So a chariot of two horses was brought to Cuchulain, and every way he tried its strength, driving it furiously round and round the green, goading the horses and turning suddenly. But for this usage the chariot was not fit, and it broke beneath him. Twelve chariots were brought to him, and he tested them all in this manner, but all of them he reduced to fragments. “These chariots of thine, O Conor, are no good at all, they serve me not, nor are they worthy of me, thy own foster-son.”
Then the King cried: “Fetch me here Ivar, my own charioteer, and let him harness my steeds into the kingly chariot, and bring it here to serve Cuchulain.” Then the kingly chariot of war was brought and Cuchulain mounted, testing it every way; and well it served him at every test. “The chariot is good, and the steeds are good, they are worthy of me,” said the boy; “it is my worthy match.”
“Well, boy, it is time that thou wert satisfied at last; now I will take the horses home and put them out to graze,” said Ivar.
“Not yet awhile,” said Cuchulain. “Drive but the horses round the kingly fort.” Ivar did so, and then he said again: “Be satisfied now, my lad; I go to turn the horses out to grass.” For it was but seldom that King Conor went forth in his war-chariot, because the men of Ulster willed not that the King should expose his person in battle; so Ivar was grown idle, and fat through his idleness, and he liked not at all the unwonted exertion that the wee boy asked of him.
“Not yet awhile,” said Cuchulain again; “too early is it to turn in; drive now towards the playing-fields that the boy-corps may salute me on this the first day of my taking arms.” They did so, and the boy-corps gathered round. “These are a warrior’s arms that thou hast taken!” cried they all, surprised to see him thus equipped in the King’s own warrior-gear, and driving in the chariot of the King. “Just so, indeed,” replied the boy. Then they wished him well in his warrior-career. “May success in winning of spoils, and in blood-drawing, be thine,” they cried. “But all too soon it is thou leavest us and our boyish sports for deeds of war.” “In no way do I wish to part with the beloved boy-corps,” replied the lad; “but it was a sign of luck and good fortune that I should take arms to-day; therefore I thought not well to miss my luck.”
Then Ivar urged the child again, for he was growing tired of the thing, to let him take the horses out to graze. “’Tis early yet, O Ivar,” said the boy; “whither then goes this great High-road I see?” “That is the High-road to the borders of the Province, and to the Ford of Watching or the Look-out Ford,” replied the charioteer. “Why is it called the Look-out Ford?” asked then the boy. “Because there, on the extreme limits of the Province, a watcher who is a prime warrior of Ulster always stands, prepared to challenge any stranger, before he pass the ford, of his business in the Province: if he who comes be a bard or peaceful man, to grant him protection and entertainment; but if he be a foe, to challenge him to combat at the ford. And seldom,” said the charioteer, “does a day pass, but at the ford some enemy is slain. As to the bards who pass in peace, no doubt it is the kindness of that warrior they will praise when once they come to Emain, and stand before the King.” “Who guards the ford this day, if thou dost know?” inquired Cuchulain. “Conall the Victorious, Ulster’s foremost man of war, it is who holds the ford this day.” “Away then,” cried the lad, “goad on thy steeds, for we will seek the ford and Conall.”
“The horses are already tired, we have done enough for this one day,” quoth Ivar. “The day is early yet, and our day’s labours hardly yet begun,” replied the youth; “away with you along this road.”
They come at last to the ford’s brink, and there beside the Ford of Watching stood young Conall, at that time Ulster’s foremost man of war.
When he saw the lad driving fully equipped for war in the chariot of the King, he felt surprise. “Are you taking arms to-day, small boy?” he said. “He is indeed,” said Ivar. “May triumph and victory and drawing of first blood come with them,” answered Conall, for he loved the little lad, and many a time he had said to his fellows: “The day will come when this young boy will dispute the championship of Ireland with me.” “Nevertheless,” said he to Cuchulain, “it seems to me that oversoon thou hast assumed these arms, seeing that thou art not yet fit for exploits or for war.” The boy heeded not this, but eagerly asked, “What is it thou doest at the Ford of Watching, Conall?” “On behalf of the Province I keep watch and ward, lest enemies creep in.”
“Give up thy place to me, for this one day let me take duty,” said Cuchulain. “Say not so,” replied the champion, “for as yet thou art not fit to cope with a right fighting-man.”
“Then on my own account must I go down into the shallows of yon lake, to see whether there I may draw blood on either friend or foe.” “I will go with thee, then, to protect thee, to the end that on the border-marshes thou run not into danger.” “Nay, come not with me, let me go alone to-day,” urged the lad. “That I will not,” said Conall, “for, were I to allow thee all alone to frequent these dangerous fighting grounds, on me would Ulster avenge it, if harm should come to thee.”
Then Conall had his chariot made ready and his horses harnessed; soon he overtook Cuchulain, who, to cut short the matter, had gone on before. He came up abreast with him, and Cuchulain, seeing this, felt sure that, Conall being there, no chance for deed of prowess would come his way; for, if some deed of mortal daring were to be done, Conall himself would undertake the same. Therefore he took up from the road a smooth round stone that filled his fist, and with it he made a very careful shot at Conall’s chariot-yoke. It broke in two, and the chariot came down, Conall being thrown forward over his horses’ heads.
“What’s this, ill-mannered boy?” said he.
“I did it in order to see whether my marksmanship were good, and whether there were the makings of a man-at-arms in me.” “Poison take both thy shot and thyself as well; and though thy head should now fall a prize to some enemy of thine, yet never a foot farther will I budge to keep thee.”
“The very thing I asked of thee,” replied the boy, “and I do so in this strange manner, because I know it is a custom among the men of Ulster to turn back when any violence is done to them. Thus have I made the matter sure.” On that, Conall turned back to his post beside the Look-out Ford, and the little boy went forward southward to the shallows of the marshy loch, and he rested there till evening-tide.
Then Ivar said, “If one might venture to make a suggestion to such a little one, I should rejoice if we might now turn back and find our way home to Emain again. For at this moment in the hall supper is being carved and the feast has just begun; and though for you your appointed place is kept at Conor’s side until you come, I, on the contrary, if I come late must fit in where I may among the grooms and jesters of the house. For this reason I judge it now high time that I were back to scramble for my place.”
“Harness the horses and prepare the chariot,” Cuchulain said, and thinking that they now were going home, the charioteer most gladly hastened to obey. “What mountain is that over there?” inquired the boy. “Slieve Mourn,” replied the driver. “Let us go thither,” said the lad. They reach the mountain’s foot, and, “What is that cairn I see upon the top?” said he again. “The White Cairn is its name,” quoth Ivar sulkily. “I would like to visit the White Cairn,” said the boy. “The hill is high, and it is getting late,” replied the charioteer. “Thou art a lazy loon,” Cuchulain says, “and the more so that this is my first day’s adventure-quest, and thy first day’s trip abroad with me.” “And if it is,” cried Ivar, “and if ever we get home again, for ever and for ever may it be my last!”
They gained the topmost peak, and far away descried a stretch of level country. “Come now, driver,” said the lad, “describe to me from here the whole of Ulster’s wide domain; its forts and dwellings, fords and meadow-lands, its hills and open spaces. Name every place in order, that thus I may the better know my way about.
“What is yon well-defined plain with hollow glens and running streams before us to the south?” “Moy Bray,” replied the charioteer. “The names, again, of all the forts and palaces scattered over it?” Then Ivar pointed out the kingly dwelling-places of Tara and Taillte, and the summer palace of Cletty on the river Boyne; the Fairy Mound of Angus Og, the god of Youth and Beauty, and the burial-tomb of the Great God or Dagda Mór. And at the last he showed beneath the hill where lay the fort of the three fierce and warlike sons of Nechtan the Mighty.
“Are those the sons of Nechtan of whom I heard it said that the Ulstermen who are yet alive are not so many as have fallen by their hands?” “The same,” said Ivar. “Away then, with us straight to Nechtan’s fort,” Cuchulain cried. “Woe waits on him who goes to Nechtan’s fort,” replied the charioteer; “whoever goes or goes not, I for one will never go.” “Alive or dead thou goest there, however,” said the boy. “Alive I go then, but sure it is that dead I shall be left there,” replied the charioteer.
They make their way then down the hill and reach the green before the fort at the meeting of the bogland and the stream; and in the centre of the green they saw an upright pillar-stone, encircled by an iron collar on its top. Words were engraven on the collar forbidding any man-at-arms or warrior to depart off the green, once he had entered it, without challenging to single combat some one of those living within the fort. Cuchulain read the writing, and he took the collar off the pillar-stone, and with all his strength he hurled it down the stream, for it was thus the challenge should be made.
“In my poor opinion,” said the charioteer, “the collar was much safer where it was, and well I know that this time, at all events, thou wilt find the object of thy careful search, a quick and violent death.” “Good, good, O driver, talk not over much, but spread for me the chariot coverings on the ground, that I may sleep a while.”
Now the charioteer was frightened, for he knew the fierceness and ill-fame of the sons of Nechtan, and he grumbled that Cuchulain should be so rash and foolhardy in a land of foemen as to sleep before their very door; but for all that he dared not disobey, and he took the cushions out of the chariot and spread them on the ground, and covered Cuchulain with the skins; and in a moment the little fellow was asleep, his head resting peacefully on his hand. Just then Foll, son of Nechtan, issued from the fort. Ivar would well have liked to waken up Cuchulain, but he did not dare, for the child had said before he fell asleep: “Waken me up if many come, but waken me not for a few;” and Foll mac Nechtan came alone. At sight of the chariot standing on his lands, the warrior thundered forth, “Driver, be off at once with those horses; let them not graze upon our ground; unyoke them not.” “I have not unyoked them,” said the charioteer. “I hold the reins yet in my hands, ready for the road.” “Whose steeds and chariot are they?” enquired the man. “The steeds of Conor, King of Ulster,” said Ivar. “Just as I thought,” said Foll; “and who has brought them to these borders?” “A young bit of a little boy,” said Ivar, hoping to hinder Foll from fighting him. “A high-headed wee fellow, who, for luck, has taken arms to-day, and come into the marshes to show off his form and skill as though he were a grown champion.” “Ill-luck to him, whoever he is,” said Foll; “were he a man capable of fight, I would send him back to the King dead instead of alive.” “Capable of fight he is not, indeed, nor a man at all,” said Ivar, “but only a small child of seven years, playing at being a man.”
Cuchulain in his sleep heard the affront that the charioteer put upon him, and from head to foot he blushed a rosy red. His face he lifted from the ground and said: “I am not a child at all, but ripe and fit for action, as you will see; this ‘small child’ here has come to seek for battle with a man.” “I rather hold that fit for action thou art not,” replied Foll, surprised to find the little fellow rising from his sleep and speaking with such boldness. “That we shall know presently,” replied the boy; “come down only to the ford, where it is customary in Ireland that combats should take place. But first go home and fetch your arms, for in cowardly guise come you hither, and never will I fight with men unarmed, or messengers, or drivers in their cloaks, but only with full-weaponed men-of-war.”
“That suits me well,” said Foll, and he rushed headlong for his arms. “It will suit you even better when we come to the ford,” said Cuchulain. Then Ivar warned Cuchulain that this Foll was no ordinary foe; “he bears a charmed life,” said he, “and only he who slays him with one stroke has any chance of killing him at all. No sword-edge can bite or wound him, he can only be slain by the first thrust of a spear, or blow of a weapon from a distance.” “Then I will play a special feat on him,” returned the boy; “surely it is to humble me you warn me thus.” With that he took in his hand his hard-tempered iron ball, and with a strong and exact throw just as Foll was coming forth, full-armoured from the fort, he launched the ball, which pierced the warrior’s forehead, so that he fell headlong on the ground, uttering his last cry of pain, and with that he died.
Within the fort his brothers heard that cry, and the second brother rushes out. “No doubt you think this is a great feat you have done, and one to boast of,” he cried. “I think not the slaying of any single man a cause to boast at all,” replied the boy; “but hasten now and fetch your weapons, for in the guise of an unweaponed messenger or chariot-boy come you hither.” “Beware of this man,” said Ivar; “Tuacall, or ‘Cunning’ is his name, for so swift and dexterous is he, that no man has ever been able to pierce him with any weapon at all.”
“It is not fitting that you speak like this to me,” said Cuchulain. “I will take the great spear of Conor, and with it I will pierce his shield and heart, before ever he comes near me.”
And so he did, for hardly was the Cunning One come forth out of the fort, than Cuchulain threw the heavy spear; it entered his heart and went out behind him. As he fell dead, Cuchulain leaped on him, and cut off his head.
Then the third son of Nechtan came out, and scoffed at the lad. “Those were but simpletons and fools with whom thou hast fought hitherto,” he said; “I challenge thee to come down to the ford, and out upon the middle of the stream, and we will see thy bravery there.” Cuchulain asks him what he means by this, and Ivar breaks in: “Do you not know that this is Fandall, son of Nechtan, and Fainle or Fandall, a ‘Swallow,’ is his name, because he travels over the water with the swiftness of a swallow, nor can the swimmers of the whole world attempt to cope with him. Beware of him and go not to the ford.”
“Not fitting are such words to be spoken to me,” replied the lad, “for do you not remember the river we have in Emain, called the Callan? When the boy-corps break off their sports and plunge into the stream to swim, do you not know that I can take one of them on either shoulder or even on my palms, and carry them across the water without wetting so much as their ankles? For another man, your words are good; they are not good for me.”
Then came Fainle forth, and he and the lad entered the stream together, and swam out and wrestled in deep water. But suddenly, by a swift turn, the youngster clasped his arms about him, laid him even with the top of the water, and with one stroke of Conor’s sword cut off his head, carrying it shoreward in his hand, while the body floated down the current. Behind him he heard the cry of their mother, the wife of Nechtan, when she saw her three sons slain. Then Cuchulain sent her out of the fort, and he and his charioteer went up and harried it, and set it all in flames; for an evil and a pirate fort had that fort been to Ulster, bringing many of their warriors to death, and spoiling all their lands. Then Cuchulain and Ivar turned to retrace their steps, carrying in their hands the heads of Nechtan’s sons. They put their spoils and the three heads into the chariot, sticking the dripping heads upon the chariot-pole that passed out behind, and set out in triumph towards Emain and the palace of the King.
“You promised us a good run to-day,” said Cuchulain to the charioteer, “and we need it now after the contest we have made; away with us across Moy Bray, and round the mountain of Slieve Fuad.” Then Ivar spurred the horses forward with his goad, and so fast did they race onward that they outstripped the wind in speed, and left the flying birds behind them. To while away the time, Cuchulain sent stones speeding before him from his sling; before the stone could reach the ground, the chariot had caught it up and it fell again into the chariot floor.
At the foot of Slieve Fuad a herd of antlered deer were feeding beside a wood. Never before had Cuchulain seen a herd of deer; he marvelled at their branching antlers, and at the speed and lightness with which they moved from place to place. “What is that great flock of active cattle yonder?” enquired the boy. “Those are not cattle, but a herd of wild deer that wander in the dark recesses of the hills,” replied the charioteer. “Which would the men of Ulster think the greatest feat, to capture one dead or to bring one home alive?” “Assuredly to capture one alive,” said Ivar. “Dead everyone could bring one down, but seldom indeed can one be captured alive.” “Goad on the horses,” said the lad; and this the driver did, but the fat horses of the King, unused to such a drive and rate of motion as they had had that day, turned restive and plunged into the bog, where they stuck fast. Eagerly Cuchulain sprang down, and leaving the charioteer to struggle with the horses, he set off after the flying deer, and by sheer running came up to them, caught two of the largest stags by the horns, and with thongs and ropes bound them behind the chariot between the poles.
Again, on their way to Emain, a flock of swans passed overhead, flying before them. “What birds are those?” enquired the boy. “Are they tame birds or wild?” “Those are wild swans,” said Ivar, “that fly inland from the rocks and islands of the sea to feed.” “Would the Ulstermen think better of me if I brought them in dead or if I captured them alive?” again enquired the boy. “Assuredly to bring them down alive.”
Then Cuchulain took his sling and with a well-aimed shot he brought down one or two of the swans. Again and again he aimed until several of the birds were lying on the path before them. “Ivar, go you and fetch the birds alive,” said the boy.
“It is not easy for me to do that,” he said. “The horses are become wild and I cannot leave them or leap out in front of them. If then I try to get out at the side, I shall be cut to pieces with the sharp rims of the chariot-wheels; if I get out behind, the stags will gore me with their horns.” “That is not a warrior’s speech, but the speech fit a coward,” said the lad. “But come now, step out fearlessly upon the antler of the deer, for I will bend my eye on him, so that he will not stir or harm you, nor will the horses move when I have overlooked them.” This then was done. Cuchulain held the reins, while Ivar got out and collected the fallen birds. With long cords the birds were fastened to the chariot, and thus they went on to Emain, with the wild stags running behind the chariot, and the flock of birds flying over it, and on the poles the bleeding heads of the three sons of Nechtan the Mighty.
On the walls of Emain a watchman was at the look-out post. “A solitary warrior draws near to thee, O Conor, and terribly he comes! Upon the chariot pole are bleeding heads; white birds are flying round the car, and wild unbroken stags are tethered fast behind. Wildly and with fury he draws near, and unless some means be taken to abate his rage, the young men of Emain’s fort will perish by his hand.”
“Warriors will not stay his hand. I know that little boy; it is my foster-son, who on this day has taken arms and made his first champion-raid. But before women he is ever courteous and modest; let then the women-folk of Emain’s fort, and our noble wives, go forth to meet him, for that will tame his rage.” So the champion’s wives and the women of Emain went out in a troop to meet him, and when he saw them come, the fury of war passed from Cuchulain, and he leaned his head upon the chariot-rail, that they might not see the battle rage that was upon his face. For in the presence of women Cuchulain was ever calm and gentle-mannered.
Yet so warm and ardent was he from his warrior-raid, that the champions of Ulster bathed him in three baths of cold water before his heat and travel-stains were passed away from him. And the water of the baths was heated fiery-hot by his plunge into it. But when he was washed, and arrayed in his hooded tunic and mantle of bright blue, fastened with its silver brooch, the little man’s fury had all gone from him; he blushed a beautiful ruddy hue all over, and with eyes sparkling, and his golden hair combed back, he came to take his place beside the King. And Conor was proud of the boy, and drew him between his knees and stroked his hair; and his place was ever beside the King after that.
Now a little boy that at the age of seven years—continued Fiacra, who told the tale—could kill a man, yea, two or three men, whom all the champions of Ulster feared, and who could do such deeds, it were not wonderful if, in your war with Ulster, O Queen Meave, he should prove a formidable foe.
And Meave said thoughtfully, “It were not wonderful indeed.”
Then the company broke up, preparing for the march upon the morrow. But that night Meave said to her spouse: “I think, O Ailill, that this young champion of Ulster is not of the make of mortal men, nor is he quite as other champions. And though our host is good and sufficient for ordinary war, to meet a foe like this, it seems to me that a great and mighty force is needed; for I am of opinion that the war on which we are now come will not be a battle of a night or a day, but that it will be a campaign of many days and weeks and months against that lad. Therefore, at this time, let us return home again, and when a year or two is out, I shall have gathered such a host that the gods themselves could not withstand it.” Thus Meave spoke boastfully, and Ailill was well content, for he liked not the war. So for that time, they all turned home again.
While Cuchulain was still a little lad, but strong and brave and full of spirit, it came into his mind that he would like to go out into the world to perfect himself in every kind of soldierly art, so that he might not be behind any warrior in feats of strength and skill. He went first to the Glen of Solitude in Munster, but he did not long remain there, but returned to Ulster, to invite his companions to go with him to visit the woman-warrior Scáth who dwelt in “Shadow-land.” Where the land was, Cuchulain knew not, but he thought it was in Alba, or mayhap in the Eastern world.
Three of the chiefs of Ulster consented to go with him, Conall, whom men in after days called The Victorious, because of his many combats, and Laery the Triumphant, and Conor, Ulster’s king. Conall was close friend to Cuchulain, and they had vowed to each other while yet they were but boys, that whichever of the two of them should first fall in battle or single combat, the other would avenge his death, whether he were at that time near at hand or far across the world in distant climes. And though Cuchulain was the younger, he it was who first fell, and Conall avenged his death in the Red Rout, as we shall hear. He was a great wanderer, and he was far away across the seas when Cuchulain fell, but for all that his promise held him, and his love for his friend, and amply and fully he avenged him on his foes.
Then these three friends set out together in Conall’s boat the “Bird-like,” which needed not to be guided or rowed, but which sped at its own will across the deep-green, strong-waved ocean, like the winging flight of a swift bird. It took its own way to strange lands, where none of those who travelled in the boat had ever been before, and they came at last to a dark gloomy shore where dwelt a fierce woman-warrior, Donnell the Soldierly, and her daughter, Big-fist.
Huge and ugly and gruesome were they both, with big grey eyes, and black faces and rough bright-red hair, and so cruel and vengeful were they that it was dangerous to quarrel with either of them. Yet they knew many feats of arms, so that the three warriors stayed with them a year and a day, learning all they knew. But Cuchulain was fain to go away from them, for the darkness and the gloom of the place and the ugly deeds of Big-fist troubled him, and he liked not at all to remain with her.
The year and the day being past, Cuchulain was walking by the brink of the sea revolving these things in his mind, when he saw close beside him, sitting on the shore, a man of enormous size, every inch of him from top to toe as black as coal. “What are you doing here?” said the big black man to Cuchulain. “I have been here a year and a day learning feats of prowess and heroism from Donnell,” said the little lad. “How so?” said the big black man. “If you want to learn true knightly skill and feats of valour, it is not here that you will learn them.” “Is that true?” said Cuchulain. “It is true, indeed,” said the big black man. “Is there any woman-champion in the world who is better than the woman-champion that is here?” said Cuchulain. “There is indeed,” said the big black man; “far better than she is Scáth, daughter of Ages, King of Shadow-land, who dwells in the Eastern world.” “We have heard of her before,” said Cuchulain. “I am sure you have,” said the big black man; “but great and distant is the region of Shadow-land, little man.” “Will you tell me all about it, and where it is, and how to find it?” said Cuchulain, eagerly. “Never will I tell you a word about it to the end of time,” said the black man surlily. “O hateful, withered spectre, now may knowledge and help fail you yourself, when most you stand in need of them,” cried the boy, and with that the phantom disappeared.
Cuchulain did not sleep a wink that night thinking of the great far-distant country of which the big black man had told him; and at break of day on the morrow he sprang from his bed and sought his companions, Conor and Conall and Laery. “Will you come with me to seek for Shadow-land?” he asked, when he had told them the tale of the big black man. “We will not come,” said they, “for last night a vision appeared to each of us, and we could not put it away from us. We saw before us our own homes, and the kingly courts of Emain Macha standing right before us in the way, and we heard the voices of our wives weeping for our absence, and the call of our clans and warriors for their chiefs; therefore to-day we bid you farewell, for we return together to our homes. But go you on to Shadow-land and perfect yourself in feats with Scáth, daughter of Ages, and then return to us.” It seemed to Cuchulain that it was the big black man who had raised this vision before the chiefs, that they might separate themselves from him, so that he might find his death travelling to Shadow-land alone. So he bid the chiefs farewell with a heavy heart, and they set off for Erin in Conall’s boat, the “Bird-like;” and as soon as it was out of sight, speeding over the waves of the blue, surging ocean, Cuchulain set out alone along the unknown road. For he was determined to reach Shadow-land, or to die in the attempt. He went on for many days over great mountains and through deep impenetrable forests, and dark, lonely glens, until he came to a wide-spreading desert and a lightless land. Black and scorched and bare was that desert, and there was no path or road across it, and no human habitation was in sight. Cuchulain stood wondering and fearing to adventure forth alone across that terrible stony trackless waste, for he knew not whither to turn, or how to go. Just then he saw a great beast like a lion coming out of the forest on the border of the desert, and advancing towards him, watching him all the time. Now Cuchulain was but a little lad, and he had no weapons with him, and he was afraid of the mighty beast and tried to escape from him; but whichever way he turned, the beast was there before him, and it seemed to Cuchulain that it was a friendly beast, for it made no attempt to injure him, but kept turning its side to Cuchulain, inviting him to mount. So Cuchulain plucked up his courage and took a leap and was on its back. He did not try to guide it, for of its own accord the lion made off across the plain, and for four days and nights they travelled thus through the dim, lightless land until Cuchulain thought they must have come to the uttermost bounds of men. But they saw a small loch and a boat on it, and boys rowing the boat backward and forward amongst the reeds of the shore, and the boys laughed at the sight of the hurtful beast doing service to a human being. Then Cuchulain jumped off the back of the lion and he bade it farewell and it departed from him.
The boys rowed him across the loch to a house where he got meat and drink, and a young man with a face bright like the sun conducted him on his way until he came to the Plain of Ill-luck, and there he left him. Difficult and toilsome was the journey across the Plain of Ill-luck; on one half of the plain the feet of the wayfarer would stick fast in the miry clay, so that he could not move on, but thought he would sink into the earth at every step; and on the other half of the plain the grass would rise up beneath his feet and lift him up far above the ground upon its blades, so that he seemed to be walking in the air.
No road or comfortable way ran across that plain, and Cuchulain could not have made his way across, but that the young man with the face like the sun had given him a wheel to roll before him, and told him to follow wherever the wheel led. So he rolled the wheel, and bright shining rays darted out of the wheel and lighted up all the land. The heat that came out of the wheel dried up the clay, so that it became hard and firm to walk upon, and it burned up the grass, so that it made a clear path before Cuchulain all the way. And the noisome evil airs of the plain were sucked up by the heat and sunshine of the wheel, so that Cuchulain went on gladly and cheerfully until he came to the Perilous Glen. Then Cuchulain was afraid again, for he saw before him a narrow glen between high rocky mountain fastnesses, and only one road through it, and that as narrow as a hair. And on either side of the road and among the rocks were cruel savage monsters waiting to devour him. But the youth with the shining face had given him an apple, and he rolled the apple before him as he went along, and when the monsters saw the apple, they ceased watching Cuchulain and sprang after the apple. But the apple ran on and on, so that they could not come up with it, and as it ran the narrow path grew wider, so that Cuchulain could follow it with ease. By that means he passed the Perilous Glen, and he took the road that led across the terrible high mountains, until he came to the Bridge of the Leaps. And on the other side of the bridge was the isle where Scáth or Shadow, daughter of Ages, lived.
Now this is how the Bridge of the Leaps was made. It was low at the two ends, but high in the middle, and it passed over a deep and precipitous gorge, up which came foaming the waters of the wild tempestuous ocean. And fearful strange beasts and fishes were moving about in the waters below, which made a man’s heart quail with fear to look upon, for it was certain that if he should fall, they would seize him in their jaws and devour him.
On the near side of the bridge were many youths playing hurley on the green, and Cuchulain saw amongst them champions from Ulster, Ferdia, son of Daman, and the sons of Naisi, and many others. They greeted him kindly and gladly, and they asked news of Ulster and of their friends and companions in Erin; and Cuchulain was glad to see the faces of his friends, for he was weary and fatigued after his journey and after the terrors of the way across the Plain of Ill-luck and the Perilous Glen. Then Cuchulain asked Ferdia, for he was older than he, “How shall I get across the Bridge of the Leaps, to reach the fort of Scáth?” “You cannot cross it,” said he; “for this is the manner of that bridge; when anyone steps on one end of the bridge the other end leaps up, and flings the passenger off again upon his back. Not one of us has crossed the bridge as yet, for there are two feats that Scáth teaches last of all, the leap of the Bridge, and the thrust of the spear that is called the Body Spear, which moves along the water. When we have achieved valour, she will teach us the leap of the Bridge, but the thrust of the Body Spear she will not teach to any man of us at all, for she reserves that feat for the champion who excels in all other feats, and who is, out of all her pupils, the one whom she likes best.”
“Tell me, O Ferdia, how Shadow herself crosses the bridge when she comes to teach you feats,” said Cuchulain. “Only by two leaps can that bridge be crossed,” they all reply; “that is, one leap into the very centre of the bridge, and one upon the firm ground beyond; but if the leap is missed, it is likely that the passer-by will fall into the gulf below, and woe to him if he should fall.” Then Cuchulain looked at the bridge and he looked at the foaming gorge below, and at the open-mouthed monsters in the tossing waves, and he waited awhile until his strength was returned. But as evening fell he rose, and gathering all his forces together, he leaped upon the bridge. Three times he tried to cross it, and three times it flung him again upon the bank, so that he fell upon his back; and the young men jeered at him, because he tried to cross the bridge without Scáth’s help. Then Cuchulain grew mad with anger, and he leaped at one bound upon the very centre and ridge of the bridge. Here he rested a moment, and then he leaped again, and he gained the firm ground on the further side, and he strode straight up to the fort of Shadow, and struck three thunderous knocks upon the door.
“Truly,” said Scáth, “this must be someone who has achieved valour somewhere else,” and she sent Uthach the Fearful, her daughter, to bring him in, and welcome him to the fort.
For a year and a day he remained with Scáth, and learned all that she could teach him, and he became the most renowned warrior of his time, or of any other time; and because Shadow loved his skill and his strength and comeliness, she taught him the feat of the Body Spear, which she had never taught to any before. And she gave the spear into his own keeping. When Ferdia saw the spear, he said, “O Scáth, teach me also this feat, for the day will come when I shall have need of it.” But she would not, for she wished to make Cuchulain invincible, and that he should have one feat that was not known to any but himself. And she gave him the Helmet of Invisibility, which Manannan mac Lir, the ocean god, brought out of Fairy-land; and the mantle of Invisibility made of the precious fleeces from the land of the Immortals, even from the Kingdom of Clear Shining; and she gave him his glorious shield, with knobs of gold, and chased all round with carvings of animals, and the combats of fighting men, and the sea-wars of the gods. And he became companion and arms-bearer to Ferdia, because he was the younger and because they loved each other, and all the time he was with Scáth they went together into every danger, and every peril, and they took journeys together, and saw strange sights. And because the twain loved each other, they swore that never in life would either hurt or wound the other, or do combat or quarrel with the other, but that for ever and for ever they twain would aid and support each other in war and in combat, and in all the pleasant loving ways of peace. But Scáth knew that other days were coming, for she was a seer, and when Cuchulain bade her farewell, to return to Ireland, she spoke to him these words out of her prophet’s shining ken: “Blessing and health go with thee! Victorious Hero, Champion of the Kine of Bray! Chariot Chief of the two-horsed chariot! Beloved Hero of the gods! Perils await thee; alone before the foe I see thee stand, fighting against a multitude, fighting thy own companion and friend. Red from many conflicts are thy warrior weapons; by thee men and champions will fall; the warriors of Connaught and of Meave, the hosts of Ailill and of Fergus scatter before thy sword. The Hound of Ulster will be renowned. At his death will the glory of Ulster fail, the glory of Erin will depart from her.... Farewell, farewell, Cuchulain.”
Then Cuchulain parted from her, and turned to go back to Erin, and a magic mist overtook him so that he knew not how he went, or by what road he came to the borders of the white-flecked, green-waved ocean, but he found Manannan’s horses of the white sea-foam awaiting him near the shore upon the surface of the mighty main, and he caught their tossing white-tipped manes and they bore him out across the waves, and so he came to Ireland again. It was on the night of his return that he found and caught his two chariot horses, the Grey of Macha, and the Black Steed of the Glen, and this is how he caught them. He was passing along the borders of the Grey Lake that is near the Mountain of Slieve Fuad, pondering on the fate that was before him, and the work that he would do. Slowly he walked along the reedy, marshy ground that lay along the lake, till he saw a mist rise slowly from the mere and cover all the plain. Then, as he stood to watch, he saw the form of a mighty steed, grey and weird and phantom-like, rise slowly from the centre of the lake, and draw near to the shore, until it stood with its back to him among the rushes of the water’s edge. Softly Cuchulain crept down behind the steed; but it seemed not to hear him come, for it was looking out towards the centre of the lake. Then with a sudden leap, Cuchulain was on its neck, his two arms clasped upon its mane. When it felt the rider on its back, the noble animal shuddered from head to foot, and started back and tried to throw Cuchulain, but with all his might he clung and would not be thrown. Then began a struggle of champions between those two heroes, the King of the Heroes of Erin and the King of Erin’s Steeds. All night they wrestled, and the prancing of the steed was heard at Emain Macha, so that the warriors said it thundered, and that a great storm of wind had arisen without. But when it could by no means throw Cuchulain from its back, the horse began to career and course round the island, and that night they fled with the swiftness of the wind three times round all the provinces of Ireland. With a bound the wild steed leaped the mountains, and the sound of its coursing over the plains was as the break of the tempestuous surf upon the shore. Once only did they halt in their career, and that was in the wild and lonely glen in Donegal that is called the Black Glen, where the ocean waves roll inward to the land. From out the waters arose another steed, as black as night, and it whinneyed to the Grey of Macha, so that the Grey of Macha stopped, and the Black Steed of the Glen came up beside it, and trotted by its side. Then the fury of the Grey of Macha ceased, and Cuchulain could feel beneath his hand that the two horses were obedient to his will. And he brought them home to Emain and harnessed them to his chariot, and all the men of Ulster marvelled at the splendour of those steeds, which were like night and day, the dark steed and the light, and one of them they called the Grey of Macha, because Macha was the goddess of war and combat, and the other they called the Black Steed of the Glen.
It was on a day of the days of summer that Emer, daughter of Forgall the Wily, sat on a bench before her father’s door, at his fort that is called Lusk to-day, but which in olden days men spoke of as the Gardens of the Sun-god Lugh, so sunny and so fair and fertile was that plain, with waving meadow-grass and buttercups, and the sweet may-blossom girdling the fields. Close all about the fort the gardens lay, with apple-trees shedding their pink and white upon the playing fields of brilliant green; and all the air was noisy with the buzz of bees, and with the happy piping of the thrush and soft low cooing of the doves. And Emer sat, a fair and noble maid, among her young companions, foster-sisters of her own, who came from all the farms and forts around to grow up with the daughters of the house, and learn from them high-bred and gentle ways, to fashion rich embroideries such as Irish women used to practise as an art, and weaving, and fine needlework, and all the ways of managing a house. And as they sat round Emer, a bright comely group of busy girls, they sang in undertones the crooning tender melodies of ancient Erin; or one would tell a tale of early wars, and warrior feasts or happenings of the gods, and one would tell a tale of lover’s joys or of the sorrows of a blighted love, and they would sigh and laugh and dream that they too loved, were wooed, and lost their loves.
And Emer moved about among the girls, directing them; and of all maids in Erin, Emer was the best, for hers were the six gifts of womanhood, the gift of loveliness, the gift of song, the gift of sweet and pleasant speech, the gift of handiwork, the gifts of wisdom and of modesty. And in his distant home in Ulster, Cuchulain heard of her. For he was young and brave, and women loved him for his nobleness, and all men wished that he should take a wife. But for awhile he would not, for among the women whom he saw, not one of them came up to his desires. And when they urged him, wilfully he said: “Well, find for me a woman I could love, and I will marry her.” Then sent the King his heralds out through every part of Ulster and the south to seek a wife whom Cuchulain would care to woo. But still he said the same, “This one, and this, has some bad temper or some want of grace, or she is vain or she is weak, not fitted as a mate to such as I. She must be brave, for she must suffer much; she must be gentle, lest I anger her; she must be fair and noble, not alone to give me pleasure as her spouse, but that all men may think of her with pride, saying, ‘As Cuchulain is the first of Ulster’s braves, the hero of her many fighting-fields, so is his wife the noblest and the first of Erin’s women, a worthy mate for him.’”
So when the princely messengers returned, their search was vain; among the daughters of the chiefs and noble lords not one was found whom Cuchulain cared to woo. But one who loved him told him of a night he spent in Forgall’s fort, and of the loveliness and noble spirit of Forgall’s second girl Emer, the maiden of the waving hair, but just grown up to womanhood. He told him of her noble mien and stately step, the soft and liquid brightness of her eyes, the colour of her hair, that like to ruddy gold fresh from the burnishing, was rolled around her head. Her graceful form he praised, her skilfulness in song and handiwork, her courage with her father, a harsh and wily man, whom all within the house hated and feared but she. He told him also that for any man to win the maiden for his wife would be a troublesome and dangerous thing, for out of all the world, her father Forgall loved and prized but her, and he had made it known that none beneath a king or ruling prince should marry her, and any man who dared to win her love, but such as these, should meet a cruel death; and this he laid upon his sons and made them swear to him upon their swords, that any who should come to woo the girl should never leave the fort alive again.
All that they said but made Cuchulain yet the more desire to see the maid and talk with her. “This girl, so brave, so wise, so fair of face and form,” he pondered with himself, “would be a fitting mate for any chief. I think she is the fitting mate for me.”
So on the very day when Emer sat upon her playing-fields, Cuchulain in the early morn set forth in all his festal garb in his chariot with his prancing steeds, with Laeg before him as his charioteer, and took the shortest route towards the plain of Bray, where lie the Gardens of the Sun-god Lugh. The way they went from Emain lay between the Mountains of the Wood, and thence along the High-road of the Plain, where once the sea had passed; across the marsh that bore the name the Whisper of the Secret of the Gods. Then driving on towards the River Boyne they passed the Ridge of the Great Sow, where not far off is seen the fairy haunt of Angus, God of Beauty and of Youth; and so they reached the ford of Washing of the Horses of the Gods, and the fair, flowering plains of Lugh, called Lusk to-day.
Now all the girls were busied with their work, when on the high-road leading to the fort they heard a sound like thunder from the north, that made them pause and listen in surprise.
Nearer and nearer yet it came as though at furious pace a band of warriors bore down towards the house. “Let one of you see from the ramparts of the fort,” said Emer, “what is the sound that we hear coming towards us.” Fiall, her sister, Forgall’s eldest girl, ran to the top of the rath or earthen mound that circled round the playing-fields, and looked out towards the north, shading her eyes against the brilliant sun. “What do you see there?” asked they all, and eagerly she cried: “I see a splendid chariot-chief coming at furious pace along the road. Two steeds, like day and night, of equal size and beauty, come thundering beneath that chariot on the plain. Curling their manes and long, and as they come, one would think fire darted from their curbed jaws, so strain and bound they forward; high in the air the turf beneath their feet is thrown around them, as though a flock of birds were following as they go. On the right side the horse is grey, broad in the haunches, active, swift and wild; with head erect and breast expanded, madly he moves along the plain, bounding and prancing as he goes. The other horse jet-black, head firmly knit, feet broad-hoofed, firm, and slender; in all this land never had chariot-chief such steeds as these.”
“Heed not the steeds,” the girls replied, “tell us, for this concerns us most, who is the chariot-chief who rides within?”
“Worthy of the chariot in which he rides is he who sits within. Youthful he seems, as standing on the very borders of a noble manhood, and yet I think his face and form are older than his years. Gravely he looks, as though his mind revolved some serious thought, and yet a radiance as of the summer’s day enfolds him round. About his shoulders a rich five-folded mantle hangs, caught by a brooch across the chest sparkling with precious gems, above his white and gold-embroidered shirt. His massive sword rests on his thigh, and yet I think he comes not here to fight. Before him stands his charioteer, the reins held firmly in his hand, urging the horses onward with a goad.”
“What like is he, the charioteer?” demand the girls again.
“A ruddy man and freckled,” answered Fiall; “his hair is very curly and bright-red, held by a bronze fillet across his brow, and caught at either side his head in little cups of gold, to keep the locks from falling on his face. A light cloak on his shoulders, made with open sleeves, flies back in the wind, as rapidly they course along the plain.” But Emer heard not what the maiden said, for to her mind there came the memory of a wondrous youth whom Ulster loved and yet of whom all Erin stood in awe. Great warriors spoke of him in whispers and with shaking of the head. They told how when he was a little child, he fought with full-grown warriors and mastered them; of a huge hound that he had slain and many feats of courage he had done. Into her mind there came a memory, that she had heard of prophets who foretold for him a strange and perilous career; a life of danger, and an early death. Full many a time she longed to see this youth, foredoomed to peril, yet whose praise should ring from age to age through Erin; and in her mind, when all alone she pondered on these things, she still would end: “This were a worthy mate! This were a man to win a woman’s love!” And half aloud she uttered the old words: “This were a man to win a woman’s love!”
Now hardly had the words sprung to her lips, when the chariot stood before the door, close to the place where all the girls were gathered. And when she saw him Emer knew it was the man of whom she dreamed. He wished a blessing to them, and her lovely face she lifted in reply. “May God make smooth the path before thy feet,” she gently said. “And thou, mayest thou be safe from every harm,” was his reply. “Whence comest thou?” she asked; for he had alighted from his seat and stood beside her, gazing on her face. “From Conor’s court we come,” he answered then; “from Emain, kingliest of Ulster’s forts, and this the way we took. We drove between the Mountains of the Wood, along the High-road of the Plain, where once the sea had been; across the Marsh they call the Secret of the Gods, and to the Boyne’s ford named of old the Washing of the Horses of the Gods. And now at last, O maiden, we have come to the bright flowery Garden-grounds of Lugh. This is the story of myself, O maid; let me now hear of thee.” Then Emer said: “Daughter am I to Forgall, whom men call the Wily Chief. Cunning his mind and strange his powers; for he is stronger than any labouring man, more learned than any Druid, more sharp and clever than any man of verse. Men say that thou art skilled in feats of war, but it will be more than all thy games to fight against Forgall himself; therefore be cautious what thou doest, for men cannot number the multitude of his warlike deeds nor the cunning and craft with which he works. He has given me as a bodyguard twenty valiant men, their captain Con, son of Forgall, and my brother; therefore I am well protected, and no man can come near me, but that Forgall knows of it. To-day he is gone from home on a warrior expedition, and those men are gone with him; else, had he been within, I trow he would have asked thee of thy business here.”
“Why, O maiden, dost thou talk thus to me? Dost thou not reckon me among the strong men, who know not fear?” “If thy deeds were known to me,” she said, “I then might reckon them; but hitherto I have not heard of all thy exploits.” “Truly, I swear, O maiden,” said Cuchulain, “that I will make my deeds to be recounted among the glories of the warrior-feats of heroes.” “How do men reckon thee?” she said again. “What then is thy strength?” “This is my strength,” he said. “When my might in fight is weakest, I can defend myself alone against twenty. I fear not by my own might to fight with forty. Under my protection a hundred are secure. From dread of me, strong warriors avoid my path, and come not against me in the battle-field. Hosts and multitudes and armed men fly before my name.”
“Thou seemest to boast,” said Emer, “and truly for a tender boy those feats are very good; but they rank not with the deeds of chariot-chiefs. Who then were they who brought thee up in these deeds of which thou boastest?”
“Truly, O maiden, King Conor is himself my foster-father, and not as a churl or common man was I brought up by him. Among chariot-chiefs and champions, among poets and learned men, among the lords and nobles of Ulster, have I been reared, and they have taught me courage and skill and manly gifts. In birth and bravery I am a match for any chariot-chief; I direct the counsels of Ulster, and at my own fort at Dun Dalgan they come to me for entertainment. Not as one of the common herd do I stand before thee here to-day, but as the favourite of the King and the darling of all the warriors of Ulster. Moreover, the god Lugh the Long-handed is my protector, for I am of the race of the great gods, and his especial foster-child. And now, O maiden, tell me of thyself; how in the sunny plains of Lugh hast thou been reared within thy father’s fort?” “That I will tell thee,” said the girl. “I was brought up in noble behaviour as every queen is reared; in stateliness of form, in wise, calm speech, in comeliness of manner, so that to me is imputed every noble grace among the hosts of the women of Erin.”
“Good, indeed, are those virtues,” said the youth; “and yet I see one excellence thou hast not noted in thy speech. Never before, until this day, among all women with whom I have at times conversed, have I found one but thee to speak the mystic ancient language of the bards, which we are talking now for secrecy one with the other. And all these things are good, but one is best of all, and that is, that I love thee, and I think thou lovest me. What hinders, then, that we should be betrothed?” But Emer would not hasten, but teasing him, she said, “Perhaps thou hast already found a wife?” “Not so,” said he, “and by my right-hand’s valour here I vow, none but thyself shall ever be my wife.” “A pity it were, indeed, thou shouldst not have a wife,” said Emer, playing with him still; “see, here is Fiall, my elder sister, a clever girl and excellent in needlework. Make her thy wife, for well is it known to thee, a younger sister in Ireland may not marry before an elder. Take her! I’ll call her hither.” Then Cuchulain was vexed because she seemed to play with him. “Verily and indeed,” he said, “not Fiall, but thee, it is with whom I am in love; and if thou weddest me not, never will I, Cuchulain, wed at all.”
Then Emer saw that Cuchulain loved her, but she was not satisfied, because he had not yet done the deeds of prime heroes, and she desired that he should prove himself by champion feats and deeds of valour before he won her as his bride.
So she bade him go away and prove himself for a year by deeds of prowess to be indeed a worthy mate and spouse for her, and then, if he would come again she would go with him as his one and only wife. But she bade him beware of her father, for she knew that he would try to kill him, in order that he might not come again. And this was true, for every way he sought to kill Cuchulain, or to have him killed by his enemies, but he did not prevail.
When Cuchulain had taken farewell of Emer and gained her promise, he returned to Emain Macha. And that night the maidens of the fort told Forgall that Cuchulain had been there and that they thought that he had come to woo Emer; but of this they were not sure, because he and Emer had talked together in the poet’s mystic tongue, that was not known to them. For Emer and Cuchulain talked on this wise, that no one might repeat what they had said to Forgall.
And for a whole year Cuchulain was away, and Forgall guarded the fort so well that he could not come near Emer to speak with her; but at last, when the year was out, he would wait no longer, and he wrote a message to Emer on a piece of stick, telling her to be ready. And he came in his war-chariot, with scythes upon its wheels, and he brought a band of hardy men with him, who entered the outer rampart of the fort and carried off Emer, striking down men on every side. And Forgall followed them to the earthen out-works, but he fell over the rath, and was taken up lifeless. And Cuchulain placed Emer and her foster-sister in his chariot, carrying with them their garments and ornaments of gold and silver, and they drove northward to Cuchulain’s fort at Dun Dalgan, which is Dundalk to-day.
And they were pursued to the Boyne, and there Cuchulain placed Emer in a house of safety, and he turned and drove off his enemies who followed him, pursuing them along the banks and destroying them, so that the place, which had before been called the White Field, was called the Turf of Blood from that day. Then he and Emer reached their home in safety, nor were they henceforth parted until death.
For many years Meave had been making preparations for her war with Ulster. To the East and South and West she had sent her messengers, stirring up the chiefs and calling them to aid her in her attack on Conor’s land. From every quarter she asked for supplies of men and food, and if these were refused, she sent her fighting-bands into the district to waste and destroy it, and to carry off the cattle and produce by force. All the princes of Ireland stood in awe of Meave, so ruthless and proud was she, and so quick in her descent upon the lands of those who would not do her will. For had they not regarded her request, all Ireland would have been set in flames; for she would plunder and destroy without pity or remorse. So in their own defence, the princes of the provinces promised her fighting-men and provender whenever she should call upon them, and month by month she gathered round her fort at Cruachan herds of cattle and swine and sheep, ready for the war.
Now Meave was looking about for a cause of contest between herself and Ulster; for she knew that Cuchulain was yet young, and she desired to begin the war before he came to his full strength; moreover, she had heard that upon Ulster at that time there lay a heavy sickness, which had prostrated its fighting-men and warriors, its princes and captains, and that even Conor, the King, himself lay ill.
No common sickness was that which lay upon the Province, but it came of the wrath and vengeance of the gods. For in the days gone by the goddess Macha, one of the three fierce goddesses of war and battles, had visited Ulster as a mortal maid, to bring aid and comfort to one of the nobles of Ulster who was in sore distress. And the King and people had reviled her, and brought shame and scoffing upon her, because they saw that she was not as one of themselves; for they liked not that a woman greater than themselves should take up her abode amongst them. They made game of her in the public assembly, crowding round her, and scoffing at her courage and her splendid form and at her swiftness of running beyond any of the men. For they knew not that she was one of the great gods, and they were jealous of her, because they felt that she was nobler than they. Then Macha cursed the men of Ulster, and told them that in a time of danger and sore need, when all the chiefs and warriors of Ireland should gather round its borders, plundering and destroying, she would cast upon their warriors weakness and feebleness of body and of mind, so that they could not go forth in defence of the Province, and the land should be a prey to their enemies. Only upon Cuchulain she laid not her curse, for he was young, and it fell not upon women and little children, but upon full-grown warriors only, because it was the men of Ulster who had insulted her. Then she went away from them, and in dread of her they called the palace of the King Emain Macha, or the “Brooch-pin of Macha,” to this day.[2]
When then Macha saw Meave gathering her hosts together to war against Ulster, she brought upon them this sickness, as she had prophesied. And Meave, hearing of this, hastened her preparations for the war, for she was determined that, come what might, she would march into Ulster at that time and smite it in its weakness, so that once and for ever Ulster would be subdued to Connaught by her hand. And her pride waxed greater at the thought.