Meanwhile Fer Diad went to his tent. He let his followers know that he had made a contract with Medb to meet Cú Chulainn in single combat the next day, or else to fight six warriors; and by the same token, if he killed Cú Chulainn, to have the same six brought in to ensure that she fulfilled her promises to him.
The atmosphere was gloomy in the tent that night. His supporters felt certain that when those supreme pillars of battle met, there would be a double downfall, or that the only fall would be that of their lord. For it was no easy task to take on Cú Chulainn on the Táin.
Great anxieties troubled Fer Diad that night, and kept him from sleeping. For one thing, if he didn’t go and fight this one man, he would lose the bounty and the girl. Moreover, he would have to take on the six warriors, as according to the contract. But most of all he feared that once he appeared before Cú Chulainn at the ford, he could never again call his body and soul his own.
Fer Diad was up early the next morning.
‘Well, my friend,’ he said, ‘get the horses and hitch up the chariot.’
‘Upon my word,’ said the charioteer, ‘I don’t know which is worse, to go on this mission or not to go at all.’
Fer Diad talked to his charioteer to give him courage, and they made this song:
Fer Diad:
Let us go to the fight,
let us take arms and seek
the man down at the ford
where the Badb will shriek.
Let’s take on Cú Chulainn
and I’ll pierce his thin frame
with the point of my spear.
His death is my aim.
Charioteer:
For all of your fine talk,
it’s better to stay here.
One man will not come back
that parting is clear.
No good will come of it.
Before all of Ulster
you will make history–
a great disaster.
Fer Diad:
Your words are out of place.
To be timid and weak
is not warrior’s work.
And I’ll not hold back.
So give over, my friend,
exchange meekness for might,
take your life in your hands. Now let’s go and fight.
The charioteer got the horses and hitched them up to the chariot and they drove out of the camp.
‘Hold on,’ said Fer Diad. ‘It’s not right to leave without first bidding farewell to the men of Ireland. Turn the horses and the chariot towards them.’
The charioteer turned the horses and the chariot three times and faced the men of Ireland.
Medb happened to be passing water on the floor of her tent.
‘Is Ailill still asleep?’ said Medb.
‘Not at all,’ said Ailill.
‘Do you not hear your new son-in-law bidding you farewell?’
‘Is that what he’s doing?’ said Ailill.
‘He is indeed,’ said Medb, ‘for I swear by the oath of my people that the same man who’s bidding you farewell will not be coming back to you on his own two feet.’
‘Still, we’ll have done well out of the match,’ said Ailill, ‘if he kills Cú Chulainn. It’s no odds to us if both of them die. Though we might prefer it if Fer Diad escaped.’
Fer Diad went on to the ford of combat.
‘Look and see if Cú Chulainn is at the ford,’ said Fer Diad to his charioteer.
‘He’s not there,’ said the charioteer.
‘Then take a closer look,’ said Fer Diad.
‘He’s no tiny mite in hiding, wherever he is,’ said the charioteer.
‘True, my friend. But until today Cú Chulainn never thought a real warrior would come to meet him on the Táin Bó Cúailnge, and when he heard of one, he quit the ford.’
‘It’s a shame you have to bad-mouth Cú Chulainn behind his back,’ said the charioteer. ‘Do you not remember the time when both of you came up against Germán Garbglas the Grey Wolf, above the shores of the Tyrrhene sea, and the enemy got your sword, and Cú Chulainn killed a hundred warriors to get it back, and how he gave the sword into your hands? And do you remember where we stayed that night?’
‘I do not,’ said Fer Diad.
‘At Scáthach’s steward’s place,’ said the charioteer, ‘and you were the first one to march blithely in before us, and the steward, blackguard that he was, got you in the small of your back with his three-pronged butcher’s meat-hook, and pitched you out the door. Cú Chulainn went in after us and swung his sword at the brute and cut him in two. Then I was your steward for the duration. And if only for that one day, you can’t say that you’re a better warrior than Cú Chulainn.’
‘You would have done better, my friend,’ said Fer Diad, ‘to remind me of this before, and then I wouldn’t have come looking for this fight. Why don’t you pull up the shafts of the chariot beside me and put the leather covering under my head, and let me sleep a while?’
‘You’d be as well,’ said the charioteer, ‘to sleep in the path of a stag hunt!’
‘What’s the matter, my friend? Can you not keep watch for me?’
‘I’ll watch for you surely,’ said the charioteer, ‘and unless they come for you out of the clouds or thin air, I’ll see them coming, east or west, and give you fair warning.’
The chariot-shafts were pulled up beside him, and the leather covering put under his head, but not a wink did he sleep.
As for Cú Chulainn, he didn’t get up until the sun was well risen in the sky, for he didn’t want the men of Ireland to think that fear had driven him to an early start.
‘Now, comrade Láeg, get the horses and hitch up the chariot. Fer Diad will be up early, and waiting for us.’
The charioteer got the horses and hitched them up. Cú Chulainn got into the chariot and they drove out for the ford.
Fer Diad’s charioteer wasn’t long watching when he heard the rumble of the chariot coming towards them. He alerted his master, and made this song:
I hear chariot-noise.
I see its silver yoke,
a huge human form poised
above the hard prow,
creak of the axle-tree
through the heroic wood
as it approaches us
in its amplitude—
a deft Hound at the helm,
who urges his horses
with hawk-like vigilance
right into our realm.
Surely these are his steeds
that loom from the red mist
as their master brings us
disaster indeed.
I foresaw this last year:
a man waits by the mound
at his appointed hour
to meet the Forge-Hound–
Hound of Emain Macha,
Hound of the sword and spear,
ever-changing Shape-Hound.
I hear him, and he hears.
‘Get up, my friend,’ said Fer Diad. ‘Get the weapons ready to meet him at the ford.’
‘I think if I turned round, the shafts of his chariot would pierce the back of my neck.’
‘My friend,’ said Fer Diad, ‘you sing his praises too highly. It’s not as if he paid you for the poetry.’
And he chanted:
I need you to help me,
not to stand by and fret.
Enough of your praises,
for he’s no great threat.
Let Cúailnge’s great warrior
use his every device.
We have made a bargain–
his death is the price.
Charioteer:
When Cúailnge’s great warrior
arrives in all his might
he’ll drive at us head-on, not from us in flight.
Give praise where praise is due.
He strikes the battle-road
like water off a cliff— or a thunderbolt.
Fer Diad:
So much have you praised him,
/> we might yet come to blows.
You’ve stood in awe of him since we left home.
All those who challenge him
praise this man to the sky.
They go out to meet him—
and then the fools die.
Not long afterwards, Cú Chulainn arrived at the ford. Fer Diad stood on the south side, Cú Chulainn on the north side. Fer Diad bade Cú Chulainn welcome.
‘Well met, Cú Chulainn,’ said Fer Diad.
‘There was a time when I could have trusted that welcome,’ said Cú Chulainn, ‘but now I can trust it no more. And Fer Diad,’ he said, ‘by rights I should have done the welcoming, and not you, for you have entered my territory. And by rights you should not challenge me, but I should challenge you, for you have driven off our women, our young fellows and our boys, our steeds and our horses, and our herds and droves of cattle.’
‘Oh, very good, Cú Chulainn,’ said Fer Diad, ‘and what makes you think you’re fit for this contest? When we were with Scáthach and Uathach and Aífe, you were my lackey, the boy who looked after my spears and made up my bed.’
‘That’s true,’ said Cú Chulainn. ‘I did so then because I was young and small, but things are not so now, for there isn’t a warrior in the world that I couldn’t repel.’
Then each reproached the other bitterly as they renounced their friendship. And Fer Diad made a verse, and Cú Chulainn replied:
Fer Diad:
What brings you, little Cú,
to take on a real man?
Your flesh will drip red through
the steam of your horses.
Your journey’s in vain,
for one stick makes no fire.
You’ll be cold when they bring you
home to your byre.
Cú Chulainn:
I come like a wild boar
to overthrow the rule
of armies. I’ll drive them
into a dark pool.
Red rage empowers me
to wreak havoc and strife
on the bargaining pawn
that you call your life.
Fer Diad:
It is I who will crush.
It is I who will kill,
for you’ll buckle under
the force of my will.
Before all of Ulster,
and before tomorrow,
you will be history –
a great disaster.
Cú Chulainn:
Is this how we should fight,
exchanging bitter words
like two groaning corpses?
Let’s plunge into the ford
with our life in our hands
before the gaping hordes
to find death by keen spear
and bloodthirsty sword.
Fer Diad:
Let us do what we must
before sunset tonight.
This battle at Boirche
will prove I can fight.
I’ll horrify Ulster.
I’ll make a bloody ghost
of you, accompanied by
the groans of the host.
Cú Chulainn:
You’ve walked into the gap.
You’re in the danger zone.
Sharp weapons will pierce you
and cleave flesh and bone.
This hero will take you
to another place
where you will find nothing
but death and disgrace.
Fer Diad:
Your threats are worth nothing.
Your boasting comes to this:
when you ask for quarter,
I’ll be merciless.
For I know you of old,
bird-hearted little boy –
when it comes to the bit,
you’re not very bold.
Cú Chulainn:
When we stayed with Scáthach
we were never apart
in courage or in war.
We shared the same heart.
You were my best comrade.
We breathed the same air.
You were dear above all.
I’ll miss you, I swear.
Fer Diad:
You shrink before the fight.
All your honour is fled,
and before the cock crows
I’ll have spiked your head.
Cú Chulainn of Cúailnge,
your wits are atilt,
and you’ll be sorry for it,
for yours is the guilt.
‘Not so, Fer Diad,’ said Cú Chulainn, ‘for you did wrong to come and fight me. You were lured by Ailill and Medb’s low cunning. As for all those others who were lured to fight me, they got no gain or profit from it, for they all died at my hands. And you will get no gain or profit by it, and you will die at my hands.’
And having said that, he went on to say:
Come no closer, Fer Diad,
for you’ll come off worse than me.
Comrade, step back, or you’ll bring
sorrow to your company.
Come no closer to the wrong;
this way takes you to your grave.
Why should you alone escape
my unconquerable rage?
I’ll overwhelm you with skill,
horn-skinned man, tough as you are.
And that girl you boast about
will be that one step too far.
That Medb’s daughter Finnabair
for all her seeming treasure
and the fairness of her form
will never give you pleasure.
Finnabair the king’s daughter,
as the matter is revealed,
led men into her sweet snare
and their fate, and yours, was sealed.
O break not your word to me,
that straight word of man to man,
our promises and pledges:
come no closer though you can.
This is the girl who was sworn
to fifty soldiers. My spear
found theirs wanting. I pierced them
through and through. They died in fear.
Fer Báeth was a fierce warrior,
a hero among heroes.
Yet I soon put out his fire.
I snuffed him out with one blow.
Subdaire found a bitter end.
A hundred women loved him –
a well-dressed man, with rich friends.
And not one of them saved him.
If they’d offered her to me,
and she had offered me her breast,
I would not wound yours – no, not
north nor south nor east nor west.
‘So, Fer Diad,’ said Cú Chulainn, ‘that’s why you shouldn’t come to fight me. For when we were with Scáthach and Uathach and Aífe, we used to go together into battle and the fields of contest, every fight and every combat, into the forests and the wastelands and every dark and secret place.’
And having said that, he said this:
Two hearts that beat as one,
we were comrades in the woods,
men who shared a bed
and the same deep sleep
after heavy fighting
in strange territories.
Apprentices of Scáthach,
we would ride out together
to explore the dark woods.
Fer Diad said:
Cú Chulainn, you have deft skills,
but I have mastered them as well.
Foul play has separated us
and paid for your first defeat.
Forget our brotherhood.
You’ll gain nothing by it.
‘We’ve talked too much,’ said Fer Diad. ‘What weapons shall we use today, Cú Chulainn?’
‘It’s your choice of weapons until nightfall,’ said Cú Chulainn, ‘for you were first to the ford.’
‘Do you remember,’ said Fer Diad, ‘the martial arts we practised under Scáthach and Uathach and Aífe?’
&nb
sp; ‘I remember them well,’ said Cú Chulainn.
‘Then if you remember, let’s do it.’
So they began with those martial arts. They took up their two special shields, and their eight sharp throwing-discs, and their eight darts, and their eight long, bone-hilted knives and their eight smaller bone-hilted darts that flew between them like bees in fine weather. Every throw was true. They hurled the weapons at each other from the half-light of early morning until high noon, all the while fending them off with the knobs and bosses of the special shields. No matter how good the throw, their defence was equal to it, and neither of them drew blood from the other during all that time.
‘Let’s lay off these weapons,’ said Fer Diad. ‘We’ll reach no conclusion this way.’
‘Very well,’ said Cú Chulainn, ‘if it’s time to lay off, let’s lay off.’
They laid off then and threw the weapons to their charioteers.
‘What weapons shall we use now, Cú Chulainn?’ said Fer Diad.
‘It’s still your choice of weapons until nightfall,’ said Cú Chulainn, ‘since you were first to the ford.’
‘Then,’ said Fer Diad, ‘let’s try our smooth, sharp, hard, slender spears bound with flax cord.’
‘Very well,’ said Cú Chulainn, ‘let’s do that.’
They took up their two equally hard, strong shields, and their smooth, sharp, hard, slender spears bound with flax cord. They threw their spears at each other from noon till evening. Good as their defence was, their throwing was better still, and they wounded and bloodied each other for that length of time.
‘Let’s lay off these weapons,’ said Fer Diad. ‘We’ll reach no conclusion this way.’
‘Very well,’ said Cú Chulainn, ‘if it’s time to lay off, let’s lay off.’
They laid off then and threw the weapons to their charioteers.
Then they came up to each other and each put an arm around the other’s shoulders, and gave him three kisses. Their horses grazed together that night and their charioteers warmed themselves by the same fire. And their charioteers made beds and pillows of fresh rushes for the wounded men. Then teams of doctors came to salve them and heal them, and they put soothing plants and herbs and curing charms to their countless cuts and stabs and gashes. For every soothing plant and herb and curing charm that was put to the countless cuts and stabs and gashes of Cú Chulainn, he sent the same to Fer Diad on the south side of the ford, so that the men of Ireland could not say, if Fer Diad fell by his hand, that it was because he got better care. And for every piece of food and pleasant, wholesome and reviving drink that the men of Ireland gave Fer Diad, he sent the same to Cú Chulainn on the north side of the ford; Fer Diad had more suppliers than Cú Chulainn, for he was looked after by all the men of Ireland, but only the people of Bregia Plain were looking after Cú Chulainn. They attended to him on a daily basis.
The Tain Page 13