another.

And they were not long there till they saw a surly, slovenly troop

coming towards them, nine times nine of the messengers of the Fomor,

that were coming to ask rent and taxes from the men of Ireland; and the

names of the four that were the hardest and the most cruel were Eine and

Eathfaigh and Coron and Compar; and there was such great dread of these

four on the Tuatha de Danaan, that not one of them would so much as

punish his own son or his foster-son without leave from them.

They came up then to where the King of Ireland was with the Riders of

the Sidhe, and the king and all the Tuatha de Danaan stood up before

them. And Lugh of the Long Hand said: "Why do you rise up before that

surly, slovenly troop, when you did not rise up before us?"

"It is needful for us to do it," said the king; "for if there was but a

child of us sitting before them, they would not think that too small a

cause for killing him." "By my word," said Lugh, "there is a great

desire coming on me to kill themselves." "That is a thing would bring

harm on us," said the king, "for we would meet our own death and

destruction through it." "It is too long a time you have been under this

oppression," said Lugh. And with that he started up and made an attack

on the Fomor, killing and wounding them, till he had made an end of

eight nines of them, but he let the last nine go under the protection of

Nuada the king. "And I would kill you along with the others," he said,

"but I would sooner see you go with messages to your own country than my

own people, for fear they might get any ill-treatment."

So the nine went back then till they came to Lochlann, where the men of

the Fomor were, and they told them the story from beginning to end, and

how a young well-featured lad had come into Ireland and had killed all

the tax-gatherers but themselves, "and it is the reason he let us off,"

they said, "that we might tell you the story ourselves."

"Do you know who is the young man?" said Balor of the Evil Eye then.

"I know well," said Ceithlenn, his wife; "he is the son of your

daughter and mine. And it was foretold," she said, "that from the time

he would come into Ireland, we would never have power there again for

ever."

Then the chief men of the Fomor went into a council, Eab, son of Neid,

and Seanchab, grandson of Neid, and Sital Salmhor, and Liath, son of

Lobais, and the nine poets of the Fomor that had learning and the gift

of foreknowledge, and Lobais the Druid, and Balor himself and his twelve

white-mouthed sons, and Ceithlenn of the Crooked Teeth, his queen.

And it was just at that time Bres and his father Elathan were come to

ask help of the Fomor, and Bres said: "I myself will go to Ireland, and

seven great battalions of the Riders of the Fomor along with me, and I

will give battle to this Ildánach, this master of all arts, and I will

strike his head off and bring it here to you, to the green of Berbhe."

"It would be a fitting thing for you to do," said they all. "Let my

ships be made ready for me," said Bres, "and let food and provisions be

put in them."

So they made no delay, but went and got the ships ready, and they put

plenty of food and drink in them, and the two swift Luaths were sent out

to gather the army to Bres. And when they were all gathered, they made

ready their armour and their weapons, and they set out for Ireland.

And Balor the king followed them to the harbour, and he said: "Give

battle to that Ildánach, and strike off his head; and tie that island

that is called Ireland to the back of your ships, and let the destroying

water take its place, and put it on the north side of Lochlann, and not

one of the Men of Dea will follow it there to the end of life and time."

Then they pushed out their ships and put up their painted sails, and

went out from the harbour on the untilled country, on the ridges of the

wide-lying sea, and they never turned from their course till they came

to the harbour of Eas Dara. And from that they sent out an army through

West Connacht and destroyed it altogether, through and through. And the

King of Connacht at that time was Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda.

CHAPTER II. THE SONS OF TUIREANN

And Lugh of the Long Hand was at that time at Teamhair with the King of

Ireland, and it was showed to him that the Fomor were after landing at

Eas Dara. And when he knew that, he made ready Manannan's horse, the

Aonbharr, at the time of the battle of the day and night; and he went

where Nuada the king was, and told him how the Fomor had landed at Eas

Dara and had spoiled Bodb Dearg's country; "and it is what I want," he

said, "to get help from you to give battle to them." But Nuada was not

minded to avenge the destruction that was done on Bodb Dearg and not on

himself, and Lugh was not well pleased with his answer, and he went

riding out of Teamhair westward. And presently he saw three armed men

coming towards him, his own father Cian, with his brothers Cu and

Ceithen, that were the three sons of Cainte, and they saluted him. "What

is the cause of your early rising?" they said. "It is good cause I have

for it," said Lugh, "for the Fomor are come into Ireland and have robbed

Bodb Dearg; and what help will you give me against them?" he said.

"Each one of us will keep off a hundred from you in the battle," said

they. "That is a good help," said Lugh; "but there is a help I would

sooner have from you than that: to gather the Riders of the Sidhe to me

from every place where they are."

So Cu and Ceithen went towards the south, and Cian set out northward,

and he did not stop till he reached the Plain of Muirthemne. And as he

was going across the plain he saw three armed men before him, that were

the three sons of Tuireann, son of Ogma. And it is the way it was

between the three sons of Tuireann and the three sons of Cainte, they

were in hatred and enmity towards one another, so that whenever they met

there was sure to be fighting among them.

Then Cian said: "If my two brothers had been here it is a brave fight we

would make; but since they are not, it is best for me to fall back."

Then he saw a great herd of pigs near him, and he struck himself with a

Druid rod that put on him the shape of a pig of the herd, and he began

rooting up the ground like the rest.

Then Brian, one of the sons of Tuireann, said to his brothers: "Did you

see that armed man that was walking the plain a while ago?" "We did see

him," said they. "Do you know what was it took him away?" said Brian.

"We do not know that," said they. "It is a pity you not to be keeping a

better watch over the plains of the open country in time of war," said

Brian; "and I know well what happened him, for he struck himself with

his Druid rod into the shape of a pig of these pigs, and he is rooting

up the ground now like any one of them; and whoever he is, he is no

friend to us." "That is bad for us," said the other two, "for the pigs

belong to some one of the Tuatha de Danaan, and even if we kill them

all, the Druid pig might chance to escape us in the end."

"It is badly you got your learning in the city of learning," said Brian,

"when you cannot tell an enchanted beast from a natural beast." And

while he was saying that, he struck his two brothers with his Druid

rod, and he turned them into two thin, fast hounds, and they began to

yelp sharply on the track of the enchanted pig.

And it was not long before the pig fell out from among the others, and

not one of the others made away but only itself, and it made for a wood,

and at the edge of the wood Brian gave a cast of his spear that went

through its body. And the pig cried out, and it said: "It is a bad thing

you have done to have made a cast at me when you knew me." "It seems to

me you have the talk of a man," said Brian. "I was a man indeed," said

he; "I am Cian, son of Cainte, and give me your protection now." "I

swear by the gods of the air," said Brian, "that if the life came back

seven times to you, I would take it from you every time." "If that is

so," said Cian, "give me one request: let me go into my own shape

again." "We will do that," said Brian, "for it is easier to me to kill a

man than a pig."

So Cian took his own shape then, and he said: "Give me mercy now." "We

will not give it," said Brian. "Well, I have got the better of you for

all that," said Cian; "for if it was in the shape of a pig you had killed

me there would only be the blood money for a pig on me; but as it is in

my own shape you will kill me, there never was and never will be any

person killed for whose sake a heavier fine will be paid than for

myself. And the arms I am killed with," he said, "it is they will tell

the deed to my son."

"It is not with weapons you will be killed, but with the stones lying on

the ground," said Brian. And with that they pelted him with stones,

fiercely and roughly, till all that was left of him was a poor,

miserable, broken heap; and they buried him the depth of a man's body in

the earth, and the earth would not receive that murder from them, but

cast it up again. Brian said it should go into the earth again, and they

put it in the second time, and the second time the earth would not take

it. And six times the sons of Tuireann buried the body, and six times it

was cast up again; but the seventh time it was put underground the earth

kept it. And then they went on to join Lugh of the Long Hand for the

battle.

Now as to Lugh; upon parting with his father he went forward from

Teamhair westward, to the hills that were called afterwards Gairech and

Ilgairech, and to the ford of the Shannon that is now called Athluain,

and to Bearna nah-Eadargana, the Gap of Separation, and over Magh Luirg,

the Plain of Following, and to Corr Slieve na Seaghsa, the Round

Mountain of the Poet's Spring, and to the head of Sean-Slieve, and

through the place of the bright-faced Corann, and from that to Magh Mor

an Aonaigh, the Great Plain of the Fair, where the Fomor were, and the

spoils of Connacht with them.

It is then Bres, son of Elathan, rose up and said: "It is a wonder to me

the sun to be rising in the west to-day, and it rising in the east every

other day." "It would be better for us it to be the sun," said the

Druids. "What else is it?" said he. "It is the shining of the face of

Lugh, son of Ethlinn," said they.

Lugh came up to them then and saluted them. "Why do you come like a

friend to us?" said they. "There is good cause for that," he said, "for

there is but one half of me of the Tuatha de Danaan, and the other half

of yourselves. And give me back now the milch cows of the men of

Ireland," he said. "May early good luck not come to you till you get

either a dry or a milch cow here," said a man of them, and anger on him.

But Lugh stopped near them for three days and three nights, and at the

end of that time the Riders of the Sidhe came to him. And Bodb Dearg,

son of the Dagda, came with twenty-nine hundred men, and he said:

"What is the cause of your delay in giving battle?"

"Waiting for you I was," said Lugh.

Then the kings and chief men of the men of Ireland took their armour on

them, and they raised the points of their spears over their heads, and

they made close fences of their shields. And they attacked their enemies

on Magh Mor an Aonaigh, and their enemies answered them, and they threw

their whining spears at one another, and when their spears were broken

they drew their swords from their blue-bordered sheaths and began to

strike at one another, and thickets of brown flames rose above them from

the bitterness of their many-edged weapons.

And Lugh saw the battle pen where Bres, son of Elathan, was, and he made

a fierce attack on him and on the men that were guarding him, till he

had made an end of two hundred of them.

When Bres saw that, he gave himself up to Lugh's protection. "Give me my

life this time," he said, "and I will bring the whole race of the Fomor

to fight it out with you in a great battle; and I bind myself to that,

by the sun and the moon, the sea and the land," he said.

On that Lugh gave him his life, and then the Druids that were with him

asked his protection for themselves. "By my word," said Lugh, "if the

whole race of the Fomor went under my protection they would not be

destroyed by me." So then Bres and the Druids set out for their own

country.

Now as to Lugh and the sons of Tuireann. After the battle of Magh Mor an

Aonaigh, he met two of his kinsmen and asked them did they see his

father in the fight. "We did not," said they. "I am sure he is not

living," said Lugh; "and I give my word," he said, "there will no food

or drink go into my mouth till I get knowledge by what death my father

died."

Then he set out, and the Riders of the Sidhe after him, till they came

to the place where he and his father parted from one another, and from

that to the place where his father went into the shape of a pig when he

saw the sons of Tuireann.

And when Lugh came to that place the earth spoke to him, and it said:

"It is in great danger your father was here, Lugh, when he saw the sons

of Tuireann before him, and it is into the shape of a pig he had to go,

but it is in his own shape they killed him."

Then Lugh told that to his people, and he found the spot where his

father was buried, and he bade them dig there, the way he would know by

what death the sons of Tuireann had made an end of him.

Then they raised the body out of the grave and looked at it, and it was

all one bed of wounds. And Lugh said: "It was the death of an enemy the

sons of Tuireann gave my dear father." And he gave him three kisses, and

it is what he said: "It is bad the way I am myself after this death, for

I can hear nothing with my ears, and I can see nothing with my eyes, and

there is not a living pulse in my heart, with grief after my father. And

you gods I worship," he said, "it is a pity I not to have come here the

time this thing was done. And it is a great thing that has been done

here," he said, "the people of the gods of Dana to have done treachery

on one another, and it is long they will be under loss by it and be

weakened by it. And Ireland will never be free from trouble from this

out, east and west," he said.

Then they put Cian under the earth again, and after that there was

keening made over his grave, and a stone was raised on it, and his name

was written in Ogham, And Lugh said: "This hill will take its name from

Cian, although he himself is stripped and broken. And it was the sons of

Tuireann did this thing," he said, "and there will grief and anguish

fall on them from it, and on their children after them. And it is no

lying story I am telling you," he said; "and it is a pity the way I am,

and my heart is broken in my breast since Cian, the brave man, is not

living."

Then he bade his people to go before him to Teamhair, "But do not tell

the story till I tell it myself," he said.

And when Lugh came to Teamhair he sat in the high seat of the king, and

he looked about him and he saw the three sons of Tuireann. And those

were the three that were beyond all others at Teamhair at that time for

quickness and skill, for a good hand in battle, for beauty and an

honourable name.

Then Lugh bade his people to shake the chain of silence, and they did

so, and they all listened. And Lugh said: "What are your minds fixed on

at this time, Men of Dea?" "On yourself indeed," said they. "I have a

question to ask of you," he said. "What is the vengeance each one of you

would take on the man that would kill your father?"

There was great wonder on them when they heard that, and one of the

chief men among them said: "Tell us was it your own father that was

killed?" "It was indeed," said Lugh; "and I see now in this house," he

said, "the men that killed him, and they know themselves what way they

killed him better than I know it." Then the king said: "It is not a

death of one day only I would give the man that had killed my father, if

he was in my power, but to cut off one of his limbs from day to day till

I would make an end of him." All the chief men said the same, and the

sons of Tuireann like the rest.

"There are making that answer," said Lugh, "the three men that killed my

father; and let them pay the fine for him now, since you are all

together in the one place. And if they will not," he said, "I will not

break the protection of the king's house, but they must make no attempt

to quit this house till they have settled with me."

"If it was I myself had killed your father," said the king, "I would be

well content you to take a fine from me for him."

"It is at us Lugh is saying all this," said the sons of Tuireann among

themselves. "Let us acknowledge the killing of his father to him," said

Iuchar and Iucharba. "I am in dread," said Brian, "that it is wanting an

acknowledgment from us he is, in the presence of all the rest, and that

he will not let us off with a fine afterwards." "It is best to

acknowledge it," said the others; "and let you speak it out since you

are the eldest."

Then Brian, son of Tuireann, said: "It is at us you are speaking, Lugh,

for you are thinking we went against the sons of Cainte before now; and

we did not kill your father," he said, "but we will pay the fine for him

the same as if we did kill him." "I will take a fine from you that you

do not think of," said Lugh, "and I will say here what it is, and if it

is too much for you, I will let you off a share of it." "Let us hear it

from you," said they. "Here it is," said Lugh; "three apples, and the

skin of a pig, and a spear, and two horses, and a chariot, and seven

pigs, and a dog's whelp, and a cooking-spit, and three shouts on a hill.

That is the fine I am asking," he said; "and if it is too much for you,

a part of it will be taken off you presently, and if you do not think it

too much, then pay it"

"It is not too much," said Brian, "or a hundred times of it would not be

too much. And we think it likely," he said, "because of its smallness

that you have some treachery towards us behind it." "I do not think it

too little of a fine," said Lugh; "and I give you the guarantee of the

Tuatha de Danaan I will ask no other thing, and I will be faithful to

you, and let you give the same pledge to me." "It is a pity you to ask

that," said Brian, "for our own pledge is as good as any pledge in the

world." "Your own pledge is not enough," said Lugh, "for it is often the

like of you promised to pay a fine in this way, and would try to back

out of it after."

So then the sons of Tuireann bound themselves by the King of Ireland,

and by Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda, and by the chief men of the Tuatha

de Danaan, that they would pay that fine to Lugh.

"It would be well for me now," said Lugh, "to give you better knowledge

of the fine." "It would be well indeed," said they.

"This is the way of it then," said Lugh. "The three apples I asked of

you are the three apples from the Garden in the East of the World, and

no other apples will do but these, for they are the most beautiful and

have most virtue in them of the apples of the whole world. And it is

what they are like, they are of the colour of burned gold, and they are

the size of the head of a child a month old, and there is the taste of

honey on them, and they do not leave the pain of wounds or the vexation

of sickness on any one that eats them, and they do not lessen by being

eaten for ever. And the skin I asked of you," he said, "is the pig skin

of Tuis, King of Greece, and it heals all the wounds and all the

sickness of the world, and whatever danger a man may be in, if it can

but overtake the life in him, it will cure him; and it is the way it was

with that pig, every stream of water it would go through would be turned

into wine to the end of nine days after, and every wound it touched was

healed; and it is what the Druids of Greece said, that it is not in

itself this virtue was, but in the skin, and they skinned it, and the

skin is there ever since. And I think, too, it will not be easy for you

to get it, with or without leave."

"And do you know what is the spear I am asking of you?" he said. "We do

not," said they. "It is a very deadly spear belonging to the King of

Persia, the Luin it is called, and every choice thing is done by it, and

its head is kept steeped in a vessel of water, the way it will not burn

down the place where it is, and it will be hard to get it. And do you

know what two horses and what chariot I am asking of you? They are the

chariot and the two wonderful horses of Dobar, King of Siogair, and the

sea is the same as land to them, and there are no faster horses than

themselves, and there is no chariot equal to that one in shape and in

strength.

"And do you know what are the seven pigs I asked of you? They are the

pigs of Easal, King of the Golden Pillars; and though they are killed

every night, they are found alive again the next day, and there will be

no disease or no sickness on any person that will eat a share of them.

"And the whelp I asked of you is Fail-Inis, the whelp belonging to the

King of Ioruaidh, the Cold Country. And all the wild beasts of the world

would fall down at the sight of her, and she is more beautiful than the

sun in his fiery wheels, and it will be hard to get her.

"And the cooking-spit I asked of you is a spit of the spits of the women

of Inis Cenn-fhinne, the Island of Caer of the Fair Hair. And the three

shouts you are to give on a hill must be given on the Hill of Miochaoin

in the north of Lochlann. And Miochaoin and his sons are under bonds not

to allow any shouts to be given on that hill; and it was with them my

father got his learning, and if I would forgive you his death, they

would not forgive you. And if you get through all your other voyages

before you reach to them, it is my opinion they themselves will avenge

him on you. And that is the fine I have asked of you," said Lugh.

There was silence and darkness on the sons of Tuireann when they heard

that. And they went to where their father was, and told him the fine

that had been put on them. "It is bad news that is," said Tuireann; "and

it is to your death and your destruction you will be going, looking for

those things. But for all that, if Lugh himself had a mind to help you,

you could work out the fine, and all the men of the world could not do

it but by the power of Manannan or of Lugh. Go then and ask the loan of

Manannan's horse, the Aonbharr, from Lugh, and if he has any wish to get

the fine, he will give it to you; but if he does not wish it he will say

the horse is not his, and that he would not give the loan of a loan. Ask

him then for the loan of Manannan's curragh, the Scuabtuinne, the

Sweeper of the Waves. And he will give that, for he is under bonds not

to refuse a second request, and the curragh is better for you than the

horse," he said.

So the sons of Tuireann went to where Lugh was, and they saluted him,

and they said they could not bring him the fine without his own help,

and for that reason it would be well for them to get a loan of the

Aonbharr. "I have that horse only on loan myself," said Lugh, "and I

will not give a loan of a loan."

"If that is so, give us the loan of Manannan's curragh," said Brian. "I

will give that," said Lugh. "What place is it?" said they. "At Brugh na

Boinn," said Lugh.

Then they went back again to where Tuireann was, and his daughter Ethne,

their sister, with him, and they told him they had got the curragh. "It

is not much the better you will be for it," said Tuireann, "although

Lugh would like well to get every part of this fine he could make use of

before the battle with the Fomor. But he would like yourselves to come

to your death looking for it."

Then they went away, and they left Tuireann sorrowful and lamenting, and

Ethne went with them to where the curragh was. And Brian got into it,

and he said: "There is place but for one other person along with me

here." And he began to find fault with its narrowness. "You ought not to

be faulting the curragh," said Ethne; "and O my dear brother," she said,

"it was a bad thing you did, to kill the father of Lugh of the Long

Hand; and whatever harm may come to you from it, it is but just." "Do

not say that, Ethne," they said, "for we are in good heart, and we will

do brave deeds. And we would sooner be killed a hundred times over,"

they said, "than to meet with the death of cowards." "My grief," said

Ethne, "there is nothing more sorrowful than this, to see you driven out

from your own country."

Then the three pushed out their curragh from the beautiful clear-bayed

shore of Ireland. "What course shall we take first?" said they. "We will

go look for the apples," said Brian, "as they were the first thing we

were bade bring. And so we ask of you, curragh of Manannan that is under

us, to sail to the Garden in the East of the World."

And the curragh did not neglect that order, but it sailed forward over

the green-sided waves and deep places till it came to its harbour in the

east of the world.

And then Brian asked his brothers: "What way have you a mind to get into

the garden? for I think," he said, "the king's champions and the

fighting men of the country are always guarding it, and the king himself

is chief over them." "What should we do," said his brothers, "but to

make straight at them and attack them, and bring away the apples or fall

ourselves, since we cannot escape from these dangers that are before us

without meeting our death in some place." "It would be better," said

Brian, "the story of our bravery and our craftiness to be told and to

live after us, than folly and cowardice to be told of us. And what is

best for us to do now," he said, "is to go in the shape of swift hawks

into the garden, and the watchers have but their light spears to throw

at us, and let you take good care to keep out of their reach; and after

they have thrown them all, make a quick flight to the apples and let

each of you bring away an apple of them in your claws, and I will bring

away the third."

They said that was a good advice, and Brian struck himself and the

others with his Druid rod, and changed them into beautiful hawks. And

they flew towards the garden, and the watchers took notice of them and

shouted on every side of them, and threw showers of spears and darts,

but the hawks kept out of their reach as Brian had bade them, till all

the spears were spent, and then they swept down bravely on the apples,

and brought them away with them, without so much as a wound.

And the news went through the city and the whole district, and the king

had three wise, crafty daughters, and they put themselves into the shape

of three ospreys, and they followed the hawks to the sea, and sent

flashes of lightning before them and after them, that scorched them

greatly.

"It is a pity the way we are now," said the sons of Tuireann, "for we

will be burned through and through with this lightning if we do not get

some relief." "If I can give you relief I will do it," said Brian. With

that he struck himself and his brothers with the Druid rod, and they

were turned into three swans, and they went down quickly into the sea,

and the ospreys went away from them then, and the sons of Tuireann went

into their boat.

After that they consulted together, and it is what they agreed, to go to

Greece and to bring away the skin of the pig, with or without leave. So

they went forward till they came near to the court of the King of

Greece.

"What appearance should we put on us going in here?" said Brian. "What

appearance should we go in with but our own?" said the others. "That is

not what I think best," said Brian; "but to go in with the appearance of

poets from Ireland, the way the high people of Greece will hold us in

respect and in honour." "It would be hard for us to do that," they said,

"and we without a poem, and it is little we know how to make one."

However, they put the poet's tie on their hair, and they knocked at the

door of the court, and the door-keeper asked who was in it. "We are

poets of Ireland," said Brian, "and we are come with a poem to the

king."

The door-keeper went in and told the king that there were poets from

Ireland at the door. "Let them in," said the king, "for it is in search

of a good man they came so far from their own country." And the king

gave orders that everything should be well set out in the court, the way

they would say they had seen no place so grand in all their travels.

The sons of Tuireann were let in then, having the appearance of poets,

and they fell to drinking and pleasure without delay; and they thought

they had never seen, and there was not in the world, a court so good as

that or so large a household, or a place where they had met with better

treatment.

Then the king's poets got up to give out their poems and songs. And then

Brian, son of Tuireann, bade his brothers to say a poem for the king.

"We have no poem," said they; "and do not ask any poem of us, but the

one we know before, and that is to take what we want by the strength of

our hand if we are the strongest, or to fall by those that are against

us if they are the strongest." "That is not a good way to make a poem,"

said Brian. And with that he rose up himself and asked a hearing. And

they all listened to him, and it is what he said:

"O Tuis, we do not hide your fame; we praise you as the oak among kings;

the skin of a pig, bounty without hardness, this is the reward I ask for

it.

"The war of a neighbour against an ear; the fair ear of his neighbour

will be against him; he who gives us what he owns, his court will not be

the scarcer for it.

"A raging army and a sudden sea are a danger to whoever goes against

them. The skin of a pig, bounty without hardness, this is the reward I

ask, O Tuis."

"That is a good poem," said the king; "but I do not know a word of its

meaning." "I will tell you its meaning," said Brian. "'O Tuis, we do not

hide your fame; we praise you as the oak above the kings.' That is, as

the oak is beyond the kingly trees of the wood, so are you beyond the

kings of the world for open-handedness and for grandeur.

"'The skin of a pig, bounty without hardness.' That is, the skin of a

pig you own is what I would wish to get from you as a reward for my

poem.

"'The war of a neighbour against an ear, the fair ear of his neighbour

will be against him.' That is, you and I will be by the ears about the

skin, unless I get it with your consent.

"And that is the meaning of the poem," said Brian.

"I would praise your poem," said the king, "if there was not so much

about my pig-skin in it; and you have no good sense, man of poetry," he

said, "to be asking that thing of me, and I would not give it to all

the poets and the learned men and the great men of the world, since they

could not take it away without my consent. But I will give you three

times the full of the skin of gold as the price of your poem," he said.

"May good be with you, king," said Brian, "and I know well it was no

easy thing I was asking, but I knew I would get a good ransom for it.

And I am that covetous," he said, "I will not be satisfied without

seeing the gold measured myself into the skin."

The king sent his servants with them then to the treasure-house to

measure the gold. "Measure out the full of it to my brothers first,"

said Brian, "and then give good measure to myself, since it was I made

the poem."

But when the skin was brought out, Brian made a quick sudden snatch at

it with his left hand, and drew his sword and made a stroke at the man

nearest him, and made two halves of him. And then he kept a hold of the

skin and put it about himself, and the three of them rushed out of the

court, cutting down every armed man before them, so that not one escaped

death or wounding. And then Brian went to where the king himself was,

and the king made no delay in attacking him, and they made a hard fight

of it, and at the end the King of Greece fell by the hand of Brian, son

of Tuireann.

The three brothers rested for a while after that, and then they said

they would go and look for some other part of the fine. "We will go to

Pisear, King of Persia," said Brian, "and ask him for the spear."

So they went into their boat, and they left the blue streams of the

coast of Greece, and they said: "We are well off when we have the apples

and the skin." And they stopped nowhere till they came to the borders of

Persia.

"Let us go to the court with the appearance of poets," said Brian, "the

same as we went to the King of Greece." "We are content to do that,"

said the others, "as all turned out so well the last time we took to

poetry; not that it is easy for us to take to a calling that does not

belong to us."

So they put the poet's tie on their hair, and they were as well treated

as they were at the other court; and when the time came for poems Brian

rose up, and it is what he said:

"It is little any spear looks to Pisear; the battles of enemies are

broken, it is not too much for Pisear to wound every one of them.

"A yew, the most beautiful of the wood, it is called a king, it is not

bulky. May the spear drive on the whole crowd to their wounds of death."

"That is a good poem," said the king, "but I do not understand why my

own spear is brought into it, O Man of Poetry from Ireland."

"It is because it is that spear of your own I would wish to get as the

reward of my poem," said Brian. "It is little sense you have to be

asking that of me," said the king; "and the people of my court never

showed greater respect for poetry than now, when they did not put you to

death on the spot."

When Brian heard that talk from the king, he thought of the apple that

was in his hand, and he made a straight cast and hit him in the

forehead, so that his brains were put out at the back of his head, and

he bared the sword and made an attack on the people about him. And the

other two did not fail to do the same, and they gave him their help

bravely till they had made an end of all they met of the people of the

court. And then they found the spear, and its head in a cauldron of

water, the way it would not set fire to the place.

And after a while they said it was time for them to go and look for the

rest of the great fine that was on them, and they asked one another what

way should they go. "We will go to the King of the Island of Siogair,"

said Brian, "for it is with him are the two horses and the chariot the

Ildánach asked of us."

They went forward then and brought the spear with them, and it is proud

the three champions were after all they had done. And they went on till

they were come to the court of the King of Siogair.

"It is what we will do this time," said Brian, "we will go in with the

appearance of paid soldiers from Ireland, and we will make friends with

the king, the way we will get to know in what place the horses and the

chariot are kept." And when they had settled on that they went forward

to the lawn before the king's house.

The king and the chief men that were with him rose up and came through

the fair that was going on there, and they saluted the king, and he

asked who were they. "We are trained fighting men from Ireland," they

said, "and we are earning wages from the kings of the world." "Is it

your wish to stop with me for a while?" said the king. "That is what we

are wanting," said they. So then they made an agreement and took service

with him.

They stopped in the court a fortnight and a month, and they never saw

the horses through that time. Then Brian said: "This is a bad way we are

in, to have no more news of the horses now than the first day we came to

the place." "What is best for us to do now?" said his brothers. "Let us

do this," said Brian, "let us take our arms and gather our things

together, and go to the king and tell him we will leave the country and

this part of the world unless he will show us those horses."

So they went to the king that very day, and he asked them what did they

mean by getting themselves ready for a journey. "You will hear that,

high king," said Brian; "it is because trained fighting men from

Ireland, like ourselves, have always trust put in them by the kings they

guard, and we are used to be told the secrets and the whispers of any

person we are with, and that is not the way you have treated us since we

came to you. For you have two horses and a chariot that are the best in

the world, as we have been told, and we have not been given a sight of

them yet." "It would be a pity you to go on that account," said the

king, "when I would have showed them to you the first day, if I had

known you had a wish to see them. And if you have a mind to see them

now," he said, "you may see them; for I think there never came soldiers

from Ireland to this place that were thought more of by myself and by my

people than yourselves."

He sent for the horses then, and they were yoked to the chariot, and

their going was as fast as the cold spring wind, and the sea was the

same as the land to them.

And Brian was watching the horses closely, and on a sudden he took hold

of the chariot and took the chariot driver out and dashed him against

the nearest rock, and made a leap into his place himself, and made a

cast of the Persian spear at the king, that went through his heart. And

then he and his brothers scattered the people before them, and brought

away the chariot.

"We will go now to Easal, the King of the Golden Pillars," said Brian,

"to look for the seven pigs the Ildánach bade us bring him."

They sailed on then without delay or drawback to that high country. And

it is the way the people of that country were, watching their harbours

for fear of the sons of Tuireann, for the story of them had been told

in all parts, how they had been sent out of Ireland by force, and how

they were bringing away with them all the gifted treasures of the whole

world.

Easal came to the edge of the harbour to meet them, and he asked was it

true what he heard, that the king of every country they had gone to had

fallen by them. Brian said it was true, whatever he might wish to do to

them for it. "What was it made you do that?" said Easal. Brian told him

then it was the oppression and the hard sentence of another had put them

to it; and he told him all that had happened, and how they had put down

all that offered to stand against them until that time.

"What did you come to this country now for?" said the king. "For the

pigs belonging to yourself," said Brian; "for to bring them away with us

is a part of the fine." "What way do you think to get them?" said the

king. "If we get them with good-will," said Brian, "we are ready to take

them thankfully; and if we do not, we are ready to do battle with

yourself and your people on the head of them, that you may fall by us,

and we may bring away the pigs in spite of you." "If that is to be the

end of it," said the king, "it would be a pity to bring my people into a

battle." "It would be a pity indeed," said Brian.

Then the king whispered and took advice with his people about the

matter, and it is what they agreed, to give up the pigs of their own

free will to the sons of Tuireann, since they could not see that any one

had been able to stand against them up to that time.

Then the sons of Tuireann gave their thanks to Easal, and there was

wonder on them to have got the pigs like that, when they had to fight

for every other part of the fine. And more than that, they had left a

share of their blood in every other place till then.

Easal brought them to his own house that night, and they were served

with food, and drink, and good beds, and all they could wish for. And

they rose up on the morrow and came into the king's presence, and the

pigs were given to them. "It is well you have done by us, giving us

these pigs," said Brian, "for we did not get any share of the fine

without fighting but these alone." And he made a poem for the king then,

praising him, and putting a great name on him for what he had done.

"What journey are you going to make now, sons of Tuireann?" said Easal.

"We are going," they said, "to the country of Ioruaidh, on account of a

whelp that is there." "Give me one request," said Easal, "and that is to

bring me with you to the King of Ioruaidh, for a daughter of mine is his

wife, and I would wish to persuade him to give you the whelp without a

battle." "That will please us well," they said.

So the king's ship was made ready, and we have no knowledge of what

happened till they came to the delightful, wonderful coast of Ioruaidh.

The people and the armies were watching the harbours and landing-places

before them, and they knew them at once and shouted at them.

Then Easal went on shore peaceably, and he went to where his son-in-law,

the king, was, and told him the story of the sons of Tuireann from

beginning to end. "What has brought them to this country?" said the King

of Ioruaidh. "To ask for the hound you have," said Easal. "It was a bad

thought you had coming with them to ask it," said the king, "for the

gods have not given that much luck to any three champions in the world,

that they would get my hound by force or by good-will." "It would be

better for you to let them have the hound," said Easal, "since they have

put down so many of the kings of the world."

But all he could say was only idleness to the king. So he went then to

where the sons of Tuireann were, and gave them the whole account. And

when they heard the king's answer, they made no delay, but put quick

hands on their arms, and offered to give battle to the army of Ioruaidh.

And when they met, there was a brave battle fought on both sides. And as

for the sons of Tuireann, they began to kill and to strike at the men of

Ioruaidh till they parted from one another in the fight, so that Iuchar

and Iucharba chanced to be on one side, and Brian by himself on the

other side. It was a gap of danger and a breaking of ranks was before

Brian in every path he took, till he came to the King of Ioruaidh in the

battle pen where he was. And then the two brave champions began a fierce

fight together, and they did not spare one another in it. And at the

last Brian overcame the king, and bound him, and brought him through the

middle of the army, till he came to the place where Easal was, and it is

what he said: "There is your son-in-law for you, and I swear by my hand

of valour, I would think it easier to kill him three times than to bring

him to you once like this."

So then the whelp was given to the sons of Tuireann, and the king was

unbound, and peace was made between them. And when they had brought all

this to an end, they bade farewell to Easal and to all the rest.

Now as to Lugh of the Long Hand, it was showed to him that the sons of

Tuireann had got all the things that were wanting to him against the

battle with the Fomor; and on that he sent a Druid spell after them to

put forgetfulness on them of the rest of the fine that they had not got.

And he put a great desire and longing on them to go back to Ireland; so

they forgot that a part of the fine was wanting to them, and they turned

back again toward home.

And it is the place where Lugh was at the time, at a gathering of the

people for a fair on the green outside Teamhair, and the King of Ireland

along with him. And it was made known to Lugh that the sons of Tuireann

were landed at Brugh na Boinn. And he went into the city of Teamhair,

and shut the gate after him, and he put on Manannan's smooth armour, and

the cloak, of the daughters of Flidais, and he took his own arms in his

hand.

And the sons of Tuireann came where the king was, and they were made

welcome by him and by the Tuatha de Danaan. And the king asked them did

they get the fine. "We did get it," said they; "and where is Lugh till

we give it to him?" "He was here a while ago," said the king. And the

whole fair was searched for him, but he was not found.

"I know the place where he is," said Brian; "for it has been made known

to him that we are come to Ireland, and these deadly arms with us, and

he is gone into Teamhair to avoid us."

Messengers were sent to him then, and it is the answer he gave them that

he would not come, but that the fine should be given to the king.

So the sons of Tuireann did that, and when the king had taken the fine

they all went to the palace in Teamhair; and Lugh came out on the lawn

and the fine was given to him, and it is what he said: "There is a good

payment here for any one that ever was killed or that ever will be

killed. But there is something wanting to it yet that it is not lawful

to leave out. And where is the cooking-spit?" he said; "and where are

the three shouts on the hill that you did not give yet?"

And when the sons of Tuireann heard that there came clouds of weakness

on them. And they left the place and went to their father's house that

night, and they told him all they had done, and the way Lugh had treated

them.

There was grief and darkness on Tuireann then, and they spent the night

together. And on the morrow they went to their ship, and Ethne, their

sister, with them, and she was crying and lamenting, and it is what she

said:

"It is a pity, Brian of my life, it is not to Teamhair your going is,

after all the troubles you have had before this, even if I could not

follow you.

"O Salmon of the dumb Boinn, O Salmon of the Lifé River, since I cannot

keep you here I am loath to part from you.

"O Rider of the Wave of Tuaidh, the man that stands best in the fight,

if you come back again, I think it will not be pleasing to your enemy.

"Is there pity with you for the sons of Tuireann leaning now on their

green shields? Their going is a cause for pity, my mind is filled up

with it.

"You to be to-night at Beinn Edair till the heavy coming of the morning,

you who have taken forfeits from brave men, it is you have increased our

grief.

"It is a pity your journey is from Teamhair, and from the pleasant

plains, and from great Uisnech of Midhe; there is nothing so pitiful as

this."

After that complaint they went out on the rough waves of the green sea;

and they were a quarter of a year on the sea without getting any news of

the island.

Then Brian put on his water dress and he made a leap, and he was a long

time walking in the sea looking for the Island of the Fair-Haired Women,

and he found it in the end. And he went looking for the court, and when

he came to it, all he found was a troop of women doing needlework and

embroidering borders. And among all the other things they had with them,

there was the cooking-spit.

And when Brian saw it, he took it up in his hand and he was going to

bring it with him to the door. And all the women began laughing when

they saw him doing that, and it is what they said: "It is a brave deed

you put your hand to; for even if your brothers were along with you, the

least of the three times fifty women of us would not let the spit go

with you or with them. But for all that," they said, "take a spit of the

spits with you, since you had the daring to try and take it in spite of

us."

Brian bade them farewell then, and went to look for the boat. And his

brothers thought it was too long he was away from them, and just as they

were going to leave the place they were, they saw him coming towards

them, and that raised their courage greatly.

And he went into the boat, and they went on to look for the Hill of

Miochaoin. And when they came there, Miochaoin, that was the guardian of

the hill, came towards them; and when Brian saw him he attacked him, and

the fight of those two champions was like the fight of two lions, till

Miochaoin fell at the last.

And after Miochaoin had fallen, his three sons came out to fight with

the three sons of Tuireann. And if any one ever came from the east of

the world to look at any fight, it is to see the fight of these

champions he had a right to come, for the greatness of their blows and

the courage of their minds. The names of the sons of Miochaoin were Core

and Conn and Aedh, and they drove their three spears through the bodies

of the sons of Tuireann, and that did not discourage them at all and

they put their own three spears through the bodies of the sons of

Miochaoin, so that they fell into the clouds and the faintness of death.

And then Brian said: "What way are you now, my dear brothers?" "We are

near our death," said they. "Let us rise up," he said, "and give three

shouts upon the hill, for I see the signs of death coming on us." "We

are not able to do that," said they. Then Brian rose up and raised each

of them with one hand, and he shedding blood heavily all the time,

until they gave the three shouts.

After that Brian brought them with him to the boat, and they were

travelling the sea for a long time, but at last Brian said: "I see Beinn

Edair and our father's dun, and Teamhair of the Kings." "We would have

our fill of health if we could see that," said the others; "and for the

love of your good name, brother," they said, "raise up our heads on your

breast till we see Ireland again, and life or death will be the same to

us after that. And O Brian," they said, "Flame of Valour without

treachery, we would sooner death to bring ourselves away, than to see

you with wounds upon your body, and with no physician to heal you."

Then they came to Beinn Edair, and from that they went on to their

father's house, and Brian said to Tuireann: "Go, dear father, to

Teamhair, and give this spit to Lugh, and bring the skin that has

healing in it for our relief. Ask it from him for the sake of

friendship," he said, "for we are of the one blood, and let him not give

hardness for hardness. And O dear father," he said, "do not be long on

your journey, or you will not find us alive before you."

Then Tuireann went to Teamhair, and he found Lugh of the Long Hand

before him, and he gave him the spit, and he asked the skin of him to

heal his children, and Lugh said he would not give it And Tuireann came

back to them and told them he had not got the skin. And Brian said:

"Bring me with you to Lugh, to see would I get it from him."

So they went to Lugh, and Brian asked the skin of him. And Lugh said he

would not give it, and that if they would give him the breadth of the

earth in gold for it, he would not take it from them, unless he was sure

their death would come on them in satisfaction for the deed they had

done.

When Brian heard that, he went to the place his two brothers were, and

he lay down between them, and his life went out from him, and out from

the other two at the same time.

And their father cried and lamented over his three beautiful sons, that

had the making of a king of Ireland in each of them, and his strength

left him and he died; and they were buried in the one grave.

CHAPTER III. THE GREAT BATTLE OF MAGH TUIREADH

And it was not long after Lugh had got the fine from the sons of

Tuireann that the Fomor came and landed at Scetne.

The whole host of the Fomor were come this time, and their king, Balor,

of the Strong Blows and of the Evil Eye, along with them; and Bres, and

Indech, son of De Domnann, a king of the Fomor, and Elathan, son of

Lobos, and Goll and Ingol, and Octriallach, son of Indech, and Elathan,

son of Delbaeth.

Then Lugh sent the Dagda to spy out the Fomor, and to delay them till

such time as the men of Ireland would come to the battle.

So the Dagda went to their camp, and he asked them for a delay, and they

said he might have that. And then to make sport of him, the Fomor made

broth for him, for he had a great love for broth. So they filled the

king's cauldron with four times twenty gallons of new milk, and the same

of meal and fat, and they put in goats and sheep and pigs along with

that, and boiled all together, and then they poured it all out into a

great hole in the ground. And they called him to it then, and told him

he should eat his fill, the way the Fomor would not be reproached for

want of hospitality the way Bres was. "We will make an end of you if

you leave any part of it after you," said Indech, son of De Domnann.

So the Dagda took the ladle, and it big enough for a man and a woman to

lie in the bowl of it, and he took out bits with it, the half of a

salted pig, and a quarter of lard a bit would be. "If the broth tastes

as well as the bits taste, this is good food," he said. And he went on

putting the full of the ladle into his mouth till the hole was empty;

and when all was gone he put down his hand and scraped up all that was

left among the earth and the gravel.

Sleep came on him then after eating the broth, and the Fomor were

laughing at him, for his belly was the size of the cauldron of a great

house. But he rose up after a while, and, heavy as he was, he made his

way home; and indeed his dress was no way sightly, a cape to the hollow

of the elbows, and a brown coat, long in the breast and short behind,

and on his feet brogues of horse hide, with the hair outside, and in his

hand a wheeled fork it would take eight men to carry, so that the track

he left after him was deep enough for the boundary ditch of a province.

And on his way he saw the Battle-Crow, the Morrigu, washing herself in

the river Unius of Connacht, and one of her two feet at Ullad Echne, to

the south of the water, and the other at Loscuinn, to the north of the

water, and her hair hanging in nine loosened locks. And she said to the

Dagda, that she would bring the heart's blood of Indech, son of De

Domnann, that had threatened him, to the men of Ireland.

And while he was away Lugh had called together the Druids, and smiths,

and physicians, and law-makers, and chariot-drivers of Ireland, to make

plans for the battle.

And he asked the great magician Mathgen what could he do to help them.

"It is what I can do," said Mathgen, "through my power I can throw down

all the mountains of Ireland on the Fomor, until their tops will be

rolling on the ground. And the twelve chief mountains of Ireland will

bring you their help," he said, "and will fight for you: Slieve Leag and

Denda Ulad, and Bennai Boirche and Bri Ruri, and Slieve Bladma and

Slieve Snechtae, and Slieve Mis and Blai-Slieve, and Nemthann and Slieve

Macca Belgodon, and Segois and Cruachan Aigle."

Then he asked the cup-bearers what help they could give. "We will put a

strong thirst on the Fomor," they said, "and then we will bring the

twelve chief lochs of Ireland before them, and however great their

thirst may be, they will find no water in them: Derc-Loch, Loch

Luimnech, Loch Orbsen, Loch Righ, Loch Mescdhae, Loch Cuan, Loch Laeig,

Loch Echach, Loch Febail, Loch Decket, Loch Riach, Mor-Loch. And we will

go," they said, "to the twelve chief rivers of Ireland: the Buas, the

Boinn, the Banna, the Nem, the Laoi, the Sionnan, the Muaid, the

Sligech, the Samair, the Fionn, the Ruirtech, the Siuir; and they will

all be hidden away from the Fomor the way they will not find a drop in

them. But as for the men of Ireland," they said, "there will be drink

for them if they were to be in the battle to the end of seven years."

And Figol, son of Mamos, the Druid, was asked then what he would do, and

he said: "It is what I will do, I will cause three showers of fire to

pour on the faces of the army of the Fomor, and I will take from them

two-thirds of their bravery and their strength, and I will put sickness

on their bodies, and on the bodies of their horses. But as to the men of

Ireland," he said, "every breath they breathe will be an increase of

strength and of bravery to them; and if they are seven years in the

battle they will never be any way tired."

Then Lugh asked his two witches, Bechulle and Dianan: "What power can

you bring to the battle?" "It is easy to say that," they said. "We will

put enchantment on the trees and the stones and the sods of the earth,

till they become an armed host against the Fomor, and put terror on them

and put them to the rout."

Then Lugh asked Carpre, the poet, son of Etain, what could he do. "It is

not hard to say that," said Carpre. "I will make a satire on them at

sunrise, and the wind from the north, and I on a hill-top and my back to

a thorn-tree, and a stone and a thorn in my hand. And with that satire,"

he said, "I will put shame on them and enchantment, the way they will

not be able to stand against fighting men."

Then he asked Goibniu the Smith what would he be able to do. "I will do

this," he said. "If the men of Ireland stop in the battle to the end of

seven years, for every sword that is broken and for every spear that is

lost from its shaft, I will put a new one in its place. And no

spear-point that will be made by my hand," he said, "will ever miss its

mark; and no man it touches will ever taste life again. And that is more

than Dolb, the smith of the Fomor, can do," he said.

"And you, Credne," Lugh said then to his worker in brass, "what help can

you give to our men in the battle?" "It is not hard to tell that," said

Credne, "rivets for their spears and hilts for their swords and bosses

and rims for their shields, I will supply them all."

"And you, Luchta," he said then to his carpenter, "what will you do?" "I

will give them all they want of shields and of spear shafts," said

Luchta.

Then he asked Diancecht, the physician, what would he do, and it is what

he said: "Every man that will be wounded there, unless his head is

struck off, or his brain or his marrow cut through, I will make him

whole and sound again for the battle of the morrow."

Then the Dagda said: "Those great things you are boasting you will do,

I will do them all with only myself." "It is you are the good god!" said

they, and they all gave a great shout of laughter.

Then Lugh spoke to the whole army and put strength in them, so that each

one had the spirit in him of a king or a great lord.

Then when the delay was at an end, the Fomor and the men of Ireland came

on towards one another till they came to the plain of Magh Tuireadh.

That now was not the same Magh Tuireadh where the first battle was

fought, but it was to the north, near Ess Dara.

And then the two armies threatened one another. "The men of Ireland are

daring enough to offer battle to us," said Bres to Indech, son of De

Domnann. "I give my word," said Indech, "it is in small pieces their

bones will be, if they do not give in to us and pay their tribute."

Now the Men of Dea had determined not to let Lugh go into the battle,

because of the loss his death would be to them; and they left nine of

their men keeping a watch on him.

And on the first day none of the kings or princes went into the battle,

but only the common fighting men, and they fierce and proud enough.

And the battle went on like that from day to day with no great advantage

to one or the other side. But there was wonder on the Fomor on account

of one thing. Such of their own weapons as were broken or blunted in the

fight lay there as they were, and such of their own men as were killed

showed no sign of life on the morrow; but it was not so with the Tuatha

de Danaan, for if their men were killed or their weapons were broken

to-day, they were as good as before on the morrow.

And this is the way that happened. The well of Slaine lay to the west

of Magh Tuireadh to the east of Loch Arboch. And Diancecht and his son

Octruil and his daughter Airmed used to be singing spells over the well

and to be putting herbs in it; and the men that were wounded to death in

the battle would be brought to the well and put into it as dead men, and

they would come out of it whole and sound, through the power of the

spells. And not only were they healed, but there was such fire put into

them that they would be quicker in the fight than they were before.

And as to the arms, it is the way they were made new every day. Goibniu

the Smith used to be in the forge making swords and spears, and he would

make a spear-head by three turns, and then Luchta the Carpenter would

make the shaft by three cuts, and the third cut was a finish, and would

set it in the ring of the spear. And when the spear-heads were stuck in

the side of the forge, he would throw the shaft and the rings the way

they would go into the spear-head and want no more setting. And then

Credne the Brazier would make the rivets by three turns and would cast

the rings of the spears to them, and with that they were ready and were

set together.

And all this went against the Fomor, and they sent one of their young

men to spy about the camp and to see could he find out how these things

were done. It was Ruadan, son of Bres and of Brigit daughter of the

Dagda they sent, for he was a son and grandson of the Tuatha de Danaan.

So he went and saw all that was done, and came back to the Fomor.

And when they heard his story it is what they thought, that Goibniu the

Smith was the man that hindered them most. And they sent Ruadan back

again, and bade him make an end of him.

So he went back again to the forge, and he asked Goibniu would he give

him a spear-head. And then he asked rivets of Credne, and a shaft of

the carpenter, and all was given to him as he asked. And there was a

woman there, Cron, mother to Fianlug, grinding the spears.

And after the spear being given to Ruadan, he turned and threw it at

Goibniu, that it wounded him. But Goibniu pulled it out and made a cast

of it at Ruadan, that it went through him and he died; and Bres, his

father, and the army of the Fomor, saw him die. And then Brigit came and

keened her son with shrieking and with crying.

And as to Goibniu, he went into the well and was healed. But after that

Octriallach, son of Indech, called to the Fomor and bade each man of

them bring a stone of the stones of Drinnes and throw them into the well

of Slane. And they did that till the well was dried up, and a cairn

raised over it, that is called Octriallach's Cairn.

And it was while Goibniu was making spear-heads for the battle of Magh

Tuireadh, a charge was brought against his wife. And it was seen that it

was heavy news to him, and that jealousy came on him. And it is what he

did, there was a spear-shaft in his hand when he heard the story, Nes

its name was; and he sang spells over the spear-shaft, and any one that

was struck with that spear afterwards, it would burn him up like fire.

And at last the day of the great battle came, and the Fomor came out of

their camp and stood in strong ranks. And there was not a leader or a

fighting man of them was without good armour to his skin, and a helmet

on his head, a broad spear in his right hand, a heavy sword in his belt,

a strong shield on his shoulder. And to attack the army of the Fomor

that day was to strike the head against a rock, or to go up fighting

against a fire.

And the Men of Dea rose up and left Lugh and his nine comrades keeping

him, and they went on to the battle; and Midhir was with them, and Bodb

Dearg and Diancecht. And Badb and Macha and the Morrigu called out that

they would go along with them.

And it was a hard battle was fought, and for a while it was going

against the Tuatha de Danaan; and Nuada of the Silver Hand, their King,

and Macha, daughter of Emmass, fell by Balor, King of the Fomor. And

Cass-mail fell by Octriallach, and the Dagda got a dreadful wound from a

casting spear that was thrown by Ceithlenn, wife of Balor.

But when the battle was going on, Lugh broke away from those that were

keeping him, and rushed out to the front of the Men of Dea. And then

there was a fierce battle fought, and Lugh was heartening the men of

Ireland to fight well, the way they would not be in bonds any longer.

For it was better for them, he said, to die protecting their own country

than to live under bonds and under tribute any longer. And he sang a

song of courage to them, and the hosts gave a great shout as they went

into battle, and then they met together, and each of them began to

attack the other.

And there was great slaughter, and laying low in graves, and many comely

men fell there in the stall of death. Pride and shame were there side by

side, and hardness and red anger, and there was red blood on the white

skin of young fighting men. And the dashing of spear against shield, and

sword against sword, and the shouting of the fighters, and the whistling

of casting spears and the rattling of scabbards was like harsh thunder

through the battle. And many slipped in the blood that was under their

feet, and they fell, striking their heads one against another; and the

river carried away bodies of friends and enemies together.

Then Lugh and Balor met in the battle, and Lugh called out reproaches to

him; and there was anger on Balor, and he said to the men that were with

him: "Lift up my eyelid till I see this chatterer that is talking to

me." Then they raised Balor's eyelid, but Lugh made a cast of his red

spear at him, that brought the eye out through the back of his head, so

that it was towards his own army it fell, and three times nine of the

Fomor died when they looked at it. And if Lugh had not put out that eye

when he did, the whole of Ireland would have been burned in one flash.

And after this, Lugh struck his head off.

And as for Indech, son of De Domnann, he fell and was crushed in the

battle, and blood burst from his mouth, and he called out for Leat Glas,

his poet, as he lay there, but he was not able to help him. And then the

Morrigu came into the battle, and she was heartening the Tuatha de

Danaan to fight the battle well; and, as she had promised the Dagda, she

took the full of her two hands of Indech's blood, and gave it to the

armies that were waiting at the ford of Unius; and it was called the

Ford of Destruction from that day.

And after that it was not a battle any more, but a rout, and the Fomor

were beaten back to the sea. And Lugh and his comrades were following

them, and they came up with Bres, son of Elathan, and no guard with him,

and he said: "It is better for you to spare my life than to kill me. And

if you spare me now," he said, "the cows of Ireland will never go dry."

"I will ask an advice about that from our wise men," said Lugh. So he

told Maeltine Mor-Brethach, of the Great Judgments, what Bres was after

saying. But Maeltine said: "Do not spare him for that, for he has no

power over their offspring, though he has power so long as they are

living."

Then Bres said: "If you spare me, the men of Ireland will reap a harvest

of corn every quarter." But Maeltine said: "The spring is for ploughing

and sowing, and the beginning of summer for the strength of corn, and

the beginning of autumn for its ripeness, and the winter for using it."

"That does not save you," said Lugh then to Bres. But then to make an

excuse for sparing him, Lugh said: "Tell us what is the best way for the

men of Ireland to plough and to sow and to reap."

"Let their ploughing be on a Tuesday, and their casting seed into the

field on a Tuesday, and their reaping on a Tuesday," said Bres. So Lugh

said that would do, and he let him go free after that.

It was in this battle Ogma found Orna, the sword of Tethra, a king of

the Fomor, and he took it from its sheath and cleaned it. And when the

sword was taken out of the sheath, it told all the deeds that had been

done by it, for there used to be that power in swords.

And Lugh and the Dagda and Ogma followed after the Fomor, for they had

brought away the Dagda's harp with them, that was called Uaitne. And

they came to a feasting-house, and in it they found Bres and his father

Elathan, and there was the harp hanging on the wall. And it was in that

harp the Dagda had bound the music, so that it would not sound till he

would call to it. And sometimes it was called Dur-da-Bla, the Oak of Two

Blossoms, and sometimes Coir-cethar-chuin, the Four-Angled Music.

And when he saw it hanging on the wall it is what he said: "Come summer,

come winter, from the mouth of harps and bags and pipes." Then the harp

sprang from the wall, and came to the Dagda, and it killed nine men on

its way.

And then he played for them the three things harpers understand, the

sleepy tune, and the laughing tune, and the crying tune. And when he

played the crying tune, their tearful women cried, and then he played

the laughing tune, till their women and children laughed; and then he

played the sleepy tune, and all the hosts fell asleep. And through that

sleep the three went away through the Fomor that would have been glad to

harm them. And when all was over, the Dagda brought out the heifer he

had got as wages from Bres at the time he was making his dun. And she

called to her calf, and at the sound of her call all the cattle of

Ireland the Fomor had brought away as tribute, were back in their fields

again.

And Cé, the Druid of Nuada of the Silver Hand, was wounded in the

battle, and he went southward till he came to Carn Corrslebe. And there

he sat down to rest, tired with his wounds and with the fear that was on

him, and the journey. And he saw a smooth plain before him, and it full

of flowers, and a great desire came on him to reach to that plain, and

he went on till he came to it, and there he died. And when his grave was

made there, a lake burst out over it and over the whole plain, and it

was given the name of Loch Cé. And there were but four men of the Fomor

left in Ireland after the battle, and they used to be going through the

country, spoiling corn and milk and fruit, and whatever came from the

sea, till they were driven out one Samhain night by the Morrigu and by

Angus Og, that the Fomor might never be over Ireland again.

And after the battle was won, and the bodies were cleared away, the

Morrigu gave out the news of the great victory to the hosts and to the

royal heights of Ireland and to its chief rivers and its invers, and it

is what she said: "Peace up to the skies, the skies down to earth, the

earth under the skies; strength to every one."

And as to the number of men that fell in the battle, it will not be

known till we number the stars of the sky, or flakes of snow, or the dew

on the grass, or grass under the feet of cattle, or the horses of the

Son of Lir in a stormy sea.

And Lugh was made king over the Men of Dea then, and it was at Nas he

had his court.

And while he was king, his foster-mother Taillte, daughter of Magh Mor,

the Great Plain, died. And before her death she bade her husband Duach

the Dark, he that built the Fort of the Hostages in Teamhair, to clear

away the wood of Cuan, the way there could be a gathering of the people

around her grave. So he called to the men of Ireland to cut down the

wood with their wide-bladed knives and bill-hooks and hatchets, and

within a month the whole wood was cut down.

And Lugh buried her in the plain of Midhe, and raised a mound over her,

that is to be seen to this day. And he ordered fires to be kindled, and

keening to be made, and games and sports to be held in the summer of

every year out of respect to her. And the place they were held got its

name from her, that is Taillten.

And as to Lugh's own mother, that was tall beautiful Ethlinn, she came

to Teamhair after the battle of Magh Tuireadh, and he gave her in

marriage to Tadg, son of Nuada. And the children that were born to them

were Muirne, mother of Finn, the Head of the Fianna of Ireland, and

Tuiren, that was mother of Bran.

CHAPTER IV. THE HIDDEN HOUSE OF LUGH

And after Lugh had held the kingship for a long time, the Dagda was made

king in his place.

And Lugh went away out of Ireland, and some said he died at Uisnech, the

place where the five provinces meet, and the first place there was ever

a fire kindled in Ireland. It was by Mide, son of Brath, it was kindled,

for the sons of Nemed, and it was burning through six years, and it was

from that fire every chief fire was kindled in Ireland.

But Lugh was seen again in Ireland at the time Conchubar and the Men of

the Red Branch went following white birds southward to the Boinn at the

time of Cuchulain's birth. And it was he came and kept watch over

Cuchulain in his three days' sleep at the time of the War for the Bull

of Cuailgne.

And after that again he was seen by Conn of the Hundred Battles, and

this is the way that happened.

Conn was in Teamhair one time, and he went up in the early morning to

the Rath of the Kings at the rising of the sun, and his three Druids

with him, Maol and Bloc and Bhuice; and his three poets, Ethain and Corb

and Cesarn. And the reason he had for going up there with them every

day, was to look about on every side, the way if any men of the Sidhe

would come into Ireland they would not come unknown to him. And on this

day he chanced to stand upon a stone that was in the rath, and the stone

screamed under his feet, that it was heard all over Teamhair and as far

as Bregia.

Then Conn asked his chief Druid how the stone came there, and what it

screamed for. And the Druid said he would not answer that till the end

of fifty-three days. And at the end of that time, Conn asked him again,

and it is what the Druid said: "The Lia Fail is the name of the stone;

it is out of Falias it was brought, and it is in Teamhair it was set up,

and in Teamhair it will stay for ever. And as long as there is a king in

Teamhair it is here will be the gathering place for games, and if there

is no king to come to the last day of the gathering, there will be

hardness in that year. And when the stone screamed under your feet," he

said, "the number of the screams it gave was a foretelling of the number

of kings of your race that would come after you. But it is not I myself

will name them for you," he said.

And while they were in the same place, there came a great mist about

them and a darkness, so that they could not know what way they were

going, and they heard the noise of a rider coming towards them. "It

would be a great grief to us," said Conn, "to be brought away into a

strange country." Then the rider threw three spears at them, and every

one came faster than the other. "It is the wounding of a king indeed,"

said the Druids, "any one to cast at Conn of Teamhair."

The rider stopped casting his spears on that, and he came to them and

bade Conn welcome, and asked him to come to his house. They went on then

till they came to a beautiful plain, and there they saw a king's rath,

and a golden tree at its door, and inside the rath a grand house with a

roof of white bronze. So they went into the house, and the rider that

had come to meet them was there before them, in his royal seat, and

there had never been seen a man like him in Teamhair for comeliness or

for beauty, or the wonder of his face.

And there was a young woman in the house, having a band of gold on her

head, and a silver vessel with hoops of gold beside her, and it full of

red ale, and a golden bowl on its edge, and a golden cup at its mouth.

She said then to the master of the house: "Who am I to serve drink to?"

"Serve it to Conn of the Hundred Battles," he said, "for he will gain a

hundred battles before he dies." And after that he bade her to pour out

the ale for Art of the Three Shouts, the son of Conn; and after that he

went through the names of all the kings of Ireland that would come after

Conn, and he told what would be the length of their lifetime. And the

young woman left the vessel with Conn, and the cup and the bowl, and she

gave him along with that the rib of an ox and of a hog; twenty-four feet

was the length of the ox-rib.

And the master of the house told them the young woman was the Kingship

of Ireland for ever. "And as for myself," he said, "I am Lugh of the

Long Hand, son of Ethlinn."

BOOK THREE: THE COMING OF THE GAEL.

CHAPTER I. THE LANDING

It is not known, now, for what length of time the Tuatha de Danaan had

the sway over Ireland, and it is likely it was a long time they had it,

but they were put from it at last.

It was at Inver Slane, to the north of Leinster, the sons of Gaedhal of

the Shining Armour, the Very Gentle, that were called afterwards the

Sons of the Gael, made their first attempt to land in Ireland to avenge

Ith, one of their race that had come there one time and had met with his

death.

It is under the leadership of the sons of Miled they were, and it was

from the south they came, and their Druids had told them there was no

country for them to settle in till they would come to that island in the

west. "And if you do not get possession of it yourselves," they said,

"your children will get possession of it."

But when the Tuatha de Danaan saw the ships coming, they flocked to the

shore, and by their enchantments they cast such a cloud over the whole

island that the sons of Miled were confused, and all they could see was

some large thing that had the appearance of a pig.

And when they were hindered from landing there by enchantments, they

went sailing along the coast till at last they were able to make a

landing at Inver Sceine in the west of Munster.

From that they marched in good order as far as Slieve Mis. And there

they were met by a queen of the Tuatha de Danaan, and a train of

beautiful women attending on her, and her Druids and wise men following

her. Amergin, one of the sons of Miled, spoke to her then, and asked her

name, and she said it was Banba, wife of Mac Cuill, Son of the Hazel.

They went on then till they came to Slieve Eibhline, and there another

queen of the Tuatha de Danaan met them, and her women and her Druids

after her, and they asked her name, and she said it was Fodhla, wife of

Mac Cecht, Son of the Plough.

They went on then till they came to the hill of Uisnech, and there they

saw another woman coming towards them. And there was wonder on them

while they were looking at her, for in the one moment she would be a

wide-eyed most beautiful queen, and in another she would be a

sharp-beaked, grey-white crow. She came on to where Eremon, one of the

sons of Miled, was, and sat down before him, and he asked her who was

she, and she said: "I am Eriu, wife of Mac Greine, Son of the Sun."

And the names of those three queens were often given to Ireland in the

after time.

The Sons of the Gael went on after that to Teamhair, where the three

sons of Cermait Honey-Mouth, son of the Dagda, that had the kingship

between them at that time held their court. And these three were

quarrelling with one another about the division of the treasures their

father had left, and the quarrel was so hot it seemed likely it would

come to a battle in the end.

And the Sons of the Gael wondered to see them quarrelling about such

things, and they having so fruitful an island, where the air was so

wholesome, and the sun not too strong, or the cold too bitter, and where

there was such a plenty of honey and acorns, and of milk, and of fish,

and of corn, and room enough for them all.

Great grandeur they were living in, and their Druids about them, at the

palace of Teamhair. And Amergin went to them, and it is what he said,

that they must give up the kingship there and then, or they must leave

it to the chance of a battle. And he said he asked this in revenge for

the death of Ith, of the race of the Gael, that had come to their court

before that time, and that had been killed by treachery.

When the sons of Cermait Honey-Mouth heard Amergin saying such fierce

words, there was wonder on them, and it is what they said, that they

were not willing to fight at that time, for their army was not ready.

"But let you make an offer to us," they said, "for we see well you have

good judgment and knowledge. But if you make an offer that is not fair,"

they said, "we will destroy you with our enchantments."

At that Amergin bade the men that were with him to go back to Inver

Sceine, and to hurry again into their ships with the rest of the Sons of

the Gael, and to go out the length of nine waves from the shore. And

then he made his offer to the Tuatha de Danaan, that if they could

hinder his men from landing on their island, he and all his ships would

go back again to their own country, and would never make any attempt to

come again; but that if the Sons of the Gael could land on the coast in

spite of them, then the Tuatha de Danaan should give up the kingship and

be under their sway.

The Tuatha de Danaan were well pleased with that offer, for they thought

that by the powers of their enchantments over the winds and the sea, and

by their arts, they would be well able to keep them from ever setting

foot in the country again.

So the Sons of the Gael did as Amergin bade them and they went back into

their ship and drew up their anchors, and moved out to the length of

nine waves from the shore. And as soon as the Men of Dea saw they had

left the land, they took to their enchantments and spells, and they

raised a great wind that scattered the ships of the Gael, and drove them

from one another. But Amergin knew it was not a natural storm was in

it, and Arranan, son of Miled, knew that as well, and he went up in the

mast of his ship to look about him. But a great blast of wind came

against him, and he fell back into the ship and died on the moment. And

there was great confusion on the Gael, for the ships were tossed to and

fro, and had like to be lost. And the ship that Donn, son of Miled, was

in command of was parted from the others by the dint of the storm, and

was broken in pieces, and he himself and all with him were drowned,

four-and-twenty men and women in all. And Ir, son of Miled, came to his

death in the same way, and his body was cast on the shore, and it was

buried in a small island that is now called Sceilg Michill. A brave man

Ir was, leading the Sons of the Gael to the front of every battle, and

their help and their shelter in battle, and his enemies were in dread of

his name.

And Heremon, another of the sons of Miled, with his share of the ships,

was driven to the left of the island, and it is hardly he got safe to

land. And the place where he landed was called Inver Colpa, because

Colpa of the Sword, another of the sons of Miled, was drowned there, and

he trying to get to land. Five of the sons of Miled in all were

destroyed by the storm and the winds the Men of Dea had raised by their

enchantments, and there were but three of them left, Heber, and Heremon,

and Amergin.

And one of them, Donn, before he was swept into the sea, called out: "It

is treachery our knowledgeable men are doing on us, not to put down this

wind." "There is no treachery," said Amergin, his brother. And he rose

up then before them, and whatever enchantment he did on the winds and

the sea, he said these words along with it:

"That they that are tossing in the great wide food-giving sea may reach

now to the land.

"That they may find a place upon its plains, its mountains, and its

valleys; in its forests that are full of nuts and of all fruits; on its

rivers and its streams, on its lakes and its great waters.

"That we may have our gatherings and our races in this land; that there

may be a king of our own in Teamhair; that it may be the possession of

our many kings.

"That the sons of Miled may be seen in this land, that their ships and

their boats may find a place there.

"This land that is now under darkness, it is for it we are asking; let

our chief men, let their learned wives, ask that we may come to the

noble woman, great Eriu."

After he had said this, the wind went down and the sea was quiet again

on the moment.

And those that were left of the sons of Miled and of the Sons of the

Gael landed then at Inver Sceine.

And Amergin was the first to put his foot on land, and when he stood on

the shore of Ireland, it is what he said:

"I am the wind on the sea;

I am the wave of the sea;

I am the bull of seven battles;

I am the eagle on the rock;

I am a flash from the sun;

I am the most beautiful of plants;

I am a strong wild boar;

I am a salmon in the water;

I am a lake in the plain;

I am the word of knowledge;

I am the head of the spear in battle;

I am the god that puts fire in the head;

Who spreads light in the gathering on the hills?

Who can tell the ages of the moon?

Who can tell the place where the sun rests?"

CHAPTER II. THE BATTLE OF TAILLTIN

And three days after the landing of the Gael, they were attacked by

Eriu, wife of Mac Greine, Son of the Sun, and she having a good share of

men with her. And they fought a hard battle, and many were killed on

both sides. And this was the first battle fought between the Sons of the

Gael and the Men of Dea for the kingship of Ireland.

It was in that battle Fais, wife of Un, was killed in a valley at the

foot of the mountain, and it was called after her, the Valley of Fais.

And Scota, wife of Miled, got her death in the battle, and she was

buried in a valley on the north side of the mountain near the sea. But

the Sons of the Gael lost no more than three hundred men, and they beat

back the Men of Dea and killed a thousand of them. And Eriu was beaten

back to Tailltin, and as many of her men as she could hold together; and

when she came there she told the people how she had been worsted in the

battle, and the best of her men had got their death. But the Gael

stopped on the battle-field, and buried their dead, and they gave a

great burial to two of their Druids, Aer and Eithis, that were killed in

the fight.

And after they had rested for a while, they went on to Inver Colpa in

Leinster, and Heremon and his men joined them there. And then they sent

messengers to the three kings of Ireland, the three sons of Cermait

Honey-Mouth, and bade them to come out and fight a battle that would

settle the ownership of the country once for all.

So they came out, and the best of the fighters of the Tuatha de Danaan

with them, to Tailltin. And there they attacked one another, and the

Sons of the Gael remembered the death of Ith, and there was great anger

on them, and they fell on the Men of Dea to avenge him, and there was a

fierce battle fought. And for a while neither side got the better of the

other, but at the last the Gael broke through the army of the Men of Dea

and put them to the rout, with great slaughter, and drove them out of

the place. And their three kings were killed in the rout, and the three

queens of Ireland, Eriu and Fodhla and Banba. And when the Tuatha de

Danaan saw their leaders were dead they fell back in great disorder, and

the Sons of the Gael followed after them. But in following them they

lost two of their best leaders, Cuailgne, son of Breagan, at Slieve

Cuailgne, and Fuad, his brother, at Slieve Fuad. But they were no way

daunted by that, but followed the Men of Dea so hotly that they were

never able to bring their army together again, but had to own themselves

beaten, and to give up the country to the Gael.

And the leaders, the sons of Miled, divided the provinces of Ireland

between them. Heber took the two provinces of Munster, and he gave a

share of it to Amergin; and Heremon got Leinster and Connacht for his

share, and Ulster was divided between Eimhir, son of Ir, son of Miled,

and some others of their chief men. And it was of the sons of Eimhir,

that were called the Children of Rudraighe, and that lived in Emain

Macha for nine hundred years, some of the best men of Ireland came;

Fergus, son of Rogh, was of them, and Conall Cearnach, of the Red Branch

of Ulster.

And from the sons of Ith, the first of the Gael to get his death in

Ireland, there came in the after time Fathadh Canaan, that got the sway

over the whole world from the rising to the setting sun, and that took

hostages of the streams and the birds and the languages.

And it is what the poets of Ireland used to be saying, that every brave

man, good at fighting, and every man that could do great deeds and not

be making much talk about them, was of the Sons of the Gael; and that

every skilled man that had music and that did enchantments secretly,

was of the Tuatha de Danaan. But they put a bad name on the Firbolgs and

the men of Domnand and the Gaileoin, for lies and for big talk and

injustice. But for all that there were good fighters among them, and

Ferdiad, that made so good a stand against Cuchulain, in the war for the

Bull of Cuailgne was one of them. And the Gaileoin fought well in the

same war; but the men of Ireland had no great liking for them, and their

Druids drove them out of the country afterwards.

BOOK FOUR: THE EVER-LIVING LIVING ONES.

CHAPTER I. BODB DEARG

But as to the Tuatha de Danaan after they were beaten, they would not go

under the sway of the sons of Miled, but they went away by themselves.

And because Manannan, son of Lir, understood all enchantments, they left

it to him to find places for them where they would be safe from their

enemies. So he chose out the most beautiful of the hills and valleys of

Ireland for them to settle in; and he put hidden walls about them, that

no man could see through, but they themselves could see through them and

pass through them.

And he made the Feast of Age for them, and what they drank at it was the

ale of Goibniu the Smith, that kept whoever tasted it from age and from

sickness and from death. And for food at the feast he gave them his own

swine, that though they were killed and eaten one day, would be alive

and fit for eating again the next day, and that would go on in that way

for ever.

And after a while they said: "It would be better for us one king to be

over us, than to be scattered the way we are through the whole of

Ireland."

Now the men among them that had the best chance of getting the kingship

at that time were Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda; and Ilbrech of Ess

Ruadh; and Lir of Sidhe Fionnachaidh, the Hill of the White Field, on

Slieve Fuad; and Midhir the Proud of Bri Leith, and Angus Og, son of the

Dagda; but he did not covet the kingship at all, but would sooner be

left as he was. Then all the chief men but those five went into council

together, and it is what they agreed, to give the kingship to Bodb

Dearg, for the sake of his father, for his own sake, and because he was

the eldest among the children of the Dagda.

It was in Sidhe Femen Bodb Dearg had his house, and he put great

enchantments about it. Cliach, the Harper of the King of the Three

Rosses in Connacht, went one time to ask one of his daughters in

marriage, and he stayed outside the place through the whole length of a

year, playing his harp, and able to get no nearer to Bodb or to his

daughter. And he went on playing till a lake burst up under his feet,

the lake that is on the top of a mountain, Loch Bel Sead.

It was Bodb's swineherd went to Da Derga's Inn, and his squealing pig

along with him, the night Conaire, the High King of Ireland, met with

his death; and it was said that whatever feast that swineherd would go

to, there would blood be shed before it was over.

And Bodb had three sons, Angus, and Artrach, and Aedh. And they used

often to be living among men in the time of the Fianna afterwards.

Artrach had a house with seven doors, and a free welcome for all that

came, and the king's son of Ireland, and of Alban, used to be coming to

Angus to learn the throwing of spears and darts; and troops of poets

from Alban and from Ireland used to be with Aedh, that was the comeliest

of Bodb's sons, so that his place used to be called "The Rath of Aedh of

the Poets." And indeed it was a beautiful rath at that time, with

golden-yellow apples in it and crimson-pointed nuts of the wood. But

after the passing away of the Fianna, the three brothers went back to

the Tuatha de Danaan.

And Bodb Dearg was not always in his own place, but sometimes he was

with Angus at Brugh na Boinn.

Three sons of Lugaidh Menn, King of Ireland, Eochaid, and Fiacha, and

Ruide, went there one time, for their father refused them any land till

they would win it for themselves. And when he said that, they rose with

the ready rising of one man, and went and sat down on the green of Brugh

na Boinn, and fasted there on the Tuatha de Danaan, to see if they

could win some good thing from them.

And they were not long there till they saw a young man, quiet and with

pleasant looks, coming towards them, and he wished them good health, and

they answered him the same way. "Where are you come from?" they asked

him then. "From the rath beyond, with the many lights," he said. "And I

am Bodb Dearg, son of the Dagda," he said, "and come in with me now to

the rath."

So they went in, and supper was made ready for them, but they did not

use it. Bodb Dearg asked them then why was it they were using nothing.

"It is because our father has refused land to us," said they; "and there

are in Ireland but the two races, the Sons of the Gael and the Men of

Dea, and when the one failed us we are come to the other."

Then the Men of Dea consulted together. And the chief among them was

Midhir of the Yellow Hair, and it is what he said: "Let us give a wife

to every one of these three men, for it is from a wife that good or bad

fortune comes."

So they agreed to that, and Midhir's three daughters, Doirenn, and Aife,

and Aillbhe, were given to them. Then Midhir asked Bodb to say what

marriage portion should be given to them. "I will tell you that," said

Bodb. "We are three times fifty sons of kings in this hill; let every

king's son give three times fifty ounces of red gold. And I myself," he

said, "will give them along with that, three times fifty suits of

clothing of all colours." "I will give them a gift," said a young man of

the Tuatha de Danaan, from Rachlainn in the sea. "A horn I will give

them, and a vat. And there is nothing wanting but to fill the vat with

pure water, and it will turn into mead, fit to drink, and strong enough

to make drunken. And into the horn," he said, "you have but to put salt

water from the sea, and it will turn into wine on the moment." "A gift

to them from me," said Lir of Sidhe Fionnachaidh, "three times fifty

swords, and three times fifty well-riveted long spears." "A gift from

me," said Angus Og, son of the Dagda, "a rath and a good town with high

walls, and with bright sunny houses, and with wide houses, in whatever

place it will please them between Rath Chobtaige and Teamhair." "A gift

to them from me," said Aine, daughter of Modharn, "a woman-cook that I

have, and there is _geasa_ on her not to refuse food to any; and

according as she serves it out, her store fills up of itself again."

"Another gift to them from me," said Bodb Dearg, "a good musician that I

have, Fertuinne, son of Trogain; and although there were women in the

sharpest pains of childbirth, and brave men wounded early in the day, in

a place where there were saws going through wood, they would sleep at

the sweetness of the music he makes. And whatever house he may be in,

the people of the whole country round will hear him."

So they stopped in Brugh na Boinne three days and three nights, and when

they left it, Angus bade them bring away from the oak-wood three

apple-trees, one in full bloom, and one shedding its blossom, and the

third covered with ripe fruit.

They went then to their own dun that was given them, and it is a good

place they had there, and a troop of young men, and great troops of

horses and of greyhounds; and they had three sorts of music that comely

kings liked to be listening to, the music of harps and of lutes, and the

chanting of Trogain's son; and there were three great sounds, the

tramping on the green, and the uproar of racing, and the lowing of

cattle; and three other sounds, the grunting of good pigs with the fat

thick on them, and the voices of the crowd on the green lawn, and the

noise of men drinking inside the house. And as to Eochaid, it was said

of him that he never took a step backwards in flight, and his house was

never without music or drinking of ale. And it was said of Fiacha that

there was no man of his time braver than himself, and that he never said

a word too much. And as to Ruide, he never refused any one, and never

asked anything at all of any man.

And when their lifetime was over, they went back to the Tuatha de

Danaan, for they belonged to them through their wives, and there they

have stopped ever since.

And Bodb Dearg had a daughter, Scathniamh, the Flower of Brightness,

that gave her love to Caoilte in the time of the Fianna; and they were

forced to part from one another, and they never met again till the time

Caoilte was, old and withered, and one of the last that was left of the

Fianna. And she came to him out of the cave of Cruachan, and asked him

for the bride-price he had promised her, and that she was never able to

come and ask for till then. And Caoilte went to a cairn that was near

and that was full up of gold, that was wages earned by Conan Maol and

hidden there, and he gave the gold to Bodb Dearg's daughter. And the

people that were there wondered to see the girl so young and comely, and

Caoilte so grey and bent and withered. "There is no wonder in that,"

said Caoilte, "for I am of the sons of Miled that wither and fade away,

but she is of the Tuatha de Danaan that never change and that never

die."