“That I will have to see for myself!” said Goll MacMorna. He dropped the heavy sack from his shoulder with a sudden jerk that sent it thumping down upon the woman’s toes. “Aie! My toes! My toes!” she cried. “My toes are broken! Broken! Broken!” She forgot the sword and her intention to temper it in Goll MacMorna’s blood. She thought only of the pain that she felt, and stooped to rub her aching toes.
Goll MacMorna snatched the sword from the hand of Lon Lonnrach. “There is just one thing it needs!” he said, and he plunged in into the gruagach’s treacherous heart. With an air of satisfaction Goll MacMorna looked at the blade as he drew it out. “This sword is well-tempered,” he told the bard. “I will have this one for my own.”
When Finn and his chiefs were roused from the sleep that was caused by the magic dust, each man took a sword for himself and tempered it in Lon Lonnrach’s blood. Then Finn turned to his chiefs. “I am a great fool,” said Finn MacChumhail. “I am a fool of fools, to trust a beangruagach, and one from the land of Lochlan beside, and put you all in peril of your lives!”
“The guilt is equally ours,” said Osein.
“Did we hold you back?” asked Coilte.
“The business did not end badly,” said Diarmid.
“No harm was done to anyone of us,” said Osgar son of Osein.
“And the swords,” said Goll MacMorna, “are ours. And the treasure as well.”
Then the Finne made a bier of branches. They put the body of Lon Lonnrach, the hideous, treacherous, evil beangruagach upon the bier. They carried her over the brown hill, and over the green hill, and over the yellow hill and across the plain. They came to the shore and cast the body of Lon Lonnrach into the sea. There the waves took her and carried her back across the sea to Lochlan and cast her up on the shore from which she came. On the shore of Lochlan the Yellow Muilearteach, the father of Lon Lonnrach, waited for his daughter to come home with the swords and the stolen treasure. Her body was washed up at his feet. He saw the six wounds, made by the six swords Lon Lonnrach had forged in the land of the Finne. He shrieked wildly, and shook his fists and stamped his feet with rage, but all his fury could not bring the giant woman back to life again.
There was a great feasting in the land of the Finne, to honor Goll MacMorna, who had slain the beangruagach and saved the lives of Finn and his chiefs. The bard who followed them to the red hill made a new song about the adventure. He called the song “Duan na Ceardach” (“The Lay of the Smithy”), and it was sung for the first time at Goll MacMorna’s feast.
At the time of the feast, each chief took his sword in his hand and gave it a name by which it would henceforth be known. These are the names of the six swords made by Lon Lonnrach the beangruagach, as set down by the bard in “The Lay of the Smithy”:
Of Osgar son of Osein
Druidhe Lannach (Magic Blade)
Of Coilte
Chruaidh Cosgarreach (Hardy Slayer)
Of Diarmid
Liobhanach (The Polisher)
Of Osein
Ceard nan gallan (The Tinker of Striplings)
Of Goll MacMorna
Fasdail (Make Sure)
Of Finn MacChumhail
Mac an Luine (Son of the Surge)
While the bard of the clan was reading the thoughts of Lon Lonnrach, he read also (and reading, learned and remembered) all the mysteries of the smithy that she had hidden there. The secret lore, the bard taught to men who used it for the good of the Finne.
Then there were blacksmiths throughout the land as there had never been before. The tunnachen, the fire-hardened poles and staves, were cast aside forever. Every warrior had his battle weapons, his dagger, his sword, and his spear, made according to the mysteries of the smithy, the uallach gobhain, by the mating of fire and red earth, beaten out by the hammer on the anvil in the same fashion that Lon Lonnrach had forged the six swords for Finn and his chiefs.
The Tale of the
Lay of the Amadhain Mhor
IN the olden times long before our days there dwelt in Caledonia a fearless warrior who was of great renown throughout the land. Hosts fled from him in battle and no man could withstand his might. Far and wide, he was known as the Amadhain Mhor, the Great Fool, because he relied not upon his sword and his spear, but in combat would throw away his weapons and trust to the grasp and the strength of his own two arms. He had never felt defeat nor known the meaning of fear. Many great chiefs were subdued by him and many a knee was bent to pay him homage, and at last no one dared to challenge his rule.
Then said the Amadhain Mhor, “There is no one left to stand against me. Shall the sinews of my good arm wither for lack of use? I shall sail over the sea to Lochlan and seek a worthy opponent there.”
In his tall-masted ship with the black sails the Amadhain Mhor set forth to Lochlan. He took no servants, no page to wait upon his needs. His one companion was his young wife, Gealmhin, the delicate fair one, whom he loved well.
The strong hands of the sea waves took hold of the ship and urged it forward. The breath of the wild wind filled the tall black sails. Wind and waves speeded the ship to Lochlan and carried it up on the shore. The Amadhain Mhor left his ship beached upon the strand and with his fair young wife he went up from the shore to travel into the land.
In those days the land of Lochlan was the dwelling place of wizards and witches. Magic spells were laid to trap the unwary voyager, and giants peopled the place.
The Amadhain Mhor and Gealmhin had not gone far beyond the sea when they came to the edge of a lovely glen. Soft grew the grass underfoot, roses flourished abundantly, the leaves of the trees stirred in the breeze, and waterfalls played gentle music for the ears’ delight.
“We will go into this glen,” said the Amadhain Mhor. “I am weary of seafaring and need to rest.”
“O Amadhain Mhor, my loved one,” said Gealmhin. “Go not into the glen, I beg of you. My heart tells me that evil lurks beneath the beauty there.”
“He who is strong need fear no evil,” said the Amadhain Mhor. “Come with me and I will protect you, my delicate fair one. Or, if you fear too much, stay here and wait for my return.”
“Nay, where you go, I shall go,” said the young Gealmhin. “But alas, you are only too truly called the Amadhain Mhor. Foolhardy man, who waits not for danger to come to him, but plunges into it headfirst!”
“Let us go into the glen,” said the Amadhain Mhor.
They went into the glen and the grass was cool under their feet, the breeze refreshed them, and flowers scented the air about them. But when they were well within the glen, with half of its length behind them, a great fog rose about them and shut the glen and its beauties from their eyes. From all sides there came rough winds to buffet them. They heard strange noises, voices wailing and skreighing, loud bursts of thunder, and the rush and roar of hidden waters. Fog swirled about them in gray circles until they grew dizzy and sank down upon the ground.
Then, through the fog, they saw one coming toward them. Half-hidden in a misty cloud, a giant approached, bearing in his hands a great jeweled cup.
“Now, when my thirst is greatest, help arrives!” cried the Amadhain Mhor. “Come then, gruagach! Let me drink from your cup.”
“Nay!” said Gealmhin. “Touch not the cup the stranger offers! Drink not, nor eat, within the borders of this enchanted glen. There is naught but mischief in all things here.”
“Foolish youth! Do you refuse the cup that will refresh you?” asked the giant, laughing. “Farewell to you, then. I shall go on my way now.” And he turned to leave them.
“You shall not leave until I have slaked my thirst,” cried the Amadhain Mhor, and reaching out, he seized the cup and quickly drained it to the last drop.
A draught of misfortune that was indeed for the Amadhain Mhor! The cup he drank from held a magic potion. No sooner had he swallowed the draught than his legs vanished from the knees down to the soles of his feet.
“O my Amadhain Mhor, my Great Fool,” wept the fair G
ealmhin. “Ah, that my warning found your ears deaf. Who, now, in all the world will fear to fight you, and you but half a man without your legs?”
“I will walk on my shanks, then, and fight on them, too, if I must. And I will go after this giant of the cup. He shall not be rid of me until I have my legs again,” said the Amadhain Mhor. Then up he got and stumped along through the glen, walking on his knees, following the giant of the jeweled cup. But the giant sped before him, and soon was hidden in the fog.
“Let us go no farther lest worse befall us,” pleaded Gealmhin. “Let us return to the ship and sail back to our own land.”
“I shall get my legs back first,” said the Amadhain Mhor, “or there will be no man in all the world who will have two legs to walk on.”
They came to the end of the glen and found themselves upon a wide stretch of moorland upon which the sun shone brightly. The sound of hunting came from the wood that grew at the end of the glen. Presently a stag came racing out of the wood and over the moor. The Amadhain Mhor seized his throwing spear and cast it at the deer as it sped by. The spear pierced the stag through its two sides and it fell dead. Then a fine great stag-hound, white-coated and red-eared, wearing a golden collar, came baying out of the wood in pursuit of the deer. The Amadhain Mhor reached out and caught it by its golden collar as it raced toward him. He wove a leash of strong young hazel withes and looped it through the staghound’s collar. He gave the leash to Gealmhin, and bade her hold it fast.
“Stay here and sing to me,” the Amadhain Mhor told the white staghound, “till one comes from the hunt for you.”
Out of the wood came a giant huntsman. So handsome a man the Amadhain Mhor had never seen before. The giant walked in splendor, wearing a cloak and a helmet of the purest gold. His hand rested on the golden hilt of a sword that hung at his left side. On his right arm he bore a golden shield and in his right hand he carried a golden crossbow and two throwing spears.
The sun’s rays, glancing from the gold cloak and helmet, surrounded the handsome giant with shafts of golden shining light. He came striding down from the glen and halted beside the Amadhain Mhor.
“My stag that you have slain and my hound that you have caught are mine by right,” said the giant in the cloak of gold. “I have come to claim them, and send the hound back to the chase.”
“Never again shall you boast that you are the master of the great white staghound,” said the Amadhain Mhor. “The hound remains with me. As for the deer I have slain, I shall keep that, too.”
“If you will not give up the hound and the stag of your own free will, then you will have to fight for them,” the golden giant said. “In all the days of my life, I have never been defeated, and it is not my intention that you will beat me now.”
“In all the days of my life,” replied the Amadhain Mhor, “I have fought no fight that I have not won. You are the master of the hunt and you have hounds galore. This one you can easily spare. But though I am a poor lamester, I do not fear you. All I have is the stag I have slain and the hound I have caught, and to keep them I will fight you, if that is your desire.”
Then strength against strength, they threw themselves into the struggle, wrestling back and forth across the moor. The earth was rocked by their strife, rocks bounded from their places and trees bowed down. But when the battle was done, the golden giant lay defeated. The Amadhain Mhor was the victor, and he had won the right to keep the white staghound and the deer. The golden giant rose from the ground and said to the Amadhain Mhor, “The white staghound is yours, and the deer to you, also! My heart is downcast, for the hound is dear to me, and I have never tasted defeat before. But I am not ill-pleased that I was beaten by an opponent as worthy as yourself, who despite the lack of his two legs had the courage to strive against me. Let us be foes no longer, but clasp hands in friendship. You and your fair wife shall come with me to my house and be my guests. Food, clothing, and shelter shall be provided for you there, and all other things you desire.”
Said Gealmhin, the delicate fair one, “This giant shows a noble spirit in his defeat. Can you do less, O Amadhain Mhor? I beg of you, let him have back the hound. You will miss it less than he, who loves it well.”
Then said the Amadhain Mhor, “Your wisdom, Gealmhin, is greater than my own. Would I not have my two legs now, if I had heeded your warning in the glen? Since it is your wish, he shall have back the white staghound.”
The three went on together. In the hollow of his shield the giant carried Gealmhin, the delicate fair one, and over his shoulders, the stag, while the white-coated, red-eared staghound paced between his master and the Amadhain Mhor.
The moor rose to a hill and at the top they looked down upon a pleasant valley. At the side of the vale there stood a citadel of gold. Every spire and turret and tower sent shafts of shining light upward toward the sun.
“What is this place of wonders?” cried the Amadhain Mhor. “Who dwells within its walls?”
“This is the City of Gold,” said the giant. “It is my house, and within its walls there dwells no men of guile, but only myself and my beautiful wife.
“You must see my wife to understand how great her beauty is,” said the golden giant. “Her skin is like the snow at its first falling, her mouth a rose lying on the snow. Her eyes are twin lakes reflecting the blue of the heavens, and in her heart dwells innocence itself. Each day, while hunting, I go through the glen of enchantment. It is full of glamour, and witches in the guise of fair women beckon to me and seek to entice me. All their wiles are useless and only make me value more my beautiful young wife.”
They came down to the City of Gold, and a lady blessed with great beauty, the wife of the golden giant, came forth to greet her husband and welcome his guests. “Who is this fair lady?” she asked. “And who is the big man you have brought to our house?”
“This is the Amadhain Mhor,” said her husband. “And this lady is Gealmhin, the delicate fair one, who is his wife. All the men of the world are at the beck and call of this great warrior, and I myself among the rest.”
“You tell me a wonderful thing!” said the beautiful lady. “But if the men of the world are at his command, how was it that he let his legs go with them?”
“O wife, I give you my word,” said the giant. “The men of the world are indeed at his beck and call. And legs or no legs, I, who have never before known defeat, have myself been vanquished by his might! If he had not met with witchcraft in the enchanted glen, his legs would not be gone. But come! The Amadhain Mhor and I have clasped hands and are foes no longer, and he and fair Gealmhin are friends in my house.”
“It is enough,” said the beautiful lady. “If they are your friends, they are mine also.” She smiled upon them sweetly, and kindly led them into the house. She brought food to them and drink, and bade them refresh themselves, and rest.
“There is no match in all the world for this lady’s beauty!” said the Amadhain Mhor.
“Her beauty is greater because it goes hand-in-hand with kindness,” replied Gealmhin, the delicate fair one, who, though young, was wise.
Then spoke the golden giant. “Now I shall return to my hunting, to the moorland and the enchanted glen. Remain here, O Amadhain Mhor, my friend, to watch over my house, my wife, and my treasure of gold. While I am out, I lay it upon you to let no man enter, but if, by chance, one should come in, see to it that he does not go out again!”
“I give to you my promise that it shall be done as you say,” said the Amadhain Mhor.
The golden giant went off to the chase, taking with him his white staghound. The beautiful lady settled herself in her tall golden chair by the window to wait for her husband’s return, while the Amadhain Mhor and Gealmhin, the delicate fair one, rested on a cushioned bench by the fire.
“O Gealmhin,” said the Amadhain Mhor. “The mists of the enchanted glen have not yet cleared away from my eyes. My head is heavy. I will lie down for a minute or two and rest.”
He put his head down in her la
p and at once fell asleep. While he slumbered a tall brown giant came in from the road and gave a kiss to the golden giant’s wife. The beautiful lady made no protest, but smiled, and lowering her eyes, sat quietly in her tall golden chair.
Fair Gealmhin beheld the giant come in and leaned to her husband’s ear. “Wake up! O Amadhain Mhor,” said she. “Unlucky your sleep has been. A warrior in brown came in and kissed the golden giant’s wife.”
The Amadhain Mhor sprang up from the bench and set himself at the door. He struck the posts on either side a blow with his mighty fists. And never a stronger blow was struck by a blacksmith, tinker, or wright than the blows of the Amadhain Mhor. He took his stand and blocked the door and none could pass by him. “Easy it was, O giant in brown, to come in while I slept,” said he. “But you will find it a harder thing to get out again, now I am wide awake.”
The giant seized the Amadhain Mhor to haul him out of the way. “You have not the right and you have not the might to keep me in,” said he. “Move out of the doorway, nor stand in my path when I want to go out!” he cried.
But still the Amadhain Mhor stood firm, like a boulder at the door, and all the brown giant’s strength could not prevail to move him out of the way.
“Give up the struggle. I fear you not, and your strength is no match for mine,” cried out the Amadhain Mhor. “And you shall stay in until he who is out comes back to his City of Gold. And when he comes he’ll pay you well for the kiss you gave his wife.”
Then the giant in brown, seeing that his strength was useless against the might of the Amadhain Mhor, sought to beguile him.
“Mighty one,” said the brown giant. “I see your wisdom is as great as your strength. I will give you seven chests full of shining gold. I’ll give you cattle in herds and good free land, and a castle of your own. You shall have all that, and more, for I will give you my finest cloak, my swiftest hound, and my horse who goes as well on the sea as he does on the land. All these I shall give you, if you will move aside and let me go out.”
By Loch and by Lin: Tales from Scottish Ballads Page 2