Celtic Myths

by Flame Tree Studio

  “This boy’s arrival here does not bode well for us,” said the King. “For if grown-up men of his kind were to follow in his wake, they would grind us all to dust. Let someone go to meet him and inform him that he is not welcome on Erin’s soil.”

  And as the boy came to moor his boat, Condere approached him and delivered Conchobar’s message.

  “Go and tell your King,” said the boy, “that even if everyone among you here had the strength of a hundred men, and you all came forward to challenge me, you would not be able to persuade me to turn back from this place.”

  Hearing these words, the King grew even more concerned and he called Conall the Victorious to him:

  “This lad mocks us,” Conchobar told him, “and it is now time for a show of force against him.”

  So Conall was sent against the boy, but as he approached the lad put a stone in his sling and sent it whizzing with a noise like thunder through the air. It struck Conall on the forehead, knocking him backwards to the ground and before he could even think about rising to his feet, the boy had bound his arms and legs with the strap from his shield. And in this manner, the youth made a mockery of the host of Ulster, challenging man after man to confront him, and succeeding on every occasion to defeat his opponents with little or no effort.

  At last, when King Conchobar could suffer this humiliation no longer, he sent a messenger to Dundalk to the house of Cúchulainn requesting that he come and do battle against the young boy whom Conall the Victorious could not even manage to overcome. And hearing that her husband was prepared to meet this challenge, Emer, his wife, went and pleaded with him not to go forward to the Strand of Footprints:

  “Do not go against the boy,” she begged Cúchulainn, “since the great courage he possesses has convinced me that he is Connla, son of Aífe. Hear my voice, Cúchulainn, and do not go forward to murder your only child.”

  “Even if he were my son,” replied Cúchulainn, “I would slay him for the honour of Ulster.”

  And he ordered his chariot to be yoked without further delay and set off in the direction of the strand.

  Soon afterwards, he came upon the young boy sitting in his boat polishing stones and calmly awaiting his next opponent. Cúchulainn strode towards him, demanding to know his name and lineage. But the boy would not reveal his identity or the slightest detail of the land of his birth. Then Cúchulainn lost patience with him and they began to exchange blows. With one daring stroke, the boy cut off a lock of Cúchulainn’s hair, and as he watched it fall to the ground, the older warrior became greatly enraged.

  “Enough of this child’s play,” he shouted and, dragging the boy from the boat, he began to wrestle with him in the water. But the boy’s strength was astonishing and he managed twice to push Cúchulainn’s head beneath the waves, almost causing him to drown. And it was on the third occasion that this occurred, when Cúchulainn gasped helplessly for air, that he remembered the Gae Bolg which Scathach had entrusted him with, and he flung it at the boy through the water. At once, the boy loosened his powerful hold and reached agonizingly towards his stomach, where the blood flowed freely from the vast gaping wound the weapon had made there.

  “That is a weapon Scathach has not yet taught me to use,” said the boy. “Carry me now from the water, for I am gravely injured.”

  And as Cúchulainn bore the boy in his arms towards the shore he noticed a golden ring on his middle finger.

  “It is true then,” he murmured sadly to himself, and set the boy down on the ground before the King and the men of Ulster.

  “You see here before you my son,” Cúchulainn announced solemnly, “the child I have mortally wounded for the good of Ulster.”

  “Alas, it is so,” spoke Connla in a feeble voice, “and I wish with all my heart that I could remain with you to the end of five years. For in that time, I would grow among you and conquer the world before you on every side, so that soon you would rule as far as Rome. But since this cannot be, let me now take my leave of the most famous among you before I die.”

  So, one after another, the most courageous knights of the Red Guard were brought before Connla and he placed his arms around the neck of each of them and embraced them affectionately. Then Cúchulainn came forward and his son kissed his father tenderly before drawing his last breath. And as he closed his eyes, a great lament was raised among them and they dug a grave for the boy and set a splendid pillar-stone at its head. Connla, son of Aífe, was the only son Cúchulainn ever had and he lived to regret for the rest of his days that he had destroyed so precious a gift.

  The Combat of Ferdia and Cúchulainn

  Beyond the borders of Ulster in the province of Connacht, there ruled a spirited and domineering queen named Medb, daughter of Eochaid Fedlech, whose husband, King Ailill, was the meekest and gentlest of creatures. Medb’s nature was such that whatever she desired she took for her own, and whatever law displeased her, she refused to obey, so that her husband gave her whatever she demanded and nothing was ever too great a task for him to complete on her behalf. Medb was also the strongest and mightiest of warriors and she had gathered together a powerful army, convinced that one day she would conquer the whole land of Erin.

  One evening as Medb and her husband lay together, they began to count up and compare their numerous possessions, for it was one of Medb’s favourite entertainments to ridicule Ailill by proving that she had acquired far more treasures and wealth than he had over the years. Weapons, rings and jewellery were counted out, as well as chariots, horses, mansions and plots of land, but each of them was found to possess precisely the same amount as the other. So they began to count the herds of cattle and sheep that roamed the pastures beyond the walls of the castle and it was then that Ailill remembered the Bull of Finnbennach and began to tease his wife about the animal, reminding her of how the bull had deserted her herd in favour of his because it refused to remain in the hands of a woman. As soon as Medb heard these words, all of her property lost its value for her, and she grew adamant that she would soon find a bull to equal the Bull of Finnbennach even if she had to scour the entire countryside for it and bring it back to Connacht by force.

  Mac Roth, the King’s steward, was summoned to appear before Medb and when she questioned him on the whereabouts of such a bull, he was able to tell her without any hesitation exactly where the best specimen in the country might be found:

  “It belongs to Daire mac Fiachna in the province of Ulster,” he told the Queen. “It is known as the Brown Bull of Cooley and is regarded as the finest beast in the whole of Erin.”

  “Then you must go to the son of Fiachna and ask him for the loan of the bull for a year,” replied Medb, “informing him that at the end of this time, the beast will be safely returned to him, together with fifty of the finest heifers my kingdom has to offer. And if Daire chooses to bring the bull here himself, he may add to his reward a measure of land equalling the size of his present domain in Ulster and a splendid war chariot worthy of the bravest of Connacht’s warriors.”

  On the following morning, a group of nine foot-messengers led by mac Roth set off in the direction of Ulster, carrying with them a number of gifts from Queen Medb to the owner of the bull, including an oak chest loaded with gold and silver ornaments and several decorated bronze flagons filled with the finest mead in the land. The mere sight of such a treasure-laden party approaching the fort of Daire mac Fiachna raised the spirits of all who set eyes on them and a very warm welcome was lavished on the men. Then Daire himself came forward to greet the party and enquired of them the purpose of their journey to his home. Mac Roth began to tell him of the squabble between Medb and Ailill and of how the Queen had decided that she must quickly find a bull to match the impressive Bull of Finnbennach. Flattered that his own beast had achieved such fame in Connacht, Daire was immediately disposed to help Queen Medb as best he could, but when he heard of the generous reward he would receive in return for the loa
n of his property, he was well pleased with himself and gave the order at once for the Bull of Cooley to be prepared for its journey to Connacht the next day.

  The evening was spent feasting and drinking and a happy atmosphere prevailed for a time as the men of the two provinces exchanged friendly conversation. But as the wine flowed, the tongues of Queen Medb’s messengers began to loosen and in the company of their hosts they began to brag of their army’s great strength:

  “It is just as well for Daire,” boasted one of Medb’s envoys, “that he has surrendered the beast willingly to us. For if he had refused to do so, the Queen’s mighty army would have marched on Ulster and taken the bull from him without any trouble at all.”

  When Daire’s men heard these offensive remarks, they went straightaway to their master’s quarters and demanded that he avenge such a dreadful insult. Mac Roth was immediately summoned to appear before Daire who angrily informed him of the conversation that had been overheard.

  “Go back to your Queen,” said Daire, “and tell her that she shall never take from me by foul means what she cannot win by fair. Let Medb and Ailill invade Ulster if they dare, for we are well equipped to meet the challenge.”

  Before the break of day, Medb’s messengers had set off for Connacht to deliver the unhappy tidings to their Queen. But when Medb saw that they had not returned with the Brown Bull of Cooley, she did not fly into the rage they had expected. Instead, she spoke calmly to mac Roth:

  “I have foreseen this result,” she told him. “Your dispute with the son of Fiachna is of little consequence, for I have always known that if the Brown Bull of Cooley was not given willingly, he would be taken by force. That time is now arrived, and taken he shall be!”

  So began the Queen of Connacht’s great war on Ulster, one of the bloodiest wars the country had ever before endured. From every corner of Erin came the allies of Medb and Ailill, including Fraech, son of Fidach, and Calatin, accompanied by his twenty-seven sons. Warriors of great renown from the provinces of Leinster and Munster swelled the numbers of Medb’s armed legions, and they were joined by many heroic Ulstermen, among them Fergus mac Roy and Cormac, son of Conchobar, who had defected from their own army, unhappy with their King’s leadership.

  Not a day or a night passed without a fierce and fiery combat between the armies of Connacht and Ulster. Rivers and streams ran crimson with blood and the bodies of the slain littered the emerald hills and plains. Medb was not slow to display her true worth as a warrior in her own right and Fergus, her chief scout, proved himself a most loyal and courageous comrade in arms. Yet there was none among Medb’s great army who could emulate the feats of one particular Ulster warrior, a youthful figure who seemed utterly invincible and who drove himself against them time and time again, bursting with renewed vitality and strength on each occasion.

  Cúchulainn, leader of Ulster’s Red Guard, was well known to both Fergus and Cormac, but he had grown stronger and more powerful than they had ever imagined possible during their brief time of exile. And as they observed his powers of command and his exceptional skill on the battlefield, they became increasingly alarmed and went before the Queen to warn her that she was faced with no ordinary opponent. Medb grew worried at this news and took counsel with the most prominent figures of her army. After some deliberation, it was decided that her most valiant warrior should be sent to do battle against Cúchulainn. The son of Daman, known as Ferdia, was nominated for this task, for he had been trained alongside Cúchulainn under the great woman-warrior Scathach in the Land of Shadows and had risen to become Connacht’s champion warrior, a man feared and respected by all who encountered him.

  Nothing had ever yet challenged the deep bond of friendship formed between Ferdia and Cúchulainn during their time together in the Land of Shadows. The love and respect the two men felt for each other had remained constant over the years, and whenever they found occasion to be together, it was not unusual for people to mistake them for brothers. When Ferdia discovered what Medb demanded of him, he was greatly disturbed, and though he was loathe to oppose the wishes of his sovereign, he immediately refused the Queen’s request and dismissed her messengers. Then Medb sent her druids and men of poetry to Ferdia’s tent, instructing them to recite the most savage and mocking verses in the loudest of voices for everybody to hear.

  It was for the sake of his own honour that Ferdia agreed to meet with Medb and Ailill without any further delay. The King and Queen were more than delighted to receive him and Medb wasted no time reeling off the numerous rewards Ferdia could hope to receive if he would only obey her simple wish. But Ferdia showed no interest in the riches that were intended for him, so that Medb grew more and more angry and frustrated. She had little or nothing to lose by playing her one last card and with a tone of false resignation she addressed Ferdia once more:

  “It must be true what Cúchulainn has said of you,” said Medb slyly. “He said that you feared death by his hands and that you would be wise not to go against him. Perhaps it is just as well that the two of you do not meet.”

  On hearing this, Ferdia could scarcely contain his anger:

  “It was unjust of Cúchulainn to say such a thing,” he roared. “He well knows that it is not cowardice, but love, that prevents me facing him. So it is settled then. Tomorrow I will go forth to his camp and raise my weapon against him.”

  But even as he spoke these words, a mood of gloom and despair descended upon Ferdia and he walked out into the black night, his head bowed in sadness. His closest companions and servants were also overcome with grief to discover what it was that Ferdia was compelled to do, for each was troubled by the knowledge that one of the two great champion warriors of Erin would fail to return home alive.

  Word had soon reached Cúchulainn that Medb had chosen his dearest friend to face him in combat and, as he watched Ferdia’s war chariot approach, he was forced to acknowledge in his own mind that he would much rather fall by his friend’s weapon than slay Ferdia with his own. Yet, at the same time, he could not fully understand why his fosterbrother had so easily given into the wishes of Queen Medb. The betrayal he felt could not be ignored and he prepared himself to greet Ferdia with a degree of caution and reserve. As Ferdia stood down from his chariot, Cúchulainn did not rush forward to embrace him as he would have done in the past, but remained at a distance, waiting for his friend to make the first gesture of friendship.

  “I wish that we could have met again in more favourable circumstances,” said Ferdia. “With all my heart I long to embrace you, old friend.”

  “I once would have trusted such words,” answered Cúchulainn, “but I no longer place any trust in what you say when I know that you have abandoned our friendship for the sake of a treacherous queen and the rewards she no doubt promised you.”

  “I see that treason has overcome our love,” replied Ferdia sadly, “but it is just as well that you think this way. It is best not to remember our friendship, but to meet each other as true enemies of war.”

  And so they began to choose the weapons they would use against each other and it was agreed that they would begin the day’s fighting with small javelins. They hurled these at each other, backwards and forwards through the air with great energy and speed, but by the close of day, not one spear had pierced the shield of either champion. As nightfall approached, they called a truce, and agreed to resume combat with different weapons at dawn on the following morning.

  On the second day, Cúchulainn and Ferdia took up the fight once more, remaining seated in their chariots as they cast heavy, broad-bladed spears at each other across the ford from noon until sundown. But on this day, they both suffered many wounds that stained their flesh red with blood. When they had grown weary of the battle, they again agreed to stop fighting until morning and, placing their weapons in the hands of their servants, they moved towards each other and kissed and embraced warmly in remembrance of their friendship. Their horses shared t
he same paddock that evening and their charioteers gathered round the same fire. Healing herbs were laid on their wounds and they both rested until daybreak.

  As the third day of combat was about to commence and the two men stood opposite each other once more, Cúchulainn was suddenly struck by the change which seemed to have occurred overnight in his friend. Ferdia’s brow was now deeply furrowed and his eyes reflected a deep, dark sadness. He no longer held himself upright and he lurched forward wearily to meet his opponent. Filled with pity and sorrow, Cúchulainn pleaded with Ferdia to abandon the fighting, but his friend merely shook his head, insisting that he must fulfil his contract with Queen Medb and King Ailill. They proceeded to choose their weapons and armed themselves with full-length shields and hard-smiting swords. Then they began to strike each other savagely and viciously until they had each carved great wedges of flesh from the other’s shoulder-blades and thighs. Still the combat could not be resolved and they decided to part once more for the evening, their bodies torn to shreds and their friendship shattered irreparably. And on this occasion, no kiss was exchanged between them, no curing herbs were exchanged, and their horses and charioteers slept in separate quarters.

  As the sun was about to rise on the fourth morning, Ferdia arose and walked out alone to the ford of combat. He wore the jaded, sorrowful expression of a man who senses death close at hand and he began to arm himself with particular care and attention. He knew instinctively that the decisive day of the battle had arrived and that one of them would certainly fall before the evening had drawn to a close. Next to his skin he wore a tunic of silk, speckled with gold and over this he placed a thick leather smock. He then laid a huge, flat stone, which he had carried all the way from Africa, across his torso and covered it with a solid iron apron. On his head he placed a crested war-helmet, adorned with crystals and rubies. He carried in his left hand a massive shield with fifty bosses of bronze and in his right, he clutched his mighty battle-sword. And when at last he was satisfied that he had protected himself against injury as best he could, he remained by the ford, performing many impressive feats with his sword while he awaited the arrival of Cúchulainn.