Celtic Myths

by Flame Tree Studio

  “I have a friend,” says he, “that will bring us both to the King of Moro-co’s palace in a day, d— fly away with him!”

  There was great crying when she was parting from her father.

  “Ah!” says he, “what a lonesome life I’ll have now! Your poor brother in the power of that wicked witch, and kept away from us, and now you taken from me in my old age!”

  Well, they both were walking on through the wood, and he telling her how much he loved her; out walked the fox from behind a brake, and in a short time he and she were sitting on the brush, and holding one another fast for fear of slipping off, and away they went like thought. The wind that was before them they would overtake it, and in the evening he and she were in the big bawn of the King of Moro-co’s castle.

  “Well,” says he to the boy, “you’ve done your duty well; bring out the bay filly. I’d give the full of the bawn of such fillies, if I had them, for this handsome princess. Get on your steed, and here is a good purse of guineas for the road.”

  “Thank you,” says he. “I suppose you’ll let me shake hands with the princess before I start.”

  “Yes, indeed, and welcome.”

  Well, he was some little time about the hand-shaking, and before it was over he had her fixed snug behind him; and while you could count three, he, and she, and the filly were through all the guards, and a hundred perches away. On they went, and next morning they were in the wood near the King of Spain’s palace, and there was the fox before them.

  “Leave your princess here with me,” says he, “and go get the golden bird and the three apples. If you don’t bring us back the filly along with the bird, I must carry you both home myself.”

  Well, when the King of Spain saw the boy and the filly in the bawn, he made the golden bird, and the golden cage, and the golden apples be brought out and handed to him, and was very thankful and very glad of his prize. But the boy could not part with the nice beast without petting it and rubbing it; and while no one was expecting such a thing, he was up on its back, and through the guards, and a hundred perches away, and he wasn’t long till he came to where he left his princess and the fox.

  They hurried away till they were safe out of the King of Spain’s land, and then they went on easier; and if I was to tell you all the loving things they said to one another, the story wouldn’t be over till morning. When they were passing the village of the dance house, they found his two brothers begging, and they brought them along. When they came to where the fox appeared first, he begged the young man to cut off his head and his tail. He would not do it for him; he shivered at the very thought, but the eldest brother was ready enough. The head and tail vanished with the blows, and the body changed into the finest young man you could see, and who was he but the princess’s brother that was bewitched. Whatever joy they had before, they had twice as much now, and when they arrived at the palace bonfires were set blazing, oxes roasting, and puncheons of wine put out in the lawn. The young Prince of Greece was married to the king’s daughter, and the prince’s sister to the gardener’s son. He and she went a shorter way back to her father’s house, with many attendants, and the king was so glad of the golden bird and the golden apples, that he had sent a waggon full of gold and a waggon full of silver along with them.

  Smallhead and the King’s Sons

  Long ago there lived in Erin a woman who married a man of high degree and had one daughter. Soon after the birth of the daughter the husband died.

  The woman was not long a widow when she married a second time, and had two daughters. These two daughters hated their half-sister, thought she was not so wise as another, and nicknamed her Smallhead. When the elder of the two sisters was fourteen years old their father died. The mother was in great grief then, and began to pine away. She used to sit at home in the corner and never left the house. Smallhead was kind to her mother, and the mother was fonder of her eldest daughter than of the other two, who were ashamed of her.

  At last the two sisters made up in their minds to kill their mother. One day, while their half-sister was gone, they put the mother in a pot, boiled her, and threw the bones outside. When Smallhead came home there was no sign of the mother.

  “Where is my mother?” asked she of the other two.

  “She went out somewhere. How should we know where she is?”

  “Oh, wicked girls! you have killed my mother,” said Smallhead.

  Smallhead wouldn’t leave the house now at all, and the sisters were very angry.

  “No man will marry either one of us,” said they, “if he sees our fool of a sister.”

  Since they could not drive Smallhead from the house they made up their minds to go away themselves. One fine morning they left home unknown to their half-sister and travelled on many miles. When Smallhead discovered that her sisters were gone she hurried after them and never stopped till she came up with the two. They had to go home with her that day, but they scolded her bitterly.

  The two settled then to kill Smallhead, so one day they took twenty needles and scattered them outside in a pile of straw. “We are going to that hill beyond,” said they, “to stay till evening, and if you have not all the needles that are in that straw outside gathered and on the tables before us, we’ll have your life.”

  Away they went to the hill. Smallhead sat down, and was crying bitterly when a short grey cat walked in and spoke to her.

  “Why do you cry and lament so?” asked the cat.

  “My sisters abuse me and beat me,” answered Smallhead. “This morning they said they would kill me in the evening unless I had all the needles in the straw outside gathered before them.”

  “Sit down here,” said the cat, “and dry your tears.”

  The cat soon found the twenty needles and brought them to Smallhead. “Stop there now,” said the cat, “and listen to what I tell you. I am your mother; your sisters killed me and destroyed my body, but don’t harm them; do them good, do the best you can for them, save them: obey my words and it will be better for you in the end.”

  The cat went away for herself, and the sisters came home in the evening. The needles were on the table before them. Oh, but they were vexed and angry when they saw the twenty needles, and they said some one was helping their sister!

  One night when Smallhead was in bed and asleep they started away again, resolved this time never to return. Smallhead slept till morning. When she saw that the sisters were gone she followed, traced them from place to place, inquired here and there day after day, till one evening some person told her that they were in the house of an old hag, a terrible enchantress, who had one son and three daughters: that the house was a bad place to be in, for the old hag had more power of witchcraft than any one and was very wicked.

  Smallhead hurried away to save her sisters, and facing the house knocked at the door, and asked lodgings for God’s sake.

  “Oh, then,” said the hag, “it is hard to refuse any one lodgings, and besides on such a wild, stormy night. I wonder if you are anything to the young ladies who came the way this evening?”

  The two sisters heard this and were angry enough that Smallhead was in it, but they said nothing, not wishing the old hag to know their relationship. After supper the hag told the three strangers to sleep in a room on the right side of the house. When her own daughters were going to bed Smallhead saw her tie a ribbon around the neck of each one of them, and heard her say: “Do you sleep in the left-hand bed.” Smallhead hurried and said to her sisters: “Come quickly, or I’ll tell the woman who you are.”

  They took the bed in the left-hand room and were in it before the hag’s daughters came.

  “Oh,” said the daughters, “the other bed is as good.” So they took the bed in the right-hand room. When Smallhead knew that the hag’s daughters were asleep she rose, took the ribbons off their necks, and put them on her sister’s necks and on her own. She lay awake and watched them. After a
while she heard the hag say to her son:

  “Go, now, and kill the three girls; they have the clothes and money.”

  “You have killed enough in your life and so let these go,” said the son.

  But the old woman would not listen. The boy rose up, fearing his mother, and taking a long knife, went to the right-hand room and cut the throats of the three girls without ribbons. He went to bed then for himself, and when Smallhead found that the old hag was asleep she roused her sisters, told what had happened, made them dress quickly and follow her. Believe me, they were willing and glad to follow her this time.

  The three travelled briskly and came soon to a bridge, called at that time ‘The Bridge of Blood.” Whoever had killed a person could not cross the bridge. When the three girls came to the bridge the two sisters stopped: they could not go a step further. Smallhead ran across and went back again.

  “If I did not know that you killed our mother,” said she, “I might know it now, for this is the Bridge of Blood.’

  She carried one sister over the bridge on her back and then the other. Hardly was this done when the hag was at the bridge.

  “Bad luck to you, Smallhead!” said she, “I did not know that it was you that was in it last evening. You have killed my three daughters.”

  “It wasn’t I that killed them, but yourself,” said Smallhead.

  The old hag could not cross the bridge, so she began to curse, and she put every curse on Smallhead that she could remember. The sisters travelled on till they came to a King’s castle. They heard that two servants were needed in the castle.

  “Go now,” said Smallhead to the two sisters, “and ask for service. Be faithful and do well. You can never go back by the road you came.”

  The two found employment at the King’s castle. Smallhead took lodgings in the house of a blacksmith near by.

  “I should be glad to find a place as kitchen-maid in the castle,” said Smallhead to the blacksmith’s wife.

  “I will go to the castle and find a place for you if I can,” said the woman.

  The blacksmith’s wife found a place for Smallhead as kitchen-maid in the castle, and she went there next day.

  “I must be careful,” thought Smallhead, “and do my best. I am in a strange place. My two sisters are here in the King’s castle. Who knows, we may have great fortune yet.”

  She dressed neatly and was cheerful. Every one liked her, liked her better than her sisters, though they were beautiful. The King had two sons, one at home and the other abroad. Smallhead thought to herself one day: “It is time for the son who is here in the castle to marry. I will speak to him the first time I can.” One day she saw him alone in the garden, went up to him, and said:

  “Why are you not getting married, it is high time for you?”

  He only laughed and thought she was too bold, but then thinking that she was a simple-minded girl who wished to be pleasant, he said:

  “I will tell you the reason: My grandfather bound my father by an oath never to let his oldest son marry until he could get the Sword of Light, and I am afraid that I shall be long without marrying.”

  “Do you know where the Sword of Light is, or who has it?” asked Smallhead.

  “I do,” said the King’s son, “an old hag who has great power and enchantment, and she lives a long distance from this, beyond the Bridge of Blood. I cannot go there myself, I cannot cross the bridge, for I have killed men in battle. Even if I could cross the bridge I would not go, for many is the King’s son that hag has destroyed or enchanted.”

  “Suppose some person were to bring the Sword of Light, and that person a woman, would you marry her?”

  “I would, indeed,” said the King’s son.

  “If you promise to marry my elder sister I will strive to bring the Sword of Light.”

  “I will promise most willingly,” said the King’s son.

  Next morning early, Smallhead set out on her journey. Calling at the first shop she bought a stone weight of salt, and went on her way, never stopping or resting till she reached the hag’s house at nightfall. She climbed to the gable, looked down, and saw the son making a great pot of stirabout for his mother, and she hurrying him. “I am as hungry as a hawk!” cried she.

  Whenever the boy looked away, Smallhead dropped salt down, dropped it when he was not looking, dropped it till she had the whole stone of salt in the stirabout. The old hag waited and waited till at last she cried out: “Bring the stirabout. I am starving! Bring the pot. I will eat from the pot. Give the milk here as well.”

  The boy brought the stirabout and the milk, the old woman began to eat, but the first taste she got she spat out and screamed: “You put salt in the pot in place of meal!”

  “I did not, mother.”

  “You did, and it’s a mean trick that you played on me. Throw this stirabout to the pig outside and go for water to the well in the field.”

  “I cannot go,” said the boy, “the night is too dark; I might fall into the well.”

  “You must go and bring the water; I cannot live till morning without eating.”

  “I am as hungry as yourself,” said the boy, “but how can I go to the well without a light? I will not go unless you give me a light.”

  “If I give you the Sword of Light there is no knowing who may follow you; maybe that devil of a Smallhead is outside.”

  But sooner than fast till morning the old hag gave the Sword of Light to her son, warning him to take good care of it. He took the Sword of Light and went out. As he saw no one when he came to the well he left the sword on the top of the steps going down to the water, so as to have good light. He had not gone down many steps when Smallhead had the sword, and away she ran over hills, dales, and valleys towards the Bridge of Blood.

  The boy shouted and screamed with all his might. Out ran the hag. “Where is the sword?” cried she.

  “Some one took it from the step.”

  Off rushed the hag, following the light, but she didn’t come near Smallhead till she was over the bridge.

  “Give me the Sword of Light, or bad luck to you,” cried the hag.

  “Indeed, then, I will not; I will keep it, and bad luck to yourself,” answered Smallhead.

  On the following morning she walked up to the King’s son and said:

  “I have the Sword of Light; now will you marry my sister?”

  “I will,” said he.

  The King’s son married Smallhead’s sister and got the Sword of Light. Smallhead stayed no longer in the kitchen – the sister didn’t care to have her in kitchen or parlour.

  The King’s second son came home. He was not long in the castle when Smallhead said to herself, “Maybe he will marry my second sister.”

  She saw him one day in the garden, went toward him; he said something, she answered, then asked: “Is it not time for you to be getting married like your brother?”

  “When my grandfather was dying,” said the young man, “he bound my father not to let his second son marry till he had the Black Book. This book used to shine and give brighter light than ever the Sword of Light did, and I suppose it does yet. The old hag beyond the Bridge of Blood has the book, and no one dares to go near her, for many is the King’s son killed or enchanted by that woman.”

  “Would you marry my second sister if you were to get the Black Book?”

  “I would, indeed; I would marry any woman if I got the Black Book with her. The Sword of Light and the Black Book were in our family till my grandfather’s time, then they were stolen by that cursed old hag.”

  “I will have the book,” said Smallhead, “or die in the trial to get it.”

  Knowing that stirabout was the main food of the hag, Smallhead settled in her mind to play another trick. Taking a bag she scraped the chimney, gathered about a stone of soot, and took it with her. The night was dark and rainy. When she reac
hed the hag’s house, she climbed up the gable to the chimney and found that the son was making stirabout for his mother. She dropped the soot down by degrees till at last the whole stone of soot was in the pot; then she scraped around the top of the chimney till a lump of soot fell on the boy’s hand.

  “Oh, mother,” said he, “the night is wet and soft, the soot is falling.”

  “Cover the pot,” said the hag. “Be quick with that stirabout, I am starving.”

  The boy took the pot to his mother.

  “Bad luck to you,” cried the hag the moment she tasted the stirabout, “this is full of soot; throw it out to the pig.”

  “If I throw it out there is no water inside to make more, and I’ll not go in the dark and rain to the well.”

  “You must go!” screamed she.

  “I’ll not stir a foot out of this unless I get a light,” said the boy.

  “Is it the book you are thinking of, you fool, to take it and lose it as you did the sword? Smallhead is watching you.”

  “How could Smallhead, the creature, be outside all the time? If you have no use for the water you can do without it.”

  Sooner than stop fasting till morning, the hag gave her son the book, saying: “Do not put this down or let it from your hand till you come in, or I’ll have your life.”

  The boy took the book and went to the well. Smallhead followed him carefully. He took the book down into the well with him, and when he was stooping to dip water she snatched the book and pushed him into the well, where he came very near drowning.

  Smallhead was far away when the boy recovered, and began to scream and shout to his mother. She came in a hurry, and finding that the book was gone, fell into such a rage that she thrust a knife into her son’s heart and ran after Smallhead, who had crossed the bridge before the hag could come up with her.

  When the old woman saw Smallhead on the other side of the bridge facing her and dancing with delight, she screamed: