Praise for Liam Mac Uistin’s books of classic Celtic tales:
‘This is the answer for those children who think Irish legends are boring’
IRISH GUIDE TO CHILDREN’S BOOKS
‘A magical read’
IRISH INDEPENDENT
‘A collection to stir any heart’
SUNDAY PRESS
‘Magical stuff and a perfect gift’
EDUCATION MATTERS
‘A sweeping, colourful narrative that grips the interest of all readers’
LEINSTER LEADER
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
CHAPTER I
The Enchanted Palace
CHAPTER II
The Quest for the Giolla Deacair
CHAPTER III
Oisín and Niamh Cinn Óir
CHAPTER IV
Ailne’s Revenge
About the Author
Copyright
For my Niamh Cinn Óir and for Paul, her gallant Oisín
PROLOGUE
As in my previous books of stories from the fascinating world of Celtic legend, Celtic Tales of Enchantment contains exciting and entertaining tales of magic and wonder from the rich store of Celtic lore.
Like most of the old stories from Celtic mythology, these tales were passed on by storytellers from one generation to another. Later, they were written down by scribes in monasteries and in other places of learning.
The stories in this book are all about the legendary Fionn Mac Cumhaill and the Fianna, the army which had been formed under his command to defend the High King and the land of Ireland. The Fianna were at the height of their power during the reign of the celebrated High King, Cormac Mac Airt.
Fionn, the son of the great warrior Cumhall, had his main fortress on the Hill of Allen, near Newbridge in County Kildare. The Fianna comprised different tribes or clans, each under its own commander but subject to the overall command of Fionn. The most powerful of these clans were Clann Baoiscne of Leinster, commanded directly by Fionn, and Clann Morna of Connacht, under the immediate command of Goll Mac Morna.
Apart from Fionn Mac Cumhaill, the most important members of the Fianna were Fionn’s son, Oisín, and his grandson, Oscar; Diarmaid Ó Duibhne; Goll Mac Morna, his brother Conán (noted for his gluttony, his boasting and his venomous tongue); and Fionn’s nephew, Caoilte Mac Rónáin, who was famed for his fleetness of foot.
‘The Enchanted Palace’ recounts the gripping tale of Bruíon Caorthainn (The Palace of the Quicken Trees), one of the most exciting of all the adventures of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and his intrepid band of warriors. It relates how Fionn and his comrades are lured into a deadly trap by the treachery and the magic of their enemies.
‘The Quest for the Giolla Deacair’ is a humorous account of the enchantment of Conán Mac Morna and other Fianna stalwarts by the Giolla Deacair, a Tuatha Dé Danann magician in disguise.
‘Oisín and Niamh Cinn Óir’ is one of the most romantic and best-known stories about the Fianna. It tells of the love of Fionn’s son, Oisín, for the beautiful Niamh of the Golden Hair, how he follows her to the Land of Eternal Youth, Tír na nÓg, and the strange fate that awaits Oisín when he returns to Ireland many years later.
In ‘Ailne’s Revenge’, the widow of the King of Iceland conspires with her brother, the giant and magician Draoiantóir, to lure Fionn and the Fianna to their deaths in revenge for the killing of her husband and nephews at the bloody battle of Cnoc an Áir.
These lively and dramatic tales take the reader into an enthralling world of heroism, revenge, love, betrayal and magic.
THE ENCHANTED PALACE
The horse thundered over the plain of Kildare, white flecks of sweat beading its flanks and its flying hooves sparking like flints off the stony track. And still the rider spurred his steed on to greater speed. Just as it reached the high gates of the great fort on the Hill of Allen, the exhausted animal collapsed on the ground, throwing the rider in a somersault over its head.
He scrambled to his feet, ran to the gates and beat frantically on them with his fists. ‘Open up!’ he shouted. ‘I have an urgent message for Fionn Mac Cumhaill.’
A peep-hole slid open in a wooden panel and a pair of eyes surveyed him warily. ‘Where are you from?’ the sentry demanded.
‘I have been sent by the High King in Tara. I must see Fionn Mac Cumhaill at once!’
The gates swung open and a tall warrior motioned to the messenger to follow him, at the same time ordering a servant to tend to the gallant horse. The warrior led him into the great hall of the fort, where Fionn Mac Cumhaill, the leader of the Fianna, was talking to his son, Oisín, and his grandson, Oscar.
‘A messenger from the High King,’ the warrior announced.
Fionn beckoned the messenger over. ‘What news do you bring from the noble Cormac Mac Airt?’
‘He sent me to tell you that we are all in great danger. A huge fleet of ships has arrived from the land of Lochlann and deposited an army on our western coast. They are led by Colga, King of Lochlann.’
‘Colga? He has been threatening for many years to invade Ireland,’ said Oisín gravely.
‘The High King wants you to mobilise the Fianna and drive the Lochlannachs from our shores,’ the messenger croaked, his voice rasping and his throat raw from the frantic ride.
Fionn jumped to his feet. ‘Let us prepare for battle immediately!’ He instructed Oisín to assemble the Fianna and told Oscar to arrange for food and drink to be given to the messenger. Then he hurried from the hall to don his armour and get his shield and weapons.
When the four battalions of the Fianna were drawn up in the fort, Fionn led them out to do battle. After half a day’s march they saw the vast army of Lochlann bearing down on them from the crest of a hill. The invaders outnumbered them three to one and, at first, the fighting went against the Fianna. Then, just as they were about to give way, Fionn’s ringing war-cry rallied them for one last extra effort and they held their ground. But they paid a high price for their bravery.
Oscar was furious when he saw so many of his comrades lying dead and wounded on the battlefield. Spying the standard of Colga, the Lochlann king, he carved his way towards him, his enemies falling before his great double-edged sword like corn under a scythe.
The king saw Oscar coming, and, with a contemptuous snarl, rushed to meet him. They fought each other savagely and mercilessly. Their shields bent and buckled under the flailing hail of sword blows. Their helmets were dented and their armour pierced with gaping holes. Blood flowed in red rivulets from their many wounds.
But Oscar gradually got the upper hand, and, seeing the king falter, he sheared his head from his shoulders with a massive blow of his sword.
The Lochlann army began to panic when word spread among them that their king was dead. They turned to flee back to their ships, but the Fianna pursued them relentlessly and cut them down, all but one. The survivor was Miodhach, the youngest son of Colga, and Fionn ordered that his life should be spared.
‘I shall bring him up in my own household,’ Fionn declared. He took the young prince back to the fort at the Hill of Allen, where he was given an honoured place.
When Miodhach grew to manhood, he was trained for the gruelling trials a warrior had to undergo in order to be accepted into the Fianna. In one test he was hunted through the woods by other warriors. He had to run so lightly that no dry twig broke under his foot; if he stood on a thorn while fleeing from his pursuers, he had to pluck it out without stopping. If he was wounded or caught, or if his spear shook in his hand while he was defending himself, he would fail. Only if he succeeded in these, and many other trials of strength and
courage, would he be accepted as a member of the Fianna.
Miodhach passed all the tests with flying colours. He joined the Fianna and Fionn made him one of his most trusted lieutenants. But Conán Mac Morna and many of the other leading Fianna warriors were not convinced of Miodhach’s loyalty.
One day, when Miodhach was away on a hunting trip, they told Fionn of their suspicions.
‘This young Lochlannach, Miodhach, has good cause to hate you and all of us in the Fianna,’ said Conán. ‘We killed his father and brothers before his very eyes.’
A murmur of agreement came from the others.
Fionn shook his head. ‘I don’t think there is any need for us to worry about Miodhach. He has grown up in my household, he has learned our ways, and I have never heard any word or seen any sign from him that he holds any hatred for us.’
‘The loss of a father is not easily forgotten or forgiven. He has reason to hate us,’ Conán insisted. ‘I believe he is planning to have revenge. He says little but he learns all our secrets and our methods of waging war. I fear that the day may come when he will use this knowledge to try to destroy us.’
Again, there were murmurs of agreement from around the table. ‘Very well then,’ Fionn said with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘I will heed your warnings. Has anyone any suggestion to make?’
‘Send him far away from the fort,’ advised Goll Mac Morna. ‘Give him some land in a remote part of Ireland where he can have his own household if he wishes. Then he’ll no longer be in a position to learn about our plans and secrets.’
‘A sensible proposal,’ Fionn agreed. ‘I shall send him away, but I’ll let him select the place where he wishes to live.’
Early next day Fionn summoned Miodhach and told him what had been arranged. The Lochlannach prince showed no anger or surprise, but thanked Fionn and chose for his dwelling a piece of land in the west which overlooked a sea inlet and a group of uninhabited islands.
As well as the land, Fionn gave him a house and cattle and a large amount of gold. Miodhach settled down in his new home. Over the years he grew wealthier and wealthier. But he never invited Fionn or any of his former Fianna comrades to visit him and enjoy his hospitality.
Instead, he plotted how best he could gain revenge on them for the deaths of his father and brothers. He knew he would need help from outside to defeat the Fianna and the many harbours and islands in his territory were ideal for a fleet of ships to anchor in safety and secrecy.
Finally, when he had gained enough wealth and power, he decided to put his plan into operation. He sent an invitation to kings and princes from Lochlann to come to Ireland with their armies to help destroy Fionn and the Fianna. In return, they would gain territory and slaves and a base in Ireland, which they had long desired. They all accepted his offer with enthusiasm, and together they set about preparing their deadly trap.
Fionn and his companions were heading for a forest in the west that had a reputation for holding some of the finest and most ferocious wild boar in all of Ireland. It was a long and exhausting hunt and, when the chase was over, they had caught four fine beasts. As dusk was coming on they decided to set up camp for the night and pitched their tents on a hill near the edge of the forest, where they dug cooking-places and built a huge fire, ready for the evening meal.
They were sitting around the fire recalling the day’s adventures when a tall warrior came striding up the hill towards them. He was dressed as if for battle, in a splendid coat of armour. On his left shoulder he carried a broad shield, and a great sword with a golden hilt hung from his belt. His helmet shone like burnished silver.
The warrior walked straight over to Fionn and greeted him by name.
Fionn gave him a puzzled look. ‘You have the advantage of me, stranger,’ he said. ‘I do not know you.’
‘I recognise him,’ said Conán. ‘It is Miodhach, the Lochlannach.’
‘I am no longer a Lochlannach,’ Miodhach reminded him, ‘I am a member of the Fianna, like yourself.’
‘In name only,’ Conán retorted, his voice harsh. ‘In all the years you have lived in this part of the country you never invited Fionn or any of us to a feast, or offered us hospitality of any kind. That is not the way a true member of the Fianna should behave.’
‘I am not to blame for that,’ Miodhach protested. ‘None of you needed an invitation to come to feast with a fellow member of the Fianna. That is one of our rules.’
A conciliatory smile lit up his face. ‘However, now that you are here, I have arranged to hold a banquet tonight in your honour in one of my palaces. It is called the Palace of the Quicken Trees and you will find it near a ford to the east of this hill. I would be delighted to see you all there within an hour.’
He turned and strode away down the hill. Oisín stared questioningly at his father. ‘Will you go?’ he asked.
Fionn nodded. ‘He has invited us and, as you know, I am bound by a geas – a solemn oath of honour – never to refuse an invitation to a feast.’ He paused in thought and then turned to Conán. ‘Would you like to go?’
Conán, the glutton of the Fianna, was torn between his love of fine food and his dislike of Miodhach.
‘I still don’t trust Miodhach,’ he said. ‘But it would be discourteous to refuse an invitation to a banquet,’ he added, patting his ample stomach.
Fionn stared reflectively into the fire. ‘I don’t think we have anything to fear,’ he said. ‘However, just to be on the safe side, it might be advisable for only some of us to go to the feast and the rest to stay here.’
He placed his hand on Oisín’s shoulder. ‘You and Diarmaid Ó Duibhne and four others will remain in the camp. I will go with the rest to the Palace of the Quicken Trees. I will send back a messsenger to let you know that everything is alright.’
Fionn then set out with Conán Mac Morna, his brother Goll and ten other Fianna warriors.
When Fionn’s party drew near Miodhach’s palace, they were astonished at its size and splendour. The building stood in a circle of quicken, or rowan, trees which were covered with clusters of gleaming red berries. On one side of the palace was a steep path leading down to a ford over a wide river. Although the side doors were closed, the main entrance was wide open. They approached the door and stopped. Fionn glanced around. There was no one to be seen and the palace had an eerie air about it.
‘I find it strange that there is no one here to greet us. We are, after all, invited guests,’ Fionn commented.
‘Let me go in first and see what it’s like,’ Conán offered. His stomach rumbled hungrily as he entered the palace. When he saw how magnificent the interior was, his eyes bulged with amazement. The walls were decorated in a variety of radiant colours. Soft couches, covered in gleaming silk, were placed in a circle around a huge smokeless fire. From the depths of the fire came a delightful fragrance which filled the room with its perfume. And, best of all in Conán’s eyes, the golden tables which stretched the length of the room positively groaned under the weight of food. Roast pig, pheasant, venison and lamb were piled high on platters, surrounded by bowls of rare and delicious fruits and great flagons of wine and mead.
Conán rushed outside. ‘Never in all my life have I seen a banqueting hall as splendid as this one!’ he exclaimed. ‘Come in and judge for yourselves.’
Fionn and the others entered the palace. They stood and stared in amazement at the richness and splendour of everything.
‘No other king or chieftain in Ireland has a banqueting hall to compare with this!’ declared Caoilte Mac Rónáin.
‘But where is Miodhach?’ asked Fionn uneasily. ‘I do not understand why he is not here to welcome us.’
‘We may as well sit down while we wait for him,’ said Conán, licking his lips as he eyed the food.
They sat on the couches and waited. But there was still no sign of Miodhach. ‘I am weak with hunger,’ Conán complained. ‘No one will mind if I help myself to a haunch of venison.’
But, just as his hand reac
hed out to grasp his prize, all the fine food suddenly disappeared. Every table lay bare; goblets, wine, fruit and meats had vanished without trace. ‘This is very strange,’ growled a disappointed Conán.
‘I see something even stranger,’ Goll muttered. ‘That fire, which was so clear and fragrant, is now foul and stinking and sending out clouds of black smoke.’
‘There is something stranger than that,’ Caoilte added. ‘These walls, which were covered with radiant colours when we came in, are now nothing but rough quicken tree planks.’
‘Look around,’ said Conán. ‘This hall, which had seven big doors leading from it, has now only one miserable door. And that is firmly closed.’
At this news, Fionn looked startled. ‘This is very serious,’ he said, ‘I am under a geas never to stay in a quicken tree palace with only one door. It means great danger. Let us rise and break our way out through the walls.’
But as he and the others tried to get up, the couches under them vanished and they fell heavily to the ground, where they were stuck fast. Conán grabbed his spear and, planting it on the floor, tried to lever himself upright. But he remained fixed where he was. He tried again, leaning all his weight on the shaft of the spear. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead, his arms and shoulders ached with effort, and suddenly he lost his grip on his spear. He plunged headfirst to the floor, and when he tried to straighten up, found that he was fixed by the top of his head to the cold clay.
‘Help me!’ he cried out to his brother.
‘How can I help? I can’t move either,’ Goll replied. ‘Your suspicions were well-founded, Conán. There is no doubt that Miodhach is behind this treachery.’
He looked across at Fionn. ‘Place your thumb in your mouth so that we may know the extent of the trouble we are in.’ Fionn had acquired the power to foretell events in this way when he burnt his thumb on the salmon of knowledge, caught in the sacred waters of the River Boyne.
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