Curtain.
Scene: A great hall by the sea close to
Dundalgan. There are two great chairs
on either side of the hall, each raised a
little from the ground, and on the back
of the one chair is carved and painted
a woman with a fish’s tail, and on the
back of the other a hound. There are
smaller chairs and benches raised in
tiers round the walls. There is a great
ale vat at one side near a small door,
and a large door at the back through
which one can see the sea. Barach, a
tall thin man with long ragged hair,
dressed in skins, comes in at the side
door. He is leading Fintain, a fat
blind man, who is somewhat older.
Barach.
I will shut the door, for this
wind out of the sea gets into my bones,
and if I leave but an inch for the wind
there is one like a flake of sea-frost that
might come into the house.
Fintain.
What is his name, fool?
Barach.
It’s a woman from among the
Riders of the Sidhe. It’s Boann herself
from the river. She has left the Dagda’s
bed, and gone through the salt of the sea
and up here to the strand of Baile, and all
for love of me. Let her keep her husband’s
bed, for she’ll have none of me. Nobody
knows how lecherous these goddesses are.
I see her in every kind of shape but oftener
than not she’s in the wind and cries “give
a kiss and put your arms about me.” But
no, she’ll have no more of me. Yesterday
when I put out my lips to kiss her, there
was nothing there but the wind. She’s
bad, Fintain. O, she’s bad. I had better
shut the big door too.
[He is going towards the big door but
turns hearing Fintain’s voice.
Fintain.
[Who has been feeling about with his stick.]
What’s this and this?
Barach.
They are chairs.
Fintain.
And this?
Barach.
Why, that’s a bench.
Fintain.
And this?
Barach.
A big chair.
Fintain.
[Feeling the back of the chair.]
There is a sea-woman carved upon it.
Barach.
And there is another big chair
on the other side of the hall.
Fintain.
Lead me to it. [He mutters
while the fool is leading him.] That is what
the High King Concobar has on his shield.
The High King will be coming. They have
brought out his chair. [He begins feeling the
back of the other chair.] And there is a
dog’s head on this. They have brought out
our master’s chair. Now I know what the
horse-boys were talking about. We must
not stay here. The Kings are going to
meet here. Now that Concobar and our
master, that is his chief man, have put
down all the enemies of Ullad, they are
going to build up Emain again. They are
going to talk over their plans for building
it. Were you ever in Concobar’s town
before it was burnt? O, he is a great King,
for though Emain was burnt down, every
war had made him richer. He has gold
and silver dishes, and chessboards and
candlesticks made of precious stones. Fool,
have they taken the top from the ale vat?
Barach.
They have.
Fintain.
Then bring me a horn of ale
quickly, for the Kings will be here in a
minute. Now I can listen. Tell me what
you saw this morning?
Barach.
About the young man and the
fighting?
Fintain.
Yes.
Barach.
And after that we can go and
eat the fowl, for I am hungry.
Fintain.
Time enough, time enough.
You’re in as great a hurry as when you
brought me to Aine’s Seat, where the mad
dogs gather when the moon’s at the full.
Go on with your story.
Barach.
I was creeping under a ditch,
with the fowl in my leather bag, keeping
to the shore where the farmer could not see
me, when I came upon a ship drawn up
upon the sands, a great red ship with a
woman’s head upon it.
Fintain.
A ship out of Aoife’s country.
They have all a woman’s head on the
bow.
Barach.
There was a young man with a
pale face and red hair standing beside it.
Some of our people came up whose turn it
was to guard the shore. I heard them ask
the young man his name. He said he was
under bonds not to tell it. Then words
came between them, and they fought, and
the young man killed half of them, and the
others ran away.
Fintain.
It matters nothing to us, but he
has come at last.
Barach.
Who has come?
Fintain.
I know who that young man
is. There is not another like him in the
world. I saw him when I had my eyesight.
Barach.
You saw him?
Fintain.
I used to be in Aoife’s country
when I had my eyesight.
Barach.
That was before you went on
shipboard and were blinded for putting a
curse on the wind?
Fintain.
Queen Aoife had a son that
was red haired and pale faced like herself,
and everyone said that he would kill
Cuchullain some day, but I would not
have that spoken of.
Barach.
Nobody could do that. Who
was his father?
Fintain.
Nobody but Aoife knew that,
not even he himself.
Barach.
Not even he himself! Was Aoife
a goddess and lecherous?
Fintain.
I overheard her telling that she
never had but one lover, and that he was
the only man who overcame her in battle.
There were some who thought him one of
the Riders of the Sidhe, because the child
was great of limb and strong beyond others.
The child was begotten over the mountains;
but come nearer and I will tell you
something.
Barach.
You have thought something?
Fintain.
When I hear the young girls
talking about the colour of Cuchullain’s
eyes, and how they have seven colours, I
have thought about it. That young man
has Aoife’s face and hair, but he has
Cuchullain’s eyes.
Barach.
How can he have Cuchullain’s
eyes?
Fintain.
He is Cuchullain’s son.
Barach.
And his mother has sent him
hither to fight his father.
Fintain.
It is all quite plain. Cuchullain
went into Aoife’s country when he was a
young man that he might learn skill in arms,
and there he became Aoife’s lover.
Barach.
And now she hates him because
he went away, and has sent the son to kill
the father. I knew she was a goddess.
Fintain.
And she never told him who his
father was, that he might do it. I have
thought it all out, fool. I know a great
many things because I listen when nobody
is noticing and I keep my wits awake.
What ails you now?
Barach.
I have remembered that I am
hungry.
Fintain.
Well, forget it again, and I will
tell you about Aoife’s country. It is full of
wonders. There are a great many Queens
there who can change themselves into
wolves and into swine and into white hares,
and when they are in their own shapes they
are stronger than almost any man; and
there are young men there who have cat’s
eyes and if a bird chirrup or a mouse squeak
they cannot keep them shut, even though
it is bedtime and they sleepy; and listen,
for this is a great wonder, a very great
wonder: there is a long narrow bridge, and
when anybody goes to cross it, that the
Queens do not like, it flies up as this bench
would if you were to sit on the end of it.
Everybody who goes there to learn skill
in arms has to cross it. It was in that
country too that Cuchullain got his spear
made out of dragon bones. There were
two dragons fighting in the foam of the sea,
and their grandam was the moon, and nine
Queens came along the shore.
Barach.
I won’t listen to your story.
Fintain.
It is a very wonderful story.
Wait till you hear what the nine Queens did.
Their right hands were all made of silver.
Barach.
No, I will have my dinner first.
You have eaten the fowl I left in front of
the fire. The last time you sent me to steal
something you made me forget all about it
till you had eaten it up.
Fintain.
No, there is plenty for us both.
Barach.
Come with me where it is.
Fintain.
[Who is being led towards the
door at the back by Barach.] O, it is all
right, it is in a safe place.
Barach.
It is a fine fowl. It was the
biggest in the yard.
Fintain.
It had a good smell, but I hope
that the wild dogs have not smelt it. [Voices
are heard outside the door at the side.] Here
is our master. Let us stay and talk with
him. Perhaps Cuchullain will give you a
new cap with a feather. He told me that
he would give you a new cap with a feather,
a feather with an eye that looks at you, a
peacock’s feather.
Barach.
No, no.
[He begins pulling Fintain towards
the door.
Fintain.
If you do not get it now, you
may never get it, for the young man may
kill him.
Barach.
No, no, I am hungry. What
a head you have, blind man! Who but
you would have remembered that the
hen-wife slept for a little at noon every
day!
Fintain.
[Who is being led along very
slowly and unwillingly.] Yes, I have a good
head. The fowl should be done just right,
but one never knows when a wild dog may
come out of the woods.
[They go out through the big door at the
back. As they go out Cuchullain
and certain Young Kings come
in at the side door. Cuchullain,
though still young, is a good deal
older than the others. They are all
very gaily dressed, and have their
hair fastened with balls of gold.
The young men crowd about
Cuchullain with wondering attention.
First Young King.
You have hurled that stone beyond our utmost mark
Time after time, but yet you are not weary.
Second Young King.
He has slept on the bare ground of Fuad’s Hill
This week past, waiting for the bulls and the deer.
Cuchullain.
Well, why should I be weary?
First Young King.
It is certain
His father was the god who wheels the sun,
And not King Sualtam.
Third Young King.
[To a Young King who is beside him.] He came in the dawn,
And folded Dectara in a sudden fire.
Fourth Young King.
And yet the mother’s half might well grow weary,
And it new come from labours over sea.
Third Young King.
He has been on islands walled about with silver,
And fought with giants.
[They gather about the ale vat and
begin to drink.
Cuchullain.
Who was it that went out?
Third Young King.
Cuchullain.
Third Young King.
Barach and blind Fintain.
Cuchullain.
They always flock together; the blind man
Has need of the fool’s eyesight and strong body,
While the poor fool has need of the other’s wit,
And night and day is up to his ears in mischief
That the blind man imagines. There’s no hen-yard
But clucks and cackles when he passes by
As if he’d been a fox. If I’d that ball
That’s in your hair and the big stone again,
I’d keep them tossing, though the one is heavy
And the other light in the hand. A trick I learnt
When I was learning arms in Aoife’s country.
First Young King.
What kind of woman was that Aoife?
Cuchullain.
First Young King.
But I have heard that she was never married,
And yet that’s natural, for I have never known
A fighting woman, but made her favours cheap,
Or mocked at love till she grew sandy dry.
Cuchullain.
What manner of woman do you like the best?
A gentle or a fierce?
First Young King.
Cuchullain.
I think that a fierce woman’s better, a woman
That breaks away when you have thought her won,
For I’d be fed and hungry at one time.
I think that all deep passion is but a kiss
In the mid battle, and a difficult peace
’Twixt oil and water, candles and dark night,
Hill-side and hollow, the hot-footed sun,
And the cold sliding slippery-footed moon,
A brief forgiveness between opposites
That have been hatreds for three times the age
Of this long ’stablished ground. Here’s Concobar;
So I’ll be done, but keep beside me still,
For while he talks of hammered bronze and asks
What wood is best for building, we can talk
Of a fierce woman.
[Concobar, a man much older than
Cuchullain, has come in through
the great door at the back. He has
many Kings about him. One of
these Kings, Daire, a stout old
man, is somewhat drunk.
Concobar.
[To one of those about him.] Has the ship gone yet?
We have need of more bronze workers, and that ship
I sent to Africa for gold is late.
Cuchullain.
Concobar.
[Seeing Cuchullain.] You are before us, King.
Cuchullain.
So much the better, for I welcome you
Into my Muirthemne.
Concobar.
But who are these?
The odour from their garments when they stir
Is like a wind out of an apple garden.
Cuchullain.
My swordsmen and harp players and fine dancers,
My bosom friends.
Concobar.
I should have thought, Cuchullain,
My graver company would better match
Your greatness and your years; but I waste breath
In harping on that tale.
Cuchullain.
You do, great King.
Because their youth is the kind wandering wave
That carries me about the world; and if it sank,
My sword would lose its lightness.
Concobar.
Yet, Cuchullain,
Emain should be the foremost town of the world.
Cuchullain.
Concobar.
No, no, it’s not.
Nothing but men can make towns great, and he,
The one over-topping man that’s in the world,
Keeps far away.
Daire.
He will not hear you, King,
And we old men had best keep company
With one another. I’ll fill the horn for you.
Concobar.
I will not drink, old fool. You have drunk a horn
At every door we came to.
Daire.
You’d better drink,
For old men light upon their youth again
In the brown ale. When I have drunk enough,
I am like Cuchullain as one pea another,
And live like a bird’s flight from tree to tree.
Concobar.
We’ll to our chairs for we have much to talk of,
And we have Ullad and Muirthemne, and here
Is Conall Muirthemne in the nick of time.
[He goes to the back of stage to welcome
a company of Kings who come in
through the great door. The other
Kings gradually get into their
places. Cuchullain sits in his
great chair with certain of the
young men standing around him.
Others of the young men, however,
remain with Daire at the ale vat.
Daire holds out the horn of ale to
one or two of the older Kings as
they pass him going to their places.
They pass him by, most of them
silently refusing.
Daire.
An Old King.
Not till the council’s over.
A Young King.
Another Young King.
Fill me a horn too, Daire.
Another Young King.
If I’d drunk half that you have drunk to-day,
I’d be upon all fours.
Daire.
That would be natural
When Mother Earth had given you this good milk
From her great breasts.
Cuchullain.
[To one of the Young Kings beside him.]
One is content awhile
With a soft warm woman who folds up our lives
In silky network. Then, one knows not why,
But one’s away after a flinty heart.
The Young King.
How long can the net keep us?
Cuchullain.
All our lives
If there are children, and a dozen moons
If there are none, because a growing child
Has so much need of watching it can make
A passion that’s as changeable as the sea
Change till it holds the wide earth to its heart.
At least I have heard a father say it, but I
Being childless do not know it. Come nearer yet;
Though he is ringing that old silver rod
We’ll have our own talk out. They cannot hear us.
[Concobar who is now seated in his
great chair, opposite Cuchullain,
beats upon the pillar of the house
that is nearest to him with a rod
of silver, till the Kings have become
silent. Cuchullain alone continues
to talk in a low voice to those about
him, but not so loud as to disturb
the silence. Concobar rises and
speaks standing.
Concobar.
I have called you hither, Kings of Ullad, and Kings
Of Muirthemne and Connall Muirthemne,
And tributary Kings, for now there is peace—
It’s time to build up Emain that was burned
At the outsetting of these wars; for we,
Being the foremost men, should have high chairs
And be much stared at and wondered at, and speak
Out of more laughing overflowing hearts
Than common men. It is the art of kings
To make what’s noble nobler in men’s eyes
By wide uplifted roofs, where beaten gold,
That’s ruddy with desire, marries pale silver
Among the shadowing beams; and many a time
I would have called you hither to this work,
But always, when I’d all but summoned you,
Some war or some rebellion would break out.
Daire.
Where’s Maine Morgor and old Usnach’s children,
And that high-headed even-walking Queen,
And many near as great that got their death
Because you hated peace? I can remember
The people crying out when Deirdre passed
And Maine Morgor had a cold gray eye.
Well, well, I’ll throw this heel-tap on the ground,
For it may be they are thirsty.
A King.
Another King.
Concobar.
Let him speak his mind.
I have no need to be afraid of ghosts,
For I have made but necessary wars.
I warred to strengthen Emain, or because
When wars are out they marry and beget
And have their generations like mankind
And there’s no help for it; but I’m well content
That they have ended and left the town so great,
That its mere name shall be in times to come
Like a great ale vat where the men of the world
Shall drink no common ale but the hard will,
The unquenchable hope, the friendliness of the sword.
[He takes thin boards on which plans
have been carved by those about him.
Give me the building plans, and have you written
That we—Cuchullain is looking in his shield;
It may be the pale riders of the wind
Throw pictures on it, or that Mananan,
His father’s friend and sometime fosterer,
Foreknower of all things, has cast a vision,
Out of the cold dark of the rich sea,
Foretelling Emain’s greatness.
Cuchullain.
No, great King,
I looked on this out of mere idleness,
Imagining a far-off country and one
That held it with a sword, although a woman.
Concobar.
A woman needs but laugh, or a friend sigh,
And you’re afar off sounding through the world,
While I plan Emain’s greatness.
[The sound of a trumpet without.
Open the doors!
I hear a herald’s trumpet, and await,
It may be, the heavy fleeces of the sea
And golden and silver apples or ancient crowns
Long hidden in the well at the World’s End,
Or glittering garments of the salmon, tributes
From the Great Plain, or the high people of Sorcha,
Or the walled garden in the east of the world.
[The great door at the back is flung open;
a Young Man, who is fully armed
and carries a shield with a woman’s
head painted on it, stands upon the
threshold. Behind him are trumpeters.
He walks into the centre of
the hall, the trumpeting ceases.
What is your message?
Young Man.
First King.
Queen Aoife and her army have fallen upon us.
Second King.
Third King.
They are about the house.
Fourth King.
Rush out! Rush out! Before they have fired the thatch.
Young Man.
Aoife is far away. I am alone.
I have come alone in the midst of you
To weigh this sword against Cuchullain’s sword.
[There is a murmur amongst the Kings.
Concobar.
And are you noble? for if of common seed
You cannot weigh your sword against his sword
But in mixed battle.
Young Man.
I am under bonds
To tell my name to no man, but it’s noble.
Concobar.
But I would know your name and not your bonds.
You cannot speak in the Assembly House
If you are not noble.
A King.
Young Man.
[Drawing his sword.] I will give no other proof than the hawk gives
That it’s no sparrow.
[He is silent a moment, then speaks to all.
Yet look upon me, Kings;
I too am of that ancient seed and carry
The signs about this body and in these bones.
Cuchullain.
To have shown the hawk’s gray feather is enough,
And you speak highly too.
[Cuchullain comes down from his great
chair. He remains standing on the
steps of the chair. The Young
Kings gather about him and begin
to arm him.
Give me that helmet!
I’d thought they had grown weary sending champions.
That leathern coat will do. The High King there
Being old in wisdom can think of times to come,
But the hawk’s sleepy till its well-beloved
Cries out amid the acorns, or it has seen
Its enemy like a speck upon the sun.
What’s Emain to the hawk when that clear eye
Is burning nearer up in the high air?
That buckle should be tighter. Give me your shield.
There is good level ground at Baile’s Yew-tree,
Some dozen yards from here, and it’s but truth
That I am sad to-day and this fight welcome.
[He looks hard at the Young Man, and
then steps down on the floor of the
Assembly House. He grasps the
Young Man by the shoulder.
Hither into the light.
[Turning to one of the Young Kings.
The very tint
Of her that I was speaking of but now:
Not a pin’s difference.
[To the Young Man.
You are from the North,
Where there are many that have that tint of hair,
Red-brown, the light red-brown. Come nearer, boy!
For I would have another look at you.
There’s more likeness, a pale, a stone pale cheek.
What brought you, boy? Have you no fear of death?
Young Man.
Whether I live or die is in the Gods’ hands.
Cuchullain.
That is all words, all words, a young man’s talk;
I am their plough, their harrow, their very strength,
For he that’s in the sun begot this body
Upon a mortal woman, and I have heard tell
It seemed as if he had outrun the moon,
That he must always follow through waste heaven,
He loved so happily. He’ll be but slow
To break a tree that was so sweetly planted.
Let’s see that arm; I’ll see it if I like.
That arm had a good father and a good mother,
But it is not like this.
Young Man.
You are mocking me.
You think I am not worthy to be fought,
But I’ll not wrangle but with this talkative knife.
Cuchullain.
Put up your sword, I am not mocking you.
I’d have you for my friend, but if it’s not
Because you have a hot heart and a cold eye
I cannot tell the reason. You’ve got her fierceness,
And nobody is as fierce as those pale women.
[To the Young Kings.
We’ll keep him here in Muirthemne awhile.
A Young King.
You are the leader of our pack and therefore
May cry what you will.
Cuchullain.
You’ll stop with us
And we will hunt the deer and the wild bulls,
And, when we have grown weary, light our fires
In sandy places where the wool-white foam
Is murmuring and breaking, and it may be
That long-haired women will come out of the dunes
To dance in the yellow fire-light. You hang your head,
Young man, as if it was not a good life;
And yet what’s better than to hurl the spear,
And hear the long-remembering harp, and dance?
Friendship grows quicker in the murmuring dark;
But I can see there’s no more need for words
And that you’ll be my friend now.
First Old King.
Concobar,
Forbid their friendship, for it will get twisted
To a reproach against us.
Concobar.
Until now
I’d never need to cry Cuchullain on
And would not now.
First Old King.
They’ll say his manhood’s quenched.
Cuchullain.
I’ll give you gifts, but I’ll have something too,
An arm-ring or the like, and if you will
We’ll fight it out when you are older, boy.
An Old King.
Aoife will make some story out of this.
Cuchullain.
Well, well, what matter, I’ll have that arm-ring, boy.
Young Man.
There is no man I’d sooner have my friend
Than you whose name has gone about the world
As if it had been the wind, but Aoife’d say
I had turned coward.
Cuchullain.
I’ll give you gifts
That Aoife’ll know and all her people know
To have been my gifts. Mananan, son of the sea,
Gave me this heavy embroidered cloak. Nine Queens
Of the Land-under-Wave had woven it
Out of the fleeces of the sea. O! tell her
I was afraid, or tell her what you will.
No! tell her that I heard a raven croak
On the north side of the house and was afraid.
An Old King.
Some witch of the air has troubled Cuchullain’s mind.
Cuchullain.
No witchcraft, his head is like a woman’s head
I had a fancy for.
Second Old King.
A witch of the air
Can make a leaf confound us with memories.
They have gone to school to learn the trick of it.
Cuchullain.
But there’s no trick in this. That arm-ring, boy.
Third Old King.
He shall not go unfought, I’ll fight with him.
Fourth Old King.
No! I will fight with him.
First Old King.
I claim the fight,
For when we sent an army to her land——
Second Old King.
I claim the fight, for one of Aoife’s galleys
Stole my great cauldron and a herd of pigs.
Third Old King.
No, no, I claim it, for at Lammas’ time——
Cuchullain.
Back! Back! Put up your swords! Put up your swords!
There’s none alive that shall accept a challenge
I have refused. Laegaire, put up your sword.
Young Man.
No, let them come, let any three together.
If they’ve a mind to, I’ll try it out with four.
Cuchullain.
That’s spoken as I’d spoken it at your age,
But you are in my house. Whatever man
Would fight with you shall fight it out with me.
They’re dumb. They’re dumb. How many of you would meet
[Drawing his sword.
This mutterer, this old whistler, this sandpiper,
This edge that’s grayer than the tide, this mouse
That’s gnawing at the timbers of the world,
This, this—Boy, I would meet them all in arms
If I’d a son like you. He would avenge me
When I have withstood for the last time the men
Whose fathers, brothers, sons, and friends I have killed
Upholding Ullad; when the four provinces
Have gathered with the ravens over them.
But I’d need no avenger. You and I
Would scatter them like water from a dish.
Young Man.
We’ll stand by one another from this out.
Here is the ring.
Cuchullain.
No, turn and turn about,
But my turn is first, because I am the older.
Cliodna embroidered these bird wings, but Fand
Made all these little golden eyes with the hairs
That she had stolen out of Aengus’ beard,
And therefore none that has this cloak about him
Is crossed in love. The heavy inlaid brooch
That Buan hammered has a merit too.
[He begins spreading the cloak out on
a bench, showing it to the Young
Man. Suddenly Concobar beats
with his silver rod on a pillar
beside his chair. All turn towards
him.
Concobar.
[In a loud voice.] No more of that, I will not have this friendship.
Cuchullain is my man and I forbid it;
He shall not go unfought for I myself——
Cuchullain.
[Seizing Concobar.] You shall not stir, High King, I’ll hold you there.
Concobar.
Witchcraft has maddened you.
The Kings.
[Shouting.] Yes, witchcraft, witchcraft.
A King.
You saw another’s head upon his shoulders
All of a sudden, a woman’s head, Cuchullain.
Then raised your hand against the King of Ullad.
Cuchullain.
[Letting Concobar go, and looking wildly about him.]
Yes, yes, all of a sudden, all of a sudden.
Daire.
Why, there’s no witchcraft in it, I myself
Have made a hundred of these sudden friendships
And fought it out next day. But that was folly,
For now that I am old I know it is best
To live in comfort.
A King.
Daire.
I’ll throw a heel-tap to the one that dies.
Concobar.
Some witch is floating in the air above us.
Cuchullain.
Yes, witchcraft, witchcraft and the power of witchcraft.
[To the Young Man.
Why did you do it? was it Calatin’s daughters?
Out, out, I say, for now it’s sword on sword.
Young Man.
Cuchullain.
Out, I say, out, out!
Sword upon sword.
[He goes towards the door at back,
followed by Young Man. He
turns on the threshold and cries
out, looking at the Young Man.
That hair my hands were drowned in!
[He goes out, followed by Young Man.
The other Kings begin to follow
them out.
A King.
I saw him fight with Ferdiad.
Second King.
We’ll be too late,
They’re such a long time getting through the door.
Third King.
Daire.
I was at the Smith’s
When he that was the boy Setanta then——
[Sound, of fighting outside.
Third King.
He will have killed him.
They have begun the fight!
[They all go out, leaving the house silent
and empty. There is a pause during
which one hears the clashing of the
swords. Barach and Fintain come
in from side door. Barach is dragging
Fintain.