The Táin

by Liam Mac Uistin

  ‘… this is the answer for those children who think Irish legends are boring.’

  LESLEY REECE Irish Guide to Children’s Books

  ‘… the O’Brien Press in its pursuit of excellence has come up with a superb collection …’

  DES NIX Sunday Press (on the Táin and other titles)

  ‘… fine illustrations …’ Books Ireland

  ‘… a sweeping, colourful narrative that grips the interest of all readers.’ Leinster Leader

  For Brian, with love

  Contents

  Reviews

  Title Page

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE How the Táin Began

  CHAPTER TWO Preparing for War

  CHAPTER THREE The Story of Cuchulainn

  CHAPTER FOUR How Cuchulainn Got His Name

  CHAPTER FIVE Cuchulainn and Emer

  CHAPTER SIX The Enchanted Land of the Shee

  CHAPTER SEVEN Death of Maeve’s Son

  CHAPTER EIGHT Cuchulainn Fights the Great Warrior of Munster

  CHAPTER NINE Morrigan

  CHAPTER TEN The Boy-troop of Eman Macha

  CHAPTER ELEVEN Fergus Confronts Cuchulainn

  CHAPTER TWELVE The Fight between the Foster-brothers

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN Maeve Is Defeated

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN The Brown Bull Escapes

  About the Author

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  HOW THE TÁIN BEGAN

  QUEEN MAEVE WAS VERY ANGRY. Her eyes flashed with fury as she strode into the hall of her palace at Cruachan. Her anger swelled when she heard the mocking laughter of her husband Ailill drifting in from the garden. A fierce look of determination came over her face. She, the mighty Warrior Queen of Connacht, would not be mocked by anyone!

  ‘I will make Ailill regret his challenge!’ she vowed. She clapped her hands and shouted for her servants.

  The trouble all began just a short while before when Maeve and Ailill set out on their usual morning walk in the garden. The previous night they had quarrelled over which of them was the wealthier. But when they woke the next morning the quarrel seemed to be forgotten and they went for their stroll together arm-in-arm.

  It was a lovely summer morning and the air was full of the sweet singing of birds and the drowsy murmuring of bees. Maeve smiled contentedly and combed away a strand of hair that the playful breeze had tossed into her beautiful face.

  But though Maeve was very beautiful she was also very proud. From the time she was a little girl she had been used to getting her own way. Her father, the High King of Ireland, adored her and gave her anything she wanted.

  When she reached her twenty-first year he asked her what present she would like.

  ‘I want a whole province of Ireland to rule over as queen,’ she said.

  ‘Very well,’ her father said. ‘I will give you the province of Connacht.’

  Maeve built a magnificent palace of white gleaming stone at Cruachan. She filled the palace with her many treasures and possessions and put her great herds of animals on the lands around it. She had hundreds of servants to look after her and thousands of soldiers to guard her. If any chieftain displeased her she would jump into her war chariot and lead out her soldiers to teach him a lesson. She was soon known far and wide as ‘The Warrior Queen of Connacht.’

  Princes came from all over Ireland hoping to marry the rich and beautiful queen. But none of them attracted her and she sent them all away. Then Ailill, son of the king of Leinster, came to visit her at Cruachan. Perhaps it was his good looks or his haughty bearing – whatever the reason, she fell in love with him immediately. They married a short while later and Ailill brought all his treasures and herds to Cruachan.

  But Ailill was every bit as proud of his riches as Maeve was of hers. And this was the cause of the row between them as they walked in the garden that lovely morning.

  Noticing the serene way she looked he remarked, ‘You seem very happy today, my dear.’

  ‘I am very happy indeed,’ she assured him with a warm smile.

  ‘And you have every reason to be,’ Ailill said. ‘You are, after all, the wife of the richest person in Ireland.’

  A frown of annoyance clouded Maeve’s face. ‘What do you mean?’ she demanded. ‘Everyone knows I’m far wealthier than you.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Ailill retorted. ‘Nobody in the whole land has more treasures and herds than I.’ They stopped and stood there arguing heatedly about their riches.

  ‘Enough!’ Ailill declared finally. ‘There’s only one way to settle this matter. I challenge you to have everything we own brought here and counted and compared to see who has the most.’

  ‘I accept your challenge!’ Maeve snapped. ‘And you will be sorry you ever made it.’ She turned on her heel and marched back to the palace.

  ‘There’s no fear of that,’ Ailill called after her and he burst out laughing at the very idea.

  Back in the palace Maeve stamped her foot angrily and shouted again for her servants. They came running from every direction, trembling with fright when they saw the furious expression on her face. She ordered them to collect all her possessions and those of her husband and bring them out to the garden. Then she returned to where Ailill was still laughing. ‘Now I shall prove that I am wealthier than you,’ she said triumphantly.

  First, their gleaming goblets and valuable vases were brought out, together with all their precious jewels and shining ornaments of silver and gold. But when they were counted and compared they were found to be equal in value and number.

  Next, their great herds of horses and sheep were brought from the fields and counted. Maeve’s herds matched those of Ailill in size and number.

  Then all their cattle were collected and brought before them. When they were counted and compared they were found to be equal in number and size except for one animal in Ailill’s herd. This was a magnificent-looking bull called Finnbeannach.

  ‘I told you,’ Ailill gloated. ‘I am wealthier than you.’

  Maeve did not reply. She was almost crying with anger. She could not believe that she owned no animal to equal Finnbeannach. She stormed back into the palace and shouted for Mac Roth, her Chief Messenger.

  Mac Roth rushed into the hall and stood before her, leaning on his staff as he tried to catch his breath.

  ‘Do you know of any place in Ireland where a bull the equal of Finnbeannach can be found?’ Maeve asked.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Mac Roth replied. ‘There’s a much finer bull in Cooley in Ulster. It’s known as the Brown Bull of Cooley.’

  ‘Who owns it?’

  ‘A man named Daire Mac Fiachna.’

  ‘Will he sell it to me?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Will he lend it then?’

  ‘He might be prepared to oblige the great Queen of Connacht.’

  ‘Go to him immediately,’ Maeve commanded. ‘Ask him to lend me the bull for one year. Tell him I’ll pay him handsomely. I’ll give him fifty of my finest heifers and the Brown Bull back at the end of the year.’

  The Chief Messenger hesitated and shook his head doubtfully.

  ‘Conor, King of Ulster, may not allow it and the people of Ulster may not let Daire part with the bull either,’ he said. ‘It’s a jewel of an animal and they’re very proud of it. There could be trouble if they saw me taking it away.’

  Maeve waved her hand dismissively. ‘Tell Daire in that event to bring it here himself,’ she said. ‘As well as the heifers, I’ll give him as much land as he wants and a splendid chariot and my own undying friendship to crown it all.’

  So Mac Roth set out for Cooley accompanied by nine other messengers. But he grew more worried with every mile that passed. He wondered anxiously how Daire would receive him. He was
pleasantly surprised when he arrived at Daire’s house and was given a warm welcome. Daire was a fat jolly little man who felt flattered by a visit from Maeve’s Chief Messenger. He put Mac Roth sitting on a nice soft cushion and began to chat about this and that. After a while Mac Roth turned the conversation around to the purpose of his visit.

  He explained about the rivalry between Maeve and her husband and how the queen wanted a loan of the Brown Bull to match it against Finnbeannach. Then he went on to describe the generous payment that Maeve was prepared to offer.

  A broad smile spread over Daire’s face when he heard that. He bounced up and down with joy and suddenly burst the cushion he was sitting on!

  ‘Of course I’ll lend the Brown Bull to the queen!’ he declared.

  Mac Roth was very relieved. The mission has been successful, he thought. Maeve will be very pleased. But later that night something happened that upset all their plans.

  Daire had arranged for the messengers from Connacht to be given comfortable quarters and the best of food and drink. During the feast the messengers grew drunk and noisy. One of them stood up and banged on the table with his goblet.

  ‘Let us drink a toast to Daire,’ he proposed. ‘It was good of him to give us the Brown Bull so willingly.’

  Another man stood up and laughed scornfully. ‘If it hadn’t been given willingly we’d have taken it by force!’ he declared.

  Shouts of agreement rang out around the table. One of Daire’s servants was infuriated by this and ran out to his master.

  ‘Did you promise to give our treasure the Brown Bull to those messengers from Connacht?’ he asked.

  ‘I did,’ replied Daire.

  ‘What they said then must be true.’

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘They boasted that if you hadn’t given it willingly they would have taken it by force.’

  Daire’s eyes blazed suddenly with anger. ‘I swear by the gods that the Brown Bull will never leave Ulster now!’ he vowed, clutching the dagger in his belt.

  Unaware of what had happened Mac Roth came to see Daire the next morning. ‘Tell me where the bull is so we can take him away,’ he said.

  ‘I will not!’ snapped Daire. ‘And only that I’m not in the habit of killing messengers none of you would leave this place alive.’

  Mac Roth stared at him in astonishment. ‘Why do you say that?’ he asked.

  ‘Because your men swore they’d take the bull by force if I didn’t give it willingly.’

  Mac Roth shook his head. ‘Don’t mind their silly talk. They must have taken too much drink.’

  ‘Even so. I’ll never part with the Brown Bull as long as I can help it.’

  ‘I apologise for …’ Mac Roth started to say, but Daire cut him short with an angry gesture.

  ‘You and your men must leave my house at once!’ he ordered.

  His face bitter with disappointment, Mac Roth summoned the other messengers and led them back empty-handed to Cruachan. Immediately she heard of their return Maeve ran out eagerly to meet them.

  ‘Where is the Brown Bull of Cooley?’ she asked.

  With a woeful expression, Mac Roth explained what had happened. The queen was furious.

  ‘I will own that animal,’ she said in a harsh voice. ‘Even if I have to take it from Ulster by force.’

  ‘But that means a Táin, a great cattle-raid …’ Mac Roth protested.

  ‘Yes, and I shall lead it!’ Maeve snapped. ‘Tell my warriors to prepare at once for war!’

  And so the Táin began.

  CHAPTER TWO

  PREPARING FOR WAR

  MAEVE SAT IN A QUIET CORNER of the garden and thought long and carefully about the coming clash with the men of Ulster. Her rage now had died away. It had been replaced by a feeling of ice-cold determination. She knew it would be no easy task to defeat King Conor and his warriors. The King of Ulster and his men would fiercely resist any invasion of their province.

  But defeat them she must! Her own honour was at stake as well as the great prize of the Brown Bull of Cooley. She thought for another while about what she would do. Then her face broke into a smile. She would get her allies to help her! She had many friends in Munster and Leinster and some of them were among the bravest warriors in Ireland. With them at her side she would be sure of victory!

  She jumped to her feet and strode back to the palace. She summoned Mac Roth and ordered him to go to all her allies and tell them she needed their help. The Chief Messenger set off immediately in his chariot.

  Maeve’s warrior friends poured into Cruachan from all directions. The queen’s eyes shone with delight when she saw the vast army that had gathered around her. It included many who bore a grudge against King Conor and were only too happy to settle old scores with him. Among them was a group of Ulstermen led by Fergus Mac Roich from whom Conor had taken the kingship of Ulster by force.

  But a little niggling doubt still worried Queen Maeve. She wanted to be absolutely sure of success. So she sent for her Chief Druid to see what the future held in store. The druid was an old wrinkled man famous for his prophecies.

  ‘Tell me,’ Maeve said, ‘will I return victorious from the Táin?’

  The druid raised his snake-shaped wand and gazed at it.

  ‘You will return safely,’ he prophesied.

  ‘But will I defeat the army of Ulster?’

  The druid hesitated, then raised his wand again.

  ‘I see no sign of it here,’ he said.

  ‘I must defeat them!’ Maeve hissed, stamping her foot impatiently.

  ‘You’ll need some magic to help you if you wish to be sure of that,’ the druid declared. ‘I’ll put a spell on Conor and his men so that they’ll fall into an enchanted sleep.’

  He waved his wand and began to cast a spell.

  Just at that moment King Conor and his warriors were enjoying a great feast in his palace at Eman Macha. Some were drinking, some were eating, some were listening to the music of the harp when suddenly they fell into a deep sleep.

  Only one warrior there was not affected by the spell. His name was Cuchulainn.

  ‘The Ulstermen are asleep,’ the druid announced to Maeve. The queen laughed triumphantly. ‘Nothing can stop me now!’ she said. ‘The Brown Bull will soon be mine!’

  She ran to her war chariot, leaped into it, and waved to her army to follow her. And so they set off for Ulster.

  But Fergus Mac Roich was unhappy as he followed the queen. Cuchulainn was his foster-son and he felt he should warn him of Maeve’s trickery. He called one of his men and ordered him to take a message to Cuchulainn.

  When the messenger arrived at Eman Macha there was a strange silence in the palace. He went into the feasting hall. Cuchulainn was running around from one table to another trying frantically to wake up the sleeping men. He glanced up warily as the messenger entered the hall.

  ‘You are wasting your time,’ the messenger said. ‘Those men are in an enchanted sleep.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Cuchulainn asked.

  ‘I’ve been sent by Fergus to warn you,’ the messenger replied. And he explained what Maeve had done. ‘She now thinks that Ulster is defenceless,’ he concluded.

  ‘Well it’s not,’ Cuchulainn said grimly. ‘I’ll put a stop to this invasion.’

  He hurried from the palace and raced to where his charioteer Laeg was waiting for him.

  ‘Yoke up the horses,’ he ordered. When the chariot was ready he jumped in beside Laeg, took the reins, and drove like a whirlwind to a river ford some miles away. He knew that Maeve and her army would have to cross here on their way into Ulster.

  He leaped from the chariot before it came to a halt. Then, drawing his sword he hacked a large fork from a tree and wedged it firmly in the middle of the ford.

  ‘Now,’ he said. ‘No chariot will have room to pass here.’

  But just at that moment four of Maeve’s advance guard arrived at the ford. They paused for an instant and then with bloodthirsty
whoops launched themselves at him. Cuchulainn sliced each of their spears in two. Then he killed them and cut off their heads. He placed the heads on the tree fork and crossed back over the river.

  ‘Let us make camp before nightfall,’ he said to Laeg. The charioteer whipped up the horses and they drove away to a nearby wood.

  Soon afterwards Maeve and her army reached the ford. The queen stared in amazement at the heads stuck on the tree fork. ‘Do those belong to warriors of mine?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Fergus, ‘and very good warriors too.’

  ‘Who did this?’

  ‘A man called Cuchulainn. He is also known as the Hound of Ulster.’

  ‘He must have escaped the druid’s spell. Is he a giant?’

  ‘No, he is a small beardless youth.’

  ‘Well, whatever he is he’s still only one man,’ Maeve snorted contemptuously.

  ‘Yes, but he’s not like any other man,’ Fergus said. ‘He can do most marvellous deeds.’ He paused and added, ‘He always could, even when he was very young.’

  And he began to tell her the story of Cuchulainn.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE STORY OF CUCHULAINN

  CUCHULAINN WAS THE ONLY SON OF SUALDAM, an Ulster nobleman. His mother was Deichtire, sister of King Conor. When he was born he was given the name Setanta. His godfather was the great Lug of the Long Arm, famed for his magical powers. He gave some of these powers as a gift to his godson.

  Setanta lived with his parents in a very lonely part of Ulster. He had no playmates so he had to amuse himself. His favourite toys were his hurley-stick and spear and he spent long hours playing with them every day. But though he became very skilful at these games he often pined for the company of other boys.