Endurance

by Dermot Somers

  The wedding lasted a week, the couple in a well-appointed bed and the Fianna roistering. The full poem is in Acallamh.

  Crédhe came to the battle with the Fianna to support her new husband. She brought her herds to sustain the warriors, the small black Kerry cows that still survive today. Cattle would be kept at a discreet distance from the fighting. Capturing the enemy’s herd was one way of ensuring victory.

  The Battle of Ventry, famous in Fenian lore, was a savage affair lasting seventeen days. Crédhe supplied the Fianna with milk throughout and tended to the wounded. Her husband, on his honeymoon, fought more fiercely than any of his comrades. On the last day of the battle, chasing an opponent into the sea, he was drowned and his body came ashore with the tide. Heartbroken, Crédhe lay down beside him and uttered a piercing lament in verse. When it was complete, she died of sorrow. The lovers were buried in a single grave at Ventry, and it was Caoilte himself who raised a monument in stone above their heads.

  This story belongs to the later lore of the Fianna and it was composed well into the Christian period. Ventry was chosen for the battle, not for any historical reason, but because some storyteller felt the White Strand of the name would set off a blood-red battle rather well.

  ‘Here,’ said Broccán.

  ‘Then write down everything that Caoilte recited.’

  And he did.

  The mood on Ardpatrick changed as a party of local men approached, spears upright like a grove of trees on the move. Although they put their heads in Patrick’s lap, it was a passing courtesy, and it was Caoilte they wanted to meet. Could he teach them how the Fianna of old had hunted so that they might smarten their technique? When Caoilte heard how poor their efforts were, he wept for them until both his shirt and his chest were wet. He took them up to a lake in the Ballyhoura Mountains, overlooking Ardpatrick from behind. With his assistance, they caught eight hundred animals. They would not find it as easy now, because the Ballyhouras have been tangled with Sitka spruce for years.

  One of Patrick’s priests demanded ten per cent of the hunt as the Church’s share. The locals were not used to Christian charity and their leader refused. Struck to the ground with vicious stomach cramps, he begged Patrick for relief: ‘Put your hand on the pain!’ But it was Caoilte, not Patrick, who rounded on him.

  ‘Not till you pay the fee!’

  The old warrior turned bully-boy on his own people now that he was Patrick’s right-hand man. He even set the fee: the belly of every cow and every pig and every sheep to the Church henceforth, in exchange for the stomach cramps. The victim had no choice but to agree, committing his descendants also to the deal. Only then did Patrick put his hand on the pain.

  From that point on, Caoilte’s role could easily be read as that of a fundraiser for the Church. He is inclined to be constable and tax-collector too. While there are always locals willing to be jailers and executioners of their own people, it should be remembered whose story Acallamh is. It was designed to portray the Fianna as willing collaborators with Christianity. As his journey unfolds, Caoilte opens the graves of his beloved comrades and hands out the contents, the choice share going to the Church. Traditionally seen as generosity to a deserving cause, this reads today as heritage-stripping and grave-robbery. But for all his propensity to act the bully-boy, Caoilte is intrinsically innocent. While loneliness and loss make him devious, a slíbhín on occasion, he remains a warrior-poet of the wilderness and a great storyteller.

  FERMOY, CO. CORK

  Caoilte took a detour by himself from Ardpatrick to Fermoy, a short distance away in east Cork.

  Even in these casual asides, the journey tallies with the actual landscape. The author of the compilation must have had personal knowledge of the whole country; perhaps from a tour of Church properties in the twelfth century. The aes dána, poets and craftsmen in early Ireland, had travelled the country freely on cultural errands; Christian churchmen continued the practice.

  In the stronghold of the Fir Maige (the Plainsmen, who gave their name to Fermoy), Caoilte met two grieving sisters married to a pair of brothers who had gone off to get themselves new wives. He took a practical approach, giving them herbs which the women of the Fianna had traditionally used as an aphrodisiac. The problem of the roaming husbands of Fermoy was solved. Those herbs might have been nothing more erotic than bathing scents. A clean fragrance would be an aphrosidiac in a boudoir normally smelling of smoke, half-cured furs and animal fats. Caoilte rewarded himself for his marriage counselling by uprooting an enormous stone that concealed the treasure of a fellow warrior.

  Monogamy is one of the fundamental themes of Acallamh. A royal wedding is postponed for thirty pages at Patrick’s insistence, until the first queen dies. In case the aspirant might hurry things along, Patrick threatens to disfigure her so badly that her own mother wouldn’t want to see her.

  Language

  Even in fifth-century Ireland, there must have been traces of the older pre-Gaelic languages still echoing somewhere. We have no knowledge of them. The Gaelic that derived from the European Celts and began to suffuse the country in the Iron Age a few centuries BC could hardly have smothered every word and idiom so soon. The originals of the Fianna, in the third century AD, although mimicking the warriors of Celtic Europe, must have retained something of the unknown cultures that existed before the Indo-European tide washed slowly into Ireland. Today it is accepted that there was no actual Celtic invasion; change was brought about by a process of absorption. Accents, idioms, styles, maybe an older mindset and its pre-Celtic customs, must have lingered in pockets here and there. West of the Shannon maybe, or in upland areas? Would such people, conscious of some earlier loss, have been conservative, more resistant to Christianity? On the other hand, might they not have been more vulnerable to the cultural viruses that new systems carry?

  OVER THE RIVER SHANNON

  Caoilte hurried back to Ardpatrick and the missionaries headed north, warriors in train, to spread the seed of the Church in Connacht. There was still a strong belief, even in the twentieth century, that St Patrick travelled extensively in Co. Limerick, including an ascent of a hill near Foynes, now known as Knockpatrick, from which he blessed the wide mouth of the Shannon estuary.

  The party crossed the Shannon at Limerick itself, which would not really exist until the Viking settlement hundreds of years later. The final fording point on the Shannon was not far away, although it must have been seasonal and extremely limited, given the proximity of the estuary. Ferries (dugout canoes and skin-covered coracles) brought travellers over the river as long as relations between the north and south banks were amiable.

  The party moved rapidly northwards through east Clare to Loch na Bó Girre, the Lake of the Short Cow, an old name for Lough Graney in the Aughty Mountains. From there they plunged into east Galway through the territory of Uí Maine (to become O’Kelly country in time) and through the wetlands of the River Suck straight to the banks of Lough Croan, between Ballinasloe and Roscommon town. The landscape of the River Suck in the western midlands has a haunting charm quite different from anything else in Ireland. It can be walked by a way-marked route that might call for rubber boots at times but still retains the lonesome character of bog and riverbank and the essence of traditional community.

  LOUGH CROAN, CO. ROSCOMMON

  Camped at Lough Croan, Patrick and Caoilte sat on a mound overlooking the lake. Caoilte was like a trader in tapestries, spreading out exotic tales for Patrick’s benign inspection. Every now and then, a story took the saint’s fancy, and he had it written down. They focused on the mound itself, and Caoilte described the burials it housed. At one end was a warrior who had died of shame because he could not instantly reward a poet for a tribute in verse. Refusing to wait, the poet had threatened satire. The warrior put his mouth to the ground and rose no more. Patrick granted Heaven to him for his sense of honour. It was no idle offer; the pagan’s soul rose from Hell and hovered as a white dove over Patrick’s head. In the other end of the mo
und lay a famous warrior interred with fifty silver chains …

  Fifty what!? Heads snapped to attention as Caoilte droned on. ‘We would be most happy,’ purred a cleric, ‘to get his treasure.’

  Caoilte opened the grave, and raked out the silver arm-rings with the shaft of his spear.

  ‘You gave Heaven to a man for his honour,’ the priest petitioned Patrick; ‘Give this man Heaven for his treasure.’

  Idly dispensing wisdom and redemption, they passed the day. Meanwhile, the King of Connacht’s son dropped dead after scoring six goals in a hurling match. Womenfolk dying of grief prepared to put their mouths to the ground unless Patrick intervened. He used a golden basin and a silver cup to miraculous effect, and soon the whole of Connacht was in his hands. Recovering from the trance of death, the young man sat up ‘as if waking after being with a woman or after heavy drinking ….’ Some translations leave such details out, as being, perhaps, unsuited to Christian ears. The story continues:

  ‘Laying their heads in Patrick’s lap, the Connacht nobles gave their treasures and their goods, their riches and their plunder, their cattle-herds, horses and their horse-teams, their arm-rings and their other wealth into the power of Patrick.’

  Those of us who grew up around Lough Croan will agree that riches and plunder were scarce indeed as a result. Arm-rings were certainly in short supply.

  The company moved on next morning, passing possibly the little two-roomed school in Scardaun where we sat at our desks. Such was the immediate sense of history and folklore in the 1950s that the Fianna, Brian Boru, Red Hugh O’Donnell, the Black and Tans, were capable of riding by at any time, day or night, hot on each others’ heels, followed by headless horsemen and thirteen hearses in a row. Long before television, local landscape was a traffic jam of drama.

  Heading due north, the party passed a site known to them as Ros na Fingaile, or the wood of the Kin-Slaying, where nine sons of one family had slaughtered each other. Things had quietened down by the time we arrived, and the place was known as Roscommon.

  Kings of Connacht

  As recorded in a medieval account, kings of Connacht received the white wand of royal office on the mound at Carnfree, attended by the nobles and the bishops of the region. An inauguration stone with indentations like footprints stood on top until the mid-nineteenth century. Chieftains had prescribed roles in the ritual. Only Ó Maolchonaire was allowed to stand on the mound with the new king. His job was to present the wand. Ó Connachtáin guarded the gate. A bishop was responsible for the king’s horse. It was believed that St Patrick had established the ritual when he crowned a king on his visit.

  Carnfree was topical when Acallamh was compiled in the late twelfth century. The O’Connors had been kings of Connacht for generations. In that same century, they had wrested the overkingship of Ireland from the O’Briens, descendants of Brian Boru. Rory O’Connor, the last king of Ireland was in power when the Norman Invasion occurred in 1169, not long before Patrick and Caoilte were paired up by the author of Acallamh and dispatched on their journey. Rory’s brother, Cathal Crobhdearg (the red-handed) was king of Connacht until early in the following century.

  CARNFREE, CO. ROSCOMMON

  Ahead of Patrick and Caoilte, the journey pointed directly towards Cruachain (Rathcroghan), the monumental mounds of Connacht, starting point of Táin Bó Cuailnge and legendary site of Queen Medb’s palace. Acallamh was far too smart to tangle with Rathcroghan and the Táin. Instead, camp was pitched just south of Tulsk at Carnfree, another ritual focus in the Roscommon landscape. Carnfree too is studded with burial mounds, enclosures, earthworks, embankments, double ditches, ring-barrows and cairns. Rippling under the greensward, they are the pressure points of the past. Carnfree is the Cairn of Fraech, a hero associated with the daughter of Queen Medb.

  There were good reasons for choosing this stopping point. It was widely believed that St Patrick had actually visited Carnfree and founded a church there when the place was known as Selc. This fits rather well with the pattern of early churches established near great pagan sites. The visit is described by Tírechán, who wrote an account of St Patrick’s mission around AD 675, a couple of centuries after the events. Patrician propaganda such as his would increasingly attribute churches to the saint himself. The outline of a much later stone building is still visible on the ecclesiastical site at Carnfree.3

  On the political front, Carnfree was the inauguration site of the kings of Connacht throughout history. The ritual took place on a mound crowning the highest point of the hill of Carns, just south of Tulsk. Although the hill is no more than a raised plateau, it commands a regal view over the watery landscape of east Connacht. The mound, small in itself, still shows traces of stone-facing and is thought to be a Bronze Age burial cairn.

  One of the last stories told by Caoilte before taking temporary leave of Patrick was a tale of social order and disorder. Fidchell was the board-game attributed to the Fianna, although it actually belonged to a later age. Guaire Goll, a servant, was one of the keepers of Fionn mac Cumhail’s chessboard. He thought himself an expert and had notions above his rank. He challenged a player of noble birth, the warrior Finn Bán, to take him on. Finn Bán was one of the three best chess-players in the Fianna. (Fionn and Diarmaid ua Duibhne were the other two; Caoilte did not rank.)

  Guaire proposed a bet of three ounces of gold each for three days’ play. At the end of the session, he had not won a single game. Losing his temper, he hurled abuse at his opponent, a king’s son. Guaire said Finn Bán was an unskilled warrior, clumsy with his weapons. Finn Bán hit him a smack in the mouth, knocking out three upper and three lower teeth. Guaire collapsed across the chessboard.

  When Fionn mac Cumhail heard of the assault on his servant, he took it personally. He ordered that Finn Bán and all his followers be killed. This would launch an internecine war, and not a man among the Fianna would be left standing. They already had a savage split with the Mac Morna faction to handle. Oisín pre-empted Fionn’s order and called for a judgement by three wise men. One of them was Caoilte. According to their verdict, wherever Fionn met the servant of Finn Bán, he could strike him with his fist. This was backed up by a gift of gold to Fionn from every leader in the Fianna, as an incentive to call off the war. When the heat died down, it emerged that all of Fionn’s servants had been getting above themselves and insulting better men. An oath was taken there and then that servants lacking manners would feel their masters’ wrath. The conclusion automatically blamed the servant, rather than the master. No doubt the social homily, like any parable, was aimed at some specific target in its time.

  In the lofty setting of Carnfree, Patrick asked if the Fianna had ever imagined the existence of God – a smug question somehow. Caoilte described an event that had happened in a hall near Tara. Two hundred sons of kings and two hundred women with them all died during the night, ‘after feasting and pleasure’. The Fianna concluded that there must be a god with the power of life and death over everyone. However, Caoilte mentioned a curious detail in passing – their food had not been prepared where they were, but had been brought in from Tara. They should have checked the kitchen.

  PARTING OF THE WAYS

  Soon Caoilte announced his departure. He was tired, he said, of being in the one place – a lame excuse, since he had just tramped half of Ireland! He took off on a tour of memory in Sligo and south Donegal, with his personal retainers. He went first to the Curlew Mountains, where every journey from Connacht to Ulster passed, and then to Keshcorran, that distinctive little summit with its cave and cairn, standing aloof from the Bricklieve Mountains. From there, Caoilte struck west for the ocean at Ballysadare and on by Rosses Point and Lissadell to Drumcliff at the foot of Benbulben. Most Irish journeys came, sooner or later, to Drumcliff, to the Ridge of Baskets and the monastery there. The round tower, of which a stump survives, must have been quite new when Acallamh was compiled.4

  BENBULBEN, CO. SLIGO

  The elegant mountain of Benbulben has ma
ny associations with the Fianna, implicit in Caoilte’s visit. It was there on the summit plateau that Diarmuid ua Duibhne, Caoilte’s foster brother, suffered a fatal wound in a boar hunt. He was gored to death. Fionn mac Cumhail, a jealous old man by then, allowed him to die, in revenge for the loss of Gráinne who had eloped with Diarmuid.

  Caoilte spent a day of mourning by the grave of his beloved comrade, on the summit of Benbulben. It does not really matter that all these stories were composed out of sequence and that Diarmuid was stitched into the tapestry hundreds of years after Christianity had been established. He did not exist in the early lore at all. Nor does it matter that Diarmuid had no desire to elope with Gráinne, who blackmailed him into it. What matters is the whole story, zigzagging through the centuries, accumulating character, motivation and plot. Fionn’s failure to save Diarmuid on Benbulben brought a tragic reality to the entire tradition, in retrospect. As human imagination gradually extended the myth, Fionn developed from warrior-god to hero to leader and – finally – to a bitter old man.

  With that in mind, could there be any greater loneliness than that suffered by Caoilte on the mountaintop? He was exiled in an alien future, old and weary, reliving a past that had funnelled into jealousy, revenge and death. Even as he sat on Benbulben, his dead comrades – the pagan Fianna – had been condemned to Hell by the Christians. He was reduced to grave-robbing in order to bargain for their redemption.

  In the evening, he descended from Benbulben and, with his men, he built a hut for the night, thatched with rushes. He found a boar drinking at a nearby well and killed it with a spear-cast. The entire episode shows the story feeding creatively upon itself. Aware of the gory death of Diarmuid in a recently composed tale, Acallamh could not pass Benbulben without having Caoilte kill a boar in acknowledgement. It should be noted too that the mountain was originally called Beann Gulban, a word that has the sense of a beak or snout, leading some storyteller, driven by the dynamics of place-lore, to the idea of a boar’s tusk. It is a major reason for the choice of that location for the finale of Diarmuid agus Gráinne.