Going at once to the treasure chamber, Cathleen saw for herself that what little had remained was now gone. Even as she stood staring at the empty room more cries were heard in another part of the castle.
Dashing to the store house where the last of the mouldy corn and sacks of meal were kept, they saw that this too had been stolen. Only a few torn empty sacks littered the floor. The very last of anything edible was gone. Not a day's sustenance was left to them.
These new disasters seemed to lift a weight from Cathleen's shoulders. She had felt beaten and helpless before. Now a bright shining certainty grew in her mind and with it the knowledge that the salvation of her people must be accomplished at any price. Her prayers for guidance had been answered. So plain was her determination to sacrifice herself that it showed on her glowing features as she went once more to her chapel, surrounded now by weeping, moaning servants. Una knew at once what Cathleen planned and was so awe-struck by the appearance of her mistress that she could not muster the words to dissuade her.
At the Chapel door Cathleen looked one final time into her sanctuary, seeing its holy objects, remembering all her prayers. They had not been in vain – all had led up to this moment. Behind her the servants who loved her so well were still wailing and wringing their hands. She turned to them.
“I am forlorn, for I have had to make a terrible choice,” she told them. “Yet do not despair for there is hope. Friends, be still. Our Heavenly father has not forgotten us.”
Looking for a final time into the oratory, she sighed:
“Goodbye, Holy Mary, Mother of God and all you dear saints. Goodbye.”
Closing the door firmly she turned and walked out of the castle, through the village and into the forest where she followed the welltrodden path to the cottage of the demon merchants.
Here business was as brisk as ever and food, gold and wine were quickly changing hands for the souls of starving peasants. Afraid of death and tired of suffering, people were selling to the merchants ever more cheaply in these hungry, lawless, and increasingly sinful times. Deals were being struck and prices bandied, while all around those who had already parted with their souls gorged themselves on food and drink. As Cathleen was seen coming slowly along the path, the peasants filtered away in ones and twos until by the time she arrived at the hut only the merchants remained to greet her. Sitting among their foodstuffs and bags of gold they watched her enter, rising only as part of their show of mocking deference.
“Lady, what brings you into our humble presence once again?”
“Merchants, are you still buying souls for the devil?”
“Surely Countess, and our traffic has never been better. People want to live through this famine and prosper in the times to come, to enjoy wealth and comfort. And why should they not when all we ask for is that insubstantial, feather-light touch of breeze, a nothingness that is called a soul?”
“Has the Countess by any chance come here to strike a bargain herself?” the younger demon asked mockingly with a sly grin.
“I have,” Cathleen replied flatly. “But I will not haggle with you.”
“What merchandize do you wish to sell, fair lady?” the younger demon asked, for he longed to hear her say it.
“Something so valuable that perhaps you cannot afford to buy it.”
“Our purse is very deep, my lady – indeed, limitless,” the younger merchant assured her, smirking and eyeing her greedily. “No price is beyond us.”
“That is, of course, if the soul in question is worth having. If a soul be truly saintly, fit even to join the angels in Paradise, our king will authorize us to pay any sum you can name. Just whose soul are we talking about, Countess?” the elder merchant smiled, raising his brows in feigned curiosity. He too wished to hear it in plain words from her own lips.
“My people starve and die and so come to you. I hear their cries of anguish and despair ever in my ears,” she said. “I want five hundred crowns in gold for the people to find food with, and more if need be, enough, in short, to see them through the famine. You must end your trafficking at once and I want all the souls you have bought to be freed and sent to God.”
“Yes but …”
Swallowing hard Cathleen paused. Her hands trembled and her body stiffened, goose bumps covered her skin as if suddenly chilled by an icy draft.
“It is my soul that is for sale.”
The demons could not restrain their joy and they danced about and punched the air, shaking hands as their jewels gleamed and their eyes flashed. To have won such a stainless and exemplary soul would bring them such honour and credit in Hell as had seldom been awarded to any of Satan's minions.
Laying out the documents excitedly they took possession of themselves long enough to watch with care as Cathleen signed her soul over to their master. Then they happily paid out the money she had demanded, already noting the change in her face, the dullness in her eyes that were harbingers of her coming early death. Gleefully they anticipated the imminent arrival of the food relief from Ulster and England which would show her irrevocable sacrifice to have been largely pointless.
With resolution and sadness in equal measure filling her heart, Cathleen left the hut in the forest followed by her grieving servants, who carried the bags of gold. As she went through the village everyone came out to see her pass, for the rumour of what she had done had spread quickly. The people too felt within themselves that their souls were once more their own and were overcome by remorse. All now lamented. Recognizing her great sacrifice, they wept, and wished they could die for her, help her, somehow redeem her poor soul, but there was no hope.
In the courtyard of her castle, Cathleen distributed the gold the demons had given her, and told everyone to use the money well so that it would see them though the famine.
“My steward will return soon and guide you in my absence, for I cannot stay among you. I cannot pray for you anymore, or for myself. I must go to the dark lord in Hell. I am his now.”
The knowledge of her sacrifice spread though the country. People mourned. Feeling their own redemption, they prayed for her, barely hoping that it would do any good. They beseeched the Blessed Virgin and all the saints to have mercy on her, and all the souls in Heaven who had been saved by her also interceded for her on high.
As daily Cathleen faded, her life force ebbing from her, the demons, who had ceased trading, lingered. They wanted very much to enjoy the ironic return of her food-buying messengers and, of course, to catch her soul as it departed from her body, which it surely would before long.
Broken hearted, old Una nursed her mistress without rest and watched helplessly as the poor young woman grew weaker. Cathleen had resigned herself to the inevitable and did not struggle against the coming of death. She revived a little, though, on being told that word had at last come from the coast that Fergus had landed and was proceeding inland. Another message arrived about the whereabouts of the man sent to Ulster. He was within one day's march with seven hundred head of cattle.
Knowing her own folk were safe now, the Countess Cathleen breathed her last. She died with thanks to God for her people's deliverance on her lips and a smile on her face, regretting nothing.
That night an enormous storm blew up and swept the country with mighty winds and driving rains. It raged for the next day and night and then on the following morning people woke to find the pestilential fogs and poisonous mists had gone. New life began to appear in the woods and fields. The old forester's hut where the merchants had stayed had been crushed by a large fallen tree, and there was no sign of them anywhere.
When Fergus returned he distributed food and oxen to every family. Everywhere prayers were offered up in thanks for Cathleen's sacrifice and in blessings upon her. They grieved too at the knowledge that her spirit must now be in Hell. Everyone's heart was rent, for still there was no sign of her forgiveness.
Gloom shrouded the desolate castle as Una sat watching beside the body of her foster-daughter. Offering her own prayers
the old nurse looked piteously at the face of her dead darling, pleading with Heaven, as were so many others, that Cathleen be spared. Suddenly she stopped. In a flash, a pure knowing, a vision that could only truly come from God, entered her being.
It was of Cathleen being received into Paradise surrounded by angels and saints. God had forgiven her, had known her clean spirited self sacrifice for what it was and understood it. The bargain with Satan's minions was void, and Cathleen was safely, joyously in Heaven.
Tlazoteotl and the Price of Temptation
The goddess Tlazoteotl is Mexican mythology's answer to Venus. She was seen by the Aztecs as the driving force behind all types of ‘unclean’ or immoral behaviour. More positively, she would act as an intermediary for penitent sinners with the all-powerful god Tezcatlipoca who could take or give life. There may be a general lesson for the self-righteous in this story, but on the whole it doesn't seem quite fair.
Perturbed, the Aztec goddess Tlazoteotl reviewed the situation and liked what she saw even less than before. Where would she be if such things caught on? She must lobby the other gods and force them to act. If she worked matters carefully, everything might even turn to her advantage. The trouble had all begun when some fool, to her way of thinking, had decided to become especially religious. She suspected the motives of this individual – whose name was Jappan – and she was inclined to regard his newly acquired religious devotion as the ultimate form of social climbing.
Since being overtaken by a yearning to be closer to the gods, Jappan had been able to think of little else. Middle aged and fairly prosperous, he had decided to leave his wife, family and all he possessed and make his way into the desert to spend his days contemplating the divine and doing all he could to demonstrate his piety. He had wandered for a long while before finding a suitable place to live and continue his attempt to commune with higher powers. His choice was at the top of a towering rock – a good spot for a hermit, he felt – which he had climbed with some difficulty, but once there he quickly became absorbed in his devotions and spent all his time in contemplation and prayer. Abstinence from all earthly – and, especially, earthy – pleasures constituted a large part of Jappan's regime, hence the ill-will of Tlazoteotl, who was known colloquially as the Goddess of Guilty Love.
She, meanwhile, was trying to convince the other gods that it would be a good idea to test Jappan's virtue. She argued that a truly righteous man should be recognized and rewarded for his endeavours. Equally, fairness dictated that a man who only purported to follow a virtuous path should be punished. Not wishing to be seen to be condoning backsliding, the gods dispatched a demon, Yaotl, to observe Jappan and report to them of his conduct. Tlazoteotl had been very pleased with the selection of Yaotl – indeed she had done her best to assure it. She also had seen to it that the demon, whose name means ‘enemy’, was authorized to punish Jappan himself, if the man failed in his devotion. The demon relished such a task, as the goddess knew he would.
Among the temptations Yaotl sent Jappan's way were beautiful women. By the demon's own reckoning these were bound to be the most testing of his resolution to devote himself purely to worship. Many sirens came and stood beneath the high rock upon which Jappan sat. They called up to him in soft and gentle voices, talked explicitly to him with a come-hither gleam in their eyes, appealed to him as maidens in distress or as innocent but eager girls who wanted to learn of love in his arms. None of these lines succeeded in luring him down to ground level. Tlazolteotl watched with growing exasperation. Enough, she thought, and took matters into her own hands.
She went to the foot of Jappan's rock and called up to him. Wearily the hermit peered down at this latest temptress. His eyes nearly popped out of his head! There before him, in her full, divine splendour, was standing the most beautiful female in creation.
“Oh, Brother Jappan,” the goddess whispered in a husky voice which carried surprisingly clearly to his lofty perch, “what devotion and fortitude you have shown. Such piety and sacrifice. Such restraint and wisdom.”
All the poor hermit could do was stare at her, and marvel at her magnificence and other-worldly allure.
“I am Tlazoteotl,” she said, knowing she needed no introduction. “Your virtue and suffering have touched me deeply. I long to console you. But please, how may I reach you and speak with you more easily?”
“I'll show you,” croaked Jappan, who had not used his voice in some time, not even to reply in the negative to any of his other visitors.
A little stiff at first he climbed down to the goddess and, showing her the way, helped her to ascend to the top of his eyrie.
“Well, let me look at you,” the goddess said, making herself comfortable beside him, all the while gripping his hand which he had extended to pull her to safety during their climb. “Why, you are not simply a very pious man but a damned handsome one as well. Certainly your devotion deserves a kiss.”
One thing inextricably led to another and there atop the high rock Jappan and the goddess coupled rapturously. That is to say, it was rapturous for Jappan. Tlazoteotl found the experience very satisfying in a quite different way.
As soon as the deed was done, Yaotl arrived and irately remonstrated with Jappan as the goddess faded away, a joyous smile lighting her serenely lovely face.
“What have you done, you who would be so holy?” the demon taunted.
“But she was a goddess and …”
“That makes no difference,” cried Yeotl. “It makes it worse. Far worse. And you a married hermit, at that.”
“Have mercy, please,” Jappan pleaded – but to no avail.
Bending the poor, kneeling man even further over, Yeotl cut off his head. The gods themselves then magically turned him into a scorpion. Ashamed and frightened of any further wrath, Jappan scuttled under the rock upon which he had committed his misdeed.
Then Yeotl went in search of Jappan's wife, Tlahuizin, which means ‘the burning’, and dragged her to the high rock, where he related the whole sad tale of her husband's downfall. She, too, was then unceremoniously beheaded. On his own initiative, Yeotl turned her into a scorpion, a fire coloured one, and she joined Jappan under the great rock. In time they had little scorpions of various colours.
The gods, however, deemed that Yeotl had overstepped his responsibilities and acted without authority. As punishment, he was changed into a grasshopper.
Tlazoteotl remained very much herself, and thought it all highly amusing, of course.
St. George and the Dragon
Christianity has spun a few myths of its own over the centuries while attempting to destroy those of pagan peoples. The dragon has long been a Christian metaphor for evil – St John the Divine, St Margaret and St Michael, among others, have all been depicted in Christian imagery slaying dragons. The Reverend Thomas Percy included the myth of George and the Dragon in his book of ballads, Percy's Reliques (1765), and kept to tradition in his treatment of the story. I could not quite bring myself to do the same.
The sun rose that morning no differently than it does most mornings and climbed slowly through the bright blue sky. There was going to be a monumental battle which only one of the duellists would survive. Neither of them was fully confident of victory and the hours leading up to their midday appointment could not go quickly enough. On the other hand, a dread of what might happen, and of much that was certain to happen, also nagged at both of them.
The dragon had woken early, which was not his habit. He lay abed awhile thinking on what the day held and how it had all come about. For the life of him he could not understand it. What did these humans expect? It wasn't as if he was eating them, just their enslaved animals. In his time he had eaten people, of course – who had not? But it took too many of them, once boned, to make a meal and they were difficult to catch, always put up an embarrassing and unseemly struggle and they had to be cooked just right or they withered to dry crust.
With people killing all the wild game though, or scaring it off and putting thei
r own exploited beasts everywhere, what else was a fellow to do but develop a taste for mutton and beef? Humans could hardy expect to be the only predators on the planet, could they? What, get rid of all the big cats, the birds of prey, the wolves for heaven's sake? Dragons were another thing, of course.
He well knew that his own kind were few, sensitive, solitary and reluctant to cohabit and breed. Being extremely long-lived, wise and self-absorbed, this insularity had not mattered before. But now, with man having seen off his cousins the Neanderthals, breeding like rabbits and covering the whole surface of the globe with his progeny, the competition for food was getting ridiculous.
“Perhaps I should go to China,” the dragon yawned, rising reluctantly to enter an alcove-like section of his cave. Here a small fissure miles deep into the earth and a spring babbling from the rock wall created for the fastidious creature a natural toilet and washroom. “At least there, the humans know how to appreciate a dragon. Why, they even consider us good luck.”
And now here was this rather bolder, or crazier, human down there in the valley who wanted to fight him, to rid the local people of their rival. They had told the fellow that he, the dragon, was downright evil, of course. The fool had believed it, too, believed he had been eating people on a daily basis, devouring them in order of class, starting with the sons and daughters of the commoners, and rising ultimately to, horror of horrors, a royal princess. This had been too much for a passing hero to bear.
Evil indeed, the dragon snorted indignantly. The princess was pure bait, for him and the hero, a gutsy little so-and-so who knew exactly what she was doing. The dragon had learned all this by flying silently and slowly about on dark moonless nights and listening in at windows. As a snack the princess was hardly worth the bother of opening his mouth, though they thought he would not be able to resist her. It was the hero, of course, who could not resist her.
Myths and Legends from Around the World Page 32