Early Irish Myths and Sagas

by Jeffrey Gantz

  At the end of the following day, Conall Cernach went out to watch, for he was older than Cú Chulaind, and everything that had happened to Lóegure the previous night happened to him also. The third night, Cú Chulaind went out to watch, and it was that night that the Three Greys of Sescend Úairbéoil and the Three Cowherds of Brega and the Three Sons of Dornmár Céoil gathered to destroy the stronghold. It was also that night that, according to prophecy, the monster in the lake nearby would devour everything in the stronghold, both man and beast. Cú Chulaind watched through the night, then, and many evil things happened. At midnight, he heard a loud noise approaching. ‘Who goes there?’ he shouted. ‘If friends, let them halt; if enemies, let them flee.’ At that, the enemies raised a great shout; Cú Chulaind sprang at them, then, and nine of them fell dead to the ground. He put their heads into his watch seat, but scarcely had he sat down to watch when another nine shouted at him. He killed three nines in all and made a single heap of their heads and goods.

  Night was drawing to a close, and Cú Chulaind was sad and weary when he heard the lake rising up as if it were a heavy sea. Tired as he was, his ardour would not let him remain, so he went towards the great noise, and he saw the monster – it seemed to have risen thirty cubits above the lake. The monster leapt at the stronghold and opened its mouth so wide that one of the royal houses would have fitted in its gullet. At that, Cú Chulaind remembered his coursing feat, and, leaping into the air, he circled the beast as quickly as a winnowing sieve. Then he put one hand on the monster’s neck and the other down its gullet; he tore out its heart and threw that on the ground, and the beast fell heavily from the air. Cú Chulaind then hacked away until he made mincemeat of the monster, and he took its head and put it with the pile of other heads.

  Dawn was drawing on, and Cú Chulaind was wretched and broken when he saw the giant coming towards him from the western sea, just as Lóegure and Conall had seen. ‘A bad night for you,’ said the giant. ‘A worse one for you, churl!’ said Cú Chulaind. At that, the giant cast a tree trunk, but Cú Chulaind let it go by; two or three more casts were made, but they did not strike even Cú Chulaind’s shield, much less Cú Chulaind himself. Cú Chulaind in turn cast his spear at the giant and also failed. The giant then stretched out his hand to take Cú Chulaind in his grasp as he had taken the other two men, but Cú Chulaind performed the hero’s salmon leap and his coursing feat, with his sword overhead, so that he was as swift as a hare, and he hovered in a circle like a mill wheel. ‘My life for yours!’ said the giant. ‘My requests, then,’ said Cú Chulaind. ‘You will have them even as you breathe them,’ said the giant. ‘Supremacy over the warriors of Ériu from this time on and the champion’s portion without contest and precedence for my wife over the women of Ulaid for ever,’ said Cú Chulaind. ‘You will have that,’ said the giant. With that, he vanished, and Cú Chulaind did not know where he had gone.

  Cú Chulaind then thought about the leap that his comrades had made over the stronghold wall, which was high and broad, for he assumed that Lóegure and Conall must have leapt it. He attempted the leap twice and failed twice. ‘A shame all the trouble I have taken over the champion’s portion, to see it pass from me through failing to make the leap the others made,’ he said, and he mused over this folly. He sprang back from the stronghold the length of a spear-cast, and he sprang forward to where he had been standing, so that his forehead just touched the wall. He leapt straight up so that he could see everything that was happening inside, and he descended so that he sank into the ground up to his knees. And he did not remove the dew from the grass, even with the ardour of his feeling and the vigour of his disposition and the extent of his valour. With the fury and the ríastarthae that overcame him, he finally leapt the stronghold wall, so that he landed at the entrance to the royal house. He went inside and heaved a great sigh, and Bláthnait said ‘Indeed, not a sigh of shame but a sigh after victory and triumph’, for the daughter of the king of Inis Fer Falga knew of the trials Cú Chulaind had endured that night.

  Not long after that, they saw Cú Ruí coming towards them in the house; he had the war gear of the three nines whom Cú Chulaind had killed, along with their heads and the head of the beast. After taking the heads from his chest and putting them in the centre of the house, he said ‘The lad who has collected all these trophies in one night is fit to watch over the stronghold of a king. That which they dispute, the champion’s portion, truly belongs to Cú Chulaind in preference to every youth of Ériu, for none could meet him in combat.’ Cú Rui thus awarded the champion’s portion to Cú Chulaind, naming him the most valorous of the Goídil and giving his wife precedence over the other women of Ulaid in entering the drinking house. Moreover, he gave Cú Chulaind seven cumals’ worth of gold and silver as a reward for the deeds he had done that night.

  The three heroes bade farewell to Cú Ruí, then, and returned to Emuin Machae before the end of the day. When it came time for the servers to divide and distribute, they removed the champion’s portion and its drink and set them aside. ‘We are certain that you will not be contesting the champion’s portion tonight,’ said Dubthach Dóeltenga, ‘for you will have received judgement from him to whom you went.’ But Lóegure and Conall said that the champion’s portion had not been awarded to any of the three in preference to the others, and, as for the judgement of Cú Ruú upon the three, they said that he had awarded nothing at all to Cú Chulaind since they had reached Emuin Machae. Cú Chulaind then said that he would not contest the champion’s portion, for the good of having it would be no greater than the trouble involved. Thus, the champion’s portion was not awarded until after the warriors’ bargain at Emuin Machae.

  Once, when the Ulaid were at Emuin Machae, tired after the fair and the games, Conchubur and Fergus and the other Ulaid chieftains returned from the playing field to sit in Conchubur’s Cráebruad. Lóegure and Conall and Cú Chulaind were not there that evening, but the best of the other warriors of Ulaid were. As night drew on, they saw a huge, ugly churl coming towards them in the house, and it seemed to them that there was not in all Ulaid a warrior half as tall. His appearance was frightful and terrifying: a hide against his skin, and a dun cloak round him, and a great bushy tree overhead where a winter shed for thirty calves could fit. Each of his two yellow eyes was the size of an ox-cauldron; each finger was as thick as a normal man’s wrist. The tree trunk in his left hand would have been a burden for twenty yoked oxen; the axe in his right hand, whence had gone three fifties of glowing metal pieces, had a handle that would have been a burden for a team of oxen, yet it was sharp enough to cut hairs against the wind.

  He came in this guise and stood beneath the forked beam at one end of the fire. ‘Do you find the house so narrow,’ said Dubthach Dóeltenga, ‘that there is no place to stand but under the forked beam? You may wish to contest the position of house candlebearer, but you are more likely to burn the house than to illuminate the company inside.

  ‘Although that is my gift,’ the churl replied, ‘perhaps you will grant that, despite my height, the entire household may be lit without the house’s being burnt. But that is not my primary gift, and I have others. That which I have come to seek I have not found in Ériu or the Alps or Europe or Africa or Asia or Greece or Scythia or Inis Orc or the Pillars of Hercules or Tor mBregoind or Inis Gaid. Nowhere have I found a man to keep my bargain. Since you Ulaid surpass the hosts of every land in anger and prowess and weaponry, in rank and pride and dignity, in honour and generosity and excellence, let one of you keep faith with me in the matter over which I have come.’

  ‘It is not right,’ said Fergus, ‘to dishonour a province because of one man’s failure to keep his word – perhaps death is no nearer to him than it is to you.’ ‘It is not I who shirk death,’ replied the churl. ‘Then let us hear your proposal,’ said Fergus. ‘Only if I am allowed fair play,’ said the churl. ‘It is right to allow him that,’ said Senchae son of Ailill, ‘for it would be no fair play if a great host broke faith with a comple
tely unknown individual. Besides, it would seem to us that if you are to find the man you seek, you will find him here.’ ‘I exempt Conchubur, for he is the king, and I exempt Fergus, for he is of equal rank,’ said the churl. ‘Whoever else may dare, let him come that I may cut off his head tonight, he mine tomorrow.’

  ‘After those two,’ said Dubthach, ‘there is certainly no warrior here worthy of that.’ ‘Indeed, there is,’ said Muinremur son of Gerrgend, and he sprang into the centre of the house. Now, Muinremur had the strength of one hundred warriors, and each arm had the strength of one hundred. ‘Bend down, churl,’ he said, ‘that I may cut off your head tonight – you may cut off mine tomorrow night.’ ‘I could make that bargain anywhere,’ said the churl. ‘Let us rather make the bargain I proposed: I will cut off your head tonight, and you will avenge that by cutting off my head tomorrow night.’ ‘I swear by what my people swear by,’ said Dubthach Dóeltenga, ‘such a death would not be pleasant if the man you killed tonight clung to you tomorrow. But you alone have the power to be killed one night and to avenge it the next.’ ‘Then whatever conditions you propose I will fulfil, surprising as you may find that,’ said the churl, whereupon he made Muinremur pledge to keep his part of the bargain the following night.

  With that, Muinremur took the churl’s axe, whose two edges were seven feet apart. The churl stretched his neck out on the block, and Muinremur so swung the axe that it stuck in the block underneath; the head rolled to the foot of the forked beam, and the house was filled with blood. At once, the churl rose, gathered his head and his block and his axe and clutched them to his chest, and left the house, blood streaming from his neck and filling the Cráebrúad on every side. The household were horrorstruck by the wondrousness of the event they had witnessed. ‘I swear by what my people swear by,’ said Dubthach Dóeltenga, ‘if that churl returns tomorrow after having been killed tonight, not a man in Ulaid will be left alive.’

  The following night, the churl returned, but Muinremur avoided him. The churl complained, saying ‘Indeed, it is not fair of Muinremur to break his part of the bargain.’ Lóegure Búadach, however, was present that night, and, when the churl continued ‘Who of the warriors who contest the champion’s portion of Ulaid will fulfil this bargain with me tonight? Where is Lóegure Búadach?’, Lóegure said ‘Here I am!’ The churl pledged Lóegure as he had pledged Muinremur, but Lóegure, like Muinremur, failed to appear the following night. The churl then pledged Conall Cernach, and he too failed to appear and keep his pledge.

  When he arrived on the fourth night, the churl was seething with rage. All the women of Ulaid had gathered there that night to see the marvel that had come to the Cráebrúad, and Cú Chulaind had come as well. The churl began to reproach them, then, saying ‘Men of Ulaid, your skill and courage are no more. Your warriors covet the champion’s portion, yet they are unable to contest it. Where is that pitiful stripling you call Cú Chulaind? Would his word be better than that of his companions?’ ‘I want no bargain with you,’ said Cú Chulaind. ‘No doubt you fear death, wretched fly,’ said the churl. At that, Cú Chulaind sprang towards the churl and dealt him such a blow with the axe that his head was sent to the rafters of the Cráebrúad, and the entire house shook. Cú Chulaind then struck the head with the axe once more, so that he shattered it into fragments. The churl rose nonetheless.

  The following day, the Ulaid watched Cú Chulaind to see if he would avoid the churl the way his companions had done; they saw that he was waiting for the churl, and they grew very dejected. It seemed to them proper to begin his death dirge, for they feared greatly that he would Uve only until the churl appeared. Cú Chulaind, ashamed, said to Conchubur ‘By my shield and by my sword, I will not go until I have fulfilled my pledge to the churl – since I am to die, I will die with honour.’

  Towards the end of the day, they saw the churl approaching them. ‘Where is Cú Chulaind?’ he asked. ‘Indeed, I am here,’ said Cú Chulaind. ‘You speak low, tonight, wretch, for you fear death greatly,’ said the churl. ‘Yet for all that, you have not avoided me.’ Cú Chulaind rose and stretched his neck out on the block, but its size was such that his neck reached only halfway across. ‘Stretch out your neck, you wretch,’ said the churl. ‘You torment me,’ said Cú Chulaind. ‘Kill me quickly. I did not torment you last night. Indeed, I swear, if you torment me now, I will make myself as long as a heron above you.’ ‘I cannot dispatch you, not with the length of the block and the shortness of your neck,’ said the churl.

  Cú Chulaind stretched himself, then, until a warrior’s foot would fit between each rib, and he stretched his neck until it reached the other side of the block. The churl raised his axe so that it reached the rafters of the house. What with the creaking of the old hide that he wore and the swish of his axe as he raised it with the strength of his two arms, the sound he made was like that of a rustling forest on a windy night. The churl brought the axe down, then, upon Cú Chulaind’s neck – with the blade turned up. All the chieftains of Ulaid saw this.

  ‘Rise, Cú Chulaind!’ the churl then said. ‘Of all the warriors in Ulaid and Ériu, whatever their merit, none is your equal for courage and skill and honour. You are the supreme warrior of Ériu, and the champion’s portion is yours, without contest; moreover, your wife will henceforth enter the drinking house before all the other women of Ulaid. Whoever might dispute this judgement, I swear by what my people swear by, his life will not be long.’ After that, the churl vanished. It was Cú Rui son of Dáre, who in that guise had come to fulfil the promise he had made to Cú Chulaind.

  The Exile of the Sons of Uisliu

  Introduction

  This, the most stunning tale ever written in Irish, is better known as the story of Derdriu; yet originally it was as much a story of treachery and honour as of romance. ‘The Exile of the Sons of Uisliu’answers the question ‘Why were Fergus and so many other Ulaid chieftains in exile in Connachta at the time of the cattle raid of Cúailnge?’ At this level, Fergus is the key figure: once his word – his guarantee of Noísiu’s safety – has been violated, he becomes Conchubur’s enemy; any other course would be shameful. ‘The Exile of the Sons of Uisliu’moves from personal exile to political exile; it thus marks the decline of the Ulster Cycle.

  Underlying literature and history, of course, is myth, the familiar regeneration pattern of old king–goddess–young king: Conchubur–Derdriu–Noísiu. Derdriu passes from Conchubur to Noísiu and back to Conchubur; myth becomes history with Noísiu’s death, and yet it is at the threatened resumption of the pattern, with Eogan replacing Noísiu, that Derdriu kills herself. Cú Chulaind is notable by his absence; perhaps he arrived in the Ulster Cycle too late to play a major part (a small one being out of the question), or perhaps he simply never fitted in.

  Although much of the tale is presented in verse, the poetry generally repeats and elaborates upon the narrative rather than adding to it. The tone is markedly less severe and more romantic than that of the prose, and the lines do not have the elegant simplicity and chaste beauty of those in ‘The Wasting Sickness of Cú Chulaind’. But subsequent versions of the story – and there are many – are less restrained still: Noísiu, Aindle and Arddán, having been captured, are executed with one blow of Eogan’s sword so that none will outlive the others; Derdriu seizes a knife and kills herself as soon as Noísiu is dead; the lovers are buried next to each other, and yews growing out of their graves intertwine. These later versions are not without their own appeal; yet it is the earliest (surviving) recension, from the Book of Leinster, that is translated here.

  ‘The Exile of the Sons of Uisliu’ is the inspiration (through intermediary translations and retellings) for Yeats’s play Deirdre, for Synge’s play Deirdre of the Sorrows and for James Stephens’s novel Deirdre.

  The Exile of the sons of Uisliu

  The Ulaid were drinking at the house of Fedilmid son of Dall, Conchubur’s storyteller, and Fedilmid’s wife was standing over them and serving, even though she was with child. Dr
inking horns and portions of food went round, and the house was filled with drunken shouting. When it came time to sleep, Fedilmid’s wife rose to go to her bed, but as she crossed the house the child in her womb screamed so that it was heard throughout the court. At that scream the men all rose, and they were standing chin to chin, but Senchae son of Ailill quieted them, saying ‘Do not disturb each other! Let the woman be brought to us that we might learn what caused that noise.’ So the woman was brought to them, and her husband asked her:

  What is this violent noise that resounds,

  that rages in your roaring womb?

  The outcry between your two sides – mighty its sound –