It happened that, one day, Conall’s three sons, after one particular feasting where the wine had circled much too freely, met with the three sons of the King of Fótla, in whose kingdom Airer Ghàidheal lay, and a joking remark led to an argument, and the argument led to a fight, and the fight led to the King of Fótla’s eldest son being stretched on the ground, dead.
Conall Cròg Buidhe was summoned to the king’s fortress at Dun Cheailleann and the king was bitter in his anger. But the King of Fótla was a wise man and a just one. He finally said:
“I do not wish vengeance on you, nor on your sons, for the death of my fine, brave lad. Vengeance does not profit anyone. So I will set the terms for the compensation which you must give me for my loss.”
Conall bowed his head in submission, for compensation was the basis of the law system under which all men lived. “I will pay whatever fine you place on me, my King.”
“Then hear this. I will not pursue vengeance nor demand the souls of your three boys, if you will go to the land of the King of Lochlann and bring me back his famous brown horse.”
The Each Donn, or Brown Horse, of the King of Lochlann was without peer and it had never lost a race. But the King of Lochlann was much attached to it. So, Conall reasoned, it would be no easy task, for he doubted it could be taken, except by war.
“Difficult is this request which you demand, my King,” admitted Conall. “But you are fair and, rather than bring shame and dishonour on my house, I am prepared to lose my own life and the life of my three sturdy boys in the pursuit of this matter.”
“That is well spoken,” agreed the King. “For that, you may take your three sons with you to help you. But if you or they do not return with the horse and remain alive thereafter, my vengeance shall seek you out, no matter what corner of the world you attempt to hide in.”
“That is understood,” Conall said.
He returned home with his contrite sons to say farewell to his wife. She was very perturbed when she heard the demands the King of Fótla had made.
“Better to have accepted punishment than accept this quest, my lord,” she told him. “It means that I will never see you again in this world.”
Conall was much troubled, for he knew that the task was arduous.
The next morning, he and his sons fitted out their warship and set sail for Lochlann, the land of fjords and lochs to the north-east. The ship ploughed the grey leaping waves, whose foam-edged lips threatened to engulf them. At no time did Conall shorten his sail, so that his course was straight and true through the formidable sea towards the shore of Lochlann. His sons sat remorseful in the stern while Conall, without a word, stood in the bow, resigned to whatever fate the gods would bring.
Ashore in Lochlann, Conall asked a passer-by to direct them to the fortress of the king and point out where he might find the tigh-òsda, the tavern. At this tavern, Conall asked the innkeeper if he had any rooms, for he and his sons needed rest that night. They were the only guests.
Over wine that evening, Conall grew confidential with the innkeeper who, being curious – as innkeepers are about their guests – wondered what they were doing in Lochlann.
Conall told him that he and his sons had fallen out with the King of Fòtla and, indeed, one of his sons had killed the king’s son. Nothing would please the King of Fòtla more than if he and his sons would bring back the fabulous Each Donn, the brown horse of the King of Lochlann.
“Perhaps you could tell me where I might find the Each Donn and whether I might purchase him from the King of Lochlann? You would be well paid for such a service.”
The innkeeper roared with laughter. “Though I am sorry for the trouble that you find yourself in, stranger, you have come here to seek a thing impossible. The King of Lochlann will never sell his brown horse, and the only way it will be taken from him is by stealth. I will pretend that I have not heard what you said . . . provided I am compensated for my deafness.”
In annoyance, Conall had to pay the man three pieces of gold in order that he did not go to the King of Lochlann and tell him.
Conall went out the next morning and he fell in with the King of Lochlann’s miller. Now it turned out that the miller was a greedy man and, after Conall and he had talked a while, Conall said: “For five pieces of gold, I would put to you a proposition. Every day you and your servants take sacks of bran to the King of Lochlann’s stable for the feeding of his horses.”
“True enough,” said the miller.
“Then put me and my sons into the sacks and carry us into the stable and leave us.”
The miller rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It is a strange request,” he observed.
Conall clinked the gold coins in his hand.
The miller’s eyes sparkled.
Without more ado, Conall and his three sons were placed in the sacks and the miller and his servants carried the sacks up to the King of Lochlann’s stable and deposited them inside. Then they went away.
After a while Conall and his sons emerged.
“We will have to wait until nightfall,” Conall told them in a whisper. “So we will make hiding places for ourselves within this stable, just in case the king’s men search it at any time.”
So they sought out hiding places for themselves.
Dusk came and Conall and his sons approached the stall of the Each Donn. Now this brown horse was an intelligent creature. As soon as they began to approach him, he kicked up his back legs and began to whinny and cry.
In the castle, the King of Lochlann heard the noise. “What ails my brown horse?” he cried, turning to his mother, who was supping with him.
“Little I can tell you of that, my son,” replied the good woman. “Tell your servants to go to the stable and find out what is amiss.”
So the King of Lochlann called to his servants and said: “Go down to the stable and see what is wrong with my brown horse.”
The servants rushed to the stable, but when Conall and his sons heard them coming, they hid in the places they had prepared for themselves. So the servants went inside and looked around and reported back to the King of Lochlann that they had seen nothing amiss.
“Perhaps the brown horse is simply skittish,” sighed the king. “Very well. Be about your business. Let us continue with our feasting, mother.”
After a while, Conall and his sons came out of their hiding places and approached the Each Donn.
The outcry was seven times louder than before. Even the king’s mother felt something was wrong. So the King of Lochlann turned to his servants.
“There is something wrong in the stable. Go and bring me word of what it is, this instant.”
The servants rushed to the stable but Conall and his sons had already disappeared into their hiding places. The servants searched diligently but did not discover them. They returned again and reported that nothing was amiss.
So the king ordered the feasting to resume.
Once more Conall and his sons arose from their hiding places and approached the Each Donn.
Yet again did the horse make such an outcry that all the corners of the king’s palace became alarmed.
“Perhaps some dark wizard is attacking us,” cried the King of Lochlann’s mother, who had a great fear of wizards.
The king stood up. “There is no other possibility than that someone is in the stable who has evil designs on my brown horse.”
This time he ordered his servants to accompany him.
Now when Conall and his sons heard the King of Lochlann coming to the stable, they went and hid themselves once more.
The King of Lochlann entered and stood at the stable door and surveyed the place.
The Each Donn stood in his stall, trembling.
“Let us be wary,” said the king, “for I believe that there are men within the stable. We must search them out.”
Now the King of Lochlann, who was called Sigurdsson, was a clever man, otherwise he would not have been a king over such a fierce people as the men of Lochlann,
whose ships were constantly raiding the seven seas. He looked at the stable floor and his keen eye picked out a stranger’s footprints. He followed the footprints to the corner of the stable, the very corner where Conall himself was hiding.
The King of Lochlann stood, hands on hips, and chuckled. “I spy the shoes of a warrior of the Gael. Distinctive are they, as the colour of a man’s hair. Who stands hiding there? Will you tell me, or will you die without a name?”
This angered Conall a little and he stepped forward. “My name is Conall of Airer Ghàidheal.”
“Can it be Conall Cròg Buidhe who is lurking in my stable and making my Each Donn nervous?” asked the King of Lochlann, in good humour. “I have heard many stories of your courage and ability, but none suggest that you would come like a thief in the night to a man’s stables to frighten his prize horse.”
The blush of shame came to Conall’s cheeks and he saw that he was surrounded by the swords of the king’s bodyguard on all sides. So he stepped forward.
“It is I, Sigurdsson, who is here, indeed.”
“Explain the reason to me.”
Conall came out and told the King of Lochlann why and how he had come to his kingdom. “So you see, Sigurdsson, that dire necessity forced me here. Now I am under your hospitality and, hopefully, your pardon.”
“You did not come first to me and ask for the Each Donn,” reproved the King of Lochlann. “Why not?”
“I knew that I would not acquire the brown horse by asking.”
“True enough,” agreed the king. “We will talk more about this. But first, the cause of all this trouble must be surrendered to me. Ask your sons to step forward.”
Conall told his three sons to come out from their hiding places and they were taken prisoners and escorted by the king’s guard to be fed and watched over during the night.
“You will be fed this night and tomorrow at dawn you three will be hanged. I shall hang you, for you are the cause of the trouble you have placed on your father’s shoulders by your insobriety and lack of thought.”
Then the King of Lochlann placed his hand under Conall’s arm and led him to his feasting hall, where his mother was awaiting word of what had happened. The King of Lochlann introduced Conall and then gave him food and wine.
“Now, my old enemy, Conall of the Large Yellow Hand, let us consider this matter. I shall have your three sons hanged tomorrow for attempting to steal my horse to buy their lives from the King of Fótla. I could send them back to the King of Fótla without the brown horse. Either way, your three sturdy sons will be hanged.”
“Why not hang me instead?” demanded Conall. “I led them here, in an attempt to save their lives.”
“What reason to hang you, Conall? You have already absolved yourself in this matter. Necessity made you come here and I forgive you for that necessity. But faced, whichever way you turn, with your sons’ deaths, can you tell me if you were ever in a more difficult situation?”
Conall was a proud man. “I was,” he replied. “And in many such difficulties, and have survived them all.”
Sigurdsson slapped his thigh and bellowed with laughter. “If you can tell me a more difficult situation which you overcame, I’ll release the youngest of your sturdy lads.”
Conall was not a stupid man, and so he asked for a drink of wine and thought rapidly. “Agreed,” he said.
“Tell on, then, Conall,” invited the King of Lochlann.
“When I was a young lad, and my father was then living, we had a great estate and a large herd of cattle. Among the yearling cows there was one who had just calved. My father told me to go to the meadow where she had calved and bring her and the calf home to the warm stable. It was cruel wintertime, and a shower of icy snow had fallen.
“I went to the meadow and dug out the cow and her calf and began to journey back. But snow began to fall again and so I found a herdsman’s bothan. We went into this cabin to await the easing of the snowstorm.
“So there we were when the door opened and in came a family of cats: not one cat but ten of them, and clear, so it was, that they were one and the same family. One among the cats was very big and the red-grey colour of a fox. It had but one very big eye in its head. The others sat around the big cat and started a fearsome caterwaul.
“ ‘Away from this place, cats!’ I cried. ‘For I have no liking for your company nor the noise you make.’
“The large cat turned to me and spoke and I had understanding of its words.
“ ‘We shall not leave this place, for we have come to sing you a crònan, Conall Cròg Buidhe.’
“I was surprised that it knew my name and more surprised when they began to sing me a crònan.”
Now a crònan is a croon, a dirge, often likened to the purring of the cats. Thus Conall continued to recite his story to the King of Lochlann.
“I sat amazed as those cats crooned to me. When they had finished, the one-eyed cat said: ‘Now, Conall Cròg Buidhe, you must pay the fee for such a song as we cats have sung to you.’
“I was further surprised but, it is true, a bard must be paid, even the bard of the cat-people. ‘I have nothing to pay your fee with,’ I confessed, ‘unless you take this newborn calf.’
“I had meant this as a jest but no sooner were the words out of my mouth than the cats sprang forth on the calf and the beast did not last long between their talons and sharp teeth.
“So I said to them: ‘Away with you now, cats. For I have no liking for your company nor songs.’ But the great one-eyed fox-coloured cat said: ‘We have come here to make a crònan for you, Conall, and make it we will.’ And the cats gathered round and sang their crònan. ‘Now pay our fee, for bards may curse as they may praise,’ said the one-eyed cat.
“ ‘Tiresome is this,’ I replied. ‘I have nothing to pay your fee, save the cow which stands here.’
“ ‘Suitable enough,’ said the one-eyed cat. And no sooner was it said than the cats fell on the cow and it did not last them long.
“ ‘Away with you now, cats. I have no liking for your company nor songs, nor your devouring of honest people’s cows.’
“ ‘Yet we have come here to sing you a third crònan,’ replied the one-eyed cat. ‘Sing it we must.’
“And they sat in a semi-circle and crooned their dirge to me.
“Then the one-eyed cat said: ‘Now pay our fee, for we may sing satire as well as the crònan, and satires may raise blemishes on the skin and cause you to suffer the affliction of those cursed.’
“ ‘But I have nothing to reward you with at all, for you have had everything I can give you.’
“And the caterwauling started.
“ ‘Pay us, pay us the fee, pay us our reward.’
“ ‘I can give you nothing,’ I cried.
“Then the one eyed cat said: ‘If you have nothing but yourself, then we find yourself acceptable.’
“The cats began to approach me with slavering jaws and blood on their whiskers. In truth, I leapt for the window, which was framed in rowan and through it I went and down to the hazel woods beyond. I was swift and strong and my fear leant me courage. Yet I heard the toirm, the rushing noise of a wind, as the cats sprang after me and I knew I had not long. I reached the woods and found a rowan tree and climbed up and up into it until I was hidden from the ground.
“Below me, the wailing cats started to search through the woods. However, the rowan hid me. Soon the cats grew tired and, one to another, they called and soon gathered below the rowan.
“ ‘We are tired; we should return home,’ cried one.
“ ‘We will never find him,’ said another.
“Just then, the big one-eyed cat came along and stared right up at me.
“ ‘It is lucky for you, brothers, that I have one eye and that sees more clearly than all your eyes together. There is Conall up in that tree.’
“Now, one of the cats began to climb the rowan tree and, as I sat in it, I saw a loose branch with a sharpened end. So I grabbed this and
stabbed down at the cat and transfixed it.
“ ‘Och-òn!’ cried the one-eyed cat. ‘Alas for that! I cannot lose any more of my tribe. But we must exact our fee for the crònan we sang.’
“The cat sat and thought a moment. Then it said to the others: ‘Gather around the tree and begin to dig out its roots, so that the tree will fall.’
“And this they did and soon the tree was swaying as they revealed its roots and began to topple it. So scared was I that I gave forth a great shout.”
Conall paused in his storytelling for so long that the King of Lochlann urged him to continue.
“Well, Sigurdsson,” continued Conall, “there was a druid in the wood with his twelve acolytes and he heard my cry. ‘That, surely is the shout of a man in extremity and I cannot do anything but reply to it.’ One of his acolytes said, however: ‘Do not go, for it might be a trick of the wind. Let us wait until the shout comes again.’
“They waited and, when I gave my next cry of alarm, the druid affirmed his intention. The druid and his acolytes came towards the tree.
“It was then that the cats gnawed through another root and the tree fell with a crash and me holding onto my branch for dear life. It was then I shouted for a third time. The druid and his acolytes came to the spot and saw how the cats had severed the tree and were closing towards me. Each of them carried a hazel wand and they took their wands and ran on to the cat people. The cats, not being able to confront a druid’s hazel wand, all took to their heels.”
Conall paused and smiled.
“That, O King of Lochlann, is surely a more dangerous situation than facing the death of my three sturdy sons? My being torn to pieces by the cats is more dangerous for me than seeing my sons hanged tomorrow.”
The King of Lochlann’s mother sat by the fire and nodded her head. “I have never heard of greater danger, except once,” she said thoughtfully.
Sigurdsson, the King of Lochlann, slapped his thigh and bawled with laughter. “By the beard of my god, Conall, a fine tale was that. And by it you have earned the life of your youngest son. But if you had a second tale to tell, and it was the equal of it, you could earn the soul of your middle son.”
The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends Page 29