The Tain

by Ciaran Carson

  ‘I want a ceasefire for my men.’

  ‘You have it, so long as they wear a badge. And tell my comrade Fergus that his men must wear a badge too. Tell the doctors to wear badges, and to swear to look after my life, and to bring me food every night.’

  Lugaid left him. It happened that Fergus was in Ailill’s tent. Lugaid called him out and delivered the message.

  Ailill was heard to say:

  proper is it this whispering advice

  the pleasant plain the poisoned fort well supplied

  for our great army he picks off our people

  for the sake of Róech’s son so we hear

  assisted as we are by Medb’s sweet foray

  why not take a select band to a special tent

  protected against this onslaught of stones and sods

  a secret gathering if he come near

  ‘I swear to god it can’t be done,’ said Fergus, ‘without going to the lad again. Do this, Lugaid. Ask him if he’ll let Ailill and his division of three thousand join mine. And bring him an ox and a salt pig and a hogshead of wine.’

  Lugaid went and asked.

  ‘It’s no odds to me,’ said Cú Chulainn, ‘what he does.’

  So the two divisions combined. They stayed there for the night – or twenty nights, as some versions have it. Cú Chulainn picked off thirty soldiers with his sling.

  ‘Things are not getting any better,’ said Fergus. ‘The Ulstermen will soon be over the Curse, and then they’ll grind us into dirt and dust. We’re not well placed to do battle. Let’s advance to Cúil Airthir.’

  Meanwhile Cú Chulainn reported back to the Ulstermen.

  ‘What news?’ said Conchobar.

  ‘Women raped, cattle plundered, men murdered,’ said Cú Chulainn.

  ‘Who rapes? Who plunders? Who murders?’ said Conchobar.

  Cú Chulainn said:

  foremost in rape plunder and pillage

  Aillil Mac Máta Fergus Mac Róich

  superlative swordsman wolf-like in battle

  the key to Conchobar’s lock

  ‘We’re not much use,’ said Conchobar. ‘We got the Curse again today.’

  As Cú Chulainn was leaving he saw the army advance. Ailill said:

  O grief I see a chariot

  glittering with spear-points soldiers

  going under dark water herds

  driven blood pouring from headless

  necks men for Ulster cattle fighting

  falling by the crux of the ford

  Cú Chulainn killed thirty soldiers at Áth Durn, the Ford of the Fist. The army made a forced march to Cúil Airthir. It was dusk when they arrived. He killed another thirty there before they had pitched their tents.

  The next morning Ailill’s charioteer Cuillius was at the ford washing the wheels of his chariot. Cú Chulainn slung a stone at him and killed him. Hence the name Áth Cuillne, the Ford of Cuillius, at Cúil Airthir.

  They travelled on and spent the night at Druim Féine in Conaille – and that is how they reached that place, according to the second version.

  Cú Chulainn kept sniping at them. For each of the three nights they were encamped there he killed a hundred men, picking them off with his sling from the nearby heights of Ochaíne.

  VI

  SINGLE

  COMBAT

  ‘AT THIS RATE;’, said Ailill, ‘our army won’t last long. Make him an offer – he can have a piece of the Plain of Aí as big as Muirthemne Plain itself, plus the best chariot in Ai, plus equipment for a dozen soldiers. Or, if he prefers, the plain where he was brought up, plus twenty-one bondmaids, plus compensation for whatever of his we might have destroyed, whether cattle or household goods. And let him serve under me. He’d be better off with me than with that excuse for a lord he serves now.’

  ‘Who’ll deliver the message?’

  ‘Mac Roth yonder.’

  Mac Roth, the messenger of Ailill and Medb – Mac Roth who could make a circuit of all Ireland in one day – went to Delga, the Spike, with the message. It was Fergus’s understanding that Cú Chulainn was in Delga.

  There had been a big snow that night and all of Ireland was one white plain.

  ‘I see a man approach,’ said Láeg to Cú Chulainn. ‘He has yellow hair. He carries a linen ensign. A great truncheon in his hand. An ivory-hilted sword at his waist. He wears a red-embroidered hooded tunic.’

  ‘That’ll be a messenger sent to parley with me,’ said Cú Chulainn.

  Mac Roth asked Láeg whom he served under.

  ‘I serve under that man over there,’ said Láeg.

  Cú Chulainn was sitting thigh-deep in the snow, without a stitch on, picking lice from his shirt. Mac Roth asked whom he served under.

  ‘I serve under Conchobar Mac Nessa,’ said Cú Chulainn.

  ‘Could you give more detail?’

  ‘I gave detail enough,’ said Cú Chulainn.

  ‘Then can you tell me where Cú Chulainn is?’ said Mac Roth.

  ‘What would you have to say to him?’ said Cú Chulainn.

  Mac Roth gave him Ailill’s message.

  ‘If Cú Chulainn were here he wouldn’t agree to that. He wouldn’t swap his mother’s brother for another king.’

  Mac Roth went back to Ailill and Medb.

  ‘Did you not find him?’ said Medb.

  ‘I found a surly fierce angry fellow in Delga. Whether he is the notorious Cú Chulainn, I couldn’t say.’

  ‘Did he accept the offer?’

  ‘Indeed he did not,’ said Mac Roth, and he told them why not.

  ‘It was Cú Chulainn that you spoke to,’ said Fergus.

  ‘Offer him other terms,’ said Medb.

  ‘Such as?’ said Ailill.

  ‘The freewomen and the dry cows from our plunder, so long as he doesn’t attack us with his sling by night, no matter about the day,’ said Medb.

  ‘Who’ll go?’ said Ailill.

  ‘Who but Mac Roth?’ said Medb.

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Mac Roth, ‘now I know the lie of the land.’

  Mac Roth went back to Cú Chulainn and delivered the message.

  ‘I can’t agree to that,’ said Cú Chulainn, ‘for if they keep the bondwomen, the freewomen will have to work at grinding grain, and if they keep the milch cows, we’ll have no milk.’

  Mac Roth went back to Cú Chulainn again and said he could have the bondwomen and the milch cows instead.

  ‘I can’t agree to that,’ said Cú Chulainn, ‘for the men of Ulster would lie with the bondwomen and breed low-class bastards, and they’d kill the milch cows for meat in the winter.’

  ‘Are there any terms that would do you?’ said the messenger.

  ‘There are,’ said Cú Chulainn, ‘but I’m not telling you. If you can find someone who knows what they are, it’s a deal.’

  ‘I know what he means,’ said Fergus. ‘Not that it’s much good to you. These are his terms: the cattle to stay by the ford, while he engages the army in single combat on a daily basis. He’s playing for time until help arrives from the Ulstermen. Mind you, I’m surprised they’re taking so long to get over the Curse.’

  ‘Better for us,’ said Ailill, ‘to lose one man every day than a hundred every night.’

  Fergus went to Cú Chulainn with those terms. He was followed by Etarcomol,1 a foster-son of Ailill and Medb, and son of Ed and Leithrenn.2

  ‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t come,’ said Fergus. ‘Not that I don’t like you, but I don’t relish the thought of a fight between you and Cú Chulainn. What with your insolence and pride, and his mad ferocity and violent fury, it would not be a good meeting.’

  ‘Can I not be under your protection?’ said Etarcomol.

  ‘You can,’ said Fergus, ‘so long as you don’t disrespect him if he speaks to you.’

  They took two chariots to Delga.

  It happened that Cú Chulainn was playing draughts with Láeg. Cú Chulainn had his back to the chariots and Láeg was facing towards them.
>
  ‘I see two chariots approaching,’ said Láeg. ‘In the leading chariot is a tall swarthy man with a full head of dark hair. He wears a purple cloak with a gold brooch, and a red-embroidered hooded tunic. He carries a curved shield with a scalloped trim of white gold, and a broad spear with an ornamented shaft. At his hip is a sword as big as the rudder of a boat.’

  ‘A great big useless rudder,’ said Cú Chulainn, ‘for that’s my comrade Fergus. He carries no sword in his scabbard but a wooden sword. As I heard it, Ailill caught him off guard as he slept with Medb, and made off with Fergus’s sword, and gave it to his charioteer for safe keeping. A wooden sword was put in the scabbard.’

  At that point Fergus arrived.

  ‘Well met, comrade Fergus,’ said Cú Chulainn. ‘If fishes crowded the river-mouths, I’d give you a salmon and share another; if a flock of wildfowl landed on the plain, I’d give you a goose and share another, with a fistful of watercress or marshwort or samphire and a drink from the sand. And there’d be a man to stand for you against all comers at the ford, to watch for you while you slept.’

  ‘I believe it,’ said Fergus, ‘but it wasn’t for the food that I came. I know what you have in store.’

  Fergus offered Cúchulainn the terms, and left.

  Etarcomol stayed behind, staring at Cú Chulainn.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ said Cú Chulainn.

  ‘You,’ said Etarcomol.

  ‘An eye could soon take that in,’ said Cú Chulainn.

  ‘So I see,’ said Etarcomol. ‘I find nothing to be afraid of. No horror or terror, nothing that could take on an army. You’re just a pretty boy with fancy skills and toy weapons.’

  ‘You disrespect me,’ said Cú Chulainn, ‘but for Fergus’s sake I won’t kill you. If it weren’t for his protection, your guts would be strung out behind you and your quarters scattered all the way from your chariot to the camp.’

  ‘You needn’t try to threaten me,’ said Etarcomol. ‘As for your wonderful deal, to engage in single combat, I’ll be the first one of the men of Ireland to fight you tomorrow.’

  He went off. Between Méithe and Ceithe he turned back, saying to his charioteer:

  ‘I swore in front of Fergus,’ he said, ‘that I’d fight Cú Chulainn tomorrow. But I can’t wait till then. Turn the horses at this hill.’

  Láeg saw this and said to Cú Chulainn:

  ‘The chariot’s coming back. He’s turned his left board against us.’

  ‘Such a challenge can’t be refused,’ said Cú Chulainn. ‘Drive down to the ford to meet him, and we’ll see what comes of it.’

  ‘I don’t want this,’ said Cú Chulainn, ‘though you’ve asked for it.’

  ‘But you must do it,’ said Etarcomol.

  Cú Chulainn cut the sod from under his feet and he fell over with the sod on his belly.

  ‘Take yourself off,’ said Cú Chulainn. ‘I don’t relish the thought of having to wash my hands after you. But for Fergus, I’d have cut you to pieces long ago.’

  ‘We can’t part like this,’ said Etarcomol. ‘Either I take your head, or leave you mine.’

  ‘The latter for sure,’ said Cú Chulainn.

  He waved his sword at Etarcomol’s two armpits and the clothes fell off him, leaving his skin unscathed.

  ‘Now will you go away?’ said Cú Chulainn.

  ‘On the contrary,’ said Etarcomol.

  Cú Chulainn waved his sword over him and cut off his hair that close to his head you’d think it was done with a razor. There wasn’t so much as a scratch on his scalp. But the fellow persisted in his contrariness and Cú Chulainn brought his sword down through the crown of his head and split him to the navel.

  Fergus saw the chariot passing him with only one man in it, and he went back to give off to Cú Chulainn.

  ‘You twisted little devil,’ he said, ‘you’ve let me down badly. You must think I’ve a very short prick.’

  ‘Don’t be angry with me, comrade Fergus,’ said Cú Chulainn,

  woman’s pride provoking rivalry

  brought this about who fled from Ulster

  absent sword of glory brought this

  rival edge down through Etarcomol’s yoke

  of haughty snub death blossoming through that

  which was wrapped up sheathed beneath

  a chariot seat neither sleeping nor eating

  restless for the steady hand that held me

  once do not scold me comrade Fergus

  He fell prostrate and Fergus’s chariot went over him three times.

  ‘Ask his charioteer if I was the one who started it.’

  ‘Indeed you were not,’ said the charioteer.

  ‘He declared,’ said Cú Chulainn, ‘that he wouldn’t go away without taking my head, or leaving his. Which would you prefer, comrade Fergus?’

  ‘I prefer what was done,’ said Fergus, ‘for he was too haughty by half.’

  Fergus put a spancel-hoop through Etarcomol’s heels and dragged him behind his chariot back to the camp. Whenever they went over rocky ground, the two halves of the body came apart; on smooth ground they came together again.

  Medb took a look.

  ‘Rough treatment for a young dog,’ said Medb.

  ‘He was an ignorant pup,’ said Fergus, ‘to pick a fight with a great hound.’

  A grave was dug for him. A stone was put up for him. His name was written in ogam. An elegy was made for him.

  Cú Chulainn attacked no one with his sling that night.

  ‘Who have you got to take on Cú Chulainn tomorrow?’ said Lugaid.

  ‘Maybe tomorrow will tell,’ said Maine, one of Ailill’s sons.

  ‘We’ve no one to take him on,’ said Medb. ‘Ask him for a truce while we go and look for someone.’

  That was agreed.

  ‘Where should we begin to look,’ said Ailill, ‘for a man to take on Cú Chulainn?’

  ‘His match,’ said Medb, ‘is not to be found in Ireland, unless we can get Cú Roí or the warrior Nad Crantail.’3

  One of Cú Roí’s men was in the tent.

  ‘You won’t get Cú Roí,’ he said. ‘He feels he’s done enough in getting his men to come here.’

  ‘Then send for Nad Crantail.’

  Maine Andoe the Quick Man went to Nad Crantail and told him what they had in mind.

  ‘Come with us for the honour of Connacht.’

  ‘I won’t go,’ said Nad Crantail, ‘unless they give me their daughter Finnabair.’

  He came then. They brought his weapons in a cart from East Connacht to the camp.

  ‘You can have Finnabair,’ said Medb, ‘if you take on that man.’

  ‘Done,’ said Nad Crantail.

  Lugaid went to Cú Chulainn that night.

  ‘Nad Crantail is coming to take you on tomorrow. It doesn’t look good for you. He’s unbeatable.’

  ‘No odds to me,’ said Cú Chulainn.

  Nad Crantail left the camp the next morning and took nine holly stakes with him, sharpened and hardened by fire. He came across Cú Chulainn out wildfowling, with his chariot nearby. Nad Crantail fired a stake at Cú Chulainn. Cú Chulainn made one of his trick jumps on to the point of the stake, never taking his eyes off his prey. Likewise with the other eight stakes. As the ninth stake was fired at him, the flock of birds flew away from Cú Chulainn, and he sped off after them. Like a bird himself he stepped from point to point of the flying stakes in his haste not to let the birds escape. But to everyone it seemed that Cú Chulainn was flying from Nad Crantail.

  ‘That Cú Chulainn of yours,’ said Nad Crantail, ‘has flown from me.’

  ‘It was only to be expected,’ said Medb, ‘that if a true warrior came, the little imp would take off.’

  Fergus and the Ulstermen were very put out by this. Fiacha Mac Fir Febe was sent to take Cú Chulainn to task.

  ‘Tell him,’ said Fergus, ‘that it was glorious when he stood against many men in battle. But it would be more glorious for him to hide h
is face now after fleeing from one man, for he shames the men of Ulster as well as himself.’

  ‘Who’s bragging about this?’ said Cú Chulainn.

  ‘Nad Crantail,’ said Fiacha.

  ‘Had he bragged me up for the trick I performed before his very eyes, it would have been more to the point,’ said Cú Chulainn. ‘But had he met me with a real weapon in his hand, he wouldn’t be bragging now. You know I don’t kill unarmed men. Let him come tomorrow between Ochaíne and the sea; however early he comes, he’ll find me waiting, and I’ll not fly from him.’

  Cú Chulainn went to the meeting place. After watching all night he threw on his cloak, not noticing that beside him was a standing stone as big as himself, and it went with him under the cloak.

  Then Nad Crantail arrived with his cartful of weapons.

  ‘Where’s Cú Chulainn?’ he said.

  ‘Over there,’ said Fergus.

  ‘He’s not the same shape as he was yesterday,’ said Nad Crantail. ‘Are you Cú Chulainn?’

  ‘What if I am?’ said Cú Chulainn.

  ‘If you are,’ said Nad Crantail, ‘then I’d rather take a little lamb’s head back to the camp, for yours is the head of a beardless boy.’

  ‘I’m not him either,’ said Cú Chulainn. ‘You’ll find him behind that hill.’

  Cú Chulainn went over to Láeg.

  ‘Put a blackberry beard on me. This warrior won’t fight unless I have a beard.’

  This was done for him. He went to meet Nad Crantail on the hill.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Nad Crantail. ‘Now, let’s have a fight with rules.’

  ‘But of course. Whatever you say,’ said Cú Chulainn.

  ‘We’ll fire spears at each other,’ said Nad Crantail, ‘but no dodging.’

  ‘No dodging except upwards,’ said Cú Chulainn.

  Nad Crantail fired his spear at him but Cú Chulainn jumped in the air as it reached him. It struck the standing stone and broke in two.

  ‘Foul! You dodged!’ said Nad Crantail.

  ‘You’re allowed to dodge upwards too,’ said Cú Chulainn.

  Cú Chulainn fired his spear, but upwards, so that it landed on the crown of Nad Crantail’s head and went through him into the ground.