But someone else had heard it too. It woke him from his sleep in a cave in the mountains. He reached for his magic stone and gazed into it. He shook his head as he saw the exhausted expression on Cuchulainn’s face and the wounds that covered his body. His godson was in trouble! Lug of the Long Arm got quickly to his feet, put on his green cloak, and took his huge sword and long forked spear in his hands. Then he strode out of the cave and went in search of Cuchulainn.
The ground trembled under his giant steps as he approached the hill. Cuchulainn’s drooping eyes suddenly opened wide when he saw him coming. He gave a whoop of delight and ran to welcome his godfather.
They sat down by the fire. A worried frown came over Lug’s face as he looked at Cuchulainn. ‘You are badly wounded,’ he said.
Cuchulainn nodded. ‘And very tired too,’ he said. ‘I have been standing alone against the might of four provinces.’
‘I will help you, my son,’ Lug said quietly. ‘You must lie down now and sleep. But first I will heal your wounds.’
He opened the pouch on his belt and took out some magic herbs. Then he put them on Cuchulainn’s wounds and they were immediately healed. ‘Sleep now,’ he said. ‘I shall watch over you.’
‘But who will defend the ford?’ Cuchulainn asked anxiously.
‘I will summon the boy-troop from the school at Eman Macha,’ Lug replied. ‘Because they are so young the sleeping spell has had no effect on them.’
He sang a soft lullaby to Cuchulainn who instantly fell into a deep sleep. He then caught a bird, tied a message to its leg, and sent it winging away to the school at Eman Macha.
Next morning, while Cuchulainn slept soundly, the boy-troop arrived at the ford. The only weapons they carried were their hurley-sticks. When Maeve saw them coming she sent for Fergus.
‘Who are those children?’ she asked.
‘They’re the boy-troop of Ulster,’ Fergus replied. ‘They’ve come to help Cuchulainn.’
Maeve laughed maliciously. ‘He must be very weak if he’s depending on children to help him!’ she said. ‘This is the chance we’ve been waiting for.’ She turned and ordered a hundred warriors to go out and attack the ford.
The battle lasted for three days. Though the boy-troop fought bravely all of them were killed. But most of the warriors also died in the battle and the survivors staggered back to the camp to have their wounds looked after.
On the fourth morning Cuchulainn awoke. He felt refreshed and strong again. He stared up at Lug who was standing beside him resting on his great forked spear.
‘How long have I slept?’ he asked.
‘Three days and three nights.’
‘Has the boy-troop defended the ford?’
‘Yes, but they all perished in the battle,’ Lug replied, shaking his head sadly.
A low moaning sigh escaped from Cuchulainn’s lips. ‘If I had been there they wouldn’t have died,’ he said bitterly.
‘You have nothing to be ashamed of,’ Lug assured him. ‘You had no choice but to rest.’
Cuchulainn jumped to his feet. ‘Maeve and her army will pay dearly for this!’ he vowed angrily. ‘Stay with me,’ he urged his godfather. ‘We’ll avenge the boy-troop together.’
Lug shook his head. ‘Your enemies would think you were still too weak to fight your own battles. You are strong once again and able to do your own great deeds. I must return now to the Tuatha De Danaan.’
He smiled, raised his hand in farewell, and set off down the hill. The thunder of his footsteps gradually faded in the distance.
Cuchulainn called Laeg and ordered him to prepare the sickle chariot. Laeg hurried off and put battle-harness on the horses. Then he yoked them to the chariot. Its sides and wheels bristled with sharp blades and barbs that could tear an enemy into ribbons. When the sickle-chariot was ready Cuchulainn leaped into it and grasped the reins.
A sudden battle-spasm ran through him and turned him into a strange distorted being that was terrifying to behold. His face and body swelled up with fury and his eyes glowed red like a blazing fire. He raised himself on the balls of his feet and shouted his loud ferocious war-cry. Then he drove the chariot straight at the camp below.
Maeve and her warriors came tumbling out of their tents. But before they could seize their weapons Cuchulainn was upon them. The warriors fell in their hundreds, cut to pieces by the whirring blades of the chariot. With terror-stricken eyes Maeve ran for her life and hid behind a bush. Men flew desperately in all directions trying to escape the death-dealing wheels.
But Cuchulainn was determined not to let them escape so easily. He turned the chariot and drove in a ring around the camp. The iron wheels bit deeply into the ground, throwing up a high circle of earth that trapped the men inside. Then he drove back into the middle of the camp leaving huge heaps of bodies behind him. Red streams of blood flowed over the plain and down into the river. Cuchulainn’s lips moved in a grim smile. He wheeled his horses around and drove away.
For a short while an uncanny silence hung over the camp. Then Maeve emerged from her hiding-place and screeched with fury when she saw the slaughter. ‘That demon has destroyed half my army!’ she screamed.
‘You were lucky not to lose all of it,’ Fergus said.
‘I must find some way to stop him,’ Maeve said impatiently.
‘Ask him for a truce,’ Fergus suggested.
The queen nodded. ‘Yes, tell him to meet me tomorrow to discuss a truce.’ She paused and a cunning look came into her eyes. ‘And tell him to come unarmed.’
Fergus stared after her uneasily as she walked into her tent. He feared that Maeve was planning some treachery again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FERGUS CONFRONTS CUCHULAINN
LAEG WAS VERY WORRIED when he heard that Cuchulainn had agreed to meet Maeve. ‘Are you taking your weapons with you?’ he asked.
Cuchulainn shook his head. ‘I promised to go unarmed.’
An anxious frown creased Laeg’s brow. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’ he said. ‘This queen is not to be trusted.’
‘But she’ll be unarmed too,’ Cuchulainn said. He shrugged and added, ‘Even if she’s not she can do me no harm. She’s not strong enough.’
‘Still, she may be planning some bit of trickery,’ Laeg warned. ‘I’d bring a sword with me if I were you.’
‘Very well,’ Cuchulainn said. He buckled on his sword and set off for the meeting place. It was on a hill near the camp. Laeg’s warning had alerted him and he glanced carefully around as he approached the hill. All seemed well. Maeve was alone and unarmed.
She smiled and raised her arm in greeting when he drew near. But the smile froze on her lips as soon as she saw the sword at his side.
‘Why did you bring a weapon?’ she asked icily.
Cuchulainn looked surprised and glanced down innocently at the sword. ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised. ‘I forgot to leave it behind me.’
‘We can’t discuss a truce while you’re armed,’ Maeve said. ‘Put your sword on the ground.’
Cuchulainn unbuckled the weapon and threw it down beside him. Maeve immediately backed away from him and shouted ‘Now!’
Fourteen of her warriors suddenly appeared from the other side of the hill and surrounded him with their spears. They hurled them at him just as he crouched down to grab his sword. The spears whistled harmlessly over his head. With swift thrusts of his sword Cuchulainn killed ten of his attackers. The rest fled with Maeve back to the safety of the camp.
Fergus was very angry when he heard how Maeve had tried to trick Cuchulainn. ‘You must fight fair,’ he warned her, ‘or I will take my men away.’
The queen was silent for a moment. Fergus and his men were among the best warriors in her army and she had no wish to lose them. ‘There will only be single combat with Cuchulainn from now on,’ she promised.
For the next few days she sent out warriors one by one to fight Cuchulainn at the ford. But he defeated them all and one by one their bodies arrived bac
k at the camp. When Maeve asked more warriors to go out and do single combat they shook their heads and refused.
Cuchulainn waited impatiently at the ford. Then when no other foe appeared he hammered on his shield and shouted, ‘Send someone out to me!’
‘Will you fight Cuchulainn?’ Maeve asked Fergus.
‘I can’t fight my own foster-son,’ he declared.
But she kept on pleading with him and finally he agreed to go out. Cuchulainn was surprised when he saw Fergus approaching the ford. He was even more surprised when he saw that he carried no sword in his scabbard.
‘You must be under strong protection,’ Cuchulainn said, ‘to come against me with no sword.’
‘I wouldn’t use it on you even if I had one,’ Fergus said softly. ‘I want you to give way to me.’
Cuchulainn stared at him with a look of puzzlement. ‘Why should I do that?’ he asked.
‘Because of the fostering and friendship I have given you,’ Fergus replied. ‘Give way to me now.’
Cuchulainn hesitated. He had never yielded to any warrior before. But he was very fond of his foster-father and had no wish to hurt him. ‘I’ll give way to you,’ he said, ‘if you promise to yield to me the next time we meet.’
‘I promise,’ Fergus said.
Cuchulainn turned, went back across the ford, and raced into the hills. A cheer rang out from the camp when Maeve and her men saw Cuchulainn running away.
‘Follow him!’ Maeve shouted to Fergus.
‘I will not,’ Fergus called out, walking back to the camp. ‘He’s gone too far and I’d never catch up with him.’
‘Look!’ Maeve pointed at the ford. ‘The way is clear. Now is our chance!’ she urged her warriors. A group of men ran down to the river. Just as they reached it Cuchulainn appeared on a nearby hilltop and sped back to stop them. After a brief battle they all lay dead at his feet. He stood triumphantly in the middle of the ford and challenged more warriors to come out against him.
But none of Maeve’s men would accept the challenge. The queen tongue-lashed them, accusing them of cowardice, but still they refused. With a hiss of disgust she turned and strode into her tent. Fergus followed her.
‘What will you do now?’ he asked.
‘I will ask Ferdia to come and fight Cuchulainn,’ Maeve replied. ‘They are foster brothers. They have trained together and are said to be equal in everything.’
‘Except for the Ga Bolga,’ Fergus said.
‘Ferdia can avoid that,’ Maeve declared.
‘How?’
‘He is covered in battle by a skin of horn that no weapon can pierce.’
Fergus shook his head sadly. A sudden fear seized him that Cuchulainn was about to meet his match at last.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE FIGHT BETWEEN THE FOSTER-BROTHERS
FERDIA STARED SUSPICIOUSLY AT THE MESSENGER. He had a fair idea of why Maeve had invited him to her camp. And he had no desire to go and fight his friend and foster-brother Cuchulainn.
‘Tell the queen I regret I cannot come,’ he said.
The messenger looked at him shrewdly. ‘She will think you are afraid,’ he observed.
‘I am afraid of no one!’ Ferdia exclaimed angrily.
‘For the sake of your honour then you had better go,’ the messenger said.
‘Very well,’ Ferdia said quietly. ‘I will meet the queen and hear what she has to say.’
So he set off with the messenger for Maeve’s camp. The queen gave him a great welcome when he arrived. She took him into her tent and ordered her servants to bring food and wine. When he had his fill of everything she smiled and said, ‘Well now, do you know why I have asked you here?’
‘I don’t, ‘Ferdia responded. ‘But since the noblest men in Ireland are here why shouldn’t I be here too?’
‘Why not indeed,’ the queen said softly. ‘Are you not the greatest warrior in the land?’ She paused and added, ‘That is why I sent for you. I want you to do battle with Cuchulainn.’
‘No, that’s impossible,’ Ferdia began to say, but Maeve raised her hand to cut him short.
‘Wait,’ she said, ‘until you hear what I am offering you. I will give you half my treasure, and my own daughter in marriage, and my everlasting friendship on top of it all.’
Ferdia slowly shook his head. ‘Those are great rewards,’ he said. ‘But great as they are I would sooner leave them with you than go out and fight my own foster-brother.’
There was a brief silence. Then Maeve sighed and said, ‘What Cuchulainn said must be true so.’
‘What did he say?’ Ferdia asked.
‘He boasted that he could defeat you in combat.’
‘He did?’ Ferdia’s face reddened with anger. He thumped his fist on the table. ‘In that case I’ll be the first man to fight him tomorrow!’
Maeve smiled grimly. ‘And then he shall surely die,’ she whispered.
Fergus had been listening outside the queen’s tent. He decided to go to Cuchulainn and tell him what Maeve had arranged.
Cuchulainn was surprised to see him arriving at the ford. ‘What brings you here?’ he asked.
‘You should know who’s coming to fight you tomorrow morning,’ Fergus said.
‘Who?’
‘Your own foster-brother, Ferdia.’
‘I don’t want to fight him,’ Cuchulainn said. ‘Not because I fear him but because I love him.’
‘Perhaps you should fear him too,’ Fergus said. ‘When he fights he wears a skin of horn that no weapon can pierce.’
Cuchulainn shrugged. ‘We shall see what happens tomorrow,’ he said. And he crossed back over the ford and lay down to rest.
Early next morning Ferdia went out to fight Cuchulainn. They met in the middle of the ford.
‘You are welcome,’ Ferdia said.
‘I could trust your welcome once’, Cuchulainn said sadly, ‘but I don’t trust it now. You did wrong to come to fight me.’
‘I can’t go back now,’ Ferdia said. ‘If I refuse to fight you I’ll be shamed forever.’
‘Let us begin then,’ Cuchulainn said. ‘Since you reached the ford first you have the choice of weapons until nightfall.’
‘We’ll fight with spears and shields,’ Ferdia decided.
Cuchulainn nodded and the combat commenced.
Shield clattered against shield with a deafening noise that sent flocks of birds scattering through the air. Spear rattled against spear in a mist of flying sparks. They fought like that all day and when nightfall came neither of them had gained any advantage over the other.
‘It’s time to break off,’ Ferdia said.
‘Very well,’ Cuchulainn agreed, and crossing back over the river he lay down on the bank to rest. Ferdia returned to Maeve’s camp.
Next morning they met again in the middle of the ford. ‘You have the choice of weapons today,’ Ferdia said.
‘We’ll fight with horse and chariot,’ Cuchulainn said.
They leaped into their chariots, raised their long stabbing spears, and whipped up their horses into a wild gallop. The chariots passed so close to one another that a feather could not have fitted between the wheels. Their spears collided and bent, twanging like bow-strings after each clash. When the sun at last began to set, their horses were ready to drop with exhaustion.
‘Let us break off now,’ Cuchulainn called out, ‘for our horses are tired and so are we.’
They climbed down stiffly from their chariots and went away to rest for the night.
Early on the third day they came to meet each other in the middle of the ford. ‘What is your choice of weapons?’ Cuchulainn asked.
‘Broad swords and long shields,’ Ferdia replied. ‘This time we’ll fight in the river.’
They got their weapons ready and stood in the ford water confronting each other.
‘This may be our final struggle,’ Ferdia said.
Cuchulainn nodded and the fight began. The huge swords cleaved through the air and battered o
n the knobs of their shields. They hacked and hewed until their shields were split from top to bottom. The rasp of the sword-blades echoed over the plain as they collided. But neither of the warriors could gain advantage over the other. So fiercely did they fight that the river was driven from its course with the trampling of their feet, leaving a dry space in the ford.
Then Ferdia saw a hole in Cuchulainn’s shield and made a sudden lunge through it with his sword. It pierced Cuchulainn’s chest and blood gushed from the wound. Cuchulainn reeled back. Ferdia followed him, wounding him again.
‘Send the Ga Bolga down to me on the stream,’ Cuchulainn called out to Laeg. But the charioteer saw that the ford was dry and that the weapon would not reach him. So he hastily built a dam, sending the river back on course. Then he sent the Ga Bolga gliding down. Cuchulainn caught it with his toe and drove it through a gap in Ferdia’s skin of horn. Every part of his body was filled with deadly barbs. Ferdia fell dead in the middle of the ford.
Cuchulainn picked him up and carried him back across the river. He laid him down gently and then lay down himself for he was weak from his wounds. He stared sadly at the body of his foster-brother.
‘You should have listened to me, Ferdia,’ he whispered. ‘Then you would still be alive.’
His eyes closed suddenly. Laeg ran to him thinking he was dead.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MAEVE IS DEFEATED
A LOOK OF RELIEF CAME OVER LAEG’S FACE when he found that Cuchulainn was still breathing. He set to work at once, cleaning Cuchulainn’s wounds and covering them with healing herbs. He shook his head with dismay. He knew it would take days for Cuchulainn to recover.
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