The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends (38 page)

“True enough,” said the miller.

“Then put me and my sons into the sacks and carry us into the stable and leave us.”

The miller rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It is a strange request,” he observed.

Conall clinked the gold coins in his hand.

The miller’s eyes sparkled.

Without more ado, Conall and his three sons were placed in the sacks and the miller and his servants carried the sacks up to the King of Lochlann’s stable and deposited them inside. Then
they went away.

After a while Conall and his sons emerged.

“We will have to wait until nightfall,” Conall told them in a whisper. “So we will make hiding places for ourselves within this stable, just in case the king’s men search
it at any time.”

So they sought out hiding places for themselves.

Dusk came and Conall and his sons approached the stall of the
Each Donn.
Now this brown horse was an intelligent creature. As soon as they began to approach him, he kicked up his back
legs and began to whinny and cry.

In the castle, the King of Lochlann heard the noise. “What ails my brown horse?” he cried, turning to his mother, who was supping with him.

“Little I can tell you of that, my son,” replied the good woman. “Tell your servants to go to the stable and find out what is amiss.”

So the King of Lochlann called to his servants and said: “Go down to the stable and see what is wrong with my brown horse.”

The servants rushed to the stable, but when Conall and his sons heard them coming, they hid in the places they had prepared for themselves. So the servants went inside and
looked around and reported back to the King of Lochlann that they had seen nothing amiss.

“Perhaps the brown horse is simply skittish,” sighed the king. “Very well. Be about your business. Let us continue with our feasting, mother.”

After a while, Conall and his sons came out of their hiding places and approached the
Each Donn.

The outcry was seven times louder than before. Even the king’s mother felt something was wrong. So the King of Lochlann turned to his servants.

“There is something wrong in the stable. Go and bring me word of what it is, this instant.”

The servants rushed to the stable but Conall and his sons had already disappeared into their hiding places. The servants searched diligently but did not discover them. They returned again and
reported that nothing was amiss.

So the king ordered the feasting to resume.

Once more Conall and his sons arose from their hiding places and approached the
Each Donn.

Yet again did the horse make such an outcry that all the corners of the king’s palace became alarmed.

“Perhaps some dark wizard is attacking us,” cried the King of Lochlann’s mother, who had a great fear of wizards.

The king stood up. “There is no other possibility than that someone is in the stable who has evil designs on my brown horse.”

This time he ordered his servants to accompany him.

Now when Conall and his sons heard the King of Lochlann coming to the stable, they went and hid themselves once more.

The King of Lochlann entered and stood at the stable door and surveyed the place.

The
Each Donn
stood in his stall, trembling.

“Let us be wary,” said the king, “for I believe that there are men within the stable. We must search them out.”

Now the King of Lochlann, who was called Sigurdsson, was a clever man, otherwise he would not have been a king over such a fierce people as the men of Lochlann, whose ships were constantly
raiding the seven seas. He looked at the stable floor and his keen eye picked out a stranger’s footprints. He followed the footprints to the corner of the stable, the very corner where Conall
himself was hiding.

The King of Lochlann stood, hands on hips, and chuckled. “I spy the shoes of a warrior of the Gael. Distinctive are they, as the colour of a man’s hair. Who stands hiding there? Will
you tell me, or will you die without a name?”

This angered Conall a little and he stepped forward. “My name is Conall of Airer Ghàidheal.”

“Can it be Conall Cròg Buidhe who is lurking in my stable and making my
Each Donn
nervous?” asked the King of Lochlann, in good humour. “I have heard many stories
of
your courage and ability, but none suggest that you would come like a thief in the night to a man’s stables to frighten his prize horse.”

The blush of shame came to Conall’s cheeks and he saw that he was surrounded by the swords of the king’s bodyguard on all sides. So he stepped forward.

“It is I, Sigurdsson, who is here, indeed.”

“Explain the reason to me.”

Conall came out and told the King of Lochlann why and how he had come to his kingdom. “So you see, Sigurdsson, that dire necessity forced me here. Now I am under your hospitality and,
hopefully, your pardon.”

“You did not come first to me and ask for the
Each Donn
,” reproved the King of Lochlann. “Why not?”

“I knew that I would not acquire the brown horse by asking.”

“True enough,” agreed the king. “We will talk more about this. But first, the cause of all this trouble must be surrendered to me. Ask your sons to step forward.”

Conall told his three sons to come out from their hiding places and they were taken prisoners and escorted by the king’s guard to be fed and watched over during the night.

“You will be fed this night and tomorrow at dawn you three will be hanged. I shall hang you, for you are the cause of the trouble you have placed on your father’s shoulders by your
insobriety and lack of thought.”

Then the King of Lochlann placed his hand under Conall’s arm and led him to his feasting hall, where his mother was awaiting word of what had happened. The King of Lochlann introduced
Conall and then gave him food and wine.

“Now, my old enemy, Conall of the Large Yellow Hand, let us consider this matter. I shall have your three sons hanged tomorrow for attempting to steal my horse to buy their lives from the
King of Fótla. I could send them back to the King of Fótla without the brown horse. Either way, your three sturdy sons will be hanged.”

“Why not hang me instead?” demanded Conall. “I led them here, in an attempt to save their lives.”

“What reason to hang you, Conall? You have already
absolved yourself in this matter. Necessity made you come here and I forgive you for that necessity. But faced,
whichever way you turn, with your sons’ deaths, can you tell me if you were ever in a more difficult situation?”

Conall was a proud man. “I was,” he replied. “And in many such difficulties, and have survived them all.”

Sigurdsson slapped his thigh and bellowed with laughter. “If you can tell me a more difficult situation which you overcame, I’ll release the youngest of your sturdy lads.”

Conall was not a stupid man, and so he asked for a drink of wine and thought rapidly. “Agreed,” he said.

“Tell on, then, Conall,” invited the King of Lochlann.

“When I was a young lad, and my father was then living, we had a great estate and a large herd of cattle. Among the yearling cows there was one who had just calved. My father told me to go
to the meadow where she had calved and bring her and the calf home to the warm stable. It was cruel wintertime, and a shower of icy snow had fallen.

“I went to the meadow and dug out the cow and her calf and began to journey back. But snow began to fall again and so I found a herdsman’s
bothan.
We went into this cabin to
await the easing of the snowstorm.

“So there we were when the door opened and in came a family of cats: not one cat but ten of them, and clear, so it was, that they were one and the same family. One among the cats was very
big and the red-grey colour of a fox. It had but one very big eye in its head. The others sat around the big cat and started a fearsome caterwaul.

“ ‘Away from this place, cats!’ I cried. ‘For I have no liking for your company nor the noise you make.’

“The large cat turned to me and spoke and I had understanding of its words.

“ ‘We shall not leave this place, for we have come to sing you a
crònan,
Conall Cròg Buidhe.’

“I was surprised that it knew my name and more surprised when they began to sing me a
crònan.
”

Now a
crònan
is a croon, a dirge, often likened to the purring of the cats. Thus Conall continued to recite his story to the King of Lochlann.

“I sat amazed as those cats crooned to me. When they had finished, the one-eyed cat said: ‘Now, Conall Cròg Buidhe, you must pay the fee for such a song
as we cats have sung to you.’

“I was further surprised but, it is true, a bard must be paid, even the bard of the cat-people. ‘I have nothing to pay your fee with,’ I confessed, ‘unless you take this
newborn calf.’

“I had meant this as a jest but no sooner were the words out of my mouth than the cats sprang forth on the calf and the beast did not last long between their talons and sharp teeth.

“So I said to them: ‘Away with you now, cats. For I have no liking for your company nor songs.’ But the great one-eyed fox-coloured cat said: ‘We have come here to make a
crònan
for you, Conall, and make it we will.’ And the cats gathered round and sang their
crònan.
‘Now pay our fee, for bards may curse as they may
praise,’ said the one-eyed cat.

“ ‘Tiresome is this,’ I replied. ‘I have nothing to pay your fee, save the cow which stands here.’

“ ‘Suitable enough,’ said the one-eyed cat. And no sooner was it said than the cats fell on the cow and it did not last them long.

“ ‘Away with you now, cats. I have no liking for your company nor songs, nor your devouring of honest people’s cows.’

“ ‘Yet we have come here to sing you a third
crònan
,’ replied the one-eyed cat. ‘Sing it we must.’

“And they sat in a semi-circle and crooned their dirge to me.

“Then the one-eyed cat said: ‘Now pay our fee, for we may sing satire as well as the
crònan
, and satires may raise blemishes on the skin and cause you to suffer the
affliction of those cursed.’

“ ‘But I have nothing to reward you with at all, for you have had everything I can give you.’

“And the caterwauling started.

“ ‘Pay us, pay us the fee, pay us our reward.’

“ ‘I can give you nothing,’ I cried.

“Then the one eyed cat said: ‘If you have nothing but yourself, then we find yourself acceptable.’

“The cats began to approach me with slavering jaws and blood on their whiskers. In truth, I leapt for the window, which was framed in rowan and through it I went and
down to the hazel woods beyond. I was swift and strong and my fear leant me courage. Yet I heard the
toirm,
the rushing noise of a wind, as the cats sprang after me and I knew I had not
long. I reached the woods and found a rowan tree and climbed up and up into it until I was hidden from the ground.

“Below me, the wailing cats started to search through the woods. However, the rowan hid me. Soon the cats grew tired and, one to another, they called and soon gathered below the rowan.

“ ‘We are tired; we should return home,’ cried one.

“ ‘We will never find him,’ said another.

“Just then, the big one-eyed cat came along and stared right up at me.

“ ‘It is lucky for you, brothers, that I have one eye and that sees more clearly than all your eyes together. There is Conall up in that tree.’

“Now, one of the cats began to climb the rowan tree and, as I sat in it, I saw a loose branch with a sharpened end. So I grabbed this and stabbed down at the cat and transfixed it.

“ ‘
Och-òn
!’ cried the one-eyed cat. ‘Alas for that! I cannot lose any more of my tribe. But we must exact our fee for the
crònan
we
sang.’

“The cat sat and thought a moment. Then it said to the others: ‘Gather around the tree and begin to dig out its roots, so that the tree will fall.’

“And this they did and soon the tree was swaying as they revealed its roots and began to topple it. So scared was I that I gave forth a great shout.”

Conall paused in his storytelling for so long that the King of Lochlann urged him to continue.

“Well, Sigurdsson,” continued Conall, “there was a druid in the wood with his twelve acolytes and he heard my cry. ‘That, surely is the shout of a man in extremity and I
cannot do anything but reply to it.’ One of his acolytes said, however: ‘Do not go, for it might be a trick of the wind. Let us wait until the shout comes again.’

“They waited and, when I gave my next cry of alarm, the druid affirmed his intention. The druid and his acolytes came towards the tree.

“It was then that the cats gnawed through another root and the tree fell with a crash and me holding onto my branch for dear life. It was then I shouted for a third time. The druid and his
acolytes came to the spot and saw how the cats had severed the tree and were closing towards me. Each of them carried a hazel wand and they took their wands and ran on to the cat people. The cats,
not being able to confront a druid’s hazel wand, all took to their heels.”

Conall paused and smiled.

“That, O King of Lochlann, is surely a more dangerous situation than facing the death of my three sturdy sons? My being torn to pieces by the cats is more dangerous for me than seeing my
sons hanged tomorrow.”

The King of Lochlann’s mother sat by the fire and nodded her head. “I have never heard of greater danger, except once,” she said thoughtfully.

Sigurdsson, the King of Lochlann, slapped his thigh and bawled with laughter. “By the beard of my god, Conall, a fine tale was that. And by it you have earned the life of your youngest
son. But if you had a second tale to tell, and it was the equal of it, you could earn the soul of your middle son.”

“Well, the truth is, I can tell you how I was in a more difficult situation than that.”

“Tell away,” invited the King of Lochlann.

“It was when I was a young lad, out hunting on my father’s lands. Chance had brought me to the sea-shore where there were jagged rocks, and undersea caves and the like. All were
washed by the angry foam lips of the ocean god.