Great Irish Short Stories (13 page)
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Authors: Unknown
Next, Esirt addressing Iubhdan said: “on thee, Iubhdan, I lay bonds which true warriors may not brook that in thine own person thou go to view the region out of which we come, and that of the ‘lord’s porridge’ which for the king of Ulster is made to-night thou be the first man to make trial.”
Then Iubhdan, in grief and faint of spirit, proceeded to confer with Bebo his wife: he told her how that by Esirt he was laid under bonds, and bade her bear him company. “That will I,” she said: “but in that Esirt was cast into prison thou didst unjustly.” So they mounted Iubhdan’s golden horse and that same night made good their way to Emania, where they entered unperceived into the place. “Iubhdan,” said Bebo, “search the town for the porridge spoken of by Esirt, and let us depart again before the people of the place shall rise.”
They gained the inside of the palace and there found Emania’s great cauldron, having in it the remnant of the “people’s porridge.” Iubhdan drew near, but might by no means reach it from the ground. “Get thee upon thy horse,” said Bebo, “and from the horse upon the cauldron’s rim.” This he did but, the porridge being too far down and his arm too short, could not touch the shank of the silver ladle that was in the cauldron; whereupon he making a downward effort his foot slipped, and up to his very navel he fell into the cauldron; in which as though all existing iron gyves had been upon him he now found himself fettered and tethered both hand and foot. “Long thou tarriest, dark man!” Bebo cried to him (for Iubhdan was thus: hair he had that was jet-black and curled, his skin being whiter than foam of wave and his cheeks redder than the forest’s scarlet berry: whereas—saving him only—all the Luchra people had hair that was ringletted indeed, but of a fair and yellow hue; hence then he was styled “dark man”). Bebo sang now, Iubhdan answering her:—
She.
“O dark man, and O dark man! dire is the strait in which thou art: to-day it is that the white horse must be saddled, for the sea is angry and the tide at flood”
He.
“O fair-haired woman, and O woman with fair hair! gyves hold me captive in a viscous mass nor, until gold be given for my ransom, shall I ever be dismissed. O Bebo, and O Bebo! morn is at hand, thou therefore flee away: fast in the doughy remnant sticks my leg, if here thou stay thou art but foolish, O Bebo!”
She.
“Rash word it was, ’twas a rash word, that in thy house thou utteredst: that but by thine own good pleasure none under the sun might hold thee fast, O man!”
He.
Rash was the word, the word was rash, that in my house I uttered: a year and a day I must be now, and neither man nor woman of my people see!”
“Bebo,” cried Iubhdan, “get thee away, and to the Luchraland take back that horse.” “Never say it,” she answered: “of a surety I will not depart until I see what turn things shall take for thee.”
The dwellers in the town when they were now risen anon lighted on Iubhdan in the porridge cauldron, out of which he could not frame to escape; in which plight when they saw him the people sent up a mighty roar of a laughter, then picked Iubhdan out of the cauldron and carried him off to Fergus. “My conscience,” said the king, “this is not the tiny man that was here before: seeing that, whereas the former little fellow had fair hair, this one hath a black thatch. What art thou at all, mannikin, and out of what region come?” Iubhdan made answer: “I am of the Luchra-folk, over the which it is I that am king; this woman that ye see by me is my wife, and queen over the Luchra: her name is Bebo, and I have never told a lie.” “Let him be taken out,” cried Fergus, “and put with the common rabble of the household—guard him well!” Iubhdan was led out accordingly.... Said Iubhdan: “but if it may please thee to show me some favour, suffer me no longer to be among yonder loons, for the great men’s breaths do all infect me; and my word I pledge that till by Ulster and by thee it be licensed I will never leave you.” Fergus said: “could I but think that, thou shouldst no more be with the common varlets.” Iubhdan’s reply was: “never have I overstepped, nor ever will transgress, my plighted word.”
Then he was conducted into a fair and privy chamber that Fergus had, where one that was a servant of trust to the king was set apart to minister to him. “An excellent retreat indeed is this,” he said, “yet is my own retreat more excellent than it”; and he made a lay:—
“In the land that lies away north I have a retreat, the ceiling of which is of the red gold, and the floor all of silver. Of the white bronze its lintel is, and its threshold of copper; of light-yellow bird-plumage is the thatch on it I ween. Golden are its candelabra, holding candles of rich light and gemmed over with rare stones, in the fair midst of the house. Save myself only and my queen, none that belongs to it feels sorrow now; a retinue is there that ages not, that wears wavy yellow tresses. There every man is a chess-player, good company is there that knows no stint: against man or woman that seeks to enter it the retreat is never closed.”
Fer dédh
or ‘man of smoke’ the fire-servant, as in Iubhdan’s presence he kindled a fire, threw upon it a woodbine that twined round a tree, together with somewhat of all other kinds of timber, and this led Iubhdan to say: “burn not the king of trees, for he ought not to be burnt; and wouldst thou, Ferdedh, but act by my counsel, then neither by sea nor by land shouldst thou ever be in danger.” Here he sang a lay:—
“O man that for Fergus of the feasts dost kindle fire, whether afloat or ashore never burn the king of woods. Monarch of Innisfail’s forests the woodbine is, whom none may hold captive; no feeble sovereign’s effort is it to hug all tough trees in his embrace. The pliant woodbine if thou burn, wailings for misfortune will abound; dire extremity at weapons’ points or drowning in great waves will come after. Burn not the precious apple-tree of spreading and low-sweeping bough: tree ever decked in bloom of white, against whose fair head all men put forth the hand. The surly blackthorn is a wanderer, and a wood that the artificer burns not; throughout his body, though it be scanty, birds in their flocks warble. The noble willow burn not, a tree sacred to poems; within his bloom bees are a-sucking, all love the little cage. The graceful tree with the berries, the wizards’ tree, the rowan, burn; but spare the limber tree: burn not the slender hazel. Dark is the colour of the ash: timber that makes the wheels to go; rods he furnishes for horsemen’s hands, and his form turns battle into flight. Tenterhook among woods the spiteful briar is, by all means burn him that is so keen and green; he cuts, he flays the foot, and him that would advance he forcibly drags backward. Fiercest heat-giver of all timber is green oak, from him none may escape unhurt: by partiality for him the head is set on aching and by his acrid embers the eye is made sore. Alder, very battle-witch of all woods, tree that is hottest in the fight—undoubtingly burn at thy discretion both the alder and the whitethorn. Holly, burn it green; holly, burn it dry: of all trees whatsoever the critically best is holly. Elder that hath tough bark, tree that in truth hurts sore: him that furnishes horses to the armies from the
sídh
burn so that he be charred. The birch as well, if he be laid low, promises abiding fortune: burn up most sure- and certainly the stalks that bear the constant pods. Suffer, if it so please thee, the russet aspen to come headlong down: burn, be it late or early, the tree with the palsied branch. Patriarch of long-lasting woods is the yew, sacred to feasts as is well known: of him now build ye dark-red vats of goodly size. Ferdedh, thou faithful one, wouldst thou but do my behest: to thy soul as to thy body, O man, ’twould work advantage!”
After this manner then, and free of all supervision, Iubhdan abode in the town; while to them of Ulster it was recreation of mind and body to look at him and to listen to his words....
Again, Iubhdan went to the house of a certain soldier of the king’s soldiers that chanced to fit on him new brogues that he had: discoursing as he did so, and complaining, of their soles that were too thin. Iubhdan laughed. The king asked: “Iubhdan, why laughst thou thus?” “Yon fellow it is that provokes my laughter, complaining of his brogues while for his own life he makes no moan. Yet, thin as be those brogues, he never will wear them out.” Which was true for Iubhdan, seeing that before night that man and another one of the king’s people fought and killed each other....
Yet another day the household disputed of all manner of things, how they would do this or that, but never said: “if it so please God.” Then Iubhdan laughed and uttered a lay:—
“Man talks but God sheweth the event; to men all things are but confusion, they must leave them as God knoweth them to be. All that which Thou, Monarch of the elements, hast ordained must be right; He, the King of kings, knows all that I crave of thee, Fergus. No man’s life, however bold he be, is more than the twinkling of an eye; were he a king’s son he knoweth not whether it be truth that he utters of the future.”
Iubhdan now tarried in Emania until such time as the Luchra-folk, being seven battalions strong, came to Emania’s green in quest of him; and of these no single one did, whether in height or in bulk, exceed another. Then to Fergus and to Ulster’s nobles that came out to confer with them they said: “bring us our king that we may redeem him, and we will pay for him a good ransom.” Fergus asked: “what ransom?” “Every year, and that without ploughing, without sowing, we will cover this vast plain with a mass of corn.” “I will not give up Iubhdan,” said the king. “To-night we will do thee a mischief.” “What mischief?” asked the king. “All Ulster’s calves we will admit to their dams, so that by morning time there shall not in the whole province be found the measure of one babe’s allowance of milk.” “So much ye will have gained,” said Fergus, “but not Iubhdan.”
This damage accordingly they wrought that night; then at morn returned to the green of Macha and, with promise of making good all that they had spoiled, again required Iubhdan. Fergus refusing them however they said: “this night we will do another deed of vengeance: we will defile the wells, the rapids, and the river-mouths of the whole province.” But the king answered: “that is but a puny mischief ” (whence the old saw “dirt in a well”) “and ye shall not have Iubhdan.”
They having done this came again to Emania on the third day and demanded Iubhdan. Fergus said: “I will not give him.” “A further vengeance we will execute upon thee.” “What vengeance is that?” “Tonight we will burn the millbeams and the kilns of the province.” “But ye will not get Iubhdan,” quoth the king.
Away they went and did as they had threatened, then on the fourth day repaired to Emania and clamoured for Iubhdan. Said Fergus: “I will not deliver him.” We will execute vengeance on thee.” “What vengeance?” “We will snip the ears off all the corn that is in the province.” “Neither so shall ye have Iubhdan.” This they did, then returned to Emania on the fifth day and asked for Iubhdan. Fergus said: “I will not yield him.”
“Yet another vengeance we will take of thee.” “What vengeance?” “Your women’s hair and your men’s we will e’en shave to such purpose that they shall for ever be covered with reproach and shame.” Then Fergus cried: “if ye do that, by my word I will slay Iubhdan!” But here this latter said: “that is not the right thing at all; rather let me be enlarged, that in person I may speak with them and bid them first of all to repair such mischief as they have wrought, and then be gone.”
At sight of Iubhdan they then, as taking for granted that the license accorded him must needs be in order to his departure with them, sent up a mighty shout of triumph. Iubhdan said however: “my trusty people, get you gone now, for I am not suffered to go with you; all that which ye have spoiled make good also, neither spoil anything more for, if ye do so, I must die.” They thereupon, all gloomy and dejected, went away; a man of them making this ditty:—
“A raid upon thee we proclaim this night, O Fergus owner of many strong places! from thy standing corn we will snip the ears, whereby thy tables will not benefit. In this matter we have already burnt your kilns, your millbeams too we have all consumed; your calves we have most accurately and universally admitted to their dams. Your men’s hair we will crop, and all locks of your young women: to your land it shall be a disfigurement, and such shall be our mischief ’s consummation. White be thy horse till time of war, thou king of Ulster and of warriors stout! but crimsoned be his trappings when he is in the battle’s press. May no heat inordinate assail thee, nor inward flux e’er seize thee, nor eye-distemper reach thee during all thy life: but Fergus, not for love of thee! Were it not Iubhdan here whom Fergus holds at his discretion, the manner of our effecting our depredations would have been such that the disgrace incurred by the latter would have shown his refusal to be an evil one.”
“And now get you hence,” said Iubhdan: “for Esirt has prophesied of me that before I shall have abandoned here the choicest one of all my precious things I may not return.”
So till a year’s end all but a little he dwelt in Emania, and then said to Fergus: “of all my treasures choose thee now a single one, for so thou mayest. My precious things are good too”; and in a lay he proceeded to cast them up:—
“Take my spear, O take my spear, thou, Fergus, that hast enemies in number! in battle ’tis a match for an hundred, and a king that holds it will have fortune among hostile points. Take my shield, O take my shield, a good price it is for me, Fergus! be it stripling or be it grey-beard, behind his shelter none may wounded be. My sword, and O my sword! in respect of a battle-sword there is not in a prince’s hand throughout all Innisfail a more excellent thing of price. Take my cloak, O take my cloak, the which if thou take it will be ever new! my mantle is good, Fergus, and for thy son and grandson will endure. My shirt, and O my shirt! whoe’er he be that in time to come may be within its weft—my grandsire’s father’s wife, her hands they were that spun it. Take my belt, O take my belt! gold and silver appertain to a knowledge of it; sickness will not lay hold on him that is encircled by it, nor on skin encompassed by my girdle. My helmet, O my helmet, no prize there is more admirable! no man that on his scalp shall assume it will ever be obnoxious to reproach of baldness. Take my tunic, O my tunic take, well-fitting silken garment! the which though for an hundred years it were on one, yet were its crimson none the worse. My cauldron, O my cauldron, a special rare thing for its handy use! though they were stones that should go into my cauldron, yet would it turn them out meat befitting princes. My vat, and O my vat! as compared with other vats of the best, by any that shall bathe in him life’s stage is traversed thrice. Take my mace, O take my mace, no better treasure canst thou choose! in time of war, in sharp set-to, nine heads besides thine own it will protect. Take my horse-rod, O my horse-rod take: rod of the yellow horse so fair to see! let but the whole world’s women look at thee [with that rod in thy hand and] in thee will centre all their hottest love. My timpan, O my timpan endowed with string-sweetness, from the red sea’s borders! within its wires resides minstrelsy sufficing to delight all women of the universe. Whosoe’er should in the manner of tuning up my timpan be suddenly put to the test, if never hitherto he had been a man of art yet would the instrument of itself perform the minstrel’s function. Ah how melodious is its martial strain, and its low cadence ah how sweet! all of itself too how it plays, without a finger on a single string of all its strings. My shears, and O my shears, that Barran’s smith did make! of them that take it into their hands every man will secure a sweetheart. My needle, O my needle, that is made of the
eanach’s
gold! . . . Of my swine two porkers take! they will last thee till thy dying day; every night they may be killed, yet within the watch will live again. My halter, O my halter! whoe’er should be on booty bent, though ’twere a black cow he put into it incontinently she would become a white one. Take my shoes, my shoes O take, brogues of the white bronze, of virtue marvellous! alike they travel land and sea, happy the king whose choice shall fall on these!”
