Early Irish Myths and Sagas (23 page)

After that, Macc Da Thó rose and was jubilant, saying ‘Joy to us and to our guests.’ The messengers stayed three days and three nights. He took them aside then – first the messengers of Connachta, to whom he said ‘Great my perplexity and doubt, but I have decided to give the hound to Ailill and Medb. Let them bring a large, magnificent host to fetch it, and they will have food and drink and presents, and the dog will be theirs.’ The Connachta thanked him. Macc Da Thó went then to the messengers of Ulaid and said ‘Free of doubt at last, I have awarded the hound to Conchubur. Let the chieftains of Ulaid come for Ailbe with a proud host; they will receive presents and be welcome.’

Now the people from Connachta and Ulaid proposed to come on the same day, and neither province forgot to show up, either. The two provinces arrived at the door of Macc Da Thó’s hostel. He himself came to greet them and make them welcome, saying ‘We were not expecting you, warriors! Nevertheless, I welcome you! Come into the courtyard!’ They all trooped in, the Connachta to one side of the hostel, the Ulaid to the other. The hostel was not small, with seven entrances and fifty paces between each pair of doorways. Still, the faces round the feast inside were not friendly, for many had done injury to others there.

Macc Da Thó’s pig was slaughtered for the feast. This pig had been nourished by sixty milch cows for seven years, and it was brought in to the feast with forty oxen laid across it. Macc Da Thó himself presided over the feast, saying ‘Welcome! This may not be worthy of you, but there are pigs and oxen in Lagin, and whatever is wanting today will be slaughtered for you tomorrow.’ ‘The pig looks good,’ said Conchubur. ‘It does, indeed,’ said Ailill, ‘but how should it be divided, Conchubur?’ ‘How else,’ said Bricriu son of
Carbad from his couch overhead, ‘where the heroes of Ériu are assembled but by combat? You have all flattened each other’s noses before.’ ‘Let that be done,’ said Ailill. ‘Fine,’ said Conchubur, ‘for we have youths who have strolled about the border.’ ‘The worth of your young men will be tested tonight, Conchubur,’ said Senláech of the Araid, from Crúachu Con Alad in the west. ‘Often enough I have left them sitting in the muddy water of Lúachair Dedad; often enough they have left fat oxen with me.’ ‘The ox you left with us was fatter,’ said Muinremur son of Gerrgend, ‘for it was your own brother, Crúaichniu son of Rúadluim from Crúachu Con Alad.’ ‘Crúaichniu was worth no more,’ replied Lugaid son of Cú Ruí, ‘than Inloth Már son of Fergus son of Léti, whom Echbél son of Dedad left dead at Temuir Lúachra.’ ‘What do you say,’ boasted Celtchair son of Uthechar, ‘to my having killed Congachnes son of Dedad and taken his head?’

At length one man triumphed over all Ériu: Cet son of Mágu from Connachta. He hung his weapons over those of everyone else; then he took knife in hand and sat down to the pig, saying ‘Find among the men of Ériu one to match me in feats – otherwise I will carve the pig.’ Inasmuch as his equal had not been found, the Ulaid fell silent. ‘Just look at that, Lóegure,’ said Conchubur at length. Lóegure spoke then: ‘It is not right that Cet should carve the pig before our very eyes.’ Cet answered ‘One moment, Lóegure, that I might speak with you. You Ulaid have a custom: every one of you who takes arms makes Connachta his object. You came to the border, then, and I met you; you abandoned your horses and chariot and charioteer and escaped with my spear through you. Is that how you propose to take the pig?’ Lóegure sat down.

A tall fair warrior arose from his couch and said ‘It is not right that Cet should carve the pig before our very eyes.’ ‘Who is this?’ asked Cet. ‘Óengus son of Lám Gabuid,’ said
the Ulaid, ‘and a better warrior than you.’ ‘Why is his father called Lám Gabuid?’ ‘Why indeed?’ the Ulaid asked. ‘I know why,’ said Cet. ‘Once I came east. There was screaming. People came, Lám Gabuid too, and he cast his great spear at me, but I threw it back so that it cut off his hand and left it on the ground. What could bring his son to challenge me?’ Óengus sat down.

‘On with the contest, or I will carve the pig,’ said Cet. ‘It is not right that Cet should carve the pig,’ said another tall, fair Ulaid warrior. ‘Who is this?’ asked Cet. ‘Éogan son of Durthacht, the king of Fernmag.’ ‘I have seen him before,’ said Cet. ‘Where have you seen me?’ asked Éogan. ‘At the entrance to your house, when I was stealing your cattle. Everyone in your land screamed, and that brought you. You cast a spear at me that stuck in my shield; I cast the same spear back at you so that it went through your head and put out one eye. That is why you are one-eyed before the men of Ériu.’ Éogan sat down.

‘On with the contest, Ulaid,’ said Cet. ‘You will not carve the pig yet,’ said Muinremur son of Gerrgend. ‘Is this Muinremur?’ asked Cet. I have finally cleaned my spears, Muinremur. It is not six days since I took three warriors’ heads about the head of your first-born son from your land.’ Muinremur sat down.

‘On with the contest!’ said Cet. ‘You will have that!’ said Mend son of Salchad. ‘Who is this?’ asked Cet. ‘Mend son of Salchad,’ said everyone. ‘What next!’ said Cet. ‘Now sons of herdsmen with nicknames are challenging me. I am the priest who baptized your father with that name, for I struck his heel with my sword so that he took but one foot away. What could bring the son of a one-footed man to challenge me?’ Mend sat down.

‘On with the contest!’ said Cet. ‘You will have that!’ said a large, grey, very ugly Ulaid warrior. ‘Who is this?’ asked
Cet. ‘Celtchair son of Uthechar,’ said everyone. ‘Just one moment, Celtchair, unless you want to crush me immediately. I arrived at the entrance to your house once; there was screaming and everyone came to the door and you with them. You cast your spear at me, but I cast another spear at you so that it pierced your thighs and your testicles. Since then you have fathered no sons or daughters. What could bring you to challenge me?’ Celtchair sat down.

‘On with the contest!’ said Cet. ‘You will have that!’ said Cúscraid Mend Machae son of Conchubur. ‘Who is this?’ asked Cet. ‘Cúscraid,’ said everyone, ‘and he has the look of a king.’ ‘No thanks to you, Cet,’ said the lad. ‘Right that is,’ answered Cet. ‘You came to Connachta for your first feat of arms, and we met at the border. You abandoned one third of your retinue and left with a spear through your neck, so that today you have not a proper word in your head – the spear injured the cords in your throat. Since then you have been called Cúscraid Mend.’ Cet thus brought shame upon the entire province of Ulaid.

Knife in hand, then, Cet was exulting over the pig when Conall Cernach entered the hostel; he leapt into the middle of the hall, and the Ulaid gave him a great welcome. Conchubur took the helmet from Conall’s head and brandished it, and Conall said ‘We will be happy to obtain our share of the pig. Who is carving?’ ‘That has been granted to the man with the knife: Cet son of Mágu,’ answered Conchubur. ‘Is it true, Cet, that you are carving?’ asked Conall.

Cet answered ‘Welcome, Conall, heart of stone, angry ardour of the lynx, glitter of ice, red strength of anger in the breast of a champion. Full of wounds, victorious in battle, you are my equal, son of Findchóem.’

Conall replied ‘Welcome, Cet son of Mágu, dwelling-place of a hero, heart of ice, plumage of a swan, strong
chariot-fighter, warlike sea, fierce beautiful bull, Cet son of Mágu.’

Conall continued ‘All will be clear from our encounter and our separation, a famous tale told by the men of goads and witnessed by the men of awls. Noble warriors will meet in an angry combat of lions, two chariot-fighters will match angry deeds, men will step over men in this hall tonight.’

‘Now move away from the pig,’ said Conall. ‘What could bring you to it?’ asked Cet. ‘Cet, it is right that you should challenge me,’ replied Conall. ‘I will meet you in single combat. I swear by what my people swear by: since I first took spear in hand, there has not been a single day when I have not killed a Connachta warrior, not a single night when I have not destroyed with fire, and I have never slept without a Connachta head under my knee.’ ‘You are a better warrior than I, it is true,’ said Cet. ‘If Anlúan were here, he would give you another kind of contest. It is our misfortune that he is not in the house.’ ‘Oh, but he is,’ said Conall, and taking Anlúan’s head from his wallet he threw it at Cet’s breast so that a mouthful of blood splattered over the lips. Cet left the pig, then, and Conall sat down to it, saying ‘On with the contest!’ The Connachta could not find a warrior to equal him; even so, the Ulaid formed a protective shelter with their shields, for some ill-mannered guests had begun to shoot at him from the corners.

Conall then began to carve the pig. He took the end of the belly in his mouth until he had made a division, and he sucked on the belly (a burden for nine men) until not a particle was left. He did leave the foretrotters to the Connachta, however. They thought their share small; they rose, the Ulaid rose, and everyone hit someone. Blows fell upon ears until the heap on the floor reached the centre of the house and the streams of gore reached the entrances. The hosts broke through the doors, then, and a good drinking
bout broke out in the courtyard, with everyone striking his neighbour. Fergus pulled up a great oak by the roots; meanwhile, the battle broke out of the courtyard and towards the outer doors.

At last, Macc Da Thó came out with the dog in hand and unleashed it to see which side it would choose. Ailbe chose the Ulaid and precipitated the slaughter of the Connachta, for they were routed. At Mag nAilbi the hound bit the chariot pole of Ailill and Medb, and there the charioteer Fer Loga struck the dog so that its body fell away and its head remained on the pole. The place is thus called Mag nAilbi.

The rout swept south past Belach Mugna, over Áth Mid bine in Maistiu, past Cill Dara, past Ráith Imgain, into Fid nGaible at Áth Macc Lugnai, past Druimm Dá Mage and over Drochet Coirpri. At Áth Chind Chon in Bile the dog’s head fell from the chariot pole. As the hosts swept west over Mide, Fer Loga, Ailill’s charioteer, hid himself in the heather; when the Ulaid came past, he leapt into a chariot and seized Conchubur by the head from behind. ‘Beware, Conchubur!’ he said. ‘Whatever you want!’ said Conchubur. ‘Not much my wish,’ answered Fer Loga: ‘Take me with you to Emuin Machae, and every evening send the women of Ulaid and their nubile daughters to sing in chorus “Fer Loga Is My Darling”.’ The Ulaid granted that, since for Conchubur’s sake they dared not refuse. A year later Fer Loga returned west across Áth Lúain, taking with him two of Conchubur’s horses and golden bridles for both.

One of the wildest and most comical of the Ulaid stories, ‘The Intoxication of the Ulaid’ reveals both a mythic and a historical subtext. The text itself, however, is a problem. The story survives incomplete in both of our early manuscripts, and while the Lebor na huidre account takes up about where the Book of Leinster account leaves off, the juncture is only approximate. Moreover, the two versions are quite disparate: names change (Triscatail becomes Triscoth; Róimít turns into Réordae), roles change (the gadfly part played by Bricriu is taken up by Dubthach Dóeltenga), important plot elements (such as the iron house) disappear altogether. The Lebor na huidre version is generally less psychological and less refined, and, while it has its own merits, it is frustrating not to know how the Book of Leinster story would have been resolved.

The mythic subtext harbours the remains of a ritual killing story. ‘The Intoxication of the Ulaid’ takes place at Samuin, which as the end of the old year and the beginning of the new one would have been an appropriate time for a new king to replace an old one; moreover, there are traditions that make Cú Chulaind and Cú Ruí rivals, and in ‘The Death of Cú Ruí’, Cú Chulaind kills Cú Ruí for the sake of his wife, Bláthnait (another example of the regeneration
motif found so often in these stories). The idea appears also in ‘The Destruction of Da Derga’s Hostel’ (which takes place at Samuin and wherein invaders attempt to burn and perhaps drown Conare) and in ‘The Destruction of Dind Rig’ (wherein Labraid burns Cobthach in an iron house).

The historical subtext treats the theme of tribal warfare that obtains in all three stories. It may well be that, in an older recension, ‘The Intoxication of the Ulaid’ described an attack by the Ulaid upon Temuir, which would have been a much more logical target. Subsequently, however, the story was grafted on to a mythological fragment involving Cú Chulaind and Cú Ruí, and since the ‘historical’ Cú Ruí had been localized in the south-west, it became necessary to reconcile that tradition with the one about the attack on Temuir. The result: Temuir Lúachra (Temuir of the Rushes), located, conveniently, in south-west Ireland.

In any case, the storytellers have turned the improbability of the Ulaid’s careering across Ériu into a splendidly comic tale. What might have been a heroic foray is reduced to a drunken stagger; Cú Chulaind’s inability to navigate from Dún Dá Bend to Dún Delga except by way of Temuir Lúachra (like going from London to Canterbury by way of Edinburgh) is a humorous reflection upon his original name, Sétantae, which means ‘one who knows the way’; and the exchanges between Cromm Deróil and Cromm Darail are more characteristic of comedians than of druids.