Early Irish Myths and Sagas (11 page)

‘I saw an apartment with one man in it,’ said Ingcél. ‘His hair was rough and bristling – if a sackful of apples were emptied over it, each apple would catch on his hair, and none would fall to the ground. He wore a very fleecy cloak. Every quarrel that arose over seat or couch was submitted to his judgement; and when he spoke, a needle falling in the house could be heard. A great, dark staff overhead, like a mill wheel with its paddles and its fastener and its spike. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’

‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘Taidle Ulad that one, the steward of Conare’s household. It is necessary to listen to his judgements, for he has power over seat and couch and food. It is his household staff that is overhead. That man will fall by you. I swear by what my people swear by, his dead will outnumber the living at the destruction; three times his number will fall, and he will fall himself.’ ‘Woe to him who carries out this destruction, if only because of that one man,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you.’ ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.

‘I saw an apartment with three men in it, three ill-favoured, close-cropped men, and the largest of them was in the centre,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clamorous, sweated, hard-bodied, fierce, dealing mighty blows that can slay nine hundred in battle. He had a dun-coloured wooden shield with a hard serrated edge of iron, and on its front there was room for four bands of ten weaklings each. The boss was very strong; it was as deep as a yawning cauldron that could hold four oxen placed over four pigs of medium age. Alongside him two five-benched boats, each large enough to hold three
parties of ten men. A glittering red spear he had, fitted to his grip and resting on a powerful shaft; it extended from the floor to the ceiling. Its iron point was dark and dripping; a full four feet between any two of its points. A full thirty feet from the dark point of his death-dealing sword to its iron hilt, and it emitted fiery sparks that lit up the house’s mead circuit from floor to roof. A powerful form I saw – after looking at those three, I nearly died from fright. There is nothing stranger. Two cropped heads next to the one with hair; two lakes next to a mountain, two surfaces of blue sea; two hides next to an oak; two small boats full of thorns floating upon a wheel cover. And there seemed to be a slender stream of water upon which the sun was shining, with a trickle down from it, and a hide rolled up behind it, and the pillar of a royal house in the shape of a great lance overhead. A great load for any team of oxen that shaft. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’

‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘Mace Cécht son of Snade Teched that one, the champion of Conare son of Eterscélae. A good warrior Mace Cécht. Asleep he was, prostrate in his apartment, when you saw him. The two cropped heads next to the one with hair that you saw, those were his two knees drawn up next to his head. The two lakes next to the mountain that you saw, those were his two eyes next to his nose. The two hides about the oak that you saw, those were his two ears about his head. The two small boats upon the wheel cover that you saw, those were his shoes upon his shield. The slender stream of water upon which the sun shone, and the trickle down from it, that was the flickering of his sword. The hide that you saw rolled up behind it, that was the scabbard for his sword. The pillar of the royal house that you saw, that was his lance; when he brandishes it, the two ends meet, and he casts it whenever he pleases. The two surfaces of blue sea that you
saw, those were his eyebrows, matched exactly on his handsome, ruddy countenance. A good warrior Mace Céchtl Six hundred will fall by him at the first onslaught, and a man for each weapon, and a man for himself, and he will match the performance of any man in the hostel; he will boast of victories over kings and royal heirs and plundering chieftains, and, though wounded, he will escape afterwards. When he encounters you in the hostel, as numerous as hailstones or blades of grass or stars in the sky will be your cloven heads and cloven skulls and heaps of entrails that he crushes after he has scattered you about the ridges.’

The raiders retreated over three ridges, then, trembling and in fear of Mace Cécht; and Gér, Gabur and Fer Rogain reaffirmed their pledges. ‘Woe to him who carries out this destruction, if only because of this one man,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘Your heads will leave your bodies.’ ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you.’ ‘Indeed, Ingcél, the destruction is yours by right,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘You will suffer no loss. It will be more difficult for me, however.’ ‘No lie that,’ said Ingcél. ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.

‘I saw an apartment with three callow youths in it,’ said Ingcél. ‘They wore silken mantles with gilded brooches; they had manes of yellow gold hair, and when they engage in combat, their manes extend to the front of the apartment. Moreover, when they raise their eyes, their hair rises until no part of it is below the lobes of their ears. As fleecy as a ram their cloaks. Five concentric circles of gold and the candle of a royal house above each youth, and there is not a man in the house who can match them for voice and words and deeds. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’

Fer Rogain wept, so that his cloak was wet about his face, and for a third of the night not a word was to be had from him. ‘Little people,’ he said, ‘what I do is proper. Oball and
Obléne and Coirpre Músc those three youths, the three sons of the king of Ériu.’ ‘Woe to us if that is the case,’ said the sons of Dond Désa. ‘Good the trio in that apartment. They have the bearing of young girls, the hearts of friars, the courage of bears and the ferocity of lions. Anyone who is in their company and in their bed will neither sleep nor eat in comfort for nine days after escaping from them. Good are the warriors of their people. Three tens will fall by them at the first onslaught, and a man for each weapon, and a man for each of them, and they will match the performance of anyone in the hostel; they will boast of victories over kings and royal heirs and plundering chieftains, and, though wounded, they will escape afterwards, and two of you will fall by them.’ ‘Woe to him who carries out this destruction, if only because of those three,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you.’ ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.

‘I saw an apartment with three men in it,’ said Ingcél, ‘three strange, horrible men with three heads each. Three fearsome Fomóri, without the form of human beings. The raging sea has given them features that are not easy to recognize: each head has three full rows of teeth, from ear to ear. Noble stewards of households each, and each with one hundred exploits. Their swords hew through the host about Borg Buredach in the assembly at Da Derga’s hostel. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’

‘Difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘I know no trio in Ériu or anywhere else like that, unless they are the trio whom Mace Cécht brought single-handedly out of the land of the Fomóri. There could not be found among the Fomóri even one man to face him, so he took the trio to Conare’s house as a guarantee that the Fomóri would not spoil milk or grain in Ériu beyond their lawful allowance, and that so long as Conare reigned. They are not pleasant to look at, indeed,
with their three rows of teeth from one ear to the other. An ox with a salted pig would be a typical meal for each of them, and that meal, when eaten, would be visible down to their navels. Bones without joints the three have. I swear by the god my people swear by, when they destroy, the dead outnumber the living. Six hundred warriors will fall by them at the first onslaught, and each of them will kill with no more than a bite or a kick or a blow, for they are hostages placed against the wall lest they do any misdeed, and therefore they are not allowed to have weapons in the hostel. I swear by the god my people swear by, if they had weapons now, they would kill two thirds of us.’ ‘Woe to him who carries out this destruction, for it will not be a contest against the weak,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you.’ ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.

‘I saw an apartment with three men in it,’ said Ingcél, ‘three huge, dark men. They wore dark garments and heavy ankle bracelets, and each of their limbs was as thick as a man’s waist. Their heads were broad and covered with dark, curly hair, and they wore cloaks of speckled red. Dark shields they had, with curved animal clasps of gold, and five-pointed javelins and ivory-hilted swords. This is the trick they would perform with their swords: they would throw the swords up in the air, and the scabbards after, and the swords would return to the scabbards before the scabbards could strike the ground. Then they would throw the scabbards up in the air, and the swords after, and the scabbards would envelop the swords before the swords could strike the ground. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’

‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘Mál son of Telband and Muinremur son of Gerrgend and Birrderg son of Rúad they, three royal heirs, three valorous heroes, the three best men to stand behind weapons in Ériu. One hundred warriors
will fall by them at the first onslaught, and a man for each weapon, and a man for each of them, and they will match the performance of any trio in the hostel; they will boast of victories over kings and royal heirs and plundering chieftains, and, though wounded, they will escape afterwards. On their account alone, the destruction of the hostel should not be carried out.’ ‘Woe to him who carries out this destruction,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘Better a victory won by protecting them than a victory of wounding. Who spares them may survive; who wounds them, woe to him.’ ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you.’ ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.

‘I saw a man in an ornamented apartment,’ said Ingcél, ‘and he is the handsomest of the heroes of Ériu. He had a fleecy crimson cloak about him. As bright as snow one cheek, as speckled red as foxglove the other; as blue as hyacinth one eye, as black as a beetle’s back the other. His fair, yellow hair would fill a reaping basket, and it was as fleecy as the wool of a ram. If a sackful of red nuts were emptied over his hand, not a single nut would reach the ground. In his hands, a gold-hilted sword, a blood-red shield studded with rivets of white gold and gold plates, and a long, three-ridged spear with a shaft the thickness of an outer yoke. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’

‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain, ‘for the men of Ériu know that child. He is Conall Cernach son of Amorgen, and just now he has fallen in with Conare, for Conare loves him above all others, and that because the two are so similar in shape and form. A good warrior Conall Cernach. The blood-red shield on his back is so studded with rivets of white gold that it is speckled, and thus the Ulaid have named it the Bricriu of Conall Cernach. I swear by what my people swear by, many a drop of red blood will splatter that shield tonight at the entrance to the hostel. There are seven entrances to
the house, and Conall Cernach will meet us at each one, and he will not be absent from any; and his ridged spear will serve the drink of death to many. Three hundred will fall by him at the first onslaught, and a man for each weapon, and a man for himself, and he will match the performance of any man in the hostel; he will boast of victories over kings and royal heirs and plundering chieftains, and, though wounded, he will escape afterwards. When he encounters you in the hostel, as numerous as hailstones or blades of grass or stars in the sky will be your cloven heads and cloven skulls and heaps of entrails that he crushes after he has scattered you about the ridges.’ ‘Woe to him who carries out this destruction,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you.’ ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.

‘I saw an apartment, the most beautifully decorated one in the house, with hangings and ornaments of silver, and three men in it,’ said Ingcél. ‘The men on either Side were fair with their flaxen hair and their cloaks; they were as white as snow, and their cheeks blushed pleasingly. Between them a callow youth with the ardour and deeds of a lord and the advice of a seer. The cloak he wore was like mist on the first day of summer: its colour and appearance changed from moment to moment, and each colour was lovelier than the one before. Moreover, there was a wheel of gold over the front of the cloak, and it reached from his chin to his navel. His hair was the colour of refined gold. Of all the forms I have seen in the world, his is the most beautiful. At his Side, there was a gold-hilted sword; a hand’s length of it was visible, and the light reflected from that part of the sword would enable a man out in front of the house to discern a fleshworm. Sweeter the music of that sword than the sweet sound of the golden pipes that drone in the royal house.

‘This is what I said upon seeing him,’ Ingcél continued. ‘ “I see a lofty, noble reign, and a noisy flowering that blooms with an abundant spring tide. A furious ardour of fair forms is assembled. I see a noble, restrained king who rules by right and by consent, from partition to wall. I see the diadem of a fair prince, proper to the dignity of a ruling lord. A gleam of light his lordly countenance. I see his two shining cheeks, as white and glistening and noble-hued as snow. His two eyes are blue grey and brighter than hyacinth. Firm his brow between a hedge of black eyelashes. I see a crown encircling his head, the colour of beautiful gold over his yellow, curly hair. I see his cloak red, multihued, of excellent braided silk. I see a huge brooch, ornamented with gold, that shines with the vigour of the full moon. I see a circle of crimson gems in a bowl-like cluster. Beautiful his head between his straight, bright shoulders. I see a tunic of splendid linen, silken its sheen, refracted and many-coloured its hue. A grazing for the eyes of a multitude this man. He maintains justice among his people. He delivers from the enemy braided silk ornamented with gold from ankle to knee. I see his sword, its hilt ornamented with gold, in its scabbard of white silver; the latter, with its five concentric circles, retains its excellence. I see his bright, lime-whitened shield overhead; it scorns throngs of enemies. His spear of sparkling gold would illumine a feast, and its shaft is of ornamented gold. His right hand that wards off is the hand of a king. He raises his spear firmly, as a king would, twisting its stiffness. Three hundred perfect men about this generous king. He overtakes like the scald-crow in battle, in the sorrowful hostel.”