Ah, Fer Diad, you were betrayed.
Our last meeting led to this,
my everlasting sorrow
that I live while you are dead.
When, overseas with Scáthach
we learned victory, we thought then
our friendship would last until
time itself came to an end.
I loved the blush in your cheek,
your fine, upstanding young form,
your clear eye, your way of speech.
I loved the way you held yourself.
No one ever tore into
a fight with such fierce attack
nor bore shield on his broad back
like you, Damán’s bright-faced son.
Never till this very day,
since I slew Aífe’s one son
have I met in fight or fray
one as powerful as you.
And Medb’s daughter Finnabair,
that beautiful bait you hoped
would be yours? You might as well
try to tie sand with a rope.
Cú Chulainn was gazing at Fer Diad.
‘Well, comrade Láeg,’ said Cú Chulainn, ‘you can strip Fer Diad now. Take off his battle-gear and garments, and let me see the brooch he entered battle for.’
Láeg came forward and stripped Fer Diad. He took off his battle-gear and his garments, and Cú Chulainn saw the brooch, and he began to mourn and lament. He spoke these words:
Ah, dear golden brooch,
bright and victorious
Fer Diad of the hosts,
I mourn your strong arm,
your curled yellow hair
like a golden blaze,
the soft leaf-shaped belt
you wore at your waist.
Our comradeship was
keen as a bright sword.
It was a gleaming shield,
a noble chess-board.
You fell by my hand.
I cannot revoke
that ungentle fight.
Ah, dear golden brooch!
‘Now, comrade Láeg,’ said Cú Chulainn, ‘cut Fer Diad open and take the gae bolga out of him, for I must have my weapon.’
Láeg came forward and cut Fer Diad open and took out the gae bolga. Cú Chulainn saw his weapon bloody and crimson from Fer Diad’s body, and spoke these words:
Fer Diad, a sorry sight –
you are red and yet so pale,
I with my weapon unwiped,
and you in your bed of blood.
When we ventured to the East
with Scáthach and Uathach, who
would have thought of such pale lips
or weapons between us two?
Remember how Scathách spoke
her sharp imperious command –
Soldiers! Forward to the fray!
Germán Garbglas is at hand!
Then to you, Fer Diad, I said –
and to Lugaid also,
and to Fer Báeth, ever-reckless –
let’s meet Germán head to head.
We climbed the rocks of battle
above the Lake of Envy
and brought out four hundred men
from the Isles of Victory.
When I stood with brave Fer Diad
on Germán’s very threshold,
I killed Rinn Mac Níuil,
he killed Rúad Mac Forníuil.
Out on the shore, Fer Báeth killed
Bláth Mac Colbai of the red sword.
Lugaid, quick as a flash, killed
Mugairne from the Tyrrhene Sea.
After we went in, I slew
four times fifty raging men.
Fer Diad killed that wicked crew,
Dam Dreimed and Dam Dílend.
We razed Germán’s cunning fort
above the wide, glittering sea
and took Germán himself alive
to Scáthach of the broad shield.
Our foster-mother bound us
with a blood-pact of goodwill
to all the tribes of Ireland.
This is how it was fulfilled.
Sorry, sorry was the day
that brought Fer Diad to my hand.
I served him a drink of blood.
Now he lies here while I stand.
Had you fallen at the hands
of Greek warriors, my life
would not have outlasted yours,
I would have died by your side.
Sad is the thing that became
Scáthach’s two brave foster-sons –
I wounded and dripping gore,
your chariot standing empty.
Sad is the thing that became
Scáthach’s two brave foster-sons –
I leak blood from every pore
and you lie dead forever.
Sad is the thing that became
Scáthach’s two brave foster-sons –
you dead, I bursting with life.
Courage has a brutal core.
‘Now, little Cú,’ said Láeg, ‘let us leave the ford. We have been here too long.’
‘Very well, let us leave it,’ said Cú Chulainn. ‘But all the contest and battles I have ever fought seem only play and sport compared to my struggle against Fer Diad.’
And he spoke these words:
It was all play, all sport
till Fer Diad came to the ford.
We were brought up the same,
with the same rights,
the same good foster-mother –
she of the great name.
It was all play, all sport
till Fer Diad came to the ford –
we had the same skills,
the same fire and force.
Scáthach gave two shields,
one to Fer Diad, one to me.
It was all play, all sport
till Fer Diad came to the ford –
Ah, pillar of gold
I cut down in the ford,
you were the fierce bull
that towered above all!
It was all play, all sport
till Fer Diad came to the ford –
ferocious lion, brave
overwhelming wave!
It was all play, all sport
till Fer Diad came to the ford –
I thought beloved Fer Diad
would live forever after me –
yesterday, a mountain-side,
today, nothing but a shade.
Three multitudes on the Táin
I took on board as my foes –
great men, horses and cattle
slaughtered in their countless droves.
As for Crúachan’s grand army,
of those incalculable hordes
between a third and a half
were killed in my savage sport.
Never fought on battle-field,
nor sucked at Banba’s4 breast,
nor voyaged over land or sea,
a prince so regally possessed.
X
THE
MULTIPLE
WOUNDS
OF CETHERN
THE IRISH ARMY drew back southwards from Fer Diad’s Ford. Cú Chulainn lay there injured until he was found by an advance party consisting of Senoll Uathach the Awful Old Man and the two sons of Ficce. They took him to the streams and rivers of Conaille Muirthemne to cleanse and heal his wounds. It was a custom of the Túatha Dé Danann to place herbs and healing plants in the rivers of Conaille, so that they were speckled with green. These are the names of those healing waters: Sás the Repose and Búan the Steady and Bithslán the Longlife; Finnglas the Clearwater and Gleóir the Brightwater; Tadc the Tough and Talaméd the Silty; Rinn and Birr, the Point and the Peak; Breinide the Bitter; Cellenn the Hidden and Cumang the Narrow; Gaenemain the Sandy; and Dichú and Muach and Miliuc; and Den and Delt; and Dubglaise the Blackwater.
As Cú Chulainn’s wounds were being cleansed, the army continued south and set up camp at Imorach Smiromach, the Border of the Bath of
Marrow. Mac Roth the messenger was sent north to scout for the men of Ulster, and went as far as Sliab Fúait to see if any were on their trail. He reported back that he had seen only one chariot.
‘I saw a chariot crossing the plain from the north,’ said Mac Roth, ‘shimmering like the mist of May. In the chariot, a silver-haired man. In his hand, a silver spike, with which he goaded both charioteer and horses, as if he feared he’d never get to us alive. A brindled hunting-dog ran before him.’
‘Who might that be, Fergus?’ said Ailill. ‘Conchobar, perhaps, or Celtchar?’
‘I think not,’ said Fergus. ‘More likely it is Cethern, that generous, bloody-minded son of Fintan.’
So it was. Cethern charged into the camp and killed large numbers of men. He himself was badly wounded, and after the fight he came to Cú Chulainn with his guts hanging about his feet. Cú Chulainn expressed concern for his wounds.
‘Get me a doctor,’ said Cethern to Cú Chulainn.
A bed of fresh rushes and a pillow was made up for him.
‘Now, comrade Láeg,’ said Cú Chulainn to his charioteer, ‘go to the Irish camp and tell their doctors to come and tend to Cethern Mac Fintain. And if they don’t, I swear that though they be hidden underground or in a locked room, I’ll kill every last one of them by this time tomorrow.’
The doctors did not relish this prospect, for there was no one in the camp Cethern hadn’t injured. But they feared that if they didn’t go, Cú Chulainn would kill them. So they went. The first doctor came up and examined Cethern.
‘You won’t last long,’ he said.
‘Then neither will you,’ said Cethern, and he dealt him such a blow with his fist that his brains spurted out from his ears. In the same way he killed fifty doctors. Or maybe it was fifteen. The last one only got a glancing blow, but even that knocked him unconscious. Cú Chulainn saved him afterwards.
‘It wasn’t a good idea,’ said Cú Chulainn to Cethern, ‘to kill the doctors. We’ll get none of them to come now.’
‘It wasn’t a good idea for them to tell me the bad news.’
Then the seer Fíngin – Conchobar’s personal doctor – was sent for to examine both Cú Chulainn and Cethern. He was informed of their heavy injuries, and before long they saw his chariot approach. Cú Chulainn went up to him.
‘Take a look at Cethern for us,’ he said, ‘but keep well back, for he’s killed fifteen of their doctors.’
Fíngin came forward a little and studied Cethern from a distance.
‘See this first wound I got?’ said Cethern. ‘It looks bad.’
‘You got it from a proud and headstrong woman,’ said Fíngin.
‘No doubt you’re right,’ said Cethern. ‘This tall, good-looking woman came at me. She had a fine, long face and a head of yellow hair. There were two gold birds on her shoulders. She wore a dark purple hooded cloak. There were five handfuls of gold on her back. A keen-edged javelin blazed in one hand, and she held an iron sword aloft in her proud fist. She cut a striking figure. She’s the one who first wounded me.’
‘A sore wound indeed!’ said Cú Chulainn. ‘That was Medb of Crúachan.’
‘And here,’ said the doctor, ‘we have a slight, half-hearted wound – the wound of a kinsman. It’s not fatal.’
‘You’re right,’ said Cethern. ‘This soldier came at me. He carried a curved, sharp-scalloped shield, a spear with a hooked point and a ivory-hilted sword. He wore his hair in a triple crest. He had a brown cloak pinned round him with a silver brooch. I gave him just a little wound back.’
‘I know him,’ said Cú Chulainn. ‘That was Fergus Mac Róich’s son Illann.’
‘And here,’ said the doctor, ‘we have the onslaught of two warriors.’
‘You’re right again,’ said Cethern. ‘A pair of them came at me. They had two long shields with hammered silver grips and silver bosses. They carried silver-banded five-pronged spears. They wore their hair cropped, and they had silver bands around their necks.’
‘I know them,’ said Cú Chulainn. ‘Oil and Oichne, Big Man and Little Sprout, two foster-sons of Ailill and Medb. They never go to battle without being sure of killing someone. They’re the ones who wounded you.’
‘Then another pair of them came at me,’ said Cethern. ‘Their equipment gleamed, and they gleamed too, with their striking looks.’
‘I know them,’ said Cú Chulainn. ‘Bun and Mecon, Trunk and Root, of the king’s personal guard.’
‘And here we have a very serious wound,’ said the doctor. ‘They angled into your heart, and crossed spears inside you. I can’t guarantee to cure this, but I have wide experience of these matters, and I might find a way to save you. This brutal wound,’ the doctor went on, ‘was caused by the two sons of the Forest King.’
‘So it was,’ said Cethern. ‘Two warriors with silvery hair came at me like two wooden barrels, one bigger than the other. Just like you said, their two spears crossed inside me.’
‘I know them,’ said Cú Chulainn. ‘They serve in Medb’s personal guard – Bróen and Láiréne, Raindrop and Cirrus, the two thunder-and-lightning sons of the Forest King.’
‘And here,’ said the doctor Fíngin, ‘is the triple wound of three nephews.’
‘You’re right,’ said Cethern. ‘Three men the spit of each other came at me, linked by a bronze chain spiked with barbs and blades.’
‘Those were the three scabbards of Banba, followers of Cú Roí Mac Dáiri.’
‘And here another three warriors laid into you,’ said Fíngin.
‘You’re right again,’ said Cethern. ‘Three hard men came at me, looking like champions, each with a silver torque at his neck, and each with a fistful of spears. The three of them stuck me, and I stuck them back.’
‘Those were three of the Fighting Men from Iruath,’ said Cú Chulainn.
‘They gave you a tricky wound,’ said the doctor. ‘They cut the strings of your heart and it’s rolling about inside you like a ball of yarn in an empty bag. How I’ll cure that one, I don’t know. And here,’ said Fíngin, ‘three bloody-minded men hacked into you.’
‘Just so,’ said Cethern. ‘Three big fat men came at me, discussing what they might do to me even before they reached me, they and their three heads of greasy hair.’
‘Those were three of Medb’s and Ailill’s stewards,’ said Cú Chulainn, ‘Scenb, Rann and Fodail – Knife, Carve and Serve.’
‘And here,’ said Fíngin, ‘we have three sly blows.’
‘Sly indeed,’ said Cethern. ‘Three so-called warriors crept up on me. They wore tabby shirts and big black shaggy cloaks with bald patches in them. Each wielded an iron club.’
‘Those were the Three Rough Men of Baíscne,’ said Cú Chulainn, ‘skivvies at Medb’s table.’
‘And here,’ said Fíngin, ‘two men of the same name dug into you.’
‘They did indeed,’ said Cethern. ‘Two big men in matching dark green cloaks came at me with sharp, curved, scalloped shields and long, green, trowel-headed spears.’
‘I know them,’ said Cú Chulainn. ‘Those were Cormac Colomon ind Ríg, the King’s Column, and Cormac Maíle Ogath, the Bald Young Blade.’
‘The wounds they made are right close together,’ said the doctor. ‘They both went for your gullet, and scraped their spears together inside you. And here,’ he went on, ‘two brothers attacked you.’
‘I should think so,’ said Cethern. ‘I was set on by a pair of curly-headed warriors, one fair, the other dark. Each had a dazzling shield with golden animal designs on it, and a bright-hilted sword. They wore red-embroidered hooded tunics.’
‘I know them,’ said Cú Chulainn. ‘Those were Maine Athramail the Fatherlike and Maine Máithramail the Motherlike.’
‘And this double wound,’ said the doctor, ‘was given to you by a father and son.’
‘That’s right,’ said Cethern. ‘Two great big men came at me with their eyes blazing. They wore helmets with gold horns. At their waists hung long swords, shea
thed to their gold hilts in scabbards banded with gold fretwork.’
‘I know them,’ said Cú Chulainn. ‘Those were Ailill and his son Maine Cotagaibi Uile, the Man of All Qualities.’
‘What’s the outlook for me, comrade Fíngin?’ said Cethern.
‘I won’t lie to you,’ said Fíngin. ‘If I were you, I wouldn’t be counting on my cows to calve. Had it been a case of only twos or threes, I might have been able to do something for you. As it is, you’ve taken a whole army of wounds, and your life is coming to an end, no matter what.’
Fíngin made to turn his chariot.
‘Your sentence is the same as all the others,’ said Cethern, and he dealt him such a blow with his fist that he sent him reeling across the shafts of the chariot and broke the chariot itself.
‘That was a cruel kick to give an old man,’ said Cú Chulainn (hence the name Uachtar Lúi, Kick Hill). ‘You’d be better off battering your enemies, and not your doctors.’
On second thoughts the doctor gave Cethern a choice: either to treat his wounds for a year, after which he would live for whatever time would be left to him; or to treat him for three days and three nights so he would have enough strength to take on his enemies there and then. Cethern took the latter option.
The doctor instructed Cú Chulainn to get some bone-marrow for Cethern’s cure. Cú Chulainn rustled up some cattle and made a mash of marrow out of their bones. Hence the name Smirromair, the Bath of Marrow, in Crích Rois.
Cethern slept day and night in the marrow, absorbing it. Then he said:
‘My ribs are gone. Get me the ribs from the chariot-frame.’
‘Consider it done,’ said Cú Chulainn.
‘If only I had my own weapons, what would I not do!’ said Cethern. ‘My deeds would be remembered for as many days as there are days to come.’
‘What I see now looks very like what you are looking for,’ said Cú Chulainn.
‘What’s that?’ said Cethern.
‘It looks like your wife Finn Bec is coming towards us in her chariot.’
The Tain Page 15