Early Irish Myths and Sagas

by Jeffrey Gantz

  ‘ “Is popa Conchubur in this battlefield?” Cú Chulaind asked, and his question was answered. He went on until he found Conchubur in a ditch, with dirt piled up about him on every side. “Why did you come to the battlefield and the mortal terror that is here?” asked Conchubur. Cú Chulaind raised Conchubur up out of the ditch – six Ulaid champions could not have raised him more bravely. “Bear me to that house yonder,” Conchubur said, “and light me a great fire there.” Cú Chulaind lit the fire. “Good that,” said Conchubur. “Now if I were to get a roasted pig to eat, I would live.” Cú Chulaind went out and found a man over a cooking spit in the middle of the forest, one hand holding his weapons, the other cooking a boar. The man was terrifying; even so, Cú Chulaind attacked and took the man’s head and the boar. Conchubur ate the pig, after which he said “Let us go to our own house.” On the way they met Cúscraid son of Conchubur; he was badly wounded, so Cú Chulaind carried him on his back, and the three returned to Emuin Machae.’

  *

  ‘We knew that boy, indeed,’ said Conall Cernach, ‘and we were none the worse for knowing him. He was our fosterling. Not long after the deeds Fergus has just related he performed another feat.

  ‘When Culand the smith offered Conchubur bis hospitality, he said that a large host should not come, for the feast would be the fruit not of lands and possessions but of his tongs and his two hands. Conchubur went with fifty of his oldest and most illustrious heroes in their chariots. First, however, he visited the playing field, for it was his custom when leaving or returning to seek the boys’ blessing; and he saw Cú Chulaind driving the ball past the three fifties of boys and defeating them. When they drove at the hole, Cú Chulaind filled the hole with his balls, and the boys could not stop them; when the boys drove at the hole, he defended it alone, and not a single ball went in. When they wrestled, he overthrew the three fifties of boys by himself, but all of them together could not overthrow him. When they played at mutual stripping, he stripped them all so that they were stark naked, while they could not take so much as the brooch from his mantle.

  “Conchubur thought all this wonderful. He asked if the boy’s deeds would be similarly distinguished when he became a man, and everyone said that they would be. He said to Cú Chulaind, then, “Come with me to the feast, and you will be a guest.” “I have not had my fill of play yet,” replied the boy. “I will come after you.”

  ‘When everyone had arrived at the feast, Culand said to Conchubur “Do you expect anyone else?” “I do not,” answered Conchubur, forgetting that his fosterling was yet to come. “I have a watchdog,” said Culand, “with three chains on him and three men on every chain. I will loose him now to guard our cattle and our herds, and I will close the courtyard.”

  ‘By that time, the boy was on his way to the feast, and when the hound attacked him he was still at play. He would throw his ball up and his hurley after it, so that the hurley struck the ball and so that each stroke was the same; he would also throw his javelin on ahead and catch it before it could strike the ground. The hound’s attack did not distract the boy from his play; Conchubur and his people, however, were so, confounded they could not move. They could not believe that, when the courtyard doors were opened, they would find the boy alive. But, when the hound attacked him, the boy threw away his ball and hurley and went at it with his bare hands: he put one hand on the hound’s throat and the other on its back and struck it against a pillar until every limb fell apart.

  ‘The Ulaid rose to rescue him, some to the courtyard and some to the door of the courtyard, and they took him in to Conchubur. Everyone was greatly alarmed that the son of the king’s sister had nearly been killed. But Culand entered the house and said “Welcome, lad, for the sake of your mother’s heart. As for myself, however, this was an evil feast. My life is lost, and my household are out on the plain, without our hound. It secured life and honour; it protected our goods and cattle and every creature between field and house. It was the man of the family.” “No great matter that,” replied the boy. “I will rear for you a whelp from the same litter, and, until it is grown and capable of action, I will be the hound that protects your cattle and yourself. I will protect all Mag Muirthemni, and neither herd nor flock will be taken without my knowledge.” “Cú Chulaind will be your name henceforth,” said Cathub. “I prefer my own name,” said Cú Chulaind.

  ‘The boy who did that when he was six would not surprise by doing heroic deeds when he was seventeen,’ said Conall Cernach.

  *

  ‘There were other deeds as well,’ said Fíachu son of Fer Febe. ‘Cathub the druid was with his son, Conchubur son of Ness, and he was teaching one hundred men the druid’s art, for that is the number he used to instruct. One pupil asked him what that day would be good for, and he said that a warrior who took arms that day would be famous among the men of Ériu and that stories of him would be told forever.

  ‘When Cú Chulaind heard that, he went to Conchubur to ask for arms. “Who instructed you?” Conchubur asked. “My tutor, Cathub,” Cú Chulaind replied. “Indeed, we know him,” said Conchubur. He gave Cú Chulaind a spear and shield, but Cú Chulaind shook them in the centre of the house until none of the fifteen spare sets of weapons in Conchubur’s household escaped being broken or taken away. He was given Conchubur’s own weapons, then; these endured him, and he shook them and saluted Conchubur and said “Happy the race and the people whose king has such weapons.”

  ‘Cathub went to Conchubur, then, and said “Is the boy taking arms?” “He is,” answered Conchubur. “Ill luck, then, for his mother’s son,” said Cathub, but Conchubur replied “Why? Did” you not instruct him to take arms?” “Indeed, I did not,” answered Cathub. Then Conchubur said to Cú Chulaind “Why did you lie to me, sprite?” “No lie, king of the Féni.2 He was instructing his students this morning, and I heard him to the south of Emuin, and thus I came to you,” answered Cú Chulaind. “A good day, then,” said Cathub, “for he who takes arms today will be great and famous –and short-lived.” “Wonderful news that,” answered Cú Chulaind, “for, if I am famous, I will be happy even to live just one day.”

  ‘The next morning, another pupil asked the druids what that day would be good for. “Anyone who steps into a chariot today,” Cathub replied, “will be known to the Ériu for ever.” When Cú Chulaind heard that, he went to Conchubur and said “Popa Conchubur, a chariot for me!” Conchubur gave him a chariot, but when Cú Chulaind put his hand between the two chariot poles, it broke. He broke twelve chariots that way, so Conchubur’s own chariot was brought for him, and that endured.

  ‘Cú Chulaind went off in the chariot, taking Conchubur’s charioteer along with him. The charioteer – Ibor was his name – turned the chariot about, saying “Come out of the chariot, now.” But Cú Chulaind replied “The horses are beautiful, and I am beautiful, lad. Take a turn round Emuin with us, and I will reward you.” After that, Cú Chulaind made Ibor take him to say goodbye to the boys, “so that the boys might bless me.” He then entreated the charioteer to return to the road, and when they arrived he said “Put the whip to the horses, now.” “In what direction?” asked Ibor. “As far as the road leads,” Cú Chulaind answered.

  ‘They went on to Slíab Fúait, where they met Conall Cernach. That day it was Conall’s turn to protect the province – every Ulaid warrior of worth took a turn at Slíab Fúait, protecting those who came with poems, fighting enemies and seeing that no one came to Emuin unannounced. “May you prosper,” said Conall, “and may you be victorious and triumphant.” “Return to the fort, Conall, and leave me here to watch in your place,” said Cú Chulaind. “Well enough that,” said Conall, “for protecting those with poetry, but you are not yet able to fight.” “Perhaps it will not come to that,” said Cú Chulaind. “In any case, let us go to look at the sandbar at Loch nEchtrae, for it is customary for young warriors to rest there.” “Very well,” replied Conall.

  ‘They started out, but Cú Chulaind cast a stone from his sling and b
roke Conall’s chariot pole. “Why did you cast that stone, little boy?” asked Conall. “To test my hand and the straightness of my cast,” answered Cú Chulaind. “It is an Ulaid custom not to drive through danger – therefore return to Emuin, popa Conall, and leave me here to watch.” “All right, then,” said Conall, and he did not drive across the plain after that.

  ‘Cú Chulaind drove off to Loch nEchtrae, then, but he found no one there. Ibor told him they should return to Emuin and drink, but Cú Chulaind replied “By no means. What mountain is that yonder?” “Slíab Monduirn,” Ibor told him. “Let us travel until we reach it,” Cú Chulaind said. They drove to Slíab Monduirn, and when they arrived Cú Chulaind asked “What is that white cairn yonder on the upper part of the mountain?” “Findcharn.” “What is the plain yonder?” “Mag mBreg.” Ibor then told him the name of every major fort between Temuir and Cenandas; moreover, he identified the meadows and fords, the dwellings and illustrious places, the forts and the great heights. He pointed out the fort of the three sons of Nechta Scéne: Foill and Fannall and Túachell. “Is it they who say that there are not more of the Ulaid alive than they have slain?” asked Cú Chulaind. “It is they,” replied Ibor. “Let us go on, then, until we meet them,” said Cú Chulaind. “Dangerous that, indeed,” said the charioteer. “Not to avoid danger have we come,” said Cú Chulaind.

  ‘They went on, then, and unyoked the horses at Cómbor Manae and Abae to the south and above the fort. Cú Chulaind took the spancel that was round the pillar and threw it into the river and let the water carry it, for such an action was a breach of geiss to the sons of Nechta Scéne. The sons perceived what he had done and started out to meet him, but Cú Chulaind went to sleep against the pillar, first saying to Ibor “Do not wake me just for a few but only for a large crowd.” Ibor was very frightened; he yoked the chariot and tugged at its skins and coverings, which Cú Chulaind was sleeping on, but he dared not wake the boy since Cú Chulaind had said he was to wake him only for a great crowd.

  ‘The sons of Nechta Scéne arrived, then, and one of them asked “What is this?” “A little boy making an expedition in his chariot,” replied Ibor. “Neither prosperous nor auspicious this first taking of arms,” said the warrior. “Let him leave this land, and let his horses not graze here any more.” “I have the reins in my hand,” said Ibor. “You have no reason to incur the enmity of the Ulaid – besides, the boy is asleep.” “Indeed, he is not a boy at all,” said Cú Chulaind, “but a lad who has come in search of combat.” “My pleasure,” said Foill. “Let it be your pleasure, then, in the ford yonder,” said Cú Chulaind.

  ‘ “You must take note of the man who comes to meet you,” Ibor told Cú Chulaind. “Foill is his name, and if you do not reach him with the first thrust, you will not reach him at all.” Cú Chulaind answered “I swear by the god my people swear by, he will not play that trick upon the Ulaid after my father Conchubur’s broad-pointed spear has reached him. An enemy hand mine.” Cú Chulaind cast his spear at Foill and broke his back and took his head and his weapons.

  ‘ “Take heed of the next man, now,” said Ibor. “Fannall his name, and he treads upon the water as lightly as would a swan or a swallow.” “I swear by the god my people swear by, he will not play that trick upon the Ulaid again. Indeed, you have seen how I tread the pool at Emuin.” They met at the ford; Cú Chulaind slew Fannall and took his head and his weapons.

  ‘ “Take heed now of the last man,” said Ibor. “Túachell his name, and no mistake, for arms will not fell him.” “Here, then, the del chliss to confound him and make a sieve of him.”3 Cú Chulaind cast his spear at Túachell, and the latter’s limbs collapsed; he went and struck Túachell’s head off and gave the head and the spoils to Ibor. They heard the wailing of the sons’ mother, Nechta Scéne, behind them, but Cú Chulaind took the spoils and the three heads with him into the chariot, saying “I will not abandon my triumph until I reach Emuin Machae.”

  ‘They set off with their victory, and Cú Chulaind said to Ibor “You promised me a good drive, and we need that now because of the pursuit behind us.” They drove on to Slíab Fúait, and, with Ibor whipping, they went so fast that the horses overtook the wind and birds in flight, so fast that Cú Chulaind was able to catch a cast from his sling before it could strike the ground. When they reached Slíab Fúait, they found a herd of deer before them. “What beasts are these that are so nimble?” asked Cú Chulaind. “Deer,” replied the charioteer. “Would the Ulaid think it better to bring them back dead or alive?” asked Cú Chulaind. “Alive, for not everyone could do that, but all can bring them back dead. But you are not capable of bringing any back alive,” said the charioteer. “Indeed, I am,” replied Cú Chulaind. “Whip the horses and drive them into the bog.” Ibor did that; the horses stuck fast in the bog, and Cú Chulaind leapt out and seized the nearest, finest deer. He lashed the horses out of the bog, then, and tamed the deer immediately and bound it between the chariot poles.

  ‘After that, they saw a flock of swans before them. “Would the Ulaid think it better to bring these back dead or alive?” asked Cú Chulaind. “The bravest and most accomplished warriors bring them back alive,” answered the charioteer. Cú Chulaind aimed a small stone at the birds and brought down eight of them; he took a large stone, then, and brought down twelve more, with a stunning blow. “Collect the birds, now,” he said to the charioteer, “for if I go myself, the deer will spring upon you.” “Indeed, it will not be easy for me to go,” replied Ibor, “for the horses have become so wild I cannot go past them. I cannot go past the two iron wheels of the chariot because of their sharpness, and I cannot go past the deer because its horns have filled the space between the chariot poles.” “Step out on its antlers, then,” said Cú Chulaind, “for I swear by the god the Ulaid swear by, I will turn my head and fix the deer with my eye so that it will not turn its head to you or dare to move.” They did that: Cú Chulaind held the reins fast, and Ibor collected the birds. Cú Chulaind then bound the birds with strings and cords from the chariot, so that as they drove to Emuin Machae the deer was behind the chariot, the three heads were in the chariot and the swans were flying overhead.

  ‘When they arrived at Emuin, the watchman said “A man in a chariot is approaching, and he will shed the blood of every person here unless naked women are sent to meet him.” Cú Chulaind turned the left side of his chariot towards Emuin, and that was a geiss to the fort; he said “I swear by the god the Ulaid swear by, unless a man is found to fight me, I will shed the blood of everyone in the fort.” “Naked women to meet him!” shouted Conchubur. The women of Emuin went to meet Cú Chulaind gathered round Mugain, Conchubur’s wife, and they bared their breasts before him. “These are the warriors who will meet you today!” said Mugain. Cú Chulaind hid his face, whereupon the warriors of Ulaid seized him and thrust him into a vat of cold water. This vat burst, but the second vat into which he was thrust boiled up with fist-sized bubbles, and the third vat he merely heated to a moderate warmth. When he left the third vat, the queen, Mugain, placed about him a blue mantle with a silver brooch and a hooded tunic. He sat at Conchubur’s knee, then, and that was his bed ever after. The man who did this in his seventh year,’ said Fíachu son of Fer Febe, ‘no wonder should he prevail against odds or demolish an equal opponent now that he is seventeen.’

  The Death of Aífe’s Only Son

  Introduction

  ‘The Death of Aífe’s Only Son’ is an Irish Sohrab and Rustum story, more international than Irish in feeling and probably not very old. It is the title that is distinctively Irish; one would expect ‘The Death of Cú Chulaind’s Only Son’, but this title may reflect an older, matrilinear system of descent – just as the son of Deichtine is Conchubur’s heir, so the son of Aífe might be Cú Chulaind’s. The home of Scáthach and Aífe, not given here, is presumably in the north of Britain.

  That Cú Chulaind has a son at all further suggests that the tale is late, for he is only a boy when he goes away to learn weaponry fr
om the warrior-woman Scáthach, and at the time of the cattle raid of Cúailnge he appears to be only seventeen. Condlae, moreover, is simply a regenerated version of his father: he demonstrates the same arrogance, performs the same feats and is fully a match for Cú Chulaind in combat save for mastery of the gáe bolga, a kind of spear thrust. The reference to Rome and the un-Celtic lack of emotional restraint at the end of the tale also point to a late formulation. Even the rhetorical sections – where Condere calls Condlae ‘the stuff of blood’ and warns him against turning his ‘jaws and spears’ (turning the left side of one’s chariot towards an enemy signalled hostile intent), or where Cú Chulaind describes Condlae’s gore upon his skin as a ‘mist of blood’ and predicts that his spears will ‘suck the fair javelin’ – do not seem very old, though in some phrases they are quite corrupt.

  ‘The Death of Aífe’s Only Son’ is the source, at some distance, for Yeats’s play On Baile’s Strand.

  The Death of Aífe’s Only Son

  Cú Chulaind went to study weaponry with Scáthach nÚa-naind daughter of Airdgeme so that he might master feats. Aífe daughter of Airdgeme went to him there, and when she left she was pregnant, and he told her that she would bear a son. ‘You are to keep this golden thumb ring,’ he said, ‘until the boy can wear it. When that time comes, let him follow me to Ériu. Let him turn aside for no one, and let him identify himself to no one, and let him refuse to fight no one.’