Myths and Legends from Around the World

by Robin Brockman

  At the same time that Fergus was setting out for England and Cathleen's other retainer headed north to Ulster, a pair of mysterious and stately strangers appeared in Ireland. No one knew where they came from but they were first seen along the rough western shore. The few folk dwelling in this sparse region supposed they had been put ashore by some passing vessel or were the victims of a shipwreck. They were undoubtedly foreigners for they conversed between themselves in a tongue no one else recognized, and did not seem to understand questions people asked them.

  As the strangers travelled inland they seemed to change. At the next sighting of them, at a village near Dublin, they were wearing magnificent robes and furs, and jewelled gloves adorned their hands, as did golden rings. Upon their heads circlets of rubies gleamed and the fine black steeds they rode showed no ill effects from the famine but were strong, sleek and spirited. Everywhere they went, they carefully noted the universal misery and despair.

  Finally they came to the small hut of a forester's widow, who gladly received such a royal and lofty pair. Their bearing, equipage and language contrasted greatly with the humble hut in which they were accommodated but they did not seem to mind. The dead forester had been one of the Countess Cathleen's most loyal vassals and his holding was very near the castle. From the hut the strangers could observe the life of the village, the comings and goings of the castle and hear all the talk of the place.

  When they had been around for a while, they haltingly explained to the widow that they were merchants from a far-off land. They claimed to be traders in rare gems, though they had no goods to sell or exchange. They made no enquiries after such things that others might sell them, bargained with no one for anything and were generally thought to be the oddest merchants ever seen in Erin.

  Daily they ate without complaint the poor food their lowly hostess gave them. The black bread that was the best such terrible times could provide, they soaked in rich red wine from their private store, paying for everything lavishly in unminted gold. Naturally, it was a wonder to people that men who could clearly afford to go anywhere they wished should stay in a famine-ravaged region for no apparent reason.

  Soon, oddly fluent in the Irish tongue, they started to gently question the widow and others about the country, the population and the famine itself. They wanted to know how people suffered and died, what they thought of life and faith.

  They heard much about the generosity and kindness of the Countess Cathleen, who had saved so many lives and who was saving them still, though with greater difficulty as each day passed. To their interlocutors they expressed much admiration for this remarkable lady, but the sidelong looks exchanged between them at such times were dark and discontented.

  Came the day when the royal merchants announced to the widow their true mission as friends of the poor and starving. Servants of a mighty foreign prince, they had come to help alleviate the suffering and fight the famine and death. Of course, it was obvious that they had no actual food with them, only wine and plenty of gold. With this they hoped people might, by searching, still discover food to buy.

  Now the widow, knowing that there were indeed still some niggardly men who yet had mouldering hoards of grain to sell for exorbitant prices, fell to her knees and rejoiced. Blessing God, the Virgin Mary and all the Saints, she commended the strangers to Heaven, for if they would buy the grain and distribute it, people need not die of hunger any more. As she prayed for a blessing on the two strangers, they smiled disdainfully and grew impatient. The senior of them interrupted her and spoke with cunning.

  “Naturally the evils of charity are well known and we would not wish to bring them down on a people already so troubled. For his honour, let each man or woman bring a single piece of merchandize to sell us.”

  “Oh, but Sirs,” wailed the poor disappointed widow, all the hope she had felt a moment before fading from her heart. “Do you suppose that after all they have suffered that anyone has anything worth trading that has not long ago gone to buy one last morsel to keep body and soul together? No one will have anything left, I tell you, save the clothes on their backs and these only enough to keep themselves alive until better times return. You mock us in our misery.”

  “Nay, madam, we do not, I assure you,” the elder merchant said. “Why, every person has the one precious thing we are prepared to buy and have come to find. All are still in possession of it, for none here have yet been lost or sold by anyone.”

  “But what precious thing can this be? The people of Ireland have nothing but their lives and only a very weak hold on these.”

  “Ah, but is there not something else?” the elder merchant enquired with a conspiratorial smile, alert for the first inkling of understanding. “Even folk so poor as the Irish have the thing we wish to purchase, if they will but sell it.”

  Still the widow looked blankly at them.

  “Their souls,” the younger merchant prompted. “Do you see now?”

  “We are here,” the elder continued, “to procure these for our powerful Prince and with what we are prepared to pay in pure gold we will surely save many lives until the famine passes.”

  “Why must men die a cruel and lingering death,” the younger continued, “or live like a dog for so many dreadful months of ugly halflife when relief is at hand at the cost of a mere soul?”

  “A thing no good to anyone,” said the other. “Is it not only the source of fears and pain and regret, after all?”

  “We take people's souls and free them from all that. And for this service we will pay them. We will pay much good money with which they can not only survive these hard times but find comforts and pleasure, as well.”

  Realizing that the strangers were minions of Satan come to lure the souls of men into Hell, the widow fled her cottage and ran to the village. Here she stayed, unwilling to return home, leaving the demons to themselves. She warned everyone about them, of course, but soon she died of famine. With her gone the strangers began to live a little better.

  For some time though, people kept away from the place. Then, first wanderers reported having been there to no ill-effect, and finally even the local folk dared to go. Occasionally the strangers gave visitors food and rich wine, hinting that there was much more for those daring enough to earn it. When shyly asked how this might be done, they began the tempting proper and explained the comforts derived from the sale of a soul. One fellow had no qualms at all and struck a deal with them for his soul after very little prompting. Driving a hard bargain with the demons, he got three hundred crowns. Of course the younger demon felt this was a bit much for a soul they probably would have got for nothing eventually, given the man's character, but the elder demon knew his business.

  The man became a tempter himself now, telling everyone about the wonderful food and wine he had sometimes got from the merchants and showing off his wealth. The most wonderful thing of all, he proclaimed to anyone who would listen, was that he had gained the liberty of knowing no pity, having no conscience and losing all remorse.

  What had been a trickle soon became a flood as people beat an ever-widening path to the hut in the forest. Prices paid for souls now varied depending on what a soul was worth, what sins had already been committed. In enjoying the wine and food given out by the merchants, people did not worry about what any of this meant or where the endless supply of food and gold came from.

  Everyone who dealt with the demons left with a full belly, a dizzy head from their fine wine and weighed down with bags of gold. The appeal of plentiful food, drink, gold and undemanding service brought more and more people each day. By night, knowing they were lost, that no hope of Heaven was left to them, they revelled and danced and caroused, intending to live life while they yet had it.

  For a long while Cathleen was unaware of the activities of the demons because these days she never left her castle walls, so busy was she with the poor people who needed her. Any moment she was not with them she spent in prayer, first for the speedy return of Fergus and her man who
had gone to Ulster and secondly for an end to the famine. Gradually the throng at her gates dwindled, however. The number of her own dependants seemed less somehow, though there were far fewer deaths. Soon the numbers of people arriving for the meagre allowance she was able to give out dwindled to several dozen.

  The mists had not cleared and it was not the time even of sowing, let alone a new harvest. Cathleen began to hope that a miracle had occurred, that her prayers and those of so many others had been answered. Yet it was obvious this had not happened. The riotous and drunken behaviour of the villagers came to her attention finally, and she marvelled at the source of it. Where could people have got the money and the drink for so much carrying on? It seemed endless. She sent for an old peasant whose wife had died early on in the famine. He had longed to join her in death although until recently Cathleen had fed him each day.

  He arrived deep in drink and reckless with it. His look was defiant and his manner insolent and rude. Though full of evil mirth, he tried to answer the questions she put to him as soberly as he could.

  “Can you tell me why the villagers and strangers have stopped coming here for food? There is not much, but everyone in need is still welcome to share it with me and my household.”

  “They are no longer in need,” the peasant smirked. “They have food and drink aplenty and money to buy anything else they want.”

  “Where in the world did they get food and drink? How have they acquired gold, now of all times?”

  “They have everything from two generous merchants who have taken the residence of old Mari who died the other week, out in the forest. They keep open house in the old cottage day and night and are so rich they give bounteously to all. They are so powerful that they have no trouble finding good food and wine in great supply. More than enough for everyone who goes to them.”

  “This is quite incredible,” Cathleen said, unable to understand how such things could be.

  “Since Bridgit, your old servant, died her man and son have gone to serve the strangers and they encourage people to trade with them. I have done so myself and so have many others – and look, we are now rich.”

  He brought out from under his coat a bag of gold and showed it to her.

  “We have food and as much wine as we can drink into the bargain.”

  “What can you all be giving them in return for such generosity? Are they so full of goodness of spirit that they ask nothing?”

  “Oh,” he laughed carelessly. “We give them something all right, but it is nothing we ever miss.”

  “And that is?” Cathleen asked archly.

  “Our souls, lady. They are merchants who deal in souls, obtaining them for their king.”

  “God help us,” the Countess moaned, her hands flying to cover her face.

  “Yes, and they pay richly for the useless, painful things. I am glad I sold them my soul. I don't grieve for my wife anymore. I am happy and well fed. I get drunk when I like, which is all the time, if it please your ladyship, and I have gold enough to see out the famine and after, so there.”

  “But when you die …” she gasped.

  “I just will not have a soul,” he laughed at her sorrow. “As I have none now. But I have no conscience to trouble me either. So what if I have no soul to trouble me later?”

  She waved her hand for him to go and he reeled out of the room still laughing without joy, swearing to himself that he had made a fine bargain.

  In her chapel later the Countess prayed to the Virgin and all the saints for assistance in defeating the demons and saving the souls of her people.

  Going into the village the next morning Cathleen appealed to the local people and those who had come from far and wide alike, to return to sharing her rations. She admitted that she had only tiny portions of corn and meal, with a few drops of milk from the two starving cows her servants had somehow kept alive.

  “But more is on its way,” she told them. “I have sent to Ulster for cattle and to England for corn, wine and other livestock. Abundant supplies of everything are on their way, I can assure you all. You have only to be patient a while longer.”

  Of course she was only hoping, for there was no word from Fergus or the other man and she could but pray that what she told the people was the truth. Nevertheless, it did not matter because no one really listened to her. There were endless supplies at the forest cottage and no stinting in the amounts given.

  The merchants themselves were naturally very active too in drawing new people to their door and stooges already in their thrall were only too ready to bring others into the evil fold. The wine they were so profligate with was heady stuff and helped dupe anyone who drank it and planted dreams of blissful, comfortable living once the famine was over.

  In the face of seeming guarantees of good times now and tomorrow, Cathleen's appeal fell on deaf ears and the trade in souls became brisker than ever. The noise of the nightly drinking bouts increased as more people arrived and everyone grew riotous and reckless. Nothing mattered any longer to any of them and wildness of every sort abounded.

  A sense of evil now pervaded everything for miles around, further depressing the stricken countryside. People laughed at death, laughed at the dying, even ones who had also sold their souls and passed away cursing the demons who had tricked them, horrified at what was to come. No one cared. The traffic continued unabated.

  Summoning her courage and all her faith in God, Cathleen took the well-worn path to the forest cottage where the demon merchants stayed. As they saw her coming down the track they caught their breath and their evil eyes shone. Excitedly they rubbed their hands together, hoping that she was coming at last to sell her own sweet soul.

  “Would the Countess be interested in doing business with such humble foreign merchants as we?” the eldest of the pair asked with a wicked grin.

  “We are at your service in any way,” the younger one bowed, leering at her, taking in her shape with glee. “Any way that is not contrary to the interests of our King, of course.”

  “I have nothing to trade with you,” Cathleen replied. “for you purchase the souls of men for the Evil One, do you not?”

  “Bluntly put, my lady, but yes that is our office. What may we do for you then?”

  “I am here to beseech you to release my people from the bargains you have made with them. Give them back their souls and have pity on them.”

  “Why would we ever wish to do such a thing?”

  “I still have some jewels and gold, please take them and leave my people be. Return their souls and leave our country.”

  The demons turned to one another and as their wicked, beady eyes met they burst into laughter, slapping each other's backs and doubling up with mirth.

  “You mean, we are to undo all our labour, cease and desist forthwith, in exchange for some gold and gems?” the younger merchant scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief and smirking. Then, he said, with deadly seriousness. “Lady, don't you realize that we have unlimited gold and gems, and these people are nothing to us.”

  “Indeed,” said the eldest petulantly. “This is our work, my dear Countess, not our sport. We buy souls for our Satanic master, to dwell with him in his kingdom and do his bidding. Our reward in rank and honour in his realm is equal to the success we have in this enterprise. No, we will not give up a single one of the souls we have bought.”

  “See by the circlets on our heads that we are as princes in his kingdom,” the younger one said proudly. “We have brought him countless souls from all lands and will win yet many more. How can you come here and …”

  “Quiet,” the elder said abruptly, holding up his hand. “There might just be one particularly valuable thing that might yet redeem the souls of the peasants of Erin. One thing that might count equal with them all in glory to our master.”

  “Tell me what it is,” said Cathleen, “and if it is in my gift, or if I can acquire it, the thing is yours. Anything that will save my people's souls, I will give you.”

  “It
belongs to you even now, Countess,” the elder demon said smoothly. “A pure soul is more valuable than many, many, tainted ones. Our king would deem it a good bargain and commend us if we made such a trade.”

  “Yes,” chimed in the other one, eagerly. “Your saintly soul, Countess, for all the others. You would redeem all the others with the sale of your own.”

  “And do not hold out hope,” his crafty elder added, “for assistance from another quarter. Fool the people and yourself no longer with groundless promises of, what is it – cattle from Ulster and grain, wine and whatnot from England? There is none on its way. Both your emissaries have failed.”

  “That is so,” the other merchant confirmed. “Believe us, we have sent to find out. One lays dying up north with an ague, the other is still in England, robbed and thwarted at every turn. The English much fear a famine of their own, you see, and sell no food. They pay next to nothing for worthless Irish lands and forests.”

  It seemed all hope faded from Cathleen upon hearing this news and turning to go she paused for a second, then left. The demons shivered with delight at their deception and felt good about their chances of securing her soul now, but time they knew was short. By diabolical means they had already seen the true state of the progress being made both by the cattle buyer, heading south at that very moment, and the ships full of food from England. There were but five or six days before they would arrive – five or six days in which they might win Cathleen's pure young soul.

  Defeated and grieving, Cathleen entered her castle, now occupied by only a few loyal old servants. Alone in her oratory she stayed about her prayers for many hours, begging for enlightenment as to how she might save her people from the devil and starvation too.

  Suddenly her orisons were interrupted by a loud thumping at the chapel door and the voice of Una, her foster-mother, calling to her. Cathleen left the altar and ran to the door.

  ‘Thieves!” cried Una, as the door was flung open. “You have been robbed, my lady.”