After seven years the boy went to seek his father. The Ulaid were assembled at Trácht Éise, and they saw the boy out on the sea, in a bronze ship, with golden oars in his hands. He had a heap of stones in the boat, and he placed these in his slingshot and dealt stunning blows to the birds overhead, so that the creatures were knocked unconscious; afterwards he revived them and sent them back into the air. He performed the jaw feat with his hands until his upper jaw reached his eye. After that, he modulated his voice until he had laid the birds low a second time, and he revived them a second time as well.
‘Woe, indeed,’ said Conchubur, ‘to the land to which yonder lad comes. If the great men from his island were to arrive, they would pound us to dust, inasmuch as a mere boy performs such feats. Let someone go to meet him, and let him not enter this country.’ ‘Who should go to meet him?’ ‘Who but Condere son of Echu,’ answered Conchubur. ‘Why should Condere go?’ asked everyone. ‘Not difficult that,’ replied Conchubur, ‘Whatever good sense and eloquence may be required, Condere will possess it.’ ‘I will go to meet him,’ said Condere. Condere went, then, and he met the boy as the latter came ashore. ‘Far enough that, little boy, until you tell us where you come from and who your family is.’ ‘I will not identify myself to any man,’ said the boy, ‘and I will not turn aside for any man.’ ‘You will not enter this country until you have identified yourself,’ said Condere. ‘I will continue the journey on which I have come,’ said the boy.
The boy turned away, then, but Condere said ‘Turn to me, my boy. You are capable of great deeds. You are the stuff of blood. The pride of the warriors of Ulaid is in you. Conchubur welcomes you. Your jaws and spears away from the left side of your chariot, lest the warriors of Ulaid rise against you. Conchubur invites you to come to us. An ear for you if you turn towards me. Come to Conchubur, the impetuous son of Ness; to Senchae, the victorious son of Ailill; to Cethernd of the red sword edge, the son of Findtan, with a fire that wounds battalions; to Amorgen the poet; to Cúscraid of the great hosts. I welcome you; Conall Cernach invites you to stories, songs and the laughter of war heroes. Blaí Briugu would be greatly distressed if you journeyed on past him, he being a hero; moreover, to shame so many is not right. I, Condere, arose to meet the boy who detains champions. I vowed that I would meet this boy, though he has neither beard nor manly hair, provided he is not disobedient to the Ulaid.’
‘Good your coming,’ said the boy, ‘for now you will have your conversation. I have modulated my voice. I have left off casting unerringly from chariots. I have collected a beautiful flight of birds by shooting far-flying little spears at them, and moreover without the hero’s salmon leap. I have vowed great feats of arms lest anyone lay siege against me. Go and ask the Ulaid whether they wish to come against me singly or in a host. Turn back, now, for, even if you had the strength of a hundred, you would not be worthy to detain me.’
‘Let someone else come to talk to you, then,’ said Condere. He returned to the Ulaid and repeated the conversation, and Conall Cernach said ‘The Ulaid will not be shamed while I am alive.’ He went to meet the boy, saying ‘Delightful your games, little boy.’ ‘They will not be any the less so for you,’ answered the boy. He placed a stone in his slingshot and delivered a stunning blow; the thunder and shock of it knocked Conall head over heels, and before he could rise, the boy had taken the strap from his shield. Conall returned to the Ulaid and said ‘Someone else to meet him!’; but the rest of the host only smiled.
Cú Chulaind, however, was approaching the boy, playing, with the arm of Emer daughter of Forgall round his neck. ‘Do not go down there!’ she said. ‘It is your son who is there. Do not slaughter your son, O impetuous, well-bred lad. Neither fair nor right it is to rise against your son of great and valorous deeds. Turn away from the skin-torment of the sapling of your tree; remember Scáthach’s warning. If Condlae sustained the left board, there would be a fierce combat. Turn to me! Listen! My advice is good! Let it be Cú Chulaind who listens. I know what name he bears, if that is Condlae the only son of Aífe who is below.’ But Cú Chulaind answered ‘Silence, woman! It is not a woman’s advice I seek regarding deeds of bright splendour. Such deeds are not performed with a woman’s assistance. Let us be triumphant in feats. Sated the eyes of a great king. A mist of blood upon my skin the gore from the body of Condlae. Beautifully spears will suck the fair javelin. Whatever were down there, woman, I would go for the sake of the Ulaid.’
Cú Chulaind went down to the shore, then. ‘Delightful your games, little boy,’ he said, but Condlae answered ‘Not delightful the game you play, for no two of you will come unless I identify myself.’ ‘Must I have a little boy in my presence? You will die unless you identify yourself.’ ‘Prove that,’ said the boy. He rose towards Cú Chulaind, then, and the two of them struck at each other; the boy performed the hair-cutting feat with his sword and left Cú Chulaind bald. ‘The mockery is at an end. Let us wrestle,’ Cú Chulaind said. ‘I would not reach your belt,’ answered the boy. But he stood upon two pillars and threw Cú Chulaind down between the pillars three times; he moved neither of his feet, so that they went into the stone up to his ankles.
They went to wrestle in the water, then, and the boy ducked Cú Chulaind twice. After that, Cú Chulaind rose out of the water and deceived the boy with the gáe bolga, for Scáthach had never taught that weapon to anyone but Cú Chulaind.1 He cast it at the boy through the water, and the boy’s innards fell at his feet.
‘That,’ said the boy, ‘is what Scáthach did not teach me. Alas that you have wounded me!’ ‘True that,’ said Cú Chulaind, and he took the boy in his arms and carried him up from the shore and showed him to the Ulaid, saying ‘Here is my son.’ ‘Alas, indeed,’ they said. ‘True enough,’ said the boy, ‘for, had I stayed among you five years, I would have slain men on all sides, and you would have possessed kingdoms as far distant as Rome. Now show me the great men who dwell here, that I may take my leave of them.’ He put his arms round the neck of each man in turn, then, and bade his father farewell and died. Cries of grief were raised, and his grave and marker were made, and for three days not a calf of the cattle of the Ulaid was left alive after him.
The Wasting Sickness of Cú Chulaind & The Only Jealousy of Emer
Introduction
‘The Wasting Sickness of Cú Chulaind & The Only Jealousy of Emer’ is one of the more remarkable Irish tales: part myth, part history, part soap opera. Even the text is unusual, for it is a conflation of two different versions. After the first quarter of the tale, there appears an interpolation (omitted in this translation) detailing Cú Chulaind’s advice to Lugaid Réoderg after the latter has been made king of Temuir; when the story proper resumes, Cú Chulaind is married to Emer instead of to Eithne Ingubai, and Lóeg is making a second trip to the otherworld with Lí Ban. The two versions have not been well integrated, and much evidence of confusion and duplication remains; but it is hard to say which tradition is older. Throughout the rest of the Ulster Cycle Cú Chulaind’s wife is named Emer, just as Conchubur’s is named Mugain and not Eithne Attencháithrech.
The story opens on a historical note, with a description of how the Ulaid celebrated Samuin, the annual end-of-the-year assembly; but the arrival of beautiful, red-gold-chained, otherworld birds on the lake at Mag Muirthemni and the appearance of the two women, one in green and one in crimson, who beat Cú Chulaind with horsewhips testify to the story’s mythic origin. The central idea is also that of the first section of the Welsh ‘Pwyll Lord of Dyved’: the shadowy rulers of the otherworld have need of mortal strength; the pursuit of the hero by the otherworld beauty, moreover, is common to the second section of ‘Pwyll’. Much of the tale is related in verse, and, while the poetry is neither particularly old nor particularly dense, it is clear and brilliant and affecting:
At the doorway to the east,
three trees of brilliant crystal,
whence a gentle flock of birds calls
to the children of the royal fort.
>
Near the end of the tale, the tone shifts towards the psychological – an unusual circumstance in these stories – as Fand and Emer fight over Cú Chulaind; the writing, which seems very literary at this point, is emotional but never sentimental. Even the poetry assumes a gnomic quality: Emer complains that ‘what’s new is bright… what’s familiar is stale’, while Fand merely points out that ‘every rule is good until broken’. Although Fand ultimately yields – after Cú Chulaind has been moved by Emer’s plea – she admits that she still prefers Cú Chulaind to her own husband; Cú Chulaind, seeing her leave, wanders madly into the mountains of Ulaid, and it requires the spells of Conchubur’s druids and Manandán’s magic cloak to make him forget.
The story is the original source for Yeats’s play The Only Jealousy of Emer.
The Wasting Sickness of Cú Chulaind
&
The Only Jealousy of Emer
Each year the Ulaid held an assembly: the three days before Samuin and the three days after Samuin and Samuin itself. They would gather at Mag Muirthemni, and during these seven days there would be nothing but meetings and games and amusements and entertainments and eating and feasting. That is why the thirds of Samuin are as they are today.
Thus, the Ulaid were assembled at Mag Muirthemni. Now the reason they met every Samuin was to give each warrior an opportunity to boast of his valour and exhibit his triumphs. The warriors put the tongues of those they had killed into their pouches – some threw in cattle tongues to augment the count – and then, at the assembly, each man spoke in turn and boasted of his triumphs. They spoke with their swords on their thighs, swords that turned against anyone who swore falsely.
Now there had come to this particular assembly every man but two: Conall Cernach and Fergus son of Roech. ‘Let the assembly be convened,’ said the Ulaid. Cú Chulaind, however, protested, saying ‘Not until Conall and Fergus come’, for Conall was his foster-brother and Fergus his foster-father. So Senchae said ‘Let us play fidchell and have the poets recite and the acrobats perform.’
While they were at these amusements, a flock of birds settled on the lake, and no flock in Ériu was more beautiful. The women grew very excited over these birds and began to argue over who should have them. Eithne Attencháithrech, Conchubur’s wife, said, ‘I desire a bird for each shoulder’, but the other women replied ‘We all want that too.’ ‘If anyone is to have them, I should,’ said Eithne Ingubai, the wife of Cú Chulaind. ‘What will we do?’ asked the women. ‘Not difficult,’ said Lebarcham, the daughter of Óa and Adarc. ‘I will go and ask Cú Chulaind.’
She went to Cú Chulaind, then, and said ‘The women desire those birds from you.’ But he seized his sword to ply against her, saying ‘Have the sluts of Ulaid nothing better for us than to hunt their birds?’ ‘Indeed, you ought not to be angry with them,’ answered Lebarcham, ‘for you are the cause of their third blemish.’ The women of Ulaid suffered three blemishes: every woman who loved Conall had a crooked neck; every woman who loved Cúscraid Mend Machae son of Conchubur stammered; and every woman who loved Cú Chulaind blinded one eye in his likeness. It was Cú Chulaind’s gift, when he was angry, that he could withdraw one eye so far into his head that a heron could not reach it, whereas the other eye he could protrude until it was as large as a cauldron for a yearling calf.
‘Yoke the chariot for us, Lóeg,’ said Cú Chulaind. Lóeg did that, and Cú Chulaind sprang into the chariot, and he dealt the birds such a stunning blow with his sword that claws and wings floated on the water. Then he returned with the birds and distributed them so that each woman had a pair – each woman save Eithne Ingubai. When he came to his wife, he said ‘Angry you are.’ ‘I am not,’ she replied, ‘for it is by me that the birds were distributed. You did right, for every one of those women loves you or gives you a share of her love, but I share my love with you alone.’ ‘Then do not be angry,’ said Cú Chulaind. ‘When birds come to Mag Muirthemni or the Bóand, you will have the most beautiful pair.’
Not long afterwards, they saw flying over the lake two birds coupled by a red-gold chain; these birds sang a little, and sleep fell upon the host. Cú Chulaind rose to go after them, but Eithne said ‘If you listen to me, you will not go, for those birds possess some kind of power. Other birds can be caught for me.’ ‘Am I likely to be denied?’ answered Cú Chulaind. ‘Lóeg, put a stone in my sling.’ Lóeg did so and Cú Chulaind cast at the birds, but he missed. ‘Alas!’ he said. He cast a second stone and missed with that also. ‘Now I am doomed,’ he said, ‘for since the day I first took up arms I have never missed my target.’ He threw his javelin, but it only pierced the wing of one bird. The creatures then flew along the water.
Cú Chulaind walked on until he sat down with his back against a stone; he was angry, but then sleep overcame him. While sleeping he saw two women approach: one wore a green cloak and the other a crimson cloak folded five times, and the one in green smiled at him and began to beat him with a horsewhip. The other woman then came and smiled also and struck him in the same fashion, and they beat him for such a long time that there was scarcely any life left in him. Then they left.
The Ulaid perceived the state he was in, and they attempted to rouse him. But Fergus said ‘No! Do not disturb him – it is a vision.’ Then Cú Chulaind awoke. ‘Who did this to you?’ asked the Ulaid, but he was unable to speak. He was taken to his sickbed in An Téte Brecc, and he remained there a year without speaking to anyone.
At the end of that year, just before Samuin, the Ulaid were gathered round Cú Chulaind in the house: Fergus by the wall, Conall Cernach by the bedrail, Lugaid Réoderg by the pillow and Eithne Ingubai at his feet; and, as they were thus, a man entered the house and sat at the foot of the bed. ‘What brings you here?’ asked Conall Cernach. ‘Not difficult that. If this man were healthy, he would guarantee my safety here; and, since he is weak and wounded, his guarantee is that much stronger. So I fear none of you, and it is to speak to him that I have come.’ ‘Have no fear,’ said the Ulaid.
Then the man rose and recited these verses:
Cú Chulaind, sick as you are,
waiting will be no help.
If they were yours, they would heal you,
the daughters of Áed Abrat.
Standing to the right of Labraid Lúathlám,
in Mag Crúaich, Lí Ban said
‘Fand has expressed her desire
to lie down with Cú Chulaind:
‘ “A joyous day it would be
were Cú Chulaind to come to my land.
He would have gold and silver
and plenty of wine to drink.
‘ “Were he my friend now,
Cú Chulaind son of Súaltaim,
perhaps he could relate what he saw
in his sleep, apart from the host.
‘“There at Mag Muirthemni in the south
no misfortune will befall you this Samuin.
I will send Lí Ban to you,
Cú Chulaind, sick as you are.” ’
‘Who are you?’ the Ulaid asked. ‘I am Óengus son of Áed Abrat,’ said the man, and then he left, and the Ulaid knew neither whence he had come nor where he had gone. But Cú Chulaind sat up and spoke. ‘About time,’ the Ulaid said. ‘Tell us what happened to you.’ ‘I had a vision last year, at Samuin,’ Cú Chulaind replied, and he related what he had seen. ‘What now, Conchubur?’ he asked. ‘You must return to that same stone,’ answered Conchubur.
Cú Chulaind walked out then until he reached the stone, and there he saw the woman in the green cloak. ‘Good this, Cú Chulaind,’ she said. ‘Not good for me your journey here last year,’ he replied. ‘Not to harm you did we come, but to seek your friendship. Indeed, I have come to speak to you of Fand, the daughter of Áed Abrat: Manandán son of Ler has left her, and she has now given her love to you. My name is Lí Ban, and I bear a message from my husband, Labraid Lúathlám ar Cladeb: he will send Fand to you in exchange for one day’s fighting against Senach Síaborthe and Echu lu
il and Éogan Indber.’ ‘Indeed, I am not fit to fight men today,’ answered Cú Chulaind. ‘That is soon remedied: you will be healed, and your full strength will be restored.’ ‘Where is this place?’ ‘In Mag Mell. Now I must return,’ said Lí Ban. ‘Let Lóeg go with you to visit your land,’ said Cú Chulaind. ‘Let him come, then,’ said Lí Ban.
Lí Ban and Lóeg then went to see Fand. When they arrived, Lí Ban seized Lóeg by the shoulder and said ‘Do not leave this place today, Lóeg, save under a woman’s protection.’ ‘Being protected by women has not exactly been my custom,’ replied Lóeg. ‘A pity it is not Cú Chulaind who is here now,’ moaned Lí Ban. ‘I too would rather he were here,’ said Lóeg.
They went, then, to the side facing the island, where they saw a bronze boat crossing the lake and coming towards them. They entered the boat and crossed to the island; there, they found a doorway, and a man appeared. Lí Ban asked the man:
Where is Labraid Lúathlám ar Cladeb,
head of the troops of victory,
victory above a steady chariot,
he who reddens spear points with blood?
The man answered her, saying:
Labraid is fierce and vigorous;
he will not be slow, he will have many followers.
An army is being mustered; if Mag Fidgai is crowded,
there will be great slaughter.
They entered the house, then, and saw three fifties of couches and three fifties of women lying on them. These women all greeted Lóeg, saying ‘Welcome, Lóeg, for the sake of the woman with whom you have come, and for the sake of the man from whom you have come, and for your own sake.’ Lí Ban asked ‘Well, Lóeg? Will you go to speak with Fand?’ ‘I will, provided I know where we are.’ ‘Not difficult that – we are in a chamber apart.’ They went to speak with Fand, and she welcomed them in the same way. Fand was the daughter of Áed Abrat, that is, fire of eyelash, for the pupil is the fire of the eye. Fand is the tear that covers the eye, and she was so named for her purity and beauty, since there was not her like anywhere in the world.
Early Irish Myths and Sagas Page 15