‘We need a shipbuilder,’ Fionn said. ‘And, although we have the most skilled trackers on land, we have none who can also track on sea. We would welcome your help.’
When the ship was ready, Fionn selected his grandson, Oscar, as well as Diarmaid Ó Duibhne, Conán and his brother Goll, and Fearadach, Foltlár and ten others to accompany him on the quest for the Giolla Deacair. He instructed his son, Oisín, to remain in Ireland in charge of the rest of the Fianna while he was away. Then he and the others set sail in the direction the horse had taken.
After many days’ voyaging they arrived at the base of a cliff which soared so high into the sky that the peak almost touched the clouds.
‘This is where the track of the Giolla Deacair runs out,’ Foltlár said. ‘He and his horse, and the men stuck on its back, must have travelled on over that cliff.’
Fionn stared up at the rock and shook his head gloomily. ‘I can’t see a way to the top of that,’ he declared. There was a murmur of agreement from his companions. Then Feargus spoke up.
‘There is one among us who could do it,’ he said, ‘if he has not lost his daring and courage.’ He stared meaningfully at Diarmaid.
Diarmaid craned his neck to look up at the towering cliff. ‘It is a very hard challenge you place before me,’ he said. ‘But, for the sake of our comrades, I will do my best to climb the cliff.’
He buckled on his sword, harnessed his spear to his back with one of the ship’s ropes and began to climb. It was slow, dangerous progress as he searched for footholds in the cracks in the rock. Halfway up, a shrieking gull flew out of her nest, right in front of his face. Startled, Diarmaid jerked back; his feet slipped from under him and he was left dangling by his fingertips. His friends gasped, as, for what seemed like an eternity, he hung from the vertical drop. Then his desperate feet found a niche and he hauled himself upwards again.
At last he reached the summit, and, tying the rope securely to a big boulder, he lowered it down to his comrades. ‘I will go ahead,’ he shouted, his voice faint and echoing. ‘You can follow my tracks.’
Then he set out across the plain that stretched before him. After travelling for a short while he came to a well full of clear spring water. He placed a mark on the side of the well for his comrades to see. On a nearby ledge lay a richly ornamented drinking-horn. Taking the horn, he filled it from the well and had a long refreshing drink.
Suddenly he heard a furious bellow behind him. Swirling around, he saw a tall, fully armed warrior striding towards him.
‘Who gave you permission to drink from my well with my drinking-horn?’ he shouted. ‘I will have satisfaction from you!’
Drawing his sword, the warrior rushed at Diarmaid. The Fianna warrior immediately drew his own sword to defend himself.
They fought for hours. Wide cracks appeared on their shields as they slashed at each other with their great weapons. Then Diarmaid’s opponent began to tire. He edged away and was about to jump into the well when Diarmaid managed to get a tight grip on him.
‘You will not escape that easily!’ he said. The warrior struggled to free himself. They swayed on the edge of the well and then both toppled in.
Still grasping each other, they sank deeper and deeper in the water. Just as Diarmaid began to think that there was no bottom to this well, and that he was condemned to a watery grave, his feet touched solid ground. The well-water surged up and away and, to his amazement, Diarmaid found himself standing in beautiful countryside, with fertile valleys, green hills and leafy woods. He let go his grip on the other man, who immediately disappeared.
In the distance Diarmaid saw a city with a large, imposing palace. He went towards it. When he reached the green in front of the palace he saw that it was occupied by a group of warriors, practising armed combat. Then he spied his enemy from the well, running towards the palace entrance.
Diarmaid tried to follow him but his way was blocked by the warriors. They menaced him with their weapons, but Diarmaid drew his sword and, with a loud battle-cry, cleaved his way through the group.
Those who survived his onslaught ran into the palace and barricaded themselves inside. Tired and wounded, Diarmaid lay down behind a hedge to snatch some sleep. He was awakened by a tap on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw a young warrior with sword in hand.
Instinctively, Diarmaid grabbed his own sword and jumped to his feet. But the stranger gave him a friendly smile and said, ‘I am the Knight of Valour. I mean you no harm. My only wish is to help you. Come with me to a safe place where you can rest and recover your strength.’
Diarmaid followed his new friend to a large house some miles away. The man brought him into a banqueting hall where a magnificent feast was in progress. Diarmaid was introduced to all the lords and ladies in the hall and sat down with them to enjoy the feast.
When he had eaten and drunk his fill, Diarmaid thanked his host for his hospitality.
‘Tell me the name of this country,’ he said. ‘I would also like to know the name of the warrior who escaped from me at the palace.’
‘This country is called Tír Faoi Thoinn, the land beneath the sea,’ his host replied. ‘The warrior is known as the Knight of the Well. He is my brother and is now king of this country. But, although we are brothers, we are sworn enemies. He unfairly deprived me of most of the land and inheritance our late father, the old king, left to me.’
He paused and put his hand on Diarmaid’s shoulder. ‘I saw how you dealt with my brothers’ warriors; I would be glad of your help to win back what is rightfully mine.’
‘I will help willingly,’ Diarmaid replied, ‘if, in return, you will assist me in finding my friends who have been kidnapped by a creature known as the Giolla Deacair. We tracked them as far as the cliff that borders the land by the well, but I have seen no sign of them since.’
‘I have one hundred and fifty warriors here,’ the prince replied. If you lead them into battle against my evil brother, they will be at your disposal to find your comrades.’
‘Fear not,’ Diarmaid assured him, ‘I will not rest until you have regained what is yours by right.’
Fionn and the others had succeeded in climbing the hill and were following Diarmaid’s tracks. When they reached the well they saw the mark he had left. Foltlár inspected the ground.
‘There is no sign of Diarmaid’s tracks continuing on here,’ he said. ‘There is only one way he could have gone – down through the well.’
‘Then we shall have to go that way too,’ Fionn declared. He jumped into the well, followed by the others. They sank to the bottom and, just as Diarmaid had, they emerged into the beautiful Tír Faoi Thoinn.
Foltlár picked up Diarmaid’s tracks again and they followed them over the plain. They had just stopped for a brief rest when they saw a large group of armed warriors approaching them.
‘Look!’ exclaimed Goll Mac Morna. ‘That is Diarmaid Ó Duibhne at their head.’
Fionn and the others shouted joyfully and ran forward to greet Diarmaid. He told them of his adventures since he had left them at the cliff.
‘These are the men of the Knight of Valour,’ he said, gesturing at the group behind him. ‘We are coming from a great battle in which we defeated the army of the evil king of this land. I myself killed the king in single combat.’
He beckoned the knight forward. ‘And this is my friend, the Knight of Valour, who is now King of Tír Faoi Thoinn. He has promised to help us find Conán and the others.’
The new king greeted Fionn and his companions. ‘Diarmaid told me of your quest,’ he said. ‘I have found out that the Giolla Deacair is really Abhartha, a Tuatha Dé Danann magician. He is holding your people at an enchanted fort on the far side of those hills.’
‘We shall go at once and free them,’ Fionn said.
‘I and my men would be glad to help you,’ offered the king.
Fionn thanked him and assured him that he and his companions could deal with Abhartha themselves. Then, with Diarmaid accompanying them,
they set off again in quest of the so-called Giolla Deacair.
They made their way across the hills and came within sight of the Giolla’s fort. They stopped to formulate a plan. Goll Mac Morna suggested launching a surprise attack on Abhartha and his men.
Fionn disagreed. ‘I think it would be best if we sent a messenger to Abhartha asking him to free our comrades. If we were to attack him suddenly he might kill them in revenge.’ His face grew grim. ‘But, if he refuses to comply, we shall have no mercy on him or his people.’
The wise and silver-tongued Feargus Finnbéal was sent as an emissary to the Giolla. He was surprised to see his kidnapped comrades playing games on the green in front of the fort. They rushed to greet him.
Hearing the commotion, Abhartha emerged from the fort. ‘I am an ambassador from Fionn Mac Cumhaill,’ Feargus told him. ‘He and his men are near your fort. He has sent me to ask you to free our comrades. Otherwise, the Fianna will wage terrible war on you and your people.’
‘As you can see, I have treated your comrades with kindness,’ Abhartha said. ‘Neither I, nor any of my people, wish to meet the Fianna in war again. We know that we have no hope of defeating them in battle. So, I will gladly set your comrades free and pay whatever fine Fionn decides on as a penalty for the trick I played. Go back to Fionn and tell him that. Tell him also that he and his companions are welcome to join me here in a feast to celebrate the renewed peace between us.’
Feargus returned to Fionn and told him what Abhartha had said. They all went to the fort, where Abhartha gave them a hundred thousand welcomes. He led them into his banqueting hall, where a magnificent feast was laid out on the tables. When they had finished eating, Abhartha turned to Fionn and said, ‘Now, name the penalty you wish to impose on me.’
Fionn pondered for a while. ‘In fairness, I think that one of the men you kidnapped should decide on the penalty. I will abide by his suggestion.’
Conán Maol immediately jumped to his feet. ‘I was the first to suffer!’ he said. ‘Let me choose the penalty.’
‘Very well then,’ Abhartha said. ‘Name the penalty and I will carry it out.’
‘My decision is as follows,’ Conán declared. ‘Fifteen of your men are to go on the back of that creature you call a horse. You are to hold on to its tail. Then you are all to go back to Ireland, in the same way that your horse carried us here.’
Abhartha agreed to this. Fionn and his companions returned to the cliff, lowered themselves on the rope to the deck of the ship and sailed back to Ireland. They were on exactly the same hill where the Giolla had first appeared when they spied the bony horse, bumping and jolting towards them with fifteen Tuatha Dé Danann clinging desperately to its back and the Giolla Deacair hanging on to its tail.
Fionn and the others burst out laughing when they saw how dishevelled and uncomfortable the group looked.
‘That was indeed a very good penalty, Conán!’ Fionn exclaimed.
They were continuing to enjoy the spectacle when the Giolla Deacair suddenly pointed to the top of the hill. Fionn and his companions swung around to see what had caught the Giolla’s attention. There was nothing there.
When they turned back, the Giolla Deacair, his men and the horse had all disappeared. And from that day on neither Fionn nor any of the Fianna ever saw them again.
But, for years afterwards, the story of the quest for the Giolla Deacair was told and re-told by the fires at night, serving as a reminder to the Fianna that they should always be on their guard for the tricks of the Tuatha Dé Danann.
OISÍN AND NIAMH CINN ÓIR
It was an ideal morning for hunting. The trees and hedges were fragrant with blossoms and no cloud smudged the bright sapphire of the sky. The woods were full of deer. When they heard the baying of Sceolaing and Bran, Fionn’s hounds, they dashed from cover and went bounding over the plain leading down to the waters of Loch Léin.
Fionn, his son, Oisín, and their Fianna comrades were so engrossed in the chase that at first they did not notice the rider on the pure white horse approaching swiftly from the west. But the ever-alert Caoilte Mac Rónáin spotted the steed as he paused to take an arrow from his deerskin quiver.
‘Look!’ he shouted. ‘Someone is coming!’
Fionn and the others reached for their swords. The Fianna had defeated the Tuatha Dé Danann many years before, but the Tuatha occasionally sent people from their underground home to try to kill Fionn or Oisín or Oscar in revenge.
Fionn’s eyes narrowed as the rider came nearer. Then they opened wide in surprise.
‘That is not one of the Tuatha Dé Danann,’ he exclaimed. ‘It is a beautiful young maiden.’
The girl on the white steed approached and stopped. She wore a silken robe covered in glittering stars that shone like the brightest of diamonds. Her hair flowed over her shoulders and down to her waist like a river of molten gold. Her eyes were large and green. On her head she wore a crown encrusted with precious stones.
Oisín was entranced by this vision. ‘I have never seen anyone lovelier,’ he murmured.
The horse was an elegant pure-bred stallion, his hind-quarters covered in a satin cloth and his shoes made of finest gold. The girl sat confidently on the horse’s back and held the bridle with a small but strong hand.
‘Who are you, lovely lady?’ Fionn enquired. ‘And where do you come from?’
‘Noble leader of the Fianna,’ she answered in a sweet voice, ‘I come from a country far over the western sea, called Tír na nÓg, Land of Eternal Youth. My name is Niamh Cinn Óir and I am the daughter of the king.’
‘Tell me, Niamh of the Golden Hair, what has brought you here? Has your husband abandoned you, or has some other trouble befallen you, that you seek the help of the Fianna?’
Niamh smiled and shook her head. ‘I have never been married or betrothed to any man. But, in a dream, I saw the man I wish to marry. He lives here in Ireland.’
‘What is the name of this fortunate man?’ Fionn asked.
‘He is called Oisín, and he stands there beside you.’
‘Oisín, my son?’
‘Yes, your son,’ Niamh declared. ‘Even in far-off Tír na nÓg we have heard the stories of his bravery, his courtesy, his honour and his gentleness. Many princes have sought my hand in marriage, but the only man I can ever love is Oisín.’
Fionn glanced at Oisín and asked, ‘What is your response to this lady?’
Oisín did not reply but moved closer to the white steed. He looked at the lovely maiden with her golden hair and smiling eyes. She leaned forward to speak to him. ‘As well as bringing you my love, Oisín, I also bring you the opportunity to enjoy eternal youth,’ she said softly.
‘You do?’ Oisín said, entranced by her words and her beauty.
‘If you come with me on my white steed to Tír na nÓg, the Land of Eternal Youth, you will always stay as young and as strong as you are today; you will never grow old or feeble, you will never suffer pain or disability. Besides all this, Tír na nÓg is a delightful country, full of milk and honey and trees that bear fruit all the year round.
She paused and pressed his hand. ‘As my husband, you will be honoured; you will be given gold and silver and precious jewels, a hundred swift horses and a hundred keen-scenting hounds. You will also have great herds of the finest cattle and flocks of golden-fleeced sheep. You will receive a coat of armour that cannot be pierced and a sword that will kill anyone you meet in battle. And my father, the king of Tír na nÓg, will present you with a golden crown which will protect you from all harm and danger.’
Oisín’s eyes widened in wonder. ‘To possess all these, and to have everlasting youth, is beyond anything I have ever dreamed of,’ he muttered.
‘And to have me as your wife,’ she reminded him, smiling.
‘Of course,’ Oisín said, now completely enchanted by Niamh’s beauty and charm. ‘That would make me the happiest man alive.’
‘Are you ready to come with me now?’ she asked.
Oisín turned to Fionn. ‘Father, I have made up my mind. I have decided that I wish to go with Niamh to the Land of Youth. But I would like to have your blessing before I go.’
Fionn shook his head sadly. Laying his hand on Oisín’s shoulder he said, ‘I would not want to stand in the way of your happiness, my son. And, in truth, I have never seen a maiden as worthy of you as Niamh of the Golden Hair. But I would be very sad to lose you. And something about all this troubles me. I feel in my heart that if you leave now you will never come back to Ireland and I will never see you again.’
‘No, father, I shall return to Ireland,’ Oisín promised.
Even as he said these words, Oisín felt a strange sense of foreboding. He loved his father and his adventurous life with the Fianna. But his love for Niamh was stronger than any emotion he had experienced before. And there was the exciting challenge of a new life in a strange land where he would never grow old. Of course, he could never forget Fionn and the Fianna. Or could he?
The soft voice of Niamh quelled his doubts. ‘Come,’ she said, her emerald eyes holding his in a loving gaze.
Oisín turned to his father and comrades and bade them farewell. He mounted the white steed behind Niamh. She signalled to the horse and he galloped away swiftly to the west. Before they disappeared over the horizon, Oisín turned and saw Fionn, one hand raised in farewell, the other shading his eyes for one last glimpse of his beloved son.
When they arrived at a strand on the edge of Ireland, the horse zoomed out over the sea. He sped like the wind over the top of the ocean, the waves leaping high and furiously, but never succeeding in touching the golden-shod hooves. Soon, Niamh and Oisín had left the land of Ireland far behind.
As they passed over the sea strange sights appeared: a small deer crossed in front of them, bounding along from the top of one wave to the crest of another. In close pursuit of it came came a white hound with red ears. Both animals raced away over the waves and vanished from sight. Then Oisín saw a lovely young girl on a brown horse. She was carrying a golden apple in her hand. As she travelled over the waves, a young warrior on a white horse came after her, holding a gold-hilted sword in his hand.
Celtic Tales of Enchantment Page 4
