This task also having been accomplished, the Mace Óc again went to Ailill and demanded Étaín. ‘You will not have her until you buy her,’ said Ailill, ‘for after you take her away I will have no further good of her, only what you give me now.’ ‘What do you want, then?’ asked the Mace Óc. ‘I want her weight in gold and silver, for that is my share of her price. Everything that you have done so far has profited only her family and her people.’ ‘You will have that,’ said the Mace Óc. The woman was brought to the centre of Ailill’s house, and her weight in gold and silver was handed over. That wealth was left with Ailill, and the Mace Óc took Étaín home with him.
Mider welcomed the two of them. He slept with Étaín that night, and the following day his clothing and his chariot were given him, and he thanked his foster-son. He stayed a year in the Bruig with Óengus, and then he returned to Brí Léith and his own land, and he took Étaín with him. As he was leaving, the Mace Óc said ‘Look after the woman you are taking with you, for there awaits you a woman of dreadful sorcery, a woman with all the knowledge and skill and power of her people. She has, moreover, my guarantee of safety against the Túatha Dé Danand.’ This woman was Fúamnach wife of Mider, from the family of Béothach son of lardanél; she was wise and clever, and she was versed in the knowledge and power of the Túatha Dé Danand, for the druid Bresal had reared her before her engagement to Mider.
Fúamnach welcomed her husband, and she spoke much of friendship to them. ‘Come, Mider,’ she said, ‘that you may see your house and your lands, that the king’s daughter may see your wealth.’ Mider went round all his lands with Fúamnach, and she showed his holdings to him and to Étaín. He took Étaín back to Fúamnach, then. Fúamnach preceded Étaín into the house where she slept, and she said to her ‘The seat of a good woman have you occupied.’ With that, Étaín sat in the chair in the centre of the house, whereupon Fúamnach struck her with a wand of scarlet rowan and turned her into a pool of water. Fúamnach went to her foster-father Bresal, then, and Mider left the house to the water that had been made of Étaín. After that, Mider was without a woman.
The heat of the fire and the air and the seething of the ground combined to turn the pool of water that was in the centre of the house into a worm, and they then turned the worm into a scarlet fly. This fly was the size of the head of the handsomest man in the land, and the sound of its voice and the beating of its wings were sweeter than pipes and harps and horns. Its eyes shone like precious stones in the dark, and its colour and fragrance could sate hunger and quench thirst in any man; moreover, a sprinkling of the drops it shed from its wings could cure every sickness and affliction and disease. This fly accompanied Mider as he travelled through his land, and listening to it and gazing upon it nourished hosts in their meetings and assemblies. Mider knew that the fly was Étaín, and while it was with him he did not take another wife, for the sight of it nourished him. He would fall asleep to its buzzing, and it would awaken him when anyone approached who did not love him.
Eventually, Fúamnach came to visit Mider, and, to guarantee her safety, three of the Túatha Dé Danand came with her: Lug and the Dagdae and Ogmae. Mider upbraided Fúamnach and said that but for the guarantee of those who had come with her she would not have been permitted to leave; Fúamnach answered that she did not regret what she had done, that she preferred being good to herself to being good to anyone else, and that, wherever she went in Ériu, she would bring nothing but evil to Étaín, wherever and in whatever shape the latter might be. Fúamnach had brought from the druid Bresal Etarlám great spells and incantations with which to banish Étaín from Mider, for she knew that the scarlet fly that was entertaining Mider was Étaín: as long as he could watch the scarlet fly, Mider loved no woman, and he did not enjoy food or drink or music unless he could see it and listen to its music and its buzzing.
With her druidry, then, Fúamnach conjured up a lashing wind that blew Étaín out of Brí Léith, so that for seven years there was not a hill or a treetop or a cliff or a summit on which the fly might alight, only the rocks of the ocean and the waves; and it floated through the air until at last it alighted on the garment of the Mace Óc on the mound of the Bruig. The Mace Óc said ‘Welcome, Étaín, troubled wanderer, you have endured great hardships through the power of Fúamnach. Not yet have you found happiness, your side secure in alliance with Mider. As for me, he has found me capable of action with hosts, the slaughter of a multitude, the clearing of wildernesses, the world’s abundance for Ailill’s daughter. An idle task, for your wretched ruin has followed. Welcome!’ The Mace Óc welcomed the girl – that is, the scarlet fly. He took it against his breast in the fold of his cloak, and he brought it then to his house and his bower, the latter with its airy windows for coming and going and the scarlet veil he put round it. The Mace Óc carried that bower wherever he went, and he fell asleep by it every night, lifting the fly’s spirit until its colour and cheer returned. The bower was filled with strange, fragrant herbs, and Étaín prospered with the scent and the colour of those healthful and precious herbs.
Fúamnach heard of the love and honour that the fly was shown by the Mace Óc, and she said to Mider ‘Have your foster-son summoned, that I may make peace between the two of you, and I, meanwhile, will go in search of Étaín.’ A messenger from Mider arrived at the Mace Óc’s house, then, and the Mace Óc went to speak with him; Fúamnach, however, circled into the Bruig from another direction and unleashed the same wind against Étaín, so that the latter was driven out of the bower on the same wandering as before, seven years throughout Ériu. The lashing of the wind drove the fly on in wretchedness and weakness until it alighted on the roof of a house in Ulaid where people were drinking; there, it fell into a golden vessel that was in the hand of the wife of Étar, a warrior from Indber Cíchmane in the province of Conchubur. Étar’s wife swallowed Étaín along with the drink in the vessel; Étaín was conceived in the woman’s womb and was born as her daughter. One thousand and twelve years from her first begetting by Ailill until her last by Étar.
Thereafter Étaín was brought up by Étar at Indber Cíchmane, and fifty chieftains’ daughters were reared along with her, and they were fed and clothed for the purpose of attending Étaín at all times. One day, when all the girls were bathing at the mouth of the river, they saw a rider coming towards them from the plain. His horse was broad and brown, prancing, with curly mane and curly tail. He wore a green cloak of the Síde, and a tunic with red embroidery, and the cloak was fastened with a gold brooch that reached to either shoulder.5 A silver shield with a rim of gold was slung over his shoulder, and it had a silver strap with a gold buckle. In his hand he carried a five-pronged spear with a band of gold running from butt to socket. Fair yellow hair covered his forehead, but a band of gold restrained it so that it did not cover his face. The rider stopped a while on the river bank to look at Étaín, and all the girls fell in love with him. Then he recited this poem:
Étaín is here today
at Síd Ban Find west of Ailbe;
among little boys she is,
on the border of Indber Cíchmane.
It is she who healed the king’s eye
from the well of Loch Dá Lice;
it is she who was swallowed in the drink
in the vessel of the wife of Étar.
Because of her the king will chase
the birds of Tethbae;
because of her he will drown his two horses
in the waters of Loch Dá Airbrech.
Over her there will be much fighting
against Echu of Mide;
Síde mounds will be destroyed,
and many thousands will do battle.
It is she who will be celebrated everywhere;
it is she the king is seeking.
Once she was called Bé Find.
Now she is our Étain.
The young warrior rode away, then, and they knew neither whence he had come nor where he had gone.
The Mace Óc went to speak
with Mider, but he did not find Fúamnach there. Mider said to him ‘Fúamnach has lied to us, and if she hears that Étain is in Ériu, she will go to do her harm.’ ‘Étaín has been at my house in the Bruig for a while now,’ said the Mace Óc, ‘in the form in which she was blown away from you, and it may be that Fúamnach has gone there.’ The Mace Óc returned to his house and found the crystal bower without Étaín in it. He followed Fuamnach’s trail until he overtook her at Óenach Bodbgnai, at the house of the druid Bresal Etarlám, and there he attacked her and struck off her head and took it back with him to Bruig na Bóinde.
*
Echu Airem became king of Ériu, and the five provinces of the country submitted to him, and the king of each province: Conchubur son of Ness, Mess Gegra, Tigernach Tétbandach, Cú Ruí and Ailill son of Mata Murisc. Echu’s forts were Dún Frémaind in Mide and Dún Frémaind in Tethbae; of all the forts in Ériu, Dún Frémaind in Tethbae was the one he loved most.
The year after he became king, Echu ordered the men of Ériu to hold the feis of Temuir, so that their taxes and assessments for the next five years might be reckoned.6 The men of Ériu replied that they would not hold the feis of Temuir for a king with no queen, for indeed Echu had had no queen when he became king. Echu then sent messengers to every province of Ériu to seek the fairest woman in the land; and he said that he would have no wife but a woman whom none of the men of Ériu had known before him. Such a woman was found at Indber Cíchmane – Étaín daughter of Étar – and Echu took her, for she was his equal in beauty and form and race, in magnificence and youth and high repute.
The three sons of Find son of Findlug were queen’s sons: Echu Feidlech, Echu Airem and Ailill Angubae. Ailill Angubae fell in love with Étaín at the feis of Temuir, after she had slept with Echu Airem – he would gaze upon her constantly, and such gazing is a sign of love. Ailill reproached himself for what he was doing, but he could not desist: his desire was stronger than his will. He fell ill, then, for he would not dishonour himself by speaking with Étaín. When he sensed that he was dying, he had Echu’s doctor Fachtna brought to him, and Fachtna said ‘You have one of two deadly pangs that no doctor can cure: the pang of love and the pang of jealousy.’ Ailill said nothing, for he was ashamed.
Ailill was left at Dún Frémaind in Tethbae to die, then, while Echu made a circuit of Ériu; and Étaín was left with him to perform the funeral rites: digging his grave, weeping over his body, slaying his cattle. Every day, she went to the house where he lay sick to talk to him, and he grew better, for when she was in the house he could look at her. Étaín observed this and meditated on it, and the next day, when they were together, she asked Ailill what had made him ill. ‘My love for you,’ he answered. ‘A shame you did not tell me sooner,’ she said, ‘for had I known, you would long since have been well.’ ‘I can be well at once if you so desire,’ said Ailill. ‘Indeed, I do,’ Étaín answered.
Every day, then, Étaín went to wash Ailill’s head and cut his meat and pour water over his hands, and after thrice nine days he was well. He said to her, then, ‘My healing yet wants one thing – when will I have that?’ ‘You will have it tomorrow,’ she replied, ‘but the sovereign must not be shamed in his own dwelling. Meet me tomorrow on the hill above the house.’ Ailill remained awake all night, but at the hour of the meeting he fell asleep, and he did not wake until the third hour of the following day. Étaín went to the hill, and the man she saw there waiting for her was like Ailill in appearance; he lamented the weakness his ailment had brought about, and the words he spoke were the words Ailill would have used. Ailill himself woke at the third hour, and he was giving vent to his sorrow when Étaín returned to the house. ‘Why so sad?’ she asked. ‘Because I made an appointment with you and was not there to meet you,’ Ailill replied. ‘Sleep overcame me, and I just now woke. It is clear that I am not yet well.’ ‘No matter,’ said Étaín, ‘for tomorrow is another day.’
Ailill remained awake that night in front of a huge fire, with water nearby for splashing over his face. At the appointed hour, Étaín went to meet him, and again she saw the man who was like Ailill; she returned home and found Ailill weeping. Three times Étaín went to the hill, and three times Ailill failed to meet her; always, the man who looked like Ailill met her. ‘It is not you I am to meet,’ she said. ‘I come not to hurt or sin against the man I am to meet; I come rather to heal one who is worthy to be king of Ériu.’ ‘It would be more fitting for you to come to me,’ replied the man, ‘for when you were Étaín Echrade daughter of Ailill, I was your husband; I paid a great bride price for you by creating the plains and rivers of Ériu and by giving your weight in gold and silver to your father,’ ‘What is your name?’ Étaín asked. ‘Mider of Brí Léith.’ ‘And what is it that parted us?’ ‘The sorcery of Fúamnach and the spells of Bresal Etarlám.’ Mider said to Étaín, then, ‘Will you come with me?’ ‘I will not,’ she answered. ‘I will not exchange the king of Ériu for a man whose race and family I know nothing of.’ ‘It is I who made Ailill fall in love with you, so that his flesh and his blood fell from him; and it is I who quelled his desire to sleep with you, lest you be dishonoured. Will you come to my land with me if Echu bids you?’ ‘I will,’ said Étaín.
She returned home, then, and Ailill said to her, ‘Good our meeting here, for I have been healed, and you have not been dishonoured.’ ‘Wonderful that,’ said Étaín. After that, Echu returned from his circuit; he rejoiced to find his brother alive, and he thanked Étaín for what she had done in his absence.
*
One beautiful summer day, Echu Airem king of Temuir rose and climbed on to the rampart of Temuir to look out over Mag mBreg, and he saw the plain vibrant with colour and bloom of every hue. And when he looked round the rampart, he saw a strange young warrior. The man wore a scarlet tunic; golden yellow hair fell to his shoulders, and his eyes were sparkling grey. In one hand he carried a five-pointed spear; in the other he held a shield studded with a white boss and gold gems. Echu was silent, for he did not remember the stranger’s being in Temuir the previous evening, and at this hour the doors had not yet been opened.
The stranger approached Echu, and Echu said ‘Welcome, young warrior whom I do not know.’ ‘It is for that I have come,’ said the warrior. ‘I do not recognize you,’ said Echu. ‘But I know you,’ said the warrior. ‘What is your name?’ asked Echu. ‘Not a famous one: Mider of Brí Léith.’ ‘What has brought you here?’ Echu asked. ‘The wish to play fid-chell with you,’ Mider replied.7 ‘Indeed, I am good at fid-chell,’ answered Echu. ‘Let us see,’ said Mider. ‘The queen is asleep,’ said Echu, ‘and the fidchell set is with her in the house.’ ‘No worse the fidchell set I have with me,’ said Mider. True that: the board was of silver and the men were of gold, a precious stone glittered in each corner of the board, and the bag for the men was woven in rounds of bronze.
Mider set up the pieces, then, and he said to Echu ‘Let us play.’ ‘I will not play unless there is a stake,’ Echu replied. ‘What do you want to play for?’ asked Mider. ‘All the same to me,’ answered Echu. ‘If you win,’ said Mider. ‘I will give you fifty dark grey horses with dappled, blood-red heads, sharp-eared, broad-chested, wide-nostrilled, slender-footed, strong, keen, tall, swift, steady and yokable, and fifty enamelled bridles to go with them. You will have them at the third hour tomorrow.’ Echu made the same wager; they played, and Mider lost his stake. He departed, then, taking his fidchell set with him.
The following day, at dawn, Echu rose and went out on to the rampart of Temuir, and he saw his opponent coming towards him. He did not know where Mider had gone the previous day or whence he came from now, but he saw the fifty dark grey horses with their enamelled bridles. ‘Honourable this,’ he said. ‘What was promised is due,’ answered Mider, and he went on ‘Will we play fidchell?’ ‘Indeed,’ said Echu, ‘but there must be a stake.’ ‘I will give you fifty fiery boars,’ said Mider, ‘curly-haired, dappled, light grey underneath and dark grey above, with horses’ h
ooves on them, and a blackthorn vat that can hold them all. Besides that, fifty gold-hilted swords. Moreover, fifty white red-eared cows and fifty white red-eared calves, and a bronze spancel on each calf. Moreover, fifty grey red-headed wethers, three-headed, three-horned. Moreover, fifty ivory-hilted blades. Moreover, fifty bright-speckled cloaks. But each fifty on its own day.’
Thereafter Echu’s foster-father questioned him, asking how he had obtained such riches, and Echu answered ‘It happened thus.’ ‘Indeed. You must take care,’ replied his foster-father, ‘for it is a man of great power who has come to you. Set him difficult tasks, my son.’ When Mider came to him, then, Echu imposed these famous great labours: clearing Mide of stones, laying rushes over Tethbae, laying a causeway over Móin Lámrige, foresting Bréifne. ‘You ask too much of me,’ said Mider. ‘Indeed, I do not,’ replied Echu. ‘I have a request, then,’ said Mider. ‘Let neither man nor woman under your rule walk outside before sunrise tomorrow.’ ‘You will have that,’ said Echu.
No person had ever walked out on the bog, but, after that, Echu commanded his steward to go out and see how the causeway was laid down. The steward went out into the bog, and it seemed that every man in the world was assembling there from sunrise to sunset. The men made a mound of their clothes, and that is where Mider sat. The trees of the forest, with their trunks and their roots, went into the foundation of the causeway, while Mider stood and encouraged the workers on every side. You would have thought that every man in the world was there making noise. After that, clay and gravel and stones were spread over the bog. Until that night, it had been customary for the men of Ériu to yoke oxen across the forehead, but that night it was seen that the people of the Síde placed the yoke across the shoulders. Echu thereafter did the same, and that is why he was called Echu Airem, for he was the first of the men of Ériu to place a yoke on the necks of oxen.8 And these are the words that the host spoke as they were building the causeway: ‘Place it here, place it there, excellent oxen, in the hours after sundown, very onerous is the demand, no one knows whose the gain, whose the loss in building the causeway over Móin Lámrige.’ If the host had not been spied upon, there would have been no better road in the entire world; but, for that reason, the causeway was not made perfect.
Early Irish Myths and Sagas Page 5