Early Irish Myths and Sagas (19 page)

‘They set off with their victory, and Cú Chulaind said to Ibor “You promised me a good drive, and we need that now because of the pursuit behind us.” They drove on to Slíab Fúait, and, with Ibor whipping, they went so fast that the horses overtook the wind and birds in flight, so fast that Cú Chulaind was able to catch a cast from his sling before it could strike the ground. When they reached Slíab Fúait, they found a herd of deer before them. “What beasts are these that are so nimble?” asked Cú Chulaind. “Deer,” replied the charioteer. “Would the Ulaid think it better to bring them back dead or alive?” asked Cú Chulaind. “Alive, for not everyone could do that, but all can bring them back dead. But you are not capable of bringing any back alive,” said the charioteer. “Indeed, I am,” replied Cú Chulaind. “Whip the horses and drive them into the bog.” Ibor did that; the horses stuck fast in the bog, and Cú Chulaind leapt out and seized the nearest, finest deer. He lashed the horses out of the bog, then, and tamed the deer immediately and bound it between the chariot poles.

‘After that, they saw a flock of swans before them. “Would the Ulaid think it better to bring these back dead or alive?” asked Cú Chulaind. “The bravest and most accomplished warriors bring them back alive,” answered the charioteer. Cú Chulaind aimed a small stone at the birds and brought down eight of them; he took a large stone, then, and brought down twelve more, with a stunning blow. “Collect the birds, now,” he said to the charioteer, “for if I go myself, the deer will spring upon you.” “Indeed, it will not be easy for me to go,” replied Ibor, “for the horses have become
so wild I cannot go past them. I cannot go past the two iron wheels of the chariot because of their sharpness, and I cannot go past the deer because its horns have filled the space between the chariot poles.” “Step out on its antlers, then,” said Cú Chulaind, “for I swear by the god the Ulaid swear by, I will turn my head and fix the deer with my eye so that it will not turn its head to you or dare to move.” They did that: Cú Chulaind held the reins fast, and Ibor collected the birds. Cú Chulaind then bound the birds with strings and cords from the chariot, so that as they drove to Emuin Machae the deer was behind the chariot, the three heads were in the chariot and the swans were flying overhead.

‘When they arrived at Emuin, the watchman said “A man in a chariot is approaching, and he will shed the blood of every person here unless naked women are sent to meet him.” Cú Chulaind turned the left side of his chariot towards Emuin, and that was a geiss to the fort; he said “I swear by the god the Ulaid swear by, unless a man is found to fight me, I will shed the blood of everyone in the fort.” “Naked women to meet him!” shouted Conchubur. The women of Emuin went to meet Cú Chulaind gathered round Mugain, Conchubur’s wife, and they bared their breasts before him. “These are the warriors who will meet you today!” said Mugain. Cú Chulaind hid his face, whereupon the warriors of Ulaid seized him and thrust him into a vat of cold water. This vat burst, but the second vat into which he was thrust boiled up with fist-sized bubbles, and the third vat he merely heated to a moderate warmth. When he left the third vat, the queen, Mugain, placed about him a blue mantle with a silver brooch and a hooded tunic. He sat at Conchubur’s knee, then, and that was his bed ever after. The man who did this in his seventh year,’ said Fíachu son of Fer Febe, ‘no wonder should he prevail against odds or demolish an equal opponent now that he is seventeen.’

‘The Death of Aífe’s Only Son’ is an Irish Sohrab and Rustum story, more international than Irish in feeling and probably not very old. It is the title that is distinctively Irish; one would expect ‘The Death of Cú Chulaind’s Only Son’, but this title may reflect an older, matrilinear system of descent – just as the son of Deichtine is Conchubur’s heir, so the son of Aífe might be Cú Chulaind’s. The home of Scáthach and Aífe, not given here, is presumably in the north of Britain.

That Cú Chulaind has a son at all further suggests that the tale is late, for he is only a boy when he goes away to learn weaponry from the warrior-woman Scáthach, and at the time of the cattle raid of Cúailnge he appears to be only seventeen. Condlae, moreover, is simply a regenerated version of his father: he demonstrates the same arrogance, performs the same feats and is fully a match for Cú Chulaind in combat save for mastery of the gáe bolga, a kind of spear thrust. The reference to Rome and the un-Celtic lack of emotional restraint at the end of the tale also point to a late formulation. Even the rhetorical sections – where Condere calls Condlae ‘the stuff of blood’ and warns him against turning his ‘jaws and spears’ (turning the left side of one’s chariot towards an enemy signalled hostile intent), or where
Cú Chulaind describes Condlae’s gore upon his skin as a ‘mist of blood’ and predicts that his spears will ‘suck the fair javelin’ – do not seem very old, though in some phrases they are quite corrupt.

‘The Death of Aífe’s Only Son’ is the source, at some distance, for Yeats’s play
On Baile’s Strand
.

Cú Chulaind went to study weaponry with Scáthach nÚa-naind daughter of Airdgeme so that he might master feats. Aífe daughter of Airdgeme went to him there, and when she left she was pregnant, and he told her that she would bear a son. ‘You are to keep this golden thumb ring,’ he said, ‘until the boy can wear it. When that time comes, let him follow me to Ériu. Let him turn aside for no one, and let him identify himself to no one, and let him refuse to fight no one.’

After seven years the boy went to seek his father. The Ulaid were assembled at Trácht Éise, and they saw the boy out on the sea, in a bronze ship, with golden oars in his hands. He had a heap of stones in the boat, and he placed these in his slingshot and dealt stunning blows to the birds overhead, so that the creatures were knocked unconscious; afterwards he revived them and sent them back into the air. He performed the jaw feat with his hands until his upper jaw reached his eye. After that, he modulated his voice until he had laid the birds low a second time, and he revived them a second time as well.

‘Woe, indeed,’ said Conchubur, ‘to the land to which yonder lad comes. If the great men from his island were to arrive, they would pound us to dust, inasmuch as a mere boy performs such feats. Let someone go to meet him, and let him not enter this country.’ ‘Who should go to meet him?’ ‘Who but Condere son of Echu,’ answered Conchubur. ‘Why should Condere go?’ asked everyone. ‘Not difficult that,’ replied Conchubur, ‘Whatever good sense and eloquence may be required, Condere will possess it.’ ‘I will go to meet him,’ said Condere. Condere went, then, and he met the boy as the latter came ashore. ‘Far enough that, little boy, until you tell us where you come from and who your family is.’ ‘I will not identify myself to any man,’ said the boy, ‘and I will not turn aside for any man.’ ‘You will not enter this country until you have identified yourself,’ said Condere. ‘I will continue the journey on which I have come,’ said the boy.

The boy turned away, then, but Condere said ‘Turn to me, my boy. You are capable of great deeds. You are the stuff of blood. The pride of the warriors of Ulaid is in you. Conchubur welcomes you. Your jaws and spears away from the left side of your chariot, lest the warriors of Ulaid rise against you. Conchubur invites you to come to us. An ear for you if you turn towards me. Come to Conchubur, the impetuous son of Ness; to Senchae, the victorious son of Ailill; to Cethernd of the red sword edge, the son of Findtan, with a fire that wounds battalions; to Amorgen the poet; to Cúscraid of the great hosts. I welcome you; Conall Cernach invites you to stories, songs and the laughter of war heroes. Blaí Briugu would be greatly distressed if you journeyed on past him, he being a hero; moreover, to shame so many is not right. I, Condere, arose to meet the boy who detains champions. I vowed that I would meet this boy, though he has neither beard nor manly hair, provided he is not disobedient to the Ulaid.’

‘Good your coming,’ said the boy, ‘for now you will have your conversation. I have modulated my voice. I have left off casting unerringly from chariots. I have collected a beautiful flight of birds by shooting far-flying little spears at them, and moreover without the hero’s salmon leap. I have vowed great feats of arms lest anyone lay siege against me. Go and ask the Ulaid whether they wish to come against me singly or in a host. Turn back, now, for, even if you had the strength of a hundred, you would not be worthy to detain me.’

‘Let someone else come to talk to you, then,’ said Condere. He returned to the Ulaid and repeated the conversation, and Conall Cernach said ‘The Ulaid will not be shamed while I am alive.’ He went to meet the boy, saying ‘Delightful your games, little boy.’ ‘They will not be any the less so for you,’ answered the boy. He placed a stone in his slingshot and delivered a stunning blow; the thunder and shock of it knocked Conall head over heels, and before he could rise, the boy had taken the strap from his shield. Conall returned to the Ulaid and said ‘Someone else to meet him!’; but the rest of the host only smiled.

Cú Chulaind, however, was approaching the boy, playing, with the arm of Emer daughter of Forgall round his neck. ‘Do not go down there!’ she said. ‘It is your son who is there. Do not slaughter your son, O impetuous, well-bred lad. Neither fair nor right it is to rise against your son of great and valorous deeds. Turn away from the skin-torment of the sapling of your tree; remember Scáthach’s warning. If Condlae sustained the left board, there would be a fierce combat. Turn to me! Listen! My advice is good! Let it be Cú Chulaind who listens. I know what name he bears, if that is Condlae the only son of Aífe who is below.’ But Cú Chulaind answered ‘Silence, woman! It is not a woman’s advice I seek regarding deeds of bright splendour. Such deeds
are not performed with a woman’s assistance. Let us be triumphant in feats. Sated the eyes of a great king. A mist of blood upon my skin the gore from the body of Condlae. Beautifully spears will suck the fair javelin. Whatever were down there, woman, I would go for the sake of the Ulaid.’

Cú Chulaind went down to the shore, then. ‘Delightful your games, little boy,’ he said, but Condlae answered ‘Not delightful the game you play, for no two of you will come unless I identify myself.’ ‘Must I have a little boy in my presence? You will die unless you identify yourself.’ ‘Prove that,’ said the boy. He rose towards Cú Chulaind, then, and the two of them struck at each other; the boy performed the hair-cutting feat with his sword and left Cú Chulaind bald. ‘The mockery is at an end. Let us wrestle,’ Cú Chulaind said. ‘I would not reach your belt,’ answered the boy. But he stood upon two pillars and threw Cú Chulaind down between the pillars three times; he moved neither of his feet, so that they went into the stone up to his ankles.

They went to wrestle in the water, then, and the boy ducked Cú Chulaind twice. After that, Cú Chulaind rose out of the water and deceived the boy with the gáe bolga, for Scáthach had never taught that weapon to anyone but Cú Chulaind.
¹
He cast it at the boy through the water, and the boy’s innards fell at his feet.

‘That,’ said the boy, ‘is what Scáthach did not teach me. Alas that you have wounded me!’ ‘True that,’ said Cú Chulaind, and he took the boy in his arms and carried him up from the shore and showed him to the Ulaid, saying ‘Here is my son.’ ‘Alas, indeed,’ they said. ‘True enough,’ said the boy, ‘for, had I stayed among you five years, I would have slain men on all sides, and you would have possessed kingdoms as far distant as Rome. Now show me the great men who dwell here, that I may take my leave of them.’ He put his arms round the neck of each man in turn,
then, and bade his father farewell and died. Cries of grief were raised, and his grave and marker were made, and for three days not a calf of the cattle of the Ulaid was left alive after him.