The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends (14 page)

Cú Chulainn called Laeg and they bade farewell to the people of Magh Mell, the Pleasant Plain, and Lí Ban brought them back to Ulaidh, to the very spot on the lakeshore. There was
great joy at their return, which seemed hours rather than the month they had spent in the Otherworld. Cú Chulainn told Émer all that had happened there, with the exception of his
affair with Fand. Life returned to normal at Dún Dealgan
but, on each quarter moon, Cú Chulainn would venture forth to the Strand of the Yew Tree’s Head and
meet with Fand.

By the shadowy light, he and Fand made love on the sandy shore, or amidst the strong oak trees, on carpets of sweet hay or on the leafy mattress of the forest floor. Fand had her magic birds
sing songs so that Cú Chulainn felt himself in the comfort of her palace.

Émer was a wise woman, as we have said before. She soon learnt that her husband was meeting a strange woman and making love with her. Émer was wise but was also of flesh and blood.
She found out where her husband’s assignations were taking place and she gathered fifty of her handmaidens and armed each of them with a sharp dagger. Then she set out to kill Fand.

At that moment, Fand lay with Cú Chulainn in a forest glade. Being of the Otherworld, her senses were sharper than mortal ones. So she raised her head while Cú Chulainn lay
sleeping.

“Laeg!” she called to Cú Chulainn’s faithful charioteer, who was acting as a sentinel for his companion nearby. “Beware! There is harm coming near here.”

Laeg leapt up, his bow already strung. “What is it? I see and hear nothing!”

“I hear Émer and her handmaidens coming this way. They are armed with daggers and mean me harm.”

Laeg hurried off into the forest to try to distract Émer.

Cú Chulainn now roused himself from sleep, the sharpness of the exchange awaking him. He leapt up and started dressing, while Fand explained her fears.

“Do not fear, Fand, but get into my chariot. Émer shall not harm you, so long as I am here.”

Just then Émer, with Laeg trying to persuade her not to continue, burst into the clearing with her handmaidens behind her.

“Put down your knife, Émer,” Cú Chulainn told her quietly.

“Put it down?” sneered Émer. “This I tell you, the sun will not rise tomorrow unless I have parted you from this woman.”

“I cannot fight with you,” smiled Cú Chulainn sadly. “And I doubt if you will kill me, in spite of your rage.”

“No? It matters not to me how I separate you.”

Fand moved forward then. “You cannot love him, if you would destroy him.”

“Rather would I destroy you.”

“Stand aside, Émer,” Cú Chulainn now told her, “for though I also love you, I have sworn to defend Fand against the daggers of our mortal world. Do you seek to
destroy me? Ironic that would be, when I have survived so many combats, to be destroyed by my own wife.”

Émer suddenly burst into tears. “You have shamed and dishonoured me before the women of Ulaidh and before all the five kingdoms of Éireann. What have I done to you, that you
so despise me, and turned from me to a woman of the Otherworld for comfort?”

“Cannot I love Fand as well as you? She is more beautiful than any mortal, intelligent and fair and worthy of a king in any land. There is nothing under the heavens that Fand would not do
for me. Cannot I love you as well? For you are both equal in your own worlds and in your own ways.”

Émer dried her eyes and laughed angrily. “Are you trying to justify your capriciousness? The unknown is always more exciting than the known and this is why you think you love her.
One day, red seems ordinary and white is new; the next, it is red that is exciting and white is old. Men always worship what they can’t have and what they have seems worthless.”

Cú Chulainn stood helpless between Émer and Fand and his face was sad. He suddenly realized that he loved both but for different reasons.

At once wisdom claimed Émer’s mind.

She laid aside her knife and dismissed her handmaidens, making them take an oath never to tell what they had seen.

“I do not want him if he comes to me by claim of my position as his wife, or because of his guilt. He must come because of love.”

Fand stepped forward and gazed into his eyes and then sighed deeply. She turned to Émer.

“Have no fear, Émer, daughter of Forgall. He will leave me for you. It is right, for it is you that have the greater love.”

Fand blew softly on Cú Chulainn and the warrior frowned and sat down with his back to a tree and fell asleep.

“Now it is I who must go,” Fand said softly, and tears were falling from her eyes.

Émer gazed at her rival sadly. “I see you truly love him, Fand. If this is so, then I will stand aside, for there is nothing the spirit can wish for that you cannot give.”

And with Émer standing aside, Fand realized just how much Émer loved Cú Chulainn.

Then there was a soft sighing of the wind and a great silver chariot appeared in the forest clearing. A tall, handsome young man alighted from it. He had a noble and gentle face and he looked on
them in sadness and understanding.

“Oh, my husband!” cried Fand. “It is Manánnan, god of the oceans. You were once dearer to me than the world we shared. You forsook me and I sought love elsewhere. Once
we shared our lives and passed them in an unending dream.”

Émer knelt before the radiant god who came and stood looking down at Cú Chulainn.

“He is a noble man, this son of Lugh,” he sighed. “You chose a noble love, Fand, but he is loved already.” He turned back to Fand. “We shared the same love which
Émer gives to her husband. I, like him, sought a new toy to play with. I have learnt maturity. We could love again. Will you leave this land of mortals for the Otherworld and the pleasures
of the Pleasant Plain?”

Fand gazed at Cú Chulainn with such distress and pain as no mortal could suffer. “I have done great harm here,” she said to Émer. “I do love him, but there is no
one else to whom I would release him. By standing aside for me, I know you love him well.”

“Fand,” demanded Manánnan, “what is it that you will do? Will you come away with me or stay here until Cú Chulainn comes to you?”

Fand simply held out her hand to Manánnan Mac Lir and the great god of the ocean reached forward and helped her into his silver chariot.

At that moment Cú Chulainn awoke.

“What is it?” he cried, as he saw Fand riding off into the sky in the great silver chariot.

“Fand is returning to her husband, as you do not love her above all others,” replied Émer bitterly, for there was dismay on his features at losing Fand.

Cú Chulainn gave three great cries of grief and, ignoring Émer and Laeg, went running off along the seashore, gazing into the sea in which the silver chariot of the ocean god
disappeared.

They did not see Cú Chulainn in many a month, for he took himself to the mountains, living among the wild animals, scarcely eating nor drinking nor even sleeping. He dwelt on the plains
of Luchra and no one would go near him.

Then Émer went to the court of Conchobhar at An Emhain and told the king what had happened. “He still has his sickness on him,” Émer said.

“I know,” agreed Conchobhar, who loved Cú Chulainn as if he were his own son. “I have sent my warriors to persuade him to come back to us, several times, but he attacks
and drives them off.”

“Then send your best musicians. Let them sing to him and tell him of the heroic deeds that he once performed here. Let them sing to him about his companions in arms who miss him. Let them
sing to him of his wife, Émer, daughter of Forgall, who once he loved and wooed and married.”

And King Conchobhar sent forth his best bards and poets and, when Cú Chulainn was lulled into sleep, they brought him forth to An Emhain. Once there, Cathbad the Druid called upon
Manánnan and offered prayers and the ocean god came forth and heard of the tragedy that had seared Cú Chulainn. Being a wise and mighty god, Manánnan took his Cloak of
Forgetfulness and shook it between Fand and Cú Chulainn, so that each forgot the other, and thus it was ensured that they would never again meet in any time nor in any world.

Then Cú Chulainn grew well and content with the mortal world again and went back to dwell in Dún Dealgan with Émer. He had entirely forgotten about Fand.

But Émer had not . . .

She grew irritable and expressed anger on the slightest pretext. She recalled that her husband had once loved Fand to the extent that he could not choose between them and that only the
intervention of the ocean god, causing him to forget, made him content with his lot. Everywhere she went, especially walking in the woods and seeing strange birds, Émer was reminded of Fand.
She became more bitter with each passing day. Cú Chulainn, lacking memory, could not understand her anger to him and he grew ill, trying to recall how he could have offended her.

Émer told Lebharcham, the old nurse of Deirdre, who still dwelt at Conchobhar’s palace. Lebharcham told Conchobhar and Conchobhar in turn told his Druid, Cathbad. Cathbad mixed a
potion and, one evening when Conchobhar had invited both Cú Chulainn and Émer to a great feasting at An Emhain, the Druid quietly slipped three drops of his potion in each of their
goblets. They drank.

Cú Chulainn and Émer were overcome with sleep and conducted to the guests’ chambers and, when they awoke Cú Chulainn had no memory of his passions but there lingered
in him a deep sorrow, the reason for which he could not recall. And when Émer awoke, her anger and jealousies were gone and once more she was her natural self, the sweetest and most loving
of wives.

5 Lochlann’s Son

T
here was once a great warrior king of Lochlann, the land of fjords and lakes which lies north-east of Éireann in cold snowy climes, which
is often called the North Land, or Norway. This King’s name was Colgáin Mac Teine. His country was a land of fierce warriors, who ploughed the seas in great ships and often raided and
pillaged the coastal lands of Éireann. As fierce as his people were, Colgáin was the fiercest. He was a descendant of the Fomorii, the undersea dwellers, who were once the dark gods
of Éireann and who had been driven north into the lands of darkness by the children of the Gael.

It chanced one day that Colgáin was feeling very dissatisfied, for he had not been on a battle voyage in many months. So he called his chief warriors about him.

“Warriors of Lochlann,” he began, “do you find fault with my rule?”

They were worried when he said this, for often a challenger to the kingship of Lochlann would be met by the incumbent king with sword and buckler and soon his head would be mounted over the
king’s hearth.

“Not us,” they all cried. “We find no fault with you, sire.”

Colgáin sniffed disparagingly, for he knew there was none who would dare challenge him.

“Well, I find fault with my own rule,” he declared harshly.

“What fault is that?” demanded one warrior, bolder than the rest.

“The fault is this: our ships plough the seas, raiding and
demanding tribute from all shores on which we land. All the kings of the lands within the distance of our
sailing pay me tribute and call me king of all the kings of the nations.”

“This is so, sire,” agreed the warriors. “What is the fault in that?”

“There is one king and one people who send me no tribute.”

There was an uneasy silence.

“What king would dare do that?” asked a young warrior, too young to know.

Colgáin of Lochlann turned an angry face to the young man. “Why, it is the High King of Éireann and his people. Éireann, the land which was once possessed by my
ancestors. It is there that Balor of the One Eye, the first and greatest of my line, fell fighting. Éireann, which saw the graves of noble Fomorii warriors spring forth like the green grass
of spring, and from which our forefathers were driven pitilessly northward.”

There was a muttering of discontent among the King of Lochlann’s warriors.

“I am at fault in that I have not taken our ships and brought this arrogant High King of Éireann to my obedience, and forced him and his kind to pay tribute to me and
mine.”

Now the warriors of Lochlann set up a clamour, banging their swords against the shields.

“We are with you!” cried one. “Let us take revenge on this upstart king.”

“We shall take the gold of Éireann or we will take the heads of every male Éireannach!” shouted the young warrior, who was too boastful, not having seen a battle
before.

So Colgáin, King of Lochlann, gave the orders for all the warriors of his land to gather at the shore and for all the ships that could raise sail to be there, fully provisioned. And when
they had all gathered, the warriors went on board; the King of Lochlann went to his ship. Out of the fjords came the great armada, speeding over the deep dark waves, towards the green isle of
Éireann. The wind filled the sails and the waves came rolling behind them, speeding the ships forward, until they sighted the green mountains of Ulaidh.

Now the Royal Branch warriors of Ulaidh told their king that the square sails of the ships of Lochlann had been sighted, approaching their shore. The king of this land was
Fianchu Araide and when he heard the news, he was not dismayed.

“Send to Cormac Mac Art, who resides at Tara,” he said. “After all, it is Cormac who claims the High Kingship of the five kingdoms of Éireann, so it is he and his
warriors who should defend the kingdoms, not me, who am but king in Ulaidh.”

It was true that, since Cormac had established himself as High King in Tara, he had wrested much of the old power of the kings of Ulaidh away from them. He and his warrior élite, the
Fianna, claimed to be far stronger than any of the warriors of the kingdoms of Éireann.

So members of the Craobh Ríoga, the Royal Branch warriors of Ulaidh, went to Tara and told Cormac Mac Art that the ships of the King of Lochlann were approaching their shore.

Cormac straightaway sent to Fionn Mac Cumhaill, the commander of the Fianna, and told him that he must gather his warriors and set off to meet the men of Lochlann, as soon as they landed on the
shore.