Early Irish Myths and Sagas (20 page)

‘The Wasting Sickness of Cú Chulaind & The Only Jealousy of Emer’ is one of the more remarkable Irish tales: part myth, part history, part soap opera. Even the text is unusual, for it is a conflation of two different versions. After the first quarter of the tale, there appears an interpolation (omitted in this translation) detailing Cú Chulaind’s advice to Lugaid Réoderg after the latter has been made king of Temuir; when the story proper resumes, Cú Chulaind is married to Emer instead of to Eithne Ingubai, and Lóeg is making a second trip to the otherworld with Lí Ban. The two versions have not been well integrated, and much evidence of confusion and duplication remains; but it is hard to say which tradition is older. Throughout the rest of the Ulster Cycle Cú Chulaind’s wife is named Emer, just as Conchubur’s is named Mugain and not Eithne Attencháithrech.

The story opens on a historical note, with a description of how the Ulaid celebrated Samuin, the annual end-of-the-year assembly; but the arrival of beautiful, red-gold-chained, otherworld birds on the lake at Mag Muirthemni and the appearance of the two women, one in green and one in crimson, who beat Cú Chulaind with horsewhips testify to the story’s mythic origin. The central idea is also that of the first section of the Welsh ‘Pwyll Lord of Dyved’: the shadowy
rulers of the otherworld have need of mortal strength; the pursuit of the hero by the otherworld beauty, moreover, is common to the second section of ‘Pwyll’. Much of the tale is related in verse, and, while the poetry is neither particularly old nor particularly dense, it is clear and brilliant and affecting:

At the doorway to the east,
three trees of brilliant crystal,
whence a gentle flock of birds calls
to the children of the royal fort.

Near the end of the tale, the tone shifts towards the psychological – an unusual circumstance in these stories – as Fand and Emer fight over Cú Chulaind; the writing, which seems very literary at this point, is emotional but never sentimental. Even the poetry assumes a gnomic quality: Emer complains that ‘what’s new is bright… what’s familiar is stale’, while Fand merely points out that ‘every rule is good until broken’. Although Fand ultimately yields – after Cú Chulaind has been moved by Emer’s plea – she admits that she still prefers Cú Chulaind to her own husband; Cú Chulaind, seeing her leave, wanders madly into the mountains of Ulaid, and it requires the spells of Conchubur’s druids and Manandán’s magic cloak to make him forget.

The story is the original source for Yeats’s play
The Only Jealousy of Emer
.

Each year the Ulaid held an assembly: the three days before Samuin and the three days after Samuin and Samuin itself. They would gather at Mag Muirthemni, and during these seven days there would be nothing but meetings and games and amusements and entertainments and eating and feasting. That is why the thirds of Samuin are as they are today.

Thus, the Ulaid were assembled at Mag Muirthemni. Now the reason they met every Samuin was to give each warrior an opportunity to boast of his valour and exhibit his triumphs. The warriors put the tongues of those they had killed into their pouches – some threw in cattle tongues to augment the count – and then, at the assembly, each man spoke in turn and boasted of his triumphs. They spoke with their swords on their thighs, swords that turned against anyone who swore falsely.

Now there had come to this particular assembly every man but two: Conall Cernach and Fergus son of Roech. ‘Let the assembly be convened,’ said the Ulaid. Cú Chulaind, however, protested, saying ‘Not until Conall and Fergus come’, for Conall was his foster-brother and Fergus his foster-father. So Senchae said ‘Let us play fidchell and have the poets recite and the acrobats perform.’

While they were at these amusements, a flock of birds settled on the lake, and no flock in Ériu was more beautiful. The women grew very excited over these birds and began to
argue over who should have them. Eithne Attencháithrech, Conchubur’s wife, said, ‘I desire a bird for each shoulder’, but the other women replied ‘We all want that too.’ ‘If anyone is to have them, I should,’ said Eithne Ingubai, the wife of Cú Chulaind. ‘What will we do?’ asked the women. ‘Not difficult,’ said Lebarcham, the daughter of Óa and Adarc. ‘I will go and ask Cú Chulaind.’

She went to Cú Chulaind, then, and said ‘The women desire those birds from you.’ But he seized his sword to ply against her, saying ‘Have the sluts of Ulaid nothing better for us than to hunt their birds?’ ‘Indeed, you ought not to be angry with them,’ answered Lebarcham, ‘for you are the cause of their third blemish.’ The women of Ulaid suffered three blemishes: every woman who loved Conall had a crooked neck; every woman who loved Cúscraid Mend Machae son of Conchubur stammered; and every woman who loved Cú Chulaind blinded one eye in his likeness. It was Cú Chulaind’s gift, when he was angry, that he could withdraw one eye so far into his head that a heron could not reach it, whereas the other eye he could protrude until it was as large as a cauldron for a yearling calf.

‘Yoke the chariot for us, Lóeg,’ said Cú Chulaind. Lóeg did that, and Cú Chulaind sprang into the chariot, and he dealt the birds such a stunning blow with his sword that claws and wings floated on the water. Then he returned with the birds and distributed them so that each woman had a pair – each woman save Eithne Ingubai. When he came to his wife, he said ‘Angry you are.’ ‘I am not,’ she replied, ‘for it is by me that the birds were distributed. You did right, for every one of those women loves you or gives you a share of her love, but I share my love with you alone.’ ‘Then do not be angry,’ said Cú Chulaind. ‘When birds come to Mag Muirthemni or the Bóand, you will have the most beautiful pair.’

Not long afterwards, they saw flying over the lake two birds coupled by a red-gold chain; these birds sang a little, and sleep fell upon the host. Cú Chulaind rose to go after them, but Eithne said ‘If you listen to me, you will not go, for those birds possess some kind of power. Other birds can be caught for me.’ ‘Am I likely to be denied?’ answered Cú Chulaind. ‘Lóeg, put a stone in my sling.’ Lóeg did so and Cú Chulaind cast at the birds, but he missed. ‘Alas!’ he said. He cast a second stone and missed with that also. ‘Now I am doomed,’ he said, ‘for since the day I first took up arms I have never missed my target.’ He threw his javelin, but it only pierced the wing of one bird. The creatures then flew along the water.

Cú Chulaind walked on until he sat down with his back against a stone; he was angry, but then sleep overcame him. While sleeping he saw two women approach: one wore a green cloak and the other a crimson cloak folded five times, and the one in green smiled at him and began to beat him with a horsewhip. The other woman then came and smiled also and struck him in the same fashion, and they beat him for such a long time that there was scarcely any life left in him. Then they left.

The Ulaid perceived the state he was in, and they attempted to rouse him. But Fergus said ‘No! Do not disturb him – it is a vision.’ Then Cú Chulaind awoke. ‘Who did this to you?’ asked the Ulaid, but he was unable to speak. He was taken to his sickbed in An Téte Brecc, and he remained there a year without speaking to anyone.

At the end of that year, just before Samuin, the Ulaid were gathered round Cú Chulaind in the house: Fergus by the wall, Conall Cernach by the bedrail, Lugaid Réoderg by the pillow and Eithne Ingubai at his feet; and, as they were thus, a man entered the house and sat at the foot of the bed. ‘What brings you here?’ asked Conall Cernach. ‘Not
difficult that. If this man were healthy, he would guarantee my safety here; and, since he is weak and wounded, his guarantee is that much stronger. So I fear none of you, and it is to speak to him that I have come.’ ‘Have no fear,’ said the Ulaid.

Then the man rose and recited these verses:

Cú Chulaind, sick as you are,
waiting will be no help.
If they were yours, they would heal you,
the daughters of Áed Abrat.

Standing to the right of Labraid Lúathlám,
in Mag Crúaich, Lí Ban said
‘Fand has expressed her desire
to lie down with Cú Chulaind:

‘ “A joyous day it would be
were Cú Chulaind to come to my land.
He would have gold and silver
and plenty of wine to drink.

‘ “Were he my friend now,
Cú Chulaind son of Súaltaim,
perhaps he could relate what he saw
in his sleep, apart from the host.

‘“There at Mag Muirthemni in the south
no misfortune will befall you this Samuin.
I will send Lí Ban to you,
Cú Chulaind, sick as you are.” ’

‘Who are you?’ the Ulaid asked. ‘I am Óengus son of Áed Abrat,’ said the man, and then he left, and the Ulaid knew neither whence he had come nor where he had gone. But Cú Chulaind sat up and spoke. ‘About time,’ the Ulaid said. ‘Tell us what happened to you.’ ‘I had a vision last year, at Samuin,’ Cú Chulaind replied, and he related what he had
seen. ‘What now, Conchubur?’ he asked. ‘You must return to that same stone,’ answered Conchubur.

Cú Chulaind walked out then until he reached the stone, and there he saw the woman in the green cloak. ‘Good this, Cú Chulaind,’ she said. ‘Not good for me your journey here last year,’ he replied. ‘Not to harm you did we come, but to seek your friendship. Indeed, I have come to speak to you of Fand, the daughter of Áed Abrat: Manandán son of Ler has left her, and she has now given her love to you. My name is Lí Ban, and I bear a message from my husband, Labraid Lúathlám ar Cladeb: he will send Fand to you in exchange for one day’s fighting against Senach Síaborthe and Echu luil and Éogan Indber.’ ‘Indeed, I am not fit to fight men today,’ answered Cú Chulaind. ‘That is soon remedied: you will be healed, and your full strength will be restored.’ ‘Where is this place?’ ‘In Mag Mell. Now I must return,’ said Lí Ban. ‘Let Lóeg go with you to visit your land,’ said Cú Chulaind. ‘Let him come, then,’ said Lí Ban.

Lí Ban and Lóeg then went to see Fand. When they arrived, Lí Ban seized Lóeg by the shoulder and said ‘Do not leave this place today, Lóeg, save under a woman’s protection.’ ‘Being protected by women has not exactly been my custom,’ replied Lóeg. ‘A pity it is not Cú Chulaind who is here now,’ moaned Lí Ban. ‘I too would rather he were here,’ said Lóeg.

They went, then, to the side facing the island, where they saw a bronze boat crossing the lake and coming towards them. They entered the boat and crossed to the island; there, they found a doorway, and a man appeared. Lí Ban asked the man:

Where is Labraid Lúathlám ar Cladeb,
head of the troops of victory,
victory above a steady chariot,
he who reddens spear points with blood?

The man answered her, saying:

Labraid is fierce and vigorous;
he will not be slow, he will have many followers.
An army is being mustered; if Mag Fidgai is crowded,
there will be great slaughter.

They entered the house, then, and saw three fifties of couches and three fifties of women lying on them. These women all greeted Lóeg, saying ‘Welcome, Lóeg, for the sake of the woman with whom you have come, and for the sake of the man from whom you have come, and for your own sake.’ Lí Ban asked ‘Well, Lóeg? Will you go to speak with Fand?’ ‘I will, provided I know where we are.’ ‘Not difficult that – we are in a chamber apart.’ They went to speak with Fand, and she welcomed them in the same way. Fand was the daughter of Áed Abrat, that is, fire of eyelash, for the pupil is the fire of the eye. Fand is the tear that covers the eye, and she was so named for her purity and beauty, since there was not her like anywhere in the world.

As they stood there, they heard the sound of Labraid’s chariot coming to the island, and Lí Ban said ‘Labraid is angry today. Let us go and talk to him.’ They went outside, and Lí Ban welcomed Labraid, saying:

Welcome, Labraid Lúathlám ar Cladeb!
Heir of troops,
of swift spearmen,
he smites shields,
scatters spears,
wounds bodies,
slays free men,
sees slaughter.
More beautiful than women,
he destroys hosts
and scatters treasures.
Assailant of a warrior band, welcome!

Labraid did not answer, so Lí Ban spoke on:

Welcome, Labraid Lúathlám ar Cladeb Augral
Prompt to grant requests,
generous to all,
eager for combat.
Battle-scarred his side,
dependable his word,
forceful his justice,
amiable his rule,
skilful his right hand,
vengeful his deeds –
he cuts down warriors.
Welcome, Labraid!

As Labraid still remained silent, Lí Ban recited another poem:

Welcome, Labraid Lúathlám ar Cladeb!
More warlike than youths,
prouder than chieftains,
he destroys valiant adversaries,
fights battalions,
sieves young warriors,
raises up the weak,
lays low the strong.
Welcome Labraid!

‘What you say is not good, woman,’ replied Labraid, and he recited this poem:

I am neither proud nor arrogant, woman,
nor is my bearing over-haughty.
We go to a battle with fierce spears everywhere,
plying in our right hands red swords
against the ardent multitudes of Echu luil.
There is no pride in me.
I am neither proud nor arrogant, woman.