The King of Ireland's Son

THE KING OF THE LAND OF MIST

I

The King of Ireland’s Son came to the place where the river that he followed takes the name of the River of the Broken Towers. It is called by that name because the men of the old days tried to build towers across its course. The towers were built a little way across the river that at this place was tremendously wide.

“The Glashan will carry you across the River of the Broken Towers to the shore of the Land of Mist,” the Gobaun Saor had said to the King of Ireland’s Son. And now he was at the River of the Broken Towers but the Glashan-creature was not to be seen.

Then he saw the Glashan. He was leaning his back against one of the Towers and smoking a short pipe. The water of the river was up to his knees. He was covered with hair and had a big head with horse’s ears. And the Glashan twitched his horse’s ears as he smoked in great contentment.

“Glashan, come here,” said the King of Ireland’s Son.

But the Glashan gave him no heed at all.

“I want you to carry me across the River of the Broken Towers,” shouted the King of Ireland’s Son. The Glashan went on smoking and twisting his ears.

And the King of Ireland’s Son might have known that the whole clan of the Gruagachs and Glashans are fond of their own ease and will do nothing if they can help it. He twitched his ears more sharply when the King’s Son threw a pebble at him. Then after about three hours he came slowly across the river. From his big knees down he had horse’s feet.

“Take me on your big shoulders, Glashan,” said the King of Ireland’s Son, “and carry me across to the shore of the Land of Mist.”

“Not carrying any more across,” said the Glashan. The King of Ireland’s Son drew the Sword of Light and flashed it.

“Oh, if you have that, you’ll have to be carried across,” said the Glashan. “But wait until I rest myself.”

“What did you do that you should rest?” said the King of Ireland’s Son. “Take me on your shoulders and start off.”

“Musha,” said the Glashan, “aren’t you very anxious to lose your life?”

“Take me on your shoulders.” “Well, come then. You’re not the first living dead man I carried across.” The Glashan put his pipe into his ear. The King of Ireland’s Son mounted his shoulders and laid hold of his thick mane. Then the Glashan put his horse’s legs into the water and started to cross the River of the Broken Towers.

“The Land of Mist has a King,” said the Glashan, when they were in the middle of the river.

“That, Glashan, I know,” said the King of Ireland’s Son.

“All right,” said the Glashan.

Then said he when they were three-quarters of the way across, “Maybe you don’t know that the King of the Land of Mist will kill you?”

“Maybe ‘tis I who will kill him,” said the King of Ireland’s Son.

“You’d be a hardy little fellow if you did that,” said the Glashan. “But you won’t do it.”

They went on. The water was up to the Glashan’s waist but that gave him no trouble. So broad was the river that they were traveling across it all day. The Glashan threw the King’s Son in once when he stooped to pick up an eel. Said the King of Ireland’s Son, “What way is the Castle of the King of the Land of Mist guarded, Glashan?”

“It has seven gates,” said the Glashan.

“And how are the gates guarded?”

“I’m tired,” said the Glashan, “and I can’t talk.”

“Tell me, or I’ll twist the horse’s ears off your head.”

“Well, the first gate is guarded by a plover only. It sits on the third pinnacle over the gate, and when anyone comes near it rises up and flies round the Castle crying until its sharp cries put the other guards on the watch.”

“And what other guards are there?”

“Oh, I’m tired, and I can talk no more.”

The King of Ireland’s Son twisted his horse’s ears, and then the Glashan said

“The second gate is guarded by five spear-men.”

“And how is the third gate guarded?”

“The third gate is guarded by seven swordsmen.”

“And how is the fourth gate guarded?”

“The fourth gate is guarded by the King of the Land of Mist himself.”

“And the fifth gate?”

“The fifth gate is guarded by the King of the Land of Mist himself.”

“And the sixth gate?”

“The sixth gate is guarded by the King of the Land of Mist.”

“And how is the seventh gate guarded?”

“The seventh gate is guarded by a Hag.”

“By a Hag only?” “By a Hag with poisoned nails. But I’m tired now, and I’ll talk no more to you. If I could strike a light now I’d smoke a pipe.”

Still they went on, and just at the screech of the day they came to the other shore of the River of the Broken Towers. The King of Ireland’s Son sprang from the shoulders of the Glashan and went into the mist.

II

He came to where turrets and pinnacles appeared above the mist. He climbed the rock upon which the Castle was built. He came to the first gate, and as he did the plover that was on the third pinnacle above rose up and flew round the Castle with sharp cries.

He raised a fragment of the ground-rock and flung it against the gate. He burst it open. He dashed in then and through the first courtyard of the Castle.

As he went towards the second gate it was flung open, and the five spear-men ran upon him. But they had not counted on what was to face them—the Sword of Light in the bands of the King of Ireland’s Son.

Its stroke cut the spear heads from the spear-holds, and its quick glancing dazzled the eyes of the spear-men. On each and every one of them it inflicted the wound of death. He dashed through the second gate and into the third courtyard.

But as he did the third gate was flung open and seven swordsmen came forth. They made themselves like a half circle and came towards the King of Ireland’s Son. He dazzled their eyes with a wide sweep of his sword. He darted it swiftly at each of them and on the seven swordsmen too he inflicted wounds of death.

He went through the third courtyard and towards the fourth gate. As he did it opened slowly and a single champion came forth. He closed the gate behind him and stood with a long gray sword in his hand. This was the King of the Land of Mist. His shoulders were where a tall man’s head would be. His face was like a stone, and his eyes had never looked except with scorn upon a foe.

When his enemy began his attack the King of Ireland’s Son had power to do nothing else but guard himself from that weighty sword. He had the Sword of Light for a guard and well did that bright, swift blade guard him. The two fought across the courtyard making hard places soft and soft places hard with their trampling. They fought from when it was early to when it was noon, and they fought from when it was noon until it was long afternoon. And not a single wound did the King of Ireland’s Son inflict upon the King of the Land of Mist, and not a single wound did the King of the Land of Mist inflict upon him.

But the King of Ireland’s Son was growing faint and weary. His eyes were worn with watching the strokes and thrusts of the sword that was battling against him. His arms could hardly bear up his own sword. His heart became a stream of blood that would have gushed from his breast.

And then, as he was about to fall down with his head under the sword of the King of the Land of Mist a name rose above all his thoughts—“Fedelma.” If he sank down and the sword of the King of the Land of Mist fell on him, never would she be saved. The will became strong again in the King of Ireland’s Son. His heart became a steady beating thing. The weight that was upon his arms passed away. Strongly he held the sword in his hand and he began to attack the King of the Land of Mist.

And now he saw that the sword in the hand of his enemy was broken and worn with the guard that the Sword of Light had put against it. And now he made a strong attack. As the light was leaving the sky and as the darkness was coming down he saw that the strength was waning in the King of the Land of Mist. The sword in his hand was more worn and more broken. At last the blade was only a span from the hilt. As he drew back to the gate of the fourth courtyard the King of Ireland’s Son sprang at him and thrust the Sword of Light through his breast. He stood with his face becoming exceedingly terrible. He flung what remained of his sword, and the broken blade struck the foot of the King of Ireland’s Son and pierced it. Then the King of the Land of Mist fell down on the ground before the fourth gate.

So weary from his battles, so pained with the wound of his foot was the King of Ireland’s Son that he did not try to cross the body and go towards the fifth gate. He turned back. He climbed down the rock and went towards the River of the Broken Towers.

The Glashan was broiling on a hot stone the eel he had taken out of the river. “Wash my wound and give me refreshment, Glashan,” said the King of Ireland’s Son.

The Glashan washed the wound in his foot and gave him a portion of the broiled eel with cresses and water.

“To-morrow’s dawn I shall go back,” said the King of Ireland’s Son, “and go through the fifth and sixth and seventh gate and take away Fedelma.”

“If the King of the Land of Mist lets you,” said the Glashan.

“He is dead,” said the King of Ireland’s Son, “I thrust my sword through his breast.”

“And where is his head?” said the Glashan.

“It is on his corpse,” said the King of Ireland’s Son.

“Then you will have another fight to-morrow. His life is in his head, and his life will come back to him if you did not cut it off. It is he, I tell you, who will guard the fourth and fifth and sixth gate.”

“That I do not believe, Glashan,” said the King of Ireland’s Son. “There is no one to guard the gates now but the Hag you spoke of. To-morrow I shall take Fedelma out of her captivity, and we will both leave the Land of Mist. But I must sleep now.”

He laid the Sword of Light beside him, stretched himself on the ground and went to sleep. The Glashan drew his horse’s legs under him, took the pipe out of his ear, and smoked all through the night.

III

The King of Ireland’s Son rose in the morning but he was in pain and weariness on account of his wounded foot. He ate the cresses and drank the water that the Glashan gave him, and he started off for the Castle of the King of the Mist. “‘Tis only an old woman I shall have to deal with to-day,” he said, “and then I shall awaken Fedelma, my love.”

He passed through the first gate and the first court-yard, through the second gate and the second court-yard, through the third gate and the third courtyard. The fourth gate was closed, and as he went towards it, it opened slowly, and the King of the Land of Mist stood there—as high, as stone-faced, and as scornful as before, and in his hand he had a weighty gray sword.

They fought as they fought the day before. But the guard the King of Ireland’s Son made against the sword of the King of the Land of Mist was weaker than before, because of the pain and weariness that came from his wound. But still he kept the Sword of Light before him and the Sword of the King of the Land of Mist could not pass it. They fought until it was afternoon. The heart in his body seemed turned to a jet of blood that would gush forth. His eyes were straining themselves out of their sockets. His arms could hardly bear up his sword. He fell down upon one knee, but he was able to hold the sword so that it guarded his head.

Then the image of Fedelma appeared before him. He sprang up and his arms regained their power. His heart became steady in his breast. And as he made an attack upon the King of the Land of Mist, he saw that the blade in his hand was broken and worn because of its strokes against the Sword of Light.

They fought with blades that seemed to kindle each other into sparks and flashes of light. They fought until the blade in the hand of the King of the Land of Mist was worn to a hand breadth above the hilt. He drew back towards the gate of the fifth courtyard. The King of Ireland’s Son sprang at him and thrust the Sword of Light through his breast. Down on the stones before the fifth gate of his Castle fell the King of the Land of Mist.

The King of Ireland’s Son stepped over the body and went towards the fifth gate. Then he remembered what the Glashan had said, “His life is in his head.” He went back to where the King of the Land of Mist had fallen. With a clean sweep of his sword he cut the head off the body.

Then out of the mist that was all around three ravens came. With beak and claws they laid hold of the head and lifted it up. They fluttered heavily away, keeping near the ground.

With his sword in his hand the King of Ireland’s Son chased the ravens. He followed them through the fourth courtyard, the third courtyard, the second and the first. They flew off the rock on which the Castle was built and disappeared in the mist.

He knew he would have to watch by the body of the King of the Land of Mist, so that the head might not be placed upon it. He sat down before the fifth gate. Pain and weariness, hunger and thirst oppressed him.

He longed for something that would allay his hunger and thirst. But he knew that he could not go to the river to get refreshment of water and cresses from the Glashan. Something fell beside him in the courtyard. It was a beautiful, bright-colored apple. He went to pick it up, but it rolled away towards the third courtyard. He followed it. Then, as he looked back he saw that the ravens had lighted near the body of the King of the Land of Mist, holding the head in their beaks and claws. He ran back and the ravens lifted the head up again and flew away.

He watched for another long time, and his hunger and his thirst made him long for the bright-colored apple he had seen.

Another apple fell down. He went to pick it up and it rolled away. But now the King of Ireland’s Son thought of nothing hut that bright-colored apple. He followed it as it rolled.

It roiled through the third courtyard, and the second and the first. It rolled out of the first gate and on to the rock upon which the Castle was built. It rolled off the rock. The King of Ireland’s Son sprang down and he saw the apple become a raven’s head and beak.

He climbed up the rock and ran back. And when he came into the first courtyard he saw that the three ravens had come back again. They had brought the head to the body, and body and head were now joined. The King of the Land of Mist stood up again, and his head was turned towards his left shoulder. He went to the sixth gate and took up a sword that was beside it.

IV

They fought their last battle before the sixth gate. The guard that the King of Ireland’s Son made was weak, and if the King of the Land of Mist could have turned fully upon him, he could have disarmed and killed him. But his head had been so placed upon his body that it looked The King of the Land of Mist 237 over his left shoulder. He was able to draw his sword down the breast of the King of Ireland’s Son, wounding him. The King’s Son whirled his sword around his head and flung it at his wry-headed enemy. It swept his head off, and the King of the Land of Mist fell down.

The King of Ireland’s Son saw on the outstretched neck the mark of the other beheading. He took up the Sword of Light again and prepared to hold the head against all that might come for it.

But no creature came. And then the hair on the severed head became loose and it was blown away by the wind. And the bones of the head became a powder and the flesh became a froth, and all was blown away by the wind.

Then the King of Ireland’s Son went through the sixth courtyard and came to the seventh gate. And before it he saw the last of the sentinels. A Hag, she was seated on the top of a water-tank taking white doves out of a basket and throwing them to ravens that flew down from the walls and tore the doves to pieces.

When the Hag saw the King of Ireland’s Son she sprang down from the water-tank and ran towards him with outstretched arms and long poisoned nails. With a sweep of his sword he cut the nails from her hands. Ravens picked up the nails, and then, as they tried to fly away, they fell dead.

“The Sword of Light will take off your head if you do not take me on the moment to where Fedelma is,” said the King of Ireland’s Son. “I am sorry to do it,” said the Hag, “but come, since you are the conqueror.”

He followed the Hag into the Castle. In a net, hanging across a chamber, he saw Fedelma. She was still, but she breathed. And the branch of hawthorn that put her asleep was fresh beside her. Strands of her bright hair came through the meshes of the net and were fastened to the wall. With a sweep of the Sword of Light he cut the strands.

Her eyes opened. She saw the King of Ireland’s Son, and the full light came back to her eyes, and the full life into her face.

He cut the net from where it hung and laid it on the ground. He cut open the meshes. Fedelma rose out of it and went into his arms.

He lifted her up and carried her out into the seventh courtyard. Then the Hag who had been one of the sentinels came out of the Castle, closed the door behind her and ran away into the mist, three ravens flying after her.

And as for Fedelma and the King of Ireland’s Son, they went through the courtyards of the Castle and through the mists of the country and down to the River of the Broken Towers. They found the Glashan broiling a salmon upon hot stones. Salmon were coming from the sea and the Glashan went in and caught more, The King of the Land of Mist 239 broiled and gave them to the King of Ireland’s Son and Fedelma to eat. The little black water-hen came out of the river and they fed it. The next day the King of Ireland’s Son bade the Glashan take Fedelma on his shoulders and carry her to the other shore of the River of the Broken Towers. And he himself followed the little black water-hen who showed him all the shallow places in the river so that he crossed with the water never above his waist. But he was nearly dead from cold and weariness, and from the wounds on breast and foot when he came to the other side and found the Glashan and Fedelma waiting for him.

They ate salmon again and rested for a day. They bade good-by to the Glashan, who went back to the river to hunt for salmon. Then they went along the bank of the river hand in hand while the King of Ireland’s Son told Fedelma of all the things that had happened to him in his search for her.

They came to where the river became known as the River of the Morning Star. And then, in the distance, they saw the Hill of Horns. Towards the Hill of Horns they went, and, at the near side of it, they found a house thatched with the wing of a bird. It was the house of the Little Sage of the Mountain. To the house of the Little Sage of the Mountain Fedelma and the King’s Son now went.

THE HOUSE OF CROM DUV

I

The story is now about Flann. He went through the East gate of the Town of the Red Castle and his journey was to the house of the Hags of the Long Teeth where he might learn what Queen and King were his mother and his father. It is with the youth Flann, once called the Gilly of the Goatskin, that we will go if it be pleasing to you, Son of my Heart. He went his way in the evening, when, as the bard said:—

And he went his way in the night, when, as the same bard said:—

And he went on between the dusk and the dawn, when, as the same bard said again:—

And he went on in the dawn, when as the bard said (and this is the last stanza he made, for the King said there was nothing at all in his adventure):—

And then, when the sun was looking over the first high hills he came to a river. He knew it was the river he followed before, for no other river in the country was so wide or held so much water. As he had gone with the flow of the river then he thought he would go against the flow of the river now, and so he might come back to the glens and ridges and deep boggy places he had traveled from.

He met a Fisherman who was drying his nets and he asked him what name the river had. The Fisherman said it had two names. The people on the right bank called it the Day-break River and the people on the left bank called it the River of the Morning Star. And the Fisherman told him he was to be careful not to call it the River of the Morning Star when he was on the right bank nor the Daybreak River when he was on the left, as the people on either side wanted to keep to the name their fathers had for it and were ill-mannered to the stranger who gave it a different name. The Fisherman told Flann he was sorry he had told him the two names for the River and that the best thing he could do was to forget one of the names and call it just the River of the Morning Star as he was on the left bank.

Flann went on with the day widening before him and when the height of the noon was past he came to the glens and ridges and deep boggy places he had traveled from. He went on with the bright day going before him and the brown night coming behind him, and at dusk he came to the black and burnt place where the Hags of the Long Teeth had their house of stone.

He saw the house with a puff of smoke coming through every crevice in the stones. He went to the shut door and knocked on it with the knocking-stone.

“Who’s without?” said one of the Hags.

“Who’s within?” said Flann.

“The Three Hags of the Long Teeth,” said one of the Hags, “and if you want to know it,” said she, “they are the runners and summoners, the brewers and candle-makers for Crom Duv, the Giant.”

Flann struck a heavier blow with the knocking-stone and the door broke in. He stepped into the smoke-filled house.

“No welcome to you, whoever you are,” said one of the three Hags who were seated around the fire.

“I am the lad who was called Gilly of the Goatskin, and whom you reared up here,” said he, “and I have come back to you.”

The three Hags turned from the fire then and screamed at him.

“And what brought you back to us, humpy fellow?” said the first Hag.

“I came back to make you tell me what Queen and King were my mother and father.”

“Why should you think a King and Queen were your father and mother?” they said to him.

“Because I have on my breast the stars of a son of a King,” said Flann, “and,” said he, “I have in my hand a sword that will make you tell me.”

He came towards them and they were afraid. Then the first Hag bent her knee to him, and, said she, “Loosen the hearthstone with your sword and you will find a token that will let you know who your father was.”

Flann put his sword under the hearthstone and pried it up. But if it were a token, what was under the hearthstone was an evil thing—a cockatrice. It had been hatched out of a serpent’s egg by a black cock of nine years. It had the head and crest of a cock and the body of a black serpent. The cockatrice lifted itself up on its tail and looked at him with red eyes. The sight of that head made Flann dizzy and he fell down on the floor. Then it went down and the Hags put the hearthstone above it.

“What will we do with the fellow?” said one of the Hags, looking at Flann who was in a swoon on the floor.

“Cut of his head with the sword that he threatened us with,” said another.

“No,” said the third Hag. “Crom Duv the Giant is in want of a servant. Let him take this fellow. Then maybe the Giant will give us what he has promised us for so long—a Berry to each of us from the Fairy Rowan Tree that grows in his courtyard.”

“Let it be, let it be,” said the other Hags. They put green branches on the fire so that Crom Duv would see the smoke and come to the house. In the morning he came. He brought Flann outside, and after awhile Flann’s senses came back to him. Then the Giant tied a rope round his arms and drove him before him with a long iron spike that he had for a staff.

II

Crom Duv’s arms stretched down to his twisted knees; he had long, yellow, overlapping horse’s teeth in his mouth, with a fall-down under-lip and a drawn-back upper-lip; he had a matted rug of hair on his head. He was as high as a haystack. He carried in his twisted hand an iron spike pointed at the end. And wherever he was going he went as quickly as a running mule.

He tied Flann’s hands behind his back and drew the rope round Flann’s body. Then he started off. Flann was dragged on as if at the tail of a cart. Over ditches and through streams; up hillsides and down into hollows he was hauled. Then they came into a plain as round as the wheel of a cart. Across the plain they went and into a mile-deep wood. Beyond the wood there were buildings—such walls and such heaps of stones Flann never saw before.

But before they had entered the wood they had come to a high grassy mound. And standing on that grassy mound was the most tremendous bull that Flann had ever seen.

“What bull is that, Giant?” said Flann.

Flann’s heart, I tell you, sank, when he saw the bull that guarded Crom Duv’s house. They went through the deep wood then, and came to the gate of the Giant’s Keep. Only a chain was across it, and Crom Duv lifted up the chain. The courtyard was filled with cattle black and red and striped. The Giant tied Flann to a stone pillar. “Are you there, Morag, my byre-maid?” he shouted.

“I am here,” said a voice from the byre. More cattle were in the byre and someone was milking them.

There was straw on the ground of the courtyard and Crom Duv lay down on it and went to sleep with the cattle trampling around him. A great stone wall was being built all round the Giant’s Keep—a wall six feet thick and built as high as twenty feet in some places and in others as high as twelve. The wall was still being built, for heaps of stones and great mixing-pans were about. And just before the door of the Keep was a Rowan Tree that grew to a great height. At the very top of the tree were bunches of red berries. Cats were lying around the stems of the tree and cats were in its branches—great yellow cats. More yellow cats stepped out of the house and came over to him. They looked Flann all over and went back, mewing to each other.

The cattle that were in the courtyard went into the byre one by one as they were called by the voice of the byre-maid. Crom Duv still slept. By and by a little red hen that was picking about the courtyard came near him and holding up her head looked Flann all over.

When the last cow had gone in and the last stream of milk had sounded in the milking-vessel the byre-maid came into the courtyard. Flann thought he would see a long-armed creature like Crom Duv himself. Instead he saw a girl with good and kind eyes, whose disfigurements were that her face was pitted and her hair was bushy. “I am Morag, Crom Duv’s byre-maid,” said she.

“Will Crom Duv kill me?” said Flann.

“No. He’ll make you serve him,” said the byre-maid.

“And what will he make me do for him?”

“He will make you help to build his wall. Crom Duv goes out every morning to bring his cattle to pasture on the plain. And when he comes back he builds the wall round his house. He’ll make you mix mortar and carry it to him, for I heard him say he wants a servant to do that.”

“I’ll escape from this,” said Flann, “and I’ll bring you with me.”

“Hush,” said Morag, and she pointed to seven yellow cats that were standing at Crom Duv’s door, watching them. “The cats,” said she, “are Crom Duv’s watchers here and the Bull of the Mound is his watcher out-side.”

“And is this Little Red Hen a watcher too?” said Flann, for the Little Red Hen was watching them sideways. “The Little Red Hen is my friend and adviser,” Morag, and she went into the house with two vessels of milk.

Crom Duv wakened up. He untied Flann and left him free. “You must mix mortar for me now,” he said. He went into the byre and came out with a great vessel of milk. He left it down near the mixing-pan. He went to the side of the house and came back with a trough of blood.

“What are these for, Crom Duv?” said Flann. “To mix the mortar with, gilly,” said the Giant. “Bullock’s blood and new milk is what I mix my mortar with, so that nothing can break down the walls that I’m building round the Fairy Rowan Tree. Every day I kill a bullock and every day my byre-maid fills a vessel of milk to mix with my mortar. Set to now, and mix the mortar for me.”

Flann brought lime and sand to the mixing-pan and he mixed them in bullock’s blood and new milk. He carried stones to Crom Duv. And so he worked until it was dark. Then Crom Duv got down from where he was building and told Flann to go into the house.

The yellow cats were there and Flann counted sixteen of them. Eight more were outside, in the branches or around the stem of the Rowan Tree. Morag came in, bringing a great dish of porridge. Crom Duv took up a wooden spoon and ate porridge out of vessel after vessel of milk. Then he shouted for his beer and Morag brought him vessel after vessel of beer. Crom Duv emptied one after the other..Then he shouted for his knife and when Morag brought it he began to sharpen it, singing a queer song to himself.

“He’s sharpening a knife to kill a bullock in the morning,” said Morag. “Come now, and I’ll give you your supper.”

She took him to the kitchen at the back of the house. She gave him porridge and milk and he ate his supper. Then she showed him a ladder to a room above, and he went up there and made a bed for himself. He slept soundly, although he dreamed of the twenty-four yellow cats within, and the tremendous Bull of the Mound outside Crom Duv’s Keep.

III

This is how the days were spent in the house of Crom Duv. The Giant and his two servants, Flann and Morag, were out of their beds at the mouth of the day. Crom Duv sounded his horn and the Bull of the Mound bellowed an answer. Then he started work on his wall, making Flann carry mortar to him. Morag put down the fire and boiled the pots. Pots of porridge, plates of butter and pans of milk were on the table when’ Crom Duv and Flann came in to their breakfasts. Then, when the Giant had driven out his cattle to the pasture Flann cleaned the byre and made the mortar, mixing lime and sand with bullock’s blood and new milk. In the afternoon the Giant came back and he and Flann started work on the wall.

All the time the twenty-four yellow cats lay on the branches of the Rowan Tree or walked about the court-yard or lapped up great crocks of milk. Morag’s Little Red Hen went hopping round the courtyard. She seemed to be sleepy or to be always considering something. If one of the twenty-four yellow cats looked at her the Little Red Hen would waken up, murmur something, and hop away.

One day the cattle came home without Crom Duv. “He has gone on one of his journeys,” said Morag, “and will not be back for a night and a day.”

“Then it is time for me to make my escape,” said Flann.

“How can you make your escape, my dear, my dear?” said Morag. “If you go by the front the Bull of the Mound will toss you in the air and then trample you into the ground.”

“But I have strength and cunning and activity enough to climb the wall at the back.”

“But if you climb the wall at the back,” said Morag, “you will only come to the Moat of Poisoned Water.” “The Moat of Poisoned Water?” “The Moat of Poisoned Water,” said Morag. “The water poisons the skin of any creature that tries to swim across the Moat.”

Flann was downcast when he heard of the Moat of Poisoned Water. But his mind was fixed on climbing the wall. “I may find some way of crossing the poisoned water,” he said, “so bake my cake and give me provision for my journey.”

Morag baked a cake and put it on the griddle. And when it was baked she wrapped it in a napkin and gave it to him. “Take my blessing with it,” said she, “and if you escape, may you meet someone who will be a better help to you than I was. I must keep the twenty-four cats from watching you while you are climbing the wall.”

“And how will you do that?” said Flann.

She showed him what she would do. With a piece of glass she made on the wall of the byre the shadows of flying birds. Birds never flew across the House of Crom Duv and the cats were greatly taken with the appearances that Morag made with the piece of glass. Six cats watched, and then another six came, and after them six more, and after them the six that watched in the Rowan Tree. And the twenty-four yellow cats sat round and watched with burning eyes the appearances of birds that Morag made on the byre-wall. Flann looked back and saw her seated on a stone, and he thought the Byre-Maid looked lonesome.

He tried with all his activity, all his cunning and all his strength, and at last he climbed the wall at the back of Crom Duv’s house. He gave a whistle to let Morag know he was over. Then he went through a little wood and came to the Moat of Poisoned Water.

Very ugly the dead water looked. Ugly stakes stuck up from the mud to pierce any creature that tried to leap across. And here and there on the water were patches of green poison as big as cabbage leaves. Flann drew back from the Moat. Leap it he could not, and swim it he dare not. And just as he drew back he saw a creature he knew come down to the bank opposite to him. It was Rory the Fox. Rory carried in his mouth the skin of a calf. He dropped the skin into the water and pushed it out before him. Then he got into the water and swam very cautiously, always pushing the calf’s skin before him. Then Rory climbed up on the bank where Flann was, and the skin, all green and wrinkled, sank down into the water.

Rory was going to turn tail, but then he recognized Flann. “Master,” said he, and he licked the dust on the ground.

“What are you doing here, Rory?” said Flann.

“I won’t mind telling you if you promise to tell no other creature,” said Rory.

“I won’t tell,” said Flann.

“Well then,” said Rory, “I have moved my little family over here. I was being chased about a good deal, and my little family wasn’t safe. So I moved them over here.” The fox turned and looked round at the country behind him. “It suits me very well,” said he; “no creature would think of crossing this moat after me.”

“Well,” said Flann, “tell me how you are able to cross it.”

“I will,” said the fox, “if you promise never to hunt me nor any of my little family.”

“I promise,” said Flann.

“Well,” said Rory, “the water poisons every skin. Now the reason that I pushed the calf’s skin across was that it might take the poison out of the water. The water poisons every skin. But where the skin goes the poison is taken out of the water for a while, and a living creature can cross behind it if he is cautious.”

“I thank you for showing me the way to cross the moat,” said Flann.

“I don’t mind showing you,” said Rory the Fox, and he went off to his burrow.

There were deer-skins and calf-skins both sides of the moat. Flann took a calf’s skin. He pushed it into the water with a stick. He swam cautiously behind it. When he reached the other side of the moat, the skin, all green and wrinkled, sank in the water.

Flann jumped and laughed and shouted when he found himself in the forest and clear of Crom Duv’s house. He went on. It was grand to see the woodpecker hammering on the branch, and to see him stop, busy as he was to say “Pass, friend.” Two young deer came out of the depths of the wood. They were too young and too innocent to have anything to tell him, but they bounded alongside of him as he raced along the Hunter’s Path. He jumped and he shouted again when he saw the river before him—the river that was called the Daybreak River on the right bank and the River of the Morning Star on the left. He said to himself, “This time, in troth, I will go the whole way with the river. A moving thing is my delight. The river is the most wonderful of all the things I have seen on my travels.”

Then he thought he would eat some of the cake that Morag had baked for him. He sat down and broke it. Then as he ate it the thought of Morag came into his mind. He thought he was looking at her putting the cake on the griddle. He went a little way along the river and then he began to feel lonesome. He turned back, “I’ll go to Crom Duv’s House,” said he, “and show Morag the way to escape. And then she and I will follow the river, and I won’t be lonesome while she’s with me.”

So back along the Hunter’s Path Flann went. He came to the Moat of Poisoned Water. He found a deer-skin and pushed it into the water and then swam cautiously across the moat. He climbed the wall then, and when he put his head above it he saw Morag. She was watching for him.

“Crom Duv has not come back yet,” said she, “but oh, my dear, my dear, I can’t prevent the yellow cats from watching you come over the wall.”

First six cats came and then another six and they sat round and watched Flann come down the wall. They did nothing to him, but when he came down on the ground they followed him wherever he went.

“You crossed the moat,” said Morag, “then why did you come back?”

“I came back,” said Flann, “to bring you with me.”

“But,” said she, “I cannot leave Crom Duv’s house.”

“I’ll show you how to cross the moat,” said he, “and we’ll both be glad to be going by the moving river.”

Tears came into Morag’s eyes. “I’d go with you, my dear,” said she, “but I cannot leave Crom Duv’s house until I get what I came for.”

“And what did you come for, Morag?” said he.

“I came,” said she, “for two of the rowan berries that grow on the Fairy Rowan Tree in Crom Duv’s court-yard. I know now that to get these berries is the hardest task in the world. Come within,” said she, “and if we sit long enough at the supper-board I will tell you my story.”

They sat at the supper-board long, and Morag told

The Story of Morag

IV

I was reared in the Spae-Woman’s house with two other girls, Baun and Deelish, my foster-sisters. The Spae-Woman’s house is on the top of a knowe, away from every place, and few ever came that way.

One morning I went to the well for water. When I looked into it I saw, not my own image, but the image of a young man. I drew up my pitcher filled with water, and went back to the Spae-Woman’s house. At noontide Baun went to the well for water. She came back and her pitcher was only half-filled. Before dark Deelish went to the well. She came back without a pitcher, for it fell and broke on the flags of the well.

The next day Baun and Deelish each plaited their hair, and they said to her who was foster-mother for the three of us: “No one will come to marry us in this far-away place. We will go into the world to seek our fortunes. So,” said they, “bake a cake for each of us before the fall of the night.”

The Spae-Woman put three cakes on the griddle and baked them. And when they were baked she said to Baun and Deelish: “Will you each take the half of the cake and my blessing, or the whole of the cake without my blessing?” And Baun and Deelish each said, “The whole of the cake will be little enough for our journey.”

Each then took her cake under her arm and went the path down the knowe. Then said I to myself, “It would be well to go after my foster-sisters for they might meet misfortune on the road.” So I said to my foster-mother, “Give me the third cake on the griddle until I go after my foster-sisters.”

“Will you have half of the cake and my blessing or the whole of the cake without my blessing?” said she to me.

“The half of the cake and your blessing, mother,” said I.

She cut the cake in two with a black-handled knife and gave me the even half of it. Then said she:—