No sooner said, than she appeared in front of them: Cethern’s wife in a chariot chock-a-block with Cethern’s weapons.
Cethern took his weapons, and then, with the ribs of the chariot strapped to his belly to support his body, Cethern went out to do battle with the enemy. Itholl, the doctor who’d been lying half-dead among the bodies of his fellow doctors, went ahead to warn the Connacht camp. Out of fear and trepidation they put Ailill’s clothes and his crown on a pillar-stone to divert Cethern’s rage when he arrived. Cethern went for the pillar-stone and drove his sword through it, and his fist after the sword. Hence the name Lia Toll, the Hole-Stone, in Crích Rois.
‘A dirty trick!’ said Cethern. ‘I’ll not rest till I see this crown on one of you!’
He fought them day and night until one of the Maine put on the crown and attacked him from his chariot. Cethern threw his shield at him: it cut him and his charioteer in halves, and ploughed through his horses into the ground. Then the army closed in on him. He killed all round him until he fell dead.
XI
SKIRMISHING
FINTAN, SON OF Niall Niamglonnach of the Dazzling Deeds, and the father of Cethern, came to avenge his son’s death. He brought with him three fifties of battle-belted pikemen armed with double-headed pikes. Three times they engaged the enemy and they killed three times their own number, but in the end they were all killed. Afterwards, the lips and noses of their enemies were found protruding from the teeth of the corpses. Hence this battle is known as Fintan’s Gnashing-Match.
Then Menn Mac Sálchada engaged Medb’s forces with a band of thirty armed men. Twelve men of hers were killed by Menn and twelve of his were killed. Menn himself suffered deep wounds and was reddened with blood. And the men of Ireland said:
‘Deep red is the shame of Menn Mac Sálchada – his followers slaughtered and destroyed, and he himself wounded and deep red with blood.’
Nevertheless they retreated from the camp before Menn, which is why he killed only twelve of them. He was told that they were not to blame for the deaths. They had gone nowhere near his home territory of the Boyne Waterways. And if he withdrew from their camp, there would be no shame on him, for it was understood that he would return with Conchobar when it came to the final battle, as predicted by the Irish druids. So Menn withdrew from the camp, and they withdrew a day’s journey to the north.
Cú Chulainn sent his charioteer to Rochad Mac Faithemain of Ulster to ask him to come to his aid. As it happened, Medb’s daughter Finnabair was in love with Rochad, who was the most handsome of the Ulster warriors. The charioteer went to Rochad and asked him, if he was over the Curse, to come and help Cú Chulainn. They planned to set a trap for the men of Ireland and kill them. Rochad came from the north with a hundred men and took up a position on a nearby height. The army saw him coming. Then Finnabair announced that Rochad was the man she had loved first, and loved above all others.
‘Since you love him so much,’ said Ailill and Medb, ‘go and ask him for a truce until such times as he comes with Conchobar for the final battle. And spend the night with him.’
This was arranged, though Rochad was difficult to persuade. His tent was pitched beside Finnabair’s, and he spent the night with her.
The Seven Munster Kings got to hear of this, and one of them said:
‘The same girl was promised to me, on the guarantee of fifteen men, to get me to join this army.’
One by one the other six kings admitted that the same deal had been done with them. So they set off to vent their pique on Ailill’s sons, who were guarding the rear of the army in the deep glen of Domain. Medb launched an attack on them, as did the three thousand Gailéoin, and Ailill, and Fergus. Seven hundred died in that mutual slaughter in the deep glen of Domain. When Finnabair heard that seven hundred men had died on her account, she dropped dead of shame. Hence the name Finnabair Sléibe, Finnabair of the Mountain.
Then Ilech went to take them on at Áth Feidli. He was the father of Connad Buide and the grandfather of Láegaire Buadach. He was being looked after by his devoted grandson in Rath Impail when he announced that he’d take on the army and wreak his vengeance on them.
He set off in his decrepit chariot. It had neither rug nor cushion, and was hauled by two old sorrel hacks. He armed himself with his big rough shield of grey iron and his trusty blunt sword and his two rickety-headed rusty spears. And he loaded the chariot with clods and boulders and cobbles that he fired at anyone who came to stare at him and jeer him, stark naked as he was, with his long lad and his acorns dangling down through the floor of the chariot. And the army jeered him too when they saw him coming.
‘If only,’ they said, ‘all the Ulstermen came to fight us like this.’
But Dóche Mac Mágach quelled their mockery. And in return Ilech told him that at the end of the day, when he had spent his strength fighting the army, Dóche could take his sword and cut off his head.
Then Ilech noticed the marrow-mash. He was told it had been made from Ulster cows’ bones. So he made another marrow-mash beside it from Connachtmen’s bones. At the end of the day Dóche cut off his head and brought it to his grandson Láegaire. He made peace with him, and Láegaire kept Ilech’s sword.
Then the army advanced to Tailtiu. It was attacked by the charioteers of Ulster, three fifties of them. They killed three times their own number, and they themselves were killed. Roí Arad – Charioteers’ Battlefield – is the name of the place where they died together on the Táin Bó Cúailnge.
One evening the army saw a great stone come flying towards them from the east and another just like it from the west. The two stones collided in mid-air and fell into the Irish camp. This performance went on until the same time the next day, with the army huddled together and holding their shields over their heads to protect them against the missiles, till the whole plain was littered with stones. Hence the name Mag Clochair, Stony Plain.
It turned out that Cú Roí Mac Dáire was behind it: he had come to help his people and was checked at Cotail by Munremar Mac Gerrcin the Thick-necked, who had come to Ard Róich from Emain Macha to help Cú Chulainn. Cú Roí knew there was no one in the army who could withstand Munremar. So between them Cú and Munremar carried on this performance.
The army asked them to lay off. Munremar and Cú Roí made peace. Cú Roí went home. Munremar went back to Emain Macha, and did not return until the final battle.
While these events were taking place, Sualdam of Ráith Sualdaim in Muirthemne Plain heard how his son Cú Chulainn had been under constant attack. And he said:
‘Are the heavens rent? Does the sea leave its bed? Does the earth open up? Or is this the cry of my son as he fights against the odds?’
He went to his son. But the son was not pleased to see him. True, he was badly wounded, but he knew his father would not be strong enough to fight on anyone’s account.
‘Go to the men of Ulster,’ said Cú Chulainn, ‘and get them to do battle with the army. If they do not, we will never be avenged.’
Then his father saw that on Cú Chulainn’s body there was not so much as a spot that the tip of a rush couldn’t cover that wasn’t pierced. Even the left hand, which was protected by his shield, had fifty wounds in it. Sualdam went to Emain Macha and cried out to the men of Ulster:
‘Men murdered, women raped, cattle plundered!’
His first cry was from the side of the fort, his next from the royal rampart, and his third from the Mound of Hostages inside Emain itself.
No one answered, for among the Ulster people it was not permissible to speak until Conchobar had spoken, and Conchobar would not speak until his druids had spoken. Then a druid said:
‘Who rapes? Who plunders? Who murders?’
‘Ailill Mac Mata murders and rapes and plunders,’ said Sualdam, ‘aided and abetted by Fergus Mac Róich. Your people have been harassed as far as Dún Sobairche. Their cattle, their women and their herds have been carried off. Cú Chulainn has kept them out of Muirthemne and Crích Rois
for the three months of winter. He’s held together with bent hoops of wood, and dry wisps plug his wounds. Wounds that almost finished him off.’
‘It would be appropriate,’ said the druid, ‘for a man who so provokes the king to die.’
‘It would serve him right,’ said Conchobar.
‘And serve him right,’ said the men of Ulster.
‘What Sualdam says is true,’ said Conchobar. ‘Since the last Monday of summer to the first Monday of spring we’ve been raped and pillaged.’
Sualdam stormed out, dissatisfied with this response. He fell on to his shield and his head was cut off by the scalloped rim. His horse brought his head on the shield back to his house in Emain, and the head kept repeating the same warning.
‘Truly, that is too powerful a cry,’ said Conchobar, ‘and I swear by the sea before them and the sky above them and the earth beneath them that I will restore every cow to its byre and every woman and child to their homes after victory in battle.’
Then Conchobar laid his hand on his son Finnchad Ferr Benn the Horned Man, so called because he wore silver horns. And he said:
‘Arise, Finnchad! Go to Dedad in his inlet, to Leamain, to Fallach, to Illann Mac Fergusa, to Gabar, to Dorlunsa, to Imchlár, to Feidlimid Cilair Cétaig, to Fáeladán, to Rochaid Mac Faithemain at Rigdonn, to Lugaid, to Lugda, to Cathbath in his inlet, to the three Cairpres, to Aela, to Láeg at his causeway, to Geimen in his valley, to Senoll Úathach at Diabul Arda, to Cethern Mac Fintain at Carlag, to Torathor, to Mulaig in his fortress, to the royal poet Aimirgin, to the Uathadach Fodoblaid, to the Mórrigan at Dún Sobairche, to Ieth, to Roth, to Fiachna at his mound, to Dam Dremed, to Andiaraid, to Maine Mac Braitharge, to Dam Derg, to Mod, to Maithes, to Irmaithes, to Corp Cliath, to Gabarleig in Líne, to Eochaid Sainmech in Saimne, to Eochaid Lathach at Latharna, to Uma Mac Remarbisi in Fedan, to Muinremur Mac Gerrcind, to Senlobair at Canainn Gall, to Follomain, to Lugaid rí Fer mBolc, to Laige Líne, to Búaidgalach, to Ambúach, to Fergna, to Barrene, to Aine, to Errgi Echbél at his hill, to Celtchar Mac Cuithechair in Lethglais, to Láegaire Milbél at Breo Láegairi, to the three sons of Dromscalt Mac Dregamm, to Drenda, to Drendas, to Cimb, to Cimling, to Cimmene, to Fána Caba, to Fachtna Mac Senchath in his rath, to Senchaid at Senchairthe, to Briccir, to Bricirne, to Breic, to Buan, to Bairech, to Óengus Mac Leiti, to Fergus Mac Leiti, to Óengus Fer mBolg, to Bruachur, to Alamiach the warrior at Slánge, to the three sons of Fiachna in Cúailnge, to Conall Cernach in Midlúachair, to Connad Mac Morna in Callainn, to Cú Chulainn Mac Súaltaim in Muirthemne, to Aimirgin at Eas Rúaid, to Lóeg, to Léiri, to Menn Mac Salcholca at Coirenna, to Cú Rí Mac Armargin in his rath, to Óengus Fer Berm Umai, to Ogma Grianainech, to Brecc, to Eo Mac Oircne, to Toillchenn, to Saithe, to Mogoll Echbél in Magna, to Conla Sáeb, to Carba, to Láegaire Buadach in Immail, to Alile Amargine in Tailtiu, to Furbaide Fer Benn, to Seil, to Manes, to Cuscraid Menn Macha, to Fíngin at Finngabra, to Cremath, to Blae Fichit, to Blae Brugaich, to Fesair, to Eógan Mac Durthacht in Fernmag, to Ord, to Seirid, to Serthe, to Oblán, to Cuilén, to Curether at Liana, to Eithbenne, to Fernél, to Finnchath at Slíab Betha, to Talgobain at Bernas, to Menn Mac Fer Calca, of Maig Dula, to Íroll, to Bláirige at Tibraite Mac Ailchatha, to Ialla Ingraimme of Mag Dobla, to Ros Mac Ailchatha, to Mane Mac Cruinn, to Nindich Mac Cruinn, to Dipsemilid, to Mál Mac Rochraidi, to Muinne Mac Munremair, to Fiatach Fer nDoirre Mac Dubthaig, to Muirne Menn.’
It was not difficult for Finnchad to deliver that summons, for all the chieftains in Conchobar’s province had been waiting for the word from Conchobar. From east and north and west of Emain they came, and entered Emain to hear the news that Conchobar had risen from his sick-bed. Then they struck out southwards from Emain in search of the enemy. The first stage of their march brought them to Iraird Cuillenn.
‘Why are you waiting here?’ said Conchobar.
‘We’re waiting for your sons,’ said the Ulster army. ‘They’ve gone to Tara with three thousand men to contact Erc, the Freckled Calf, son of Coirpre Nia Fer and Fedelm Noíchride. We won’t leave this spot until they return to join us.’
‘Well, I’ll not wait,’ said Conchobar, ‘for the men of Ireland to find out that I’ve risen from my sick-bed, recovered from the Curse.’
So Conchobar and Celtchar set off with three fifties of chariots, and brought back eight score enemy heads from the ford of Airthir Mide in East Meath. Hence its name now, Áth Féne, Warrior Ford. These were the heads of men who had been watching there for Conchobar’s army. They also brought back eight score women who had been held captive. When Conchobar and Celtchar brought the heads to the camp Celtchar said to Conchobar:
ramparts awash with blood the king
of slaughter beyond compare sundered
body parts the ground surrendered
to a hundred streams thirty four-horsed chariots
steeds harnessed to a hundred cruelties
no want of leaders two hundred druids
a steadfast man at Conchobar’s back prepare
for battle warriors arise
the battle will erupt at Gáirech and Ilgáirech
The same night Dubthach the Beetle of Ulster had a vision where he saw the army assembled at Gáirech and Ilgáirech. He spoke these words in his sleep:
bewildering morning bewildering times
disordered armies kings cast down
necks broken in the bloody sand
three armies wiped out by the Ulster army
Conchobar at the heart their women huddled
herds driven dawn after morning
heroes cut down hounds torn apart
horses mangled in the bloody mire
as tribe tramples tribe
This disturbed their sleep. The Nemain deranged the army. A hundred men fell dead. When everything was silent they heard Cormac Con Longes – or it might have been Ailill Mac Máta – chanting to the west of the camp:
great the truce the truce at Cuillenn
great the plot the plot at Delind
great the cavalcade the cavalcade at Assal
great the torment the torment at Tuath Bressi
XII
THE
ULSTERMEN
COME
TOGETHER
WHILE THESE VISIONS were happening the men of Connacht, advised by Ailill and Medb and Fergus, decided to send scouts to see if the men of Ulster had reached the plain.
‘Go, Mac Roth,’ said Ailill, ‘and find out if their men have arrived on the plain of Meath. As it is, I’ve taken all their goods and cattle. If they want a fight, they can have one. But if they haven’t reached the plain, we’ll be off.’
Mac Roth went out to scan the plain. He returned to Ailill and Medb and reported that when he first looked into the distance from Sliab Fúait he had seen all the beasts of the forest leaving their home and pouring out on to the plain.
‘Then I took a second look,’ said Mac Roth, ‘and saw a thick mist filling the glens and valleys, so that the hills appeared like islands in a lake. I saw sparks of fire coming through the mist, sparks of every shade and colour in the world. Then there was a flash of lightning, and a great rumble of thunder, and a wind that nearly took the hair from my head and threw me on my back, though there’s hardly a breeze today.’
‘What is this, Fergus?’ said Ailill. ‘What can it mean?’
‘I can tell you exactly what it means,’ said Fergus. ‘It’s the men of Ulster, risen from their sick-beds. It was they who entered the forest. The vast number of their warriors and the violence of their passage shook the forest and caused the beasts of the forest to flee before them on to the plain. The thick mist that you saw was the breath of those powerful men filling the low ground so that the high ground appeared like islands in a lake. The lightning and the sparks of fire and the many colours that you saw, Mac Roth,’ said Fergus, ‘those were the eyes of the warriors flashing in their heads like sparks of fire. The thunder and the rumble and the clamour that you heard, that w
as the whirring of their swords and their ivory-hilted blades, their weapons rattling, chariots clattering, hoof-beats hammering, the shouts and roars and cries of chariot-fighters, warriors and soldiers, the ferocious rage and fury of heroes as they storm towards the battle. They’re so fired up, they think they’ll never get there.’
‘We’ll be waiting for them,’ said Ailill. ‘We have warriors to take them on.’
‘You’ll need them,’ said Fergus, ‘for no one – not in Ireland, nor the western world from Greece and Scythia westwards to the Orkney Islands and the Pillars of Hercules, as far as Breogan’s Tower and the Isles of Gades – can withstand the men of Ulster in their battle-fury.’
Mac Roth set off again to gauge the advance of the Ulstermen and went as far as their camp at Slane in Meath. He reported back to Ailill and Medb and Fergus, giving them a detailed account of what he had seen.
‘A great company came to the hill at Slane in Meath,’ said Mac Roth, ‘proud and powerful and battle-hungry. I’d put their numbers at about three thousand. Without further ado they stripped down and dug a mound of sods as a throne for their leader. He was a most impressive, regal figure as he led that company, slim, tall and handsome, with finely cut blond hair falling down in waves and curls between his shoulder-blades. He wore a pleated shirt of royal purple and a red-embroidered white hooded tunic. A dazzling brooch of red gold was pinned to the breast of his mantle. His grey eyes had a calm gaze. His face was ruddy-cheeked, with a broad brow and a fine jaw. He had a forked beard of golden curls. Slung across his shoulders was a sword with a gold pommel and a bright shield inlaid with animal designs. He held a slender-shafted spear with a blued steel head. His retinue was the finest of any prince on earth, a fearsome and formidable body of men, magnificently equipped, whose bearing spoke of triumph, rage, implacable resolve and dignity.
‘Another company came up,’ said Mac Roth, ‘almost as impressive as the first in terms of numbers, bearing, dress and fierce resolve. A handsome young hero led that company. He wore a bordered knee-length tunic and a green cloak fastened at the shoulder with a gold brooch. He had a head of curly yellow hair. An ivory-hilted sword hung at his left side, and he carried a deadly scallop-edged shield. In his hand was a spear like a palace torch-standard, with three silver rings around it that ran freely up and down the shaft from grip to tip and back again. The company took up a position to the left of the first company, with knee to ground and shield-rim held to chin. I detected a stammer in the speech of the great stern warrior who led that company.
The Tain Page 16