The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends (42 page)

Deep below the turbulent waters of the Corrievreckan, the Kelpie hid a tear when he heard the news. Then he turned to the mortal whose task was keeping his coral throne polished.

“Do not slack in your task. There is work here for a thousand years more, before you can rest.”

And Faoinèis bowed her head in compliance to her lord.

19 Geal, Donn and Critheanach

O
nce, long ago, there lived a Lord of Cataibh who had three daughters. They were called Geal, which means “bright” or
“fair”; Donn, which means “brown-haired” and Critheanach, which means “trembling”, because people trembled at the sight of her beauty. Now the three were
triplets and they looked much like one another, unless one looked more closely.

Geal had been born first. Donn had been born next and Critheanach was the youngest. Soon after their birth, their mother had died. The Lord of Cataibh never married again. He was a poor lord and
did not have many riches. He could not even afford to employ any domestic servants to help him take care of his old, rambling castle. So his daughters not only grew up without a mother’s love
or guidance but, as they grew older, all the household chores fell to them to perform.

More and more, over the years, the Lord of Cataibh retreated into his dusty old library and took little part in how his daughters ran the affairs of the castle.

Geal and Donn were very assertive girls and, because Critheanach was the youngest, they made her do all the dirty work about their father’s castle. Critheanach had to clean the kitchen,
cook the meals and do all manner of disagreeable tasks. Indeed, her sisters would not let her go out until the work was done to their satisfaction and that, of course, was very seldom. They were
quite tyrannical towards poor Critheanach.

Each Saturday there was a great fair at nearby Dòrnach
and, each Saturday, both Geal and Donn would dress in their finest clothes and go off to visit the fair. Now
the reason why they did this was that there were often many handsome young men at the fair and the girls had reached the
aois a taghadh
, that is the age of choice, whereby they might choose
a husband. Naturally, it never occurred to either Geal or Donn that their sister Critheanach was also of that age. They were more concerned in finding their own husbands.

One Saturday morning, after Geal and Donn had left for the fair, there was a knocking on the kitchen door of the castle. When Critheanach opened the door, there was an old woman standing there.
And a curious old woman she was. If the truth were told, she was none other than a
sìtheach
, one of the fairy folk. She said that she was selling a
seun
or charm.

Instead of sending her away in anger, as many folk do, Critheanach smiled sadly. “Alas, I have no money to buy a charm, as much as I would like to. My two sisters need all the money in the
castle to go to the fair.”

Now the old woman’s name was Baobh and she said: “And why are you not at the fair, young Critheanach? It is there that you should be, and not working in your father’s
kitchen.”

“I cannot go. I have no money. Nor have I good clothes to wear at the fair. Besides, if Geal and Donn were there and saw me, they would beat me senseless for leaving the kitchen without
finishing the work.”

Baobh sniffed in disapproval. “Fine sisters they must be. Have no care to the work. For clothes I will give you, whatever dress you desire and a fine mare to take you to the fair, with a
purse of gold to spend there.”

Critheanach looked sceptical but the old woman demanded to know what dress she would like.

“A dress of brightest green, a shawl the colour of purple heather and shoes to match,” cried Critheanach with a laugh.

“It is done!” cried Baobh.

Sure enough, Critheanach was dressed as she had wanted, in clothes so splendid that she looked every inch a princess. At the door stood a milk-white mare with a golden bridle and a golden
saddle.

“Now you may go to the fair, but you must not speak directly to your sisters nor to any young men. And after an hour, you must ride home as fast as the mare will carry
you.”

So Critheanach rode to the fair and the people stared at her in astonishment. Who was this beautiful young princess who rode on such a wondrous horse and who was dressed so richly? While the
young men strutted before her, to attract her attention, they were not so sure of themselves to speak to her directly and neither did she speak to them. She spotted Geal and Donn but she did not
speak to them either. She rode about the fair and marvelled at it, for she had never been allowed away from home before. Then a bell tolled the hour and she knew her time was up and she turned and
raced for home.

She had barely reached the door and dismounted when the horse vanished and she was dressed in her old clothes again. Hurrying inside the house, she found, to her astonishment, that all the work
had been done.

Not long afterwards, Geal and Donn came in and were talking about the strange young woman at the fair.

“She was a wonderful grand lady,” they said. “Never have we seen such a dress and such a horse. There wasn’t a young man in all the fair who did not try to attract her
attention, but she would have none of them.”

They demanded that their father, the poor Lord of Cataibh, provide them with dresses of equal splendour so that the next time they went to the fair, the young men might notice them. Poor man, he
had no option but to take some of his priceless books and sell them to raise the money for them.

On the next Saturday, just after Critheanach’s sisters had departed for the fair in their new dresses, there was a knocking at the kitchen door.

There was the old woman, Baobh, who smiled at her. “What? Not gone to the fair today?”

Critheanach smiled sadly. “It was a great joy to be able to go last week. But I still have no clothes, no money and my sisters will still beat me if the housework is not done.”

“
Bi d’ thosd
!” cried the old woman, which is the equivalent to saying “tush!”

Then she said: “The work will be done, and you shall have a dress, money and a horse to take you there. But again, as before, do not speak with your sisters nor any
young men, and ride home as fast as you can at the end of an hour.”

Critheanach agreed quite happily.

“What dress would you like?” asked the old woman.

“I’d like the finest red satin and red shoes and a silken white cloak.”

Within a blink of an eye, she was standing dressed as she desired, and outside was the milk-white mare with the golden harness.

The people at the fair were more astonished than ever to see her ride up. The young men pushed each other out of the way to get near her and smile at her. And though they doffed their caps and
bowed, she said nothing to them. Nor did she speak with her sisters whom she saw at the fair. She went about the stalls and people thought that her silence denoted a haughty attitude and that she
was some grand princess.

Then a bell began to toll the hour. She put her heels to the sides of her mare and had barely reached the door when the mare vanished and she was back into her old clothes again. And, going
inside, she found all the work was done.

A short time later, in came Geal and Donn, full of the news from the fair. Their talk was of nothing but the mysterious and beautiful princess and her fine clothes. Geal and Donn gave their
father, the Lord of Cataibh, no peace, until he promised to get them dresses that looked like the strange lady’s robes. He, poor man, had to take more precious books from his library, selling
them in order to raise the money for their finery.

Now on the third Saturday, just after Geal and Donn had gone off to the fair, there came a knocking on the kitchen door. Critheanach opened it and, lo and behold, it was the old woman Baobh
again.

“What?” she exclaimed. “Are you still here and not gone to the fair?”

“I would willingly go if I could finish this work and if I had a dress and money to go with,” replied Critheanach sadly.

“Have no care for the work. It will be done. Now, what dress would you like?”

“I’d like a dress of red silk from the waist down and white silk from the waist up, and a cloak of green silk about my shoulders, and red shoes on my
feet.”

Within a blink of an eye she was dressed as she had wished, and with a purse of gold to help her; outside was the milk-white mare with the golden harness.

Off she went to the fair, having been warned by Baobh to maintain the same conditions as before: not to speak to any young men, and certainly not to speak with her sisters, and be home after an
hour.

Once again the people at the fair crowded around when news came that the beautiful grand lady had once more come to the fair. Everyone felt that she was a princess from a foreign country, for
she never spoke. Now it happened that news of the visits of the grand lady had spread and that it had reached the ears of the Prince of Loch Abar, who was visiting Dòrnach, and he came to
the fair and found himself with a crowd of young men, jostling each other to catch a glimpse of her.

Critheanach stayed at the fair awhile, but now she was not so fascinated by it, nor with the vain young men who tried to attract her attention. She did not speak to them nor to her sisters, whom
she saw on the edge of the crowd, their faces clearly showing their annoyance by the lack of attention paid to them in the new dresses their father had provided. So when the bell began to toll the
hour, she was rather relieved that it was time to leave the fair and resolved never to go to the fair again, for it had lost all its charm.

She had not reckoned with the tenacity of the Prince of Loch Abar, whose name was Duncan. He refused to be pushed aside by the local young men, and made his way to the front of the crowd. Having
seen and fallen in love with the beautiful features of Critheanach, he decided to let nothing stand in his way in trying to make her acquaintance. Though she refused to speak to him, he ran by her
horse and, when she set off at a gallop home, he grabbed for her stirrup to stay her. As he did so, he chanced to grasp her shoe and off it came in his hand. He was left behind, standing in the
roadway, with her shoe in his hand.

She had barely reached her house when the mare disappeared and back she was in her own clothes.

While the work was all done, there was one difference. The old woman, Baobh, was standing in the kitchen, frowning.

“You have lost something, Critheanach.”

At once the girl knew what she meant. “There is vexation on me, for I have lost one of my shoes.”

“True for you,” agreed the old woman. “I came to tell you that this loss is now your fortune, so do not be afraid of what will happen.”

And with that, Baobh disappeared, as if she were a candle-flame being blown out.

Then Critheanach’s sisters came in, angry and talking about the latest appearance of the grand lady. This time, they spoke of the young prince who had so demeaned his station as to run
alongside the horse of the beautiful woman and tug off her shoe.

Indeed, at the fair, the local young men were mocking Duncan, Prince of Loch Abar.

“Do you think you can win a maiden by stealing her shoe?” they jeered.

“No, but I’ll tell you this,” replied Duncan. “This shoe is of such a delicate shape and size that, if I find the foot that fits it, I shall find that beautiful maiden.
When I do so, that maiden I shall marry.”

The young men were annoyed at this stranger’s presumption, for Loch Abar lay on the western side of the land of high-hilled Alba, while Dòrnach was on the eastern coast. They felt
it an affront that the Prince of Loch Abar should come and claim a maiden at Dòrnach Fair, without the local young men being given a chance to pay court to her.

“If that be so,” one of them said, more boldly than the rest, “then you will have to fight us for her.”

“When I find her, I shall fight you, if that is your wish,” replied Duncan grimly, for he was not afraid of them. If the truth were known, he was the best swordsman from Ceann
Donnchaidh in the north to Linne Salmhaigh in the south.

So the Prince of Loch Abar called his servants and, taking the shoe, they set off firstly to visit every household in
Cataibh to find anyone, high-born or low-born, who
might fit the shoe. After some weeks, the prince and his retinue came to the castle of the poor lord of Cataibh. The prince had left the castle until the last, as it was known that the poor Lord of
Cataibh was not so wealthy that he could send one of his daughters to Dòrnach Fair in such finery as the mysterious princess had appeared in.

When Geal and Donn heard that he was coming they, of course, insisted they should try on the shoe, even though they knew that they were not the grand lady whom he was searching for.

“It matters not, for if the shoes fits, we shall wear it. We have a right to be married to a prince.”

So the Prince of Loch Abar came to the house and the shoe was tried on - first on Geal and then on Donn. But neither of them could squeeze the shoe on. Truth to tell, as it was made by a
sìtheach
or Otherworld dweller, the shoe would only accept the foot it was made for. But no mortal ever knew this.

The Prince of Loch Abar stood up with a glum face, perhaps even more disappointed than the faces of Geal and Donn.

“Well, I have tried the shoe on every woman in Cataibh and a month it has taken. I will have to travel the seven kingdoms from Baideanach to Athal and to Fiobh. I will not rest until I
find the lady on whom the shoe fits.”

Then the poor Lord of Cataibh spoke up. He had barely spoken until that moment, for he usually allowed his two daughters, Geal and Donn, to dominate his life, while he retired into his
library.

“Prince Duncan,” he said, “you have not tried the shoe on every woman in Cataibh.”

“Have I not? Who has not tried the shoe?”

“My third daughter, Critheanach.”

At that, Geal and Donn broke out into a peal of rude laughter. “She has no use, except for cleaning the ashes. As if the shoe could fit her. Anyway, she was never at Dòrnach
Fair.”