Early Irish Myths and Sagas Read online

  After that, the king, Eterscélae, died. The men of Ériu then assembled at the bull feast: a bull was killed, and one man ate his fill and drank its broth and slept, and an incantation of truth was chanted over him. Whoever this man saw in his sleep became king; if the man lied about what he saw in his sleep, he would die. Now four charioteers were playing by the Life, Conare and his three foster-brothers; and Conare’s fosterers came to take him to the bull feast. The bull-feaster had in his sleep seen a naked man coming along the road to Temuir at daybreak and bearing a stone in his sling. ‘I will follow you shortly,’ Conare said.

  Later, Conare left his foster-brothers playing and turned his chariot and charioteer towards Áth Clíath; there he saw huge, white-speckled birds, unusual as to size and colour. He turned and followed them until his horses grew tired, and the birds always preceded him by no more than the length of a spear cast. Then he took his sling and stepped from his chariot and followed the birds until he reached the ocean. The birds went on the waves, but he overtook them. The birds left their feather hoods, then, and turned on him with spears and swords; one bird protected him, however, saying ‘I am Nemglan, king of your father’s bird troop. You are forbidden to cast at birds, for, by reason of birth, every bird here is natural to you.’ ‘Until now, I did not know this,’ said Conare. ‘Go to Temuir tonight, for that would be more fitting,’ Nemglan said. ‘There is a bull feast there, and it will make you king. The man who naked comes along the road to Temuir at daybreak with a stone in his sling, it is he who will be king.’

  Conare went forth, then, and on each of the four roads that led to Temuir there were three kings waiting with garments, for it had been prophesied that the king would come naked. He was seen on the road where his fosterers were waiting, and they put the clothing of a king round him and placed him in a chariot, and he took their hostages. The people of Temuir said ‘It seems to us that our bull feast and our incantation of truth have been spoilt, for it is a young, beardless lad who has been brought to us.’ But Conare replied ‘No matter that. A young, generous king is no blemish, and I am not corrupt. It was the right of my father and grandfather to take hostages at Temuir.’ ‘Wonder of wonders!’ said the hosts. They conferred the kingship of Ériu upon him, and he said ‘I will inquire of wise men that I myself may be wise.’

  All this Conare said just as the man on the waves had taught him to. This man had said to him ‘Your bird-reign will be distinguished, but there will be gessa against it, and they are these:2 You are not to go righthandwise round Temuir and lefthandwise round Brega. You are not to hunt the wild beasts of Cernae. You are not to venture out of Temuir every ninth night. You are not to pass the night in a house where firelight may be seen from within or from without after sunset. Three Deirgs are not to precede you into the house of Deirg. No plunder is to be taken in your reign. A company of one man or one woman is not to enter your house after sunset. You are not to interfere in a quarrel between two of your servants.’

  There was great bounty, then, in Conare’s reign: seven ships being brought to Indber Colptha in June of every year, acorns up to the knee every autumn, a surfeit over the Búas and the Bóand each June, and an abundance of peace, so that no one slew his neighbour anywhere in Ériu – rather, that neighbour’s voice seemed as sweet as the strings of harps. From the middle of spring to the middle of autumn, no gust of wind stirred any cow’s tail; there was no thunder, no stormy weather in Conare’s reign.

  Conare’s foster-brothers, however, grumbled about losing the prerogatives of their father and their grandfather – theft and robbery and plunder and murder. Every year, they stole from the same farmer a pig and a calf and a cow, in order to see what punishment the king would mete out and what damage the theft would cause to his reign. Every year, the farmer went to the king to complain, and every year the king replied ‘The three sons of Dond Désa are the thieves – go and speak with them.’ But every time the farmer went to speak with the three sons, they attempted to kill him; and he did not return to the king for fear of angering him.

  Thereafter wilfulness and greed overcame the three sons; they gathered sons of the lords of Ériu about them and went plundering. Three fifties of them were practising in Crích Connacht when Mane Milscothach’s swineherd saw them, and he had never seen that before. He took to flight; they overheard him and followed. The swineherd cried out, then, and the people of each Mane came and seized the three fifties with their supernumeraries; they took these men to Temuir and appealed to the king, and he said ‘Let each man slay his son, but let my foster-brothers be spared.’ ‘Indeed, in-deed,’ said everyone, ‘that will be done.’ ‘Indeed not,’ replied Conare. ‘No lengthening of my life the judgement I have given. The men are not to be hanged – rather, let elders go with them that they may plunder Albu.’

  This was done. The plunderers went to sea, and there they met the son of the king of the Bretain, Ingcél Cáech, the grandson of Conmac3; and they made an alliance with Ingcél that they might go and plunder with him. This is the destruction that Ingcél wrought: his father and his mother and his seven brothers were invited to the house of the king of his people, and all were slain by Ingcél in a single night. Then they crossed the sea to Ériu to seek a similar destruction, for that was owed to Ingcél.

  In Ériu, there was complete peace during Conare’s reign, save that battle was proposed in Túadmumu between two men named Coirpre, both foster-brothers of Conare, and the matter was not put right until Conare arrived. ‘There was a geiss against his going to settle a quarrel before the quarrelers came to him, but he went all the same and made peace between them. He stayed five nights with each man, and there was also a geiss against that.

  The quarrel having been settled, Conare made to return to Temuir. They passed Uisnech Mide, and after that, they saw forays being made from north and south and east and west, troops and hosts in turn, and naked men, and the land of the Uí Néill was a cloud of fire about them. ‘What is this?’ asked Conare. ‘Not difficult that,’ replied his people. ‘When the land burns, it is easy to see that the law has been broken.’ ‘Where will we go?’ asked Conare. ‘Northeast,’ said his people. So they went righthandwise round Temuir and lefthandwise round Brega, and Conare hunted the wild beasts of Cernae, but he did not perceive this until the hunt had ended. He thus became the king whom the spectres exiled.

  After that, a great fear overcame Conare, for there were no roads they could take save Slige Midlúachra and Slige Chúaland. They took Slige Chúaland and went south along the coast of Ériu, and Conare asked ‘Where will we spend the night?’ ‘If I may say it, Conare,’ answered Mace Cécht son of Snade Teched, the champion of Conare son of Eterscélae, ‘more often did the men of Ériu contest your company each night than were you at a loss for a guest house.’ ‘Judgement comes to all,’ replied Conare. ‘But I have a friend in this country, if we knew the way to his house.’ ‘What is his name?’ asked Mace Cécht. ‘Da Derga of the Lagin,’ answered Conare. ‘He came to me, indeed, seeking gifts, and he did not leave empty-handed. I gave him one hundred cows from my herd, one hundred close-fitting mantles, one hundred grey pigs, one hundred flashing battle weapons, ten gilded brooches, ten great vats for drinking, ten brown horses, ten servants, ten steeds, thrice nine hounds all equally white on silver chains, one hundred horses fleeter than herds of wild deer. Indeed, nothing was counted against him, and, were he to come again, he would receive still more. It would be odd if he were surly with me tonight.’

  ‘Indeed, I know that house,’ said Mace Cécht, ‘and the road we are on goes to it, for the road goes through the house. There are seven entrances to the house, and seven apartments between each two entrances; there is only one door, however, and that is placed at the entrance against which the wind is blowing. With the great multitude that you have here, you can go on until you reach the centre of the house. If it is there that you go, I will go ahead and light a fire for you.’

  After that, as Conare was making along Slige Chúala
nd, he perceived three horsemen up ahead making for the house. Red tunics and red mantles they wore, and red shields and spears were in their hands; they rode red horses, and their heads were red. They were entirely red, teeth and hair, horses and men. ‘Who rides before us?’ Conare asked. ‘There is a geiss against three Deirgs preceding me into the house of Deirg.4 Who will go after them and have them come back to me?’ I will go,’ said Lé Fer Flaith, Conare’s son.

  He went after them, then, lashing his horse, but they remained a spear-cast ahead; they did not gain on him, and he did not gain on them. He told them that they should not precede the king. He could not overtake them, but one of the three recited back to him this poem: ‘Behold, lad, great tidings! Tidings from the hostel. A road for ships. A gleam of javelined men, fían-valorous in their wounding exploits. A great catastrophe. A fair woman upon whom the red embroidery of slaughter has settled. Behold!’

  After that, they left him, and he could not detain them. He waited for the host and told his father what had been said. Conare was not pleased, and he said ‘Go after them; offer them three oxen and three salted pigs, and tell them that as long as they are in my household there will be no one among them from the hearth to the wall.’ The lad went back after them and offered them that; he did not overtake them, but one of the three recited back to him this poem: ‘Behold, lad, great tidings! The great ardour of a generous king warms you, heats you. Through ancient enchantments a company of nine yields. Behold! ’

  After that, the lad turned back and repeated the poem to Conare. ‘Go after them,’ said the king, ‘and offer them six oxen and six salted pigs and the leftovers the following day, and gifts as well; and tell them that as long as they are in my household there will be no one among them from the house to the wall.’ The lad went after them, then, but he did not overtake them, and one of the three spoke this to him: ‘Behold, lad, great tidings! Weary the horses we ride. We ride the horses of Dond Tétscorach of the Síde.5 Although we are alive, we are dead. Great omens! Cutting off of lives, satisfaction of crows, sustenance of ravens, din of slaughter, whetting of blades, shields with broken bosses after sunset. Behold!’

  The men left him, then. ‘I see that you have not detained them,’ Conare said. ‘Indeed, it is not I who has betrayed you,’ replied Lé Fer Flaith, and he recited the last poem. They were no happier with that answer, and afterwards they felt great forebodings of terror because of it. ‘All my gessa have overtaken me tonight,’ said Conare, ‘and that because of the banishment of my foster-brothers.’ Meanwhile, the three Deirgs preceded him into the house and took their seats there, having tied their horses at the entrance.

  Conare was still making for Áth Clíath when there overtook him a man with short, black hair and one eye and one hand and one foot. His hair was rough and bristling – if a sackful of wild apples were emptied over it, each apple would catch on his hair, and none would fall to the ground. If his snout were thrown against a branch, it would stick there. As long and thick as an outer yoke each of his shins; the size of a cheese on a withe each of his buttocks. In his hand a forked iron pole; a singed pig with short, black bristles on his back, and it squealed constantly. Behind him came a huge, black, gloomy, big-mouthed, ill-favoured woman; if her snout were thrown against a branch, the branch would support it, while her lower lip extended to her knee.

  This man sprang towards Conare and greeted him, saying ‘Welcome, popa Conare!6 It has long been known that you would come here.’ ‘Who is welcoming me?’ Conare asked. ‘Fer Calliu, and I bring a pig so that you will not have to fast tonight,’ said the man. ‘You are the best king who has ever come into the world.’ ‘What is the woman’s name?’ Conare asked. ‘Cichuil,’ the man replied. ‘I will come any other night you please,’ said Conare, ‘only leave us tonight.’ ‘By no means,’ replied the man, ‘for I will come to you where you are tonight, fair popa Conare.’

  He turned towards the house, then, with the singed, black-bristled pig squealing on his back and the huge, big-mouthed woman following. That violated another of Conare’s gessa. There was a geiss, moreover, against plundering in Ériu during his reign; but plunder was being taken by the sons of Dond Désa, and there were five hundred in their band, not counting supernumeraries. One good warrior in the north was named Fén Tar Crínach, for he stepped over opponents the way a wagon passes over withered sticks. Yet there was a fían-band that was haughtier still: the seven sons of Ailill and Medb, each named Mane and each with a nickname – Mane Athramail and Mane Máthramail and Mane Mingor and Mane Márgor and Mane Andoe and Mane Milscothach and Mane Gaib Uile and Mane Mó Epirt. And all were plunderers. Mane Máthramail and Mane Andoe had fourteen score men, Mane Athramail had four hundred and fifty, Mane Milscothach had five hundred, Mane Gaib Uile had six hundred, Mane Mó Epirt had seven hundred and the others had five hundred each. There was also a valorous trio of the Uí Briuin from Cúalu in Lagin, and all three were named Rúadchoin; they were plunderers, and they had twelve score men, and a frenzied troop besides. One third of the men of Ériu were marauders, then, in Conare’s reign; he had sufficient strength and power to drive them out of Ériu and make them plunder elsewhere, but after that, they returned to the country.

  When the plunderers of Ériu reached the shoulder of the sea, they met Ingcél Cáech and Éccell, two grandsons of Conmac of Bretain, on the back of the sea. A terrifying, un-gentle man was Ingcél: he had a single eye in his head that was as broad as an oxhide and as black as a beetle, and there were three pupils in it. There were thirteen hundred men in his party, but the plunderers from Ériu were more numerous than that. The two bands were about to engage each other on the sea, but Ingcél said ‘Do not do this – do not blot your honour. You have more men than I.’ ‘You will have equal combat,’ said the plunderers of Ériu. ‘I have a better thought,’ said Ingcél. ‘Let us make peace, for you have been cast out of Ériu, and we have been cast out of Albu and Bretain. Let us make a bargain: you will come with me to plunder in my country, and I will go with you to plunder in your country.’

  Ingcél’s advice was taken, and each Side gave guarantees. The men of Ériu pledged Gér, Gabur and Fer Rogain as a guarantee that Ingcél would have the destruction of his choice in Ériu; the sons of Dond Désa would then have the destruction of their choice in Albu. Lots were cast to see where they would go first, and the lot fell to go with Ingcél. They returned to Albu, then, and wrought their destruction there; after that, they came back to Ériu.

  At that time, Conare was proceeding along Slige Chúa-land to the hostel. The raiders arrived along the coast of Brega, opposite Bend Étair, and they said ‘Strike the sails, and form one fleet, lest you be seen from the land, and let one swift-footed man go ashore to see if we can save face with Ingcél by providing him with a destruction for the destruction he has given us.’ ‘Who will go to reconnoitre in the land?’ asked Ingcél. ‘Let it be someone with the three gifts: hearing and seeing and judgement.’ ‘I have the gift of hearing,’ said Mane Milscothach. ‘And I have the gifts of seeing and of judgement,’ said Mane Andoe. ‘Well that you should go, then,’ said the raiders.

  So nine men went to Bend Étair for what they might hear and see. ‘Hush!’ said Mane Milscothach. ‘What is that?’ said Mane Andoe. ‘I hear the noise of a king’s horses,’ answered Mane Milscothach. ‘I see it through my gift of sight,’ said his companion. ‘What is it that you see?’ asked Mane Milscothach. ‘I see splendid horses, tall, beautiful, warlike, noble, slender-girthed, weary, nimble, keen, eager, ardent, and they on a course that shakes great areas of land. They cross many heights and wondrous waters and estuaries,’ said Mane Andoe. ‘What waters and heights and estuaries?’ Mane Milscothach asked. ‘Not difficult that: Indein, Cult, Cuiten, Mafat, Amatt, larmafat, Findi, Gosce and Guistine. Glittering spears above chariots, ivory-hilted swords against thighs, silver shields upon elbows, half red and half white. Garments of every colour upon them. I see also a special, pre-eminent herd: three fifties of dapple grey horses, s
mall-headed, red-necked, sharp-eared, broad-hooved, large-nostrilled, red-chested, sweated, obedient, easily caught, swift on a raid, keen, eager and ardent, each with its own bridle of coloured enamel. I swear by what my people swear by,’ said the far-sighted man, ‘those are the steeds of a prosperous lord. In my judgement, it is Conare son of Eterscélae and the men of Ériu who are passing along the road.’

  After that, Mane Milscothach and Mane Andoe returned to the raiders and told them what they had heard and seen. There was a multitude of the host on every side: three fifties of boats, and five thousand men in them, and ten hundred in every thousand. The sails were hoisted, and the boats moved towards the shore at Trácht Fuirbthen. As they were about to land, Mace Cécht began to light a fire in Da Derga’s hostel; and the noise of the spark drove the three fifties of boats back out until they were once again on the shoulder of the sea. ‘Hush!’ said Ingcél. ‘Explain that, Fer Rogain.’ ‘I do not know it,’ said Fer Rogain, ‘unless it is Luchdond, the satirist of Emuin Machae, clapping his hands when his food is taken away from him; or the screaming of Luchdond in Temuir Lúachra; or Mace Cécht setting off a spark while lighting a fire for the king of Ériu. When he lights a fire in the centre of the house, each spark can broil one hundred calves and a two-year-old pig.’ ‘May God not bring that man here tonight,’ said the sons of Dond Désa, ‘for it would be grievous.’ ‘It would be no sadder than the destruction I provided for you,’ said Ingcél. ‘I would be most satisfied if he came here.’