Myths & Legends of the Celtic Race Part 17

Bear him on his bier beside me: never more in halls of Gort Shall a n.i.g.g.ard king deride me: slaves, of Sanchan make their sport!

But because the maidens yearnings needs must also be condoled, Hers shall be the dear-bought earnings, hers the twin-bright cups of gold.

Cups, she cried, of bitter drinking, fling them far as arm can throw!

Let them in the ocean sinking, out of sight and memory go!

Let the joinings of the rhythm, let the links of sense and sound Of the _Tain-Bo_ perish with them, lost as though theyd neer been found!

So it comes, the lay, recoverd once at such a deadly cost, Ere one full recital sufferd, once again is all but lost: For, the maidens malediction still with many a blemish-stain Clings in coa.r.s.er garb of fiction round the fragments that remain.

*The Phantom Chariot of Cuchulain*

Cuchulain, however, makes an impressive reappearance in a much later legend of Christian origin, found in the twelfth-century Book of the Dun Cow. He was summoned from h.e.l.l, we are told, by St. Patrick to prove the truths of Christianity and the horrors of d.a.m.nation to the pagan monarch, Laery mac Neill, King of Ireland. Laery, with St. Benen, a companion of Patrick, are standing on the Plain of mac Indoc when a blast of icy wind nearly takes them off their feet. It is the wind of h.e.l.l, Benen explains, after its opening before Cuchulain. Then a dense mist covers the plain, and anon a huge phantom chariot with galloping horses, a grey and a black, loom up through the mist. Within it are the famous two, Cuchulain and his charioteer, giant figures, armed with all the splendour of the Gaelic warrior.

Cuchulain then talks to Laery, and urges him to believe in G.o.d and in holy Patrick, for it is not a demon that has come to thee, but Cuchulain son of Sualtam. To prove his ident.i.ty he recounts his famous deeds of arms, and ends by a piteous description of his present state:

What I suffered of trouble, O Laery, by sea and land Yet more severe was a single night When the demon was wrathful!

Great as was my heroism, Hard as was my sword, The devil crushed me with one finger Into the red charcoal!

He ends by beseeching Patrick that heaven may be granted to him, and the legend tells that the prayer was granted and that Laery believed.

*Death of Conor mac Nessa*

Christian ideas have also gathered round the end of Cuchulains lord, King Conor of Ulster. The manner of his death was as follows: An unjust and cruel attack had been made by him on Mesgedra, King of Leinster, in which that monarch met his death at the hand of Conall of the Victories.(167) Conall took out the brains of the dead king and mingled them with lime to make a sling-stonesuch brain b.a.l.l.s, as they were called, being accounted the most deadly of missiles. This ball was laid up in the kings treasure-house at Emain Macha, where the Connacht champion, Ket son of Maga, found it one day when prowling in disguise through Ulster. Ket took it away and kept it always by him. Not long thereafter the Connacht men took a spoil of cattle from Ulster, and the Ulster men, under Conor, overtook them at a river-ford still called Athnurchar (The Ford of the Sling-cast), in Westmeath. A battle was imminent, and many of the ladies of Connacht came to their side of the river to view the famous Ultonian warriors, and especially Conor, the stateliest man of his time. Conor was willing to show himself, and seeing none but women on the other bank he drew near them; but Ket, who was lurking in ambush, now rose and slung the brain-ball at Conor, striking him full in the forehead. Conor fell, and was carried off by his routed followers. When they got him home, still living, to Emain Macha, his physician, Fingen, p.r.o.nounced that if the ball were extracted from his head he must die; it was accordingly sewn up with golden thread, and the king was bidden to keep himself from horse-riding and from all vehement pa.s.sion and exertion, and he would do well.

Seven years afterwards Conor saw the sun darken at noonday, and he summoned his Druid to tell him the cause of the portent. The Druid, in a magic trance, tells him of a hill in a distant land on which stand three crosses with a human form nailed to each of them, and one of them is like the Immortals. Is he a malefactor? then asks Conor. Nay, says the Druid, but the Son of the living G.o.d, and he relates to the king the story of the death of Christ. Conor breaks out in fury, and drawing his sword he hacks at the oak-trees in the sacred grove, crying, Thus would I deal with his enemies, when with the excitement and exertion the brain-ball bursts from his head, and he falls dead. And thus was the vengeance of Mesgedra fulfilled. With Conor and with Cuchulain the glory of the Red Branch and the dominance of Ulster pa.s.sed away. The next, or Ossianic, cycle of Irish legend brings upon the scene different characters, different physical surroundings, and altogether different ideals of life.

*Ket and the Boar of mac Datho*

The Connacht champion Ket, whose main exploit was the wounding of King Conor at Ardnurchar, figures also in a very dramatic tale ent.i.tled The Carving of mac Dathos Boar. The story runs as follows:

Once upon a time there dwelt in the province of Leinster a wealthy hospitable lord named Mesroda, son of Datho. Two possessions had he; namely, a hound which could outrun every other hound and every wild beast in Erin, and a boar which was the finest and greatest in size that man had ever beheld.

Now the fame of this hound was noised all about the land, and many were the princes and lords who longed to possess it. And it came to pa.s.s that Conor King of Ulster and Maev Queen of Connacht sent messengers to mac Datho to ask him to sell them the hound for a price, and both the messengers arrived at the dun of mac Datho on the same day. Said the Connacht messenger: We will give thee in exchange for the hound six hundred milch cows, and a chariot with two horses, the best that are to be found in Connacht, and at the end of a year thou shalt have as much again. And the messenger of King Conor said: We will give no less than Connacht, and the friendship and alliance of Ulster, and that will be better for thee than the friendship of Connacht.

Then Mesroda mac Datho fell silent, and for three days he would not eat or drink, nor could he sleep o nights, but tossed restlessly on his bed. His wife observed his condition, and said to him: Thy fast hath been long, Mesroda, though good food is by thee in plenty; and at night thou turnest thy face to the wall, and well I know thou dost not sleep. What is the cause of thy trouble?

There is a saying, replied Mac Datho, Trust not a thrall with money, nor a woman with a secret.

When should a man talk to a woman, said his wife, but when something were amiss? What thy mind cannot solve perchance anothers may.

Then mac Datho told his wife of the request for his hound both from Ulster and from Connacht at one and the same time. And whichever of them I deny, he said, they will harry my cattle and slay my people.

Then hear my counsel, said the woman. Give it to both of them, and bid them come and fetch it; and if there be any harrying to be done, let them even harry each other; but in no way mayest thou keep the hound.

Mac Datho followed this wise counsel, and bade both Ulster and Connacht to a great feast on the same day, saying to each of them that they could have the hound afterwards.

So on the appointed day Conor of Ulster, and Maev, and their retinues of princes and mighty men a.s.sembled at the dun of mac Datho. There they found a great feast set forth, and to provide the chief dish mac Datho had killed his famous boar, a beast of enormous size. The question now arose as to who should have the honourable task of carving it, and Bricriu of the Poisoned Tongue characteristically, for the sake of the strife which he loved, suggested that the warriors of Ulster and Connacht should compare their princ.i.p.al deeds of arms, and give the carving of the boar to him who seemed to have done best in the border-fighting which was always going on between the provinces. After much bandying of words and of taunts Ket son of Maga arises and stands over the boar, knife in hand, challenging each of the Ulster lords to match his deeds of valour. One after another they arise, Cuscrid son of Conor, Keltchar, Moonremur, Laery the Triumphant, and othersCuchulain is not introduced in this storyand in each case Ket has some biting tale to tell of an encounter in which he has come off better than they, and one by one they sit down shamed and silenced. At last a shout of welcome is heard at the door of the hall and the Ulstermen grow jubilant: Conall of the Victories has appeared on the scene. He strides up to the boar, and Ket and he greet each other with chivalrous courtesy:

And now welcome to thee, O Conall, thou of the iron heart and fiery blood; keen as the glitter of ice, ever-victorious chieftain; hail, mighty son of Finnchoom! said Ket.

And Conall said: Hail to thee, Ket, flower of heroes, lord of chariots, a raging sea in battle; a strong, majestic bull; hail, son of Maga!

And now, went on Conall, rise up from the boar and give me place.

Why so? replied Ket.

Dost thou seek a contest from me? said Conall. Verily thou shalt have it. By the G.o.ds of my nation I swear that since I first took weapons in my hand I have never pa.s.sed one day that I did not slay a Connacht man, nor one night that I did not make a foray on them, nor have I ever slept but I had the head of a Connacht man under my knee.

I confess, then said Ket, that thou art a better man than I, and I yield thee the boar. But if Anluan my brother were here, he would match thee deed for deed, and sorrow and shame it is that he is not.

Anluan is here, shouted Conall, and with that he drew from his girdle the head of Anluan and dashed it in the face of Ket.

Then all sprang to their feet and a wild shouting and tumult arose, and the swords flew out of themselves, and battle raged in the hall of mac Datho. Soon the hosts burst out through the doors of the dun and smote and slew each other in the open field, until the Connacht host were put to flight. The hound of mac Datho pursued the chariot of King Ailell of Connacht till the charioteer smote off its head, and so the cause of contention was won by neither party, and mac Datho lost his hound, but saved his lands and life.

*The Death of Ket*

The death of Ket is told in Keatings History of Ireland. Returning from a foray in Ulster, he was overtaken by Conall at the place called the Ford of Ket, and they fought long and desperately. At last Ket was slain, but Conall of the Victories was in little better case, and lay bleeding to death when another Connacht champion named Belcu(168) found him. Kill me, said Conall to him, that it be not said I fell at the hand of _one_ Connacht man. But Belcu said: I will not slay a man at the point of death, but I will bring thee home and heal thee, and when thy strength is come again thou shalt fight with me in single combat. Then Belcu put Conall on a litter and brought him home, and had him tended till his wounds were healed.

The three sons of Belcu, however, when they saw what the Ulster champion was like in all his might, resolved to a.s.sa.s.sinate him before the combat should take place. By a stratagem Conall contrived that they slew their own father instead; and then, taking the heads of the three sons, he went back, victoriously as he was wont, to Ulster.

*The Death of Maev*

The tale of the death of Queen Maev is also preserved by Keating. Fergus mac Roy having been slain by Ailell with a cast of a spear as he bathed in a lake with Maev, and Ailell having been slain by Conall, Maev retired to an island(169) on Loch Ryve, where she was wont to bathe early every morning in a pool near to the landing-place. Forbay son of Conor mac Nessa, having discovered this habit of the queens, found means one day to go unperceived to the pool and to measure the distance from it to the sh.o.r.e of the mainland. Then he went back to Emania, where he measured out the distance thus obtained, and placing an apple on a pole at one end he shot at it continually with a sling until he grew so good a marksman at that distance that he never missed his aim. Then one day, watching his opportunity by the sh.o.r.es of Loch Ryve, he saw Maev enter the water, and putting a bullet in his sling he shot at her with so good an aim that he smote her in the centre of the forehead and she fell dead.

The great warrior-queen had reigned in Connacht, it was said, for eighty-eight years. She is a signal example of the kind of women whom the Gaelic bards delighted to portray. Gentleness and modesty were by no means their usual characteristics, but rather a fierce overflowing life.

Women-warriors like Skatha and Aifa are frequently met with, and one is reminded of the Gaulish women, with their mighty snow-white arms, so dangerous to provoke, of whom cla.s.sical writers tell us. The Gaelic bards, who in so many ways antic.i.p.ated the ideas of chivalric romance, did not do so in setting women in a place apart from men. Women were judged and treated like men, neither as drudges nor as G.o.ddesses, and we know that well into historic times they went with men into battle, a practice only ended in the sixth century.

*Fergus mac Leda and the Wee Folk*

Of the stories of the Ultonian Cycle which do not centre on the figure of Cuchulain, one of the most interesting is that of Fergus mac Leda and the King of the Wee Folk. In this tale Fergus appears as King of Ulster, but as he was contemporary with Conor mac Nessa, and in the Cattle Raid of Quelgny is represented as following him to war, we must conclude that he was really a sub-king, like Cuchulain or Owen of Ferney.

The tale opens in Faylinn, or the Land of the Wee Folk, a race of elves presenting an amusing parody of human inst.i.tutions on a reduced scale, but endowed (like dwarfish people generally in the literature of primitive races) with magical powers. Iubdan,(170) the King of Faylinn, when flushed with wine at a feast, is bragging of the greatness of his power and the invincibility of his armed forceshave they not the strong man Glower, who with his axe has been known to hew down a thistle at a stroke? But the kings bard, Eisirt, has heard something of a giant race oversea in a land called Ulster, one man of whom would annihilate a whole battalion of the Wee Folk, and he incautiously allows himself to hint as much to the boastful monarch. He is immediately clapped into prison for his audacity, and only gets free by promising to go immediately to the land of the mighty men, and bring back evidence of the truth of his incredible story.

So off he goes; and one fine day King Fergus and his lords find at the gate of their Dun a tiny little fellow magnificently clad in the robes of a royal bard, who demands entrance. He is borne in upon the hand of da, the kings dwarf and bard, and after charming the court by his wise and witty sayings, and receiving a n.o.ble largesse, which he at once distributes among the poets and other court attendants of Ulster, he goes off home, taking with him as a guest the dwarf da, before whom the Wee Folk fly as a Fomorian giant, although, as Eisirt explains, the average man of Ulster can carry him like a child. Iubdan is now convinced, but Eisirt puts him under _geise_, the bond of chivalry which no Irish chieftain can repudiate without being shamed, to go himself, as Eisirt has done, to the palace of Fergus and taste the kings porridge. Iubdan, after he has seen da, is much dismayed, but he prepares to go, and bids Bebo, his wife, accompany him. You did an ill deed, she says, when you condemned Eisirt to prison; but surely there is no man under the sun that can make thee hear reason.

So off they go, and Iubdans fairy steed bears them over the sea till they reach Ulster, and by midnight they stand before the kings palace. Let us taste the porridge as we were bound, says Bebo, and make off before daybreak. They steal in and find the porridge-pot, to the rim of which Iubdan can only reach by standing on his horses back. In straining downwards to get at the porridge he overbalances himself and falls in.

There in the thick porridge he sticks fast, and there Ferguss scullions find him at the break of day, with the faithful Bebo lamenting. They bear him off to Fergus, who is amazed at finding another wee man, with a woman too, in his palace. He treats them hospitably, but refuses all appeals to let them go. The story now recounts in a spirit of broad humour several Rabelaisian adventures in which Bebo is concerned, and gives a charming poem supposed to have been uttered by Iubdan in the form of advice to Ferguss fire-gillie as to the merits for burning of different kinds of timber. The following are extracts:

Burn not the sweet apple-tree of drooping branches, of the white blossoms, to whose gracious head each man puts forth his hand.

Burn not the n.o.ble willow, the unfailing ornament of poems; bees drink from its blossoms, all delight in the graceful tent.

The delicate, airy tree of the Druids, the rowan with its berries, this burn; but avoid the weak tree, burn not the slender hazel.

The ash-tree of the black buds burn nottimber that speeds the wheel, that yields the rider his switch; the ashen spear is the scale-beam of battle.