Early Irish Myths and Sagas Page 10

  ‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘That one was Tulchaíne, the royal fool of the king of Temuir, Conare’s trickster, a man of great power. Three nines will fall by him at the first onslaught, and he will match the performance of anyone in the hostel, and, though wounded, he will escape afterwards.’ ‘On his account alone, there should be no destruction. Happy the man who spares him,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you.’ ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.

  ‘I saw nine men before the same apartment,’ said Ingcél. ‘Fair yellow manes they had, and short trousers and speckled red tunics and shields lest they be struck. A sword with an ivory hilt in the hand of each man, and anyone who entered the house would be struck with those swords. No one dared enter the house without their permission. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’

  ‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘Those are the three Mochmaitnechs of Mide, the three Búadeltachs of Brega and the three Sostachs of Slíab Fúait. Nine tens will fall by them at the first onslaught, and they will match the performance of anyone in the hostel, and, though wounded, they will escape afterwards.’ ‘Woe to him who carries out this destruction, if only because of those nine,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you.’ ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.

  ‘I saw another apartment, with two men in it,’ said Ingcél. ‘Stout and strong they were, with short trousers, and they were dusky red; short hair at the back of their heads and long hair on top. Each was as quick as a mill wheel going past the other, the one going to the apartment, the other to the hearth. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’

  ‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘Nía and Bruithne they, Conare’s two servers, the best pair in Ériu. That is why they are swarthy and why their hair stands up – because they visit the fire so often. No pair in the world are better servers than they. Three nines will fall by them at the first onslaught, and a man for each weapon, and a man for each man, and they will match the performance of any pair in the hostel; they will boast of victories over kings and royal heirs and plundering chieftains, and, though wounded, they will escape afterwards.’ ‘Woe to him who carries out this destruction, if only because of those two,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you.’ ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.

  ‘I saw the apartment next to Conare’s,’ said Ingcél. ‘Three chief warriors were there, and they were just turning grey. They wore dark grey shirts, and each of their limbs was as thick as a man’s waist; each man had a huge, black sword, as long as a weaver’s beam, that could split a hair floating on the water. The man in the centre had a great lance, with fifty rivets through it, and its shaft would be a load for a team of oxen. He brandished the lance until sparks as big as eggs all but flew from it, and then he struck the butt against his palm three times. Before them was a great food cauldron, large enough for a bullock, with an appalling dark liquid in it, and the man dipped the lance into the liquid. If the lance was not quenched quickly, it blazed up over its shaft – you would have thought there was a roaring fire in the upper part of the house. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’

  ‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘Three heroes they, the three best that ever took weapons in Ériu: Senchae son of Ailill, Dubthach Dóeltenga and Goibniu son of Lorgnech. And the lance that was in the hand of Dubthach, that was the Luin of Celtchair son of Uthechar that was found at the battle of Mag Tured. Whenever the blood of enemies is about to flow from the lance, a cauldron full of venom is required to quench it; otherwise, the lance will blaze up in the fist of the man carrying it, and it will pierce him or the lord of the royal house. Each thrust of this lance will kill a man, even if it does not reach him; if the lance is cast, it will kill nine men, and there will be a king or royal heir or plundering chieftain in their number. I swear by what my people swear by, the Lúin of Celtchair will serve drinks of death to a multitude tonight. Three hundred will fall by these three at the first onslaught, and a man for each weapon, and a man for each man, and they will match the performance of any trio in the hostel; they will boast of victories over kings and royal heirs and plundering chieftains, and, though wounded, they will escape afterwards.’ ‘Woe to him who carries out this destruction, if only because of those three,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you.’ ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.

  ‘I saw an apartment with three men in it,’ said Ingcél. ‘Three strong, powerful men – a man passing by would not eye their dark, uncouth faces for fear of the terror that would result. Rough-haired garments all about them, and no other clothing on them from head to toe. Their horrible, horselike manes reached their Sides. Furious warriors, they were quick to their swords, and they struck stoutly against enemies. Each bore an iron flail with seven chains; each chain was twisted into three strands, and each had at its end a knob as heavy as a bar for lifting ten pieces of burning metal. Huge oxhides they wore, and the four-cornered clasps that fastened them were as thick as a man’s thighs, and the hair from the hides went through them. Each man had an iron staff as long and thick as an outer yoke; each staff had nine chains of iron, and each chain had a pestle of iron as long and thick as an outer yoke. These men were dejected, and they were horrible to behold; no one in the house was not aware of them. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’

  Fer Rogain fell silent. ‘Difficult that,’ he said. ‘I know no trio in Ériu like that, unless they are the three churls whom Cú Chulaind spared at Forbas Fer Fálgai; they slew fifty warriors while under his protection, and he protected them because of their strangeness. These are their names: Srúb Dare son of Dorn Bude, Conchend Cind Mage and Fíad Sceme son of Scippe. Three hundred will fall by them at the first onslaught, and they will match the performance of any trio in the hostel; if they encounter you, your fragments will pass through a corn sieve after they have destroyed you with their iron flails.’ ‘Woe to him who carries out this destruction, if only because of those three,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you.’ ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.

  ‘I saw another apartment, with one man in it,’ said Ingcél, ‘and two lads before him, both with long hair, the one as dark as the other was fair. The warrior had blood-red hair and a blood-red mantle, and his cheeks were ruddy. Very beautiful blue eyes he had, and a green cloak about him, and a hooded white tunic with red embroidery, and an ivory-hilted sword in his hand. He supplied food and drink to every apartment in the hostel and waited upon the host. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’

  ‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘I know that man – Da Derga. It is he who built the hostel. Since he became a hospitaller, the entrances to the hostel have never been closed, save in the direction from which the wind blows; since he became a hospitaller, his cauldron has never gone from the fire, and it boils food for the men of Ériu. The two lads before him are his foster-sons, the children of the king of the Lagin, Muredach and Coirpre. Three tens will fall by this trio at the entrance to the house, and they will boast of victories over kings and royal heirs and plundering chieftains, and they will escape afterwards.’ ‘Happy he who spares those children,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘Better a victory of sparing them than a victory of wounding them. They should be spared, if only because of that man, for he would be capable of protecting them.’ ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you.’ ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.

  ‘I saw an apartment with three men in it,’ said Ingcél. ‘Three blood-red cloaks about them, and blood-red tunics, and blood-red hair on their heads – they were blood red to the teeth. Three blood-red shields hung overhead, along with three blood-red spears; three blood-red horses were bridled at the entrance to the house. Explain that,
Fer Rogain.’

  ‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘They are the three nephews that lied in the síd. The punishment inflicted upon them by the king of the Síde is that they be destroyed three times by the king of Temuir. Conare son of Eterscélae is the last king by whom they are to be destroyed. These men will escape you. To fulfil their destruction they have come, but they will wound no one, and they will not be wounded.’ ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.

  ‘I saw three men in the centre of the house, near the door,’ said Ingcél. ‘Three barbed staffs were in their hands. As fast as a rabbit each of them round the others and towards the door. Short, speckled trousers on them, and grey cloaks. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’

  ‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘The three doorkeepers of the king of Temuir they: Echuir and Tochur and Tegmong, the sons of Ersa and Comla. Three champions, equally matched, will fall by them, and their performance will equal that of any trio in the hostel, and, though wounded, they will escape afterwards.’ ‘Woe to him who carries out this destruction, if only because of those three,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you.’ ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.

  ‘I saw at the front fire,’ said Ingcél, ‘a black-haired man with one eye and one arm and one leg; he was carrying a singed, black-bristled pig towards the fire, and it was squealing. With him he had a large, large-lipped woman. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’

  ‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘Fer Calliu was the man with the pig, and the woman is his wife, Cichuil. They are the instruments by which you may lawfully destroy Conare tonight. Woe to the face that blushes between them. Indeed, Fer Calliu and his pig are geiss to Conare.’ ‘Woe to him who carries out this destruction, if only because of those two,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you.’ ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.

  ‘I saw an apartment with three nines in it,’ Ingcél said. ‘Fair yellow hair they had, and all were equally handsome. Each had a black cape with a white hood and a blood-red crest and an iron brooch; each bore a very large, black sword that could split a hair floating on the water, and each had a shield with serrated edges. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’

  ‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘The three sons of Baithse of the Bretain they, three plunderers. Three nines will fall by them at the first onslaught, and they will match the performance of any trio in the hostel, and they will escape afterwards.’ ‘Woe to him who carries out this destruction, if only because of those three,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you.’ ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.

  ‘I saw three fools at one end of the fire,’ said Ingcél, ‘all wearing dun mantles. If the men of Ériu were assembled in one place, and if the bodies of his father and his mother were before each man, no one could help but laugh. If there were thirty hundred in the house, none would manage to sit or lie down because of those three. When the king’s eye lights upon them, it laughs with each glance. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’

  ‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘Mlithe and Máel and Admlithe they, the three fools of the king of Ériu. A man will fall by each of them, and they will match the performance of any trio in the hostel, and they will escape afterwards.’ ‘Woe to him who carries out this destruction, if only because of those three,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you.’ ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.

  ‘I saw an apartment with three men in it,’ said Ingcél. ‘Three swirling grey cloaks about them. A cup of water before each man, and a bunch of watercress in each cup. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’

  ‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘Dub and Dond and Dobar they, the three cupbearers of the king of Temuir. They are the sons of La and Aidche.’ ‘Woe to him who carries out this destruction, if only because of those three,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you.’ ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.

  ‘I saw a man who was blind in his left eye and destructive in his right,’ said Ingcél. ‘He was carrying a pig’s head towards the fire, and it was squealing. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’

  ‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘Nár Thúathcáech that one, the swineherd of Bodb, from Sid ar Femuin. He has never attended a feast where he did not shed blood.’ ‘Woe to him who carries out this destruction, if only because of that one man,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you. Rise, now, fiana, and let us make for the house.’

  At that, the plunderers rose and made for the house, and they raised a loud shout. ‘Hush!’ said Conare. ‘What is that?’ ‘Fíana encircling the house,’ said Conall Cernach. ‘There are youths here to meet them,’ said Conare. ‘They will be needed tonight,’ said Conall Cernach. Lomnae Drúth preceded the plunderers into the hostel, and the doorkeepers cut off his head. The head was thrown into the hostel three times, and it was thrown back out three times, just as Lomnae Drúth had prophesied.

  Six hundred fell by Conare before he could reach his weapons. The hostel was fired three times and extinguished three times, and it was conceded that the destruction would not be carried out until Conare had performed some feat of arms. After that, Conare obtained his weapons, and six hundred fell at the first onslaught, and the plunderers were routed. ‘I told you,’ said Fer Rogain, ‘that if the fíana of Ériu and Albu were about the house, the destruction would nonetheless not be carried out until Conare’s heat and ardour were quenched.’ ‘He has only a short time,’ said the druids who had accompanied the plunderers, and they caused a weakness for drink to overcome him. Conare entered the house and said ‘Drink, popa Macc Cécht!’ ‘Indeed, I have never taken an order to bring you drink before,’ said Mace Cécht. ‘You have servers and cupbearers to bring you drink. The order I have taken up to now has been to guard you from the fíana of Ériu and Albu who have encircled the hostel – I will protect you from them, and not a single spear will pierce your body. Seek drink from your servers and your cupbearers.’

  After that, Conare sought drink from his servers and cupbearers. ‘There is none,’ they said. ‘All the liquid in the house was spent extinguishing the fire.’ The river Dothra flowed through the house, but they found no drink for him there. Conare sought drink once more, saying ‘Drink for me, Mace Cécht, my foster-son. I do not care if death follows, for I will die anyway.’ Conare sought drink a third time, and at that, Mace Cécht went to the chieftains of Ériu, and he offered the warriors in the house the choice of protecting the king or fetching drink for him. Conall Cernach answered from within the house: ‘We will protect the king. You go to fetch drink, since it is you he asked.’

  Macc Cécht went to fetch drink, then; he put Lé Fer Flaith son of Conare under one arm, and under the other he put Conare’s gilt cup, which was large enough for an ox to boil over the fire, and he took his sword and his shield and his two spears and a bar of iron that was under the king’s cauldron. At the entrance to the hostel he dealt nine blows with the iron bar, and each blow felled nine men. He did the edge feat with his sword about his head and so cut a path out of the house. Mace Cécht went on to Tipra Cuirp, which was nearby, in Crích Chúaland; he had Conare’s cup in his hand, but he could not fill it there. Before morning he had gone round the major rivers of Ériu: Búas, Bóand, Bandai, Berbai, Nem, Laí, Laígdai, Sinand, Síuir, Slicech, Samuir, Findi and Ruirthech. But he could not fill the cup. He went on until he reached Úarán Garaid in Mag Ai, having first gone round the waters and the chief lakes of Ériu – Dergderc, Luimnech, Loch Ríb, Loch Febail, Loch Mesca, Loch nOrbsen, Loch Laíg, Loch Cúan, Loch nEchach, Márloch – and still failing to fill the cup. Úarán Garaid did not hide from him, so he filled t
he cup and put the lad under his arm. He returned, then, and reached the hostel before morning.

  When Macc Cécht reached the third ridge from the house, he saw two men striking Conare’s head off. He struck the head from one of the two men, but the second made to escape with Conare’s head. On the floor of the hostel, near the entrance, there happened to be a pillar stone at Mace Cécht’s feet. He cast this stone at the second man; it struck the man in the small of the back, and his back broke. Macc Cécht struck off the man’s head. Then he poured the cup of water into Conare’s throat, and Conare’s head recited this poem:

  A good man Mace Cécht!

  Welcome, Macc Cécht!

  He brings drink to a king.