He does well.
After that, Mace Cécht went after the rout. Only a very few – nine – had fallen round Conare, and scarcely a single messenger had escaped to bear the news to the plunderers who were about the house. Where there had been five thousand, and ten hundred in every thousand, there escaped no more than one fifth, apart from Ingcél and his brothers, Éccell and Dartaid.
At the end of the third day, Mace Cécht was among the wounded on the field of slaughter, and he saw a woman going by. ‘Stay awhile, woman,’ he said. ‘I dare not go to you,’ she answered, ‘for fear and horror of you.’ ‘That time has passed, woman,’ said Mace Cécht. ‘I give you the truth of my honour and my protection.’ The woman went to him, then. ‘I do not know if it is a fly or an ant or a midge that nips at my wound,’ Mace Cécht said. ‘Indeed, it is an ant of the ancient earth,’ said the woman.8 ‘I swear by the god my people swear by,’ said Mace Cécht, ‘I thought it no more than a fly or a midge.’ Then he died on the field of slaughter.
Conall Cernach escaped, though three fifties of spears had gone through his shield hand; he went to his father’s house, bearing fragments of his sword and his shield and his two spears in his hand. He met his father at the entrance to the courtyard at Tailtiu. ‘Swift the dogs that have chased you, my son,’ said his father. ‘It was a combat with young heroes, old warrior,’ said Conall. ‘Have you news of Da Derga’s hostel? Does your lord live?’ asked his father. ‘He does not,’ Conall replied. I swear by the god my people swear by, it is a coward who would come away alive and leave his lord with the enemy,’ said the father. ‘My wounds are not white, old warrior,’ said Conall. He showed his father his shield arm and the three fifties of wounds that had been inflicted upon it. His shield had protected that hand, but it had not protected his right hand. That had been attacked over two thirds of its length; it had been hacked and cut and wounded and riddled, but the sinews had not permitted it to fall off. ‘That hand injured many tonight, and it was much injured,’ said Amorgen. ‘True, old warrior,’ said Conall Cernach. ‘There are many to whom it served drinks of death at the entrance to the hostel tonight.’
The Dream of Óengus
Introduction
‘The Dream of Óengus’ is a continuation of the opening episode of ‘The Wooing of Étaín’, wherein Bóand and the Dagdae sleep together and Óengus is born. Although the story survives only in a relatively late source, the fifteenth-century Egerton 1782 manuscript, it is mentioned in the Book of Leinster, in a list of preliminary tales to ‘The Cattle Raid of Cúailnge’.
Even so, ‘The Dream of Óengus’ does not appear to be especially old. The themes are familiar to Celtic literature: love before first sight (as in the Welsh tale ‘How Culhwch Won Olwen’), the initiative of the otherworld woman (as by Rhiannon in ‘Pwyll Lord of Dyved’ and by Macha in ‘The Labour Pains of the Ulaid’), the wasting away of the mortal lover (Gilvaethwy in ‘Math Son of Mathonwy’, Ailill Angubae in ‘The Wooing of Étaín’), the unwillingness of the woman’s father (as in ‘How Culhwch Won Olwen’ and ‘The Wooing of Étaín’) and the transformation of the lovers into swans (Mider and Étain). And Bóand and the Dagdae are scarcely recognizable as people of the Síde: Bóand is unable to help her son at all. and the Dagdae has to ask assistance from the king of the Síde of Mumu. The meeting and transformation of Óengus and Cáer Ibormeith at Samuin, a time of changes, does evince a genuinely ancient Celtic motif; and the tone of the story, while romantic, is still restrained. The link to ‘The Cattle Raid of Cúailnge’, however, is pure artifice.
One puzzling feature of this story is Óengus’s failure to reveal the cause of his illness. In the Welsh story ‘Math Son of Mathonwy’, Gilvaethwy falls in love with Math’s virgin footholder; in the second section of ‘The Wooing of Étaín’, Ailill falls in love with his brother’s wife. Both men fall ill from love, but neither will reveal his guilty secret, and it may be that this idea of silence was transferred, inappropriately (since Óengus has no cause for guilt), as part of the overall theme of wasting sickness.
‘The Dream of Óengus’ is the ultimate source of Yeats’s poem ‘The Dream of Wandering Aengus’.
The Dream of Óengus
Óengus was asleep one night when he saw something like a young girl coming towards the head of his bed, and she was the most beautiful woman in Ériu. He made to take her hand and draw her to his bed, but, as he welcomed her, she vanished suddenly, and he did not know who had taken her from him. He remained in bed until the morning, but he was troubled in his mind: the form he had seen but not spoken to was making him ill. No food entered his mouth that day. He waited until evening, and then he saw a timpán in her hand, the sweetest ever, and she played for him until he fell asleep. Thus he was all night, and the next morning he ate nothing.
A full year passed, and the girl continued to visit Óengus, so that he fell in love with her, but he told no one. Then he fell sick, but no one knew what ailed him. The physicians of Ériu gathered but could not discover what was wrong, so they sent for Fergne, Cond’s physician, and Fergne came. He could tell from a man’s face what the illness was, just as he could tell from the smoke that came from a house how many were sick inside. Fergne took Óengus aside and said to him ‘No meeting this, but love in absence.’ ‘You have divined my illness,’ said Óengus. ‘You have grown sick at heart,’ said Fergne, ‘and you have not dared to tell anyone.’ ‘It is true,’ said Óengus. ‘A young girl came to me; her form was the most beautiful that I have ever seen, and her appearance was excellent. A timpán was in her hand, and she played for me each night.’ ‘No matter,’ said Fergne, ‘love for her has seized you. We will send to Bóand, your mother, that she may come and speak with you.’
They sent to Bóand, then, and she came. ‘I was called to see to this man, for a mysterious illness had overcome him,’ said Fergne, and he told Bóand what had happened. ‘Let his mother tend to him,’ said Fergne, ‘and let her search throughout Ériu until she finds the form that her son saw.’ The search was carried on for a year, but the like of the girl was not found, so Fergne was summoned again. ‘No help has been found for him,’ said Bóand. ‘Then send for the Dagdae, and let him come and speak with his son,’ said Fergne. The Dagdae was sent for and came, asking ‘Why have I been summoned?’ ‘To advise your son,’ said Bóand. ‘It is right that you help him, for his death would be a pity. Love in absence has overcome him, and no help for it has been found.’ ‘Why tell me?’ asked the Dagdae. ‘My knowledge is no greater than yours.’ ‘Indeed it is,’ said Fergne, ‘for you are king of the Síde of Ériu. Send messengers to Bodb, for he is king of the Síde of Mumu, and his knowledge spreads throughout Ériu.’
Messengers went to Bodb, then, and they were welcomed; Bodb said ‘Welcome, people of the Dagdae.’ ‘It is that we have come for,’ they replied. ‘Have you news?’ Bodb asked. ‘We have: Óengus son of the Dagdae has been in love for two years,’ they replied. ‘How is that?’ Bodb asked. ‘He saw a young girl in his sleep,’ they said, ‘but we do not know where in Ériu she is to be found. The Dagdae asks that you search all Ériu for a girl of her form and appearance.’ ‘That search will be made,’ said Bodb, ‘and it will be carried on for a year, so that I may be sure of finding her.’ At the end of the year, Bodb’s people went to him at his house in Síd ar Femuin and said ‘We made a circuit of Ériu, and we found the girl at Loch Bél Dracon in Cruitt Clíach.’ Messengers were sent to the Dagdae, then; he welcomed them and said ‘Have you news?’ ‘Good news: the girl of the form you described has been found,’ they said. ‘Bodb has asked that Óengus return with us to see if he recognizes her as the girl he saw.’
Óengus was taken in a chariot to Síd ar Femuin, then, and he was welcomed there; a great feast was prepared for him, and it lasted three days and three nights. After that, Bodb said to Óengus ‘Let us go, now, to see if you recognize the girl. You may see her, but it is. not in my power to give her to you.’ They went on until they reached a lake; there,
they saw three fifties of young girls, and Óengus’s girl was among them. The other girls were no taller than her shoulder; each pair of them was linked by a silver chain, but Óengus’s girl wore a silver necklace, and her chain was of burnished gold. ‘Do you recognize that girl?’ asked Bodb. ‘Indeed, I do,’ Óengus replied. ‘I can do no more for you, then,’ said Bodb. ‘No matter, for she is the girl I saw. I cannot take her now. Who is she?’ Óengus said. ‘I know her, of course: Cáer Ibormeith daughter of Ethal Anbúail from Síd Úamuin in the province of Connachta.’
After that, Óengus and his people returned to their own land, and Bodb went with them to visit the Dagdae and Bóand at Bruig ind Maicc Óic. They told their news: how the girl’s form and appearance were just as Óengus had seen; and they told her name and those of her father and grandfather. ‘A pity that we cannot get her,’ said the Dagdae, ‘What you should do is go to Ailill and Medb, for the girl is in their territory,’ said Bodb.
The Dagdae went to Connachta, then, and three score chariots with him; they were welcomed by the king and queen there and spent a week feasting and drinking. ‘Why your journey?’ asked the king. ‘There is a girl in your territory,’ said the Dagdae, ‘with whom my son has fallen in love, and he has now fallen ill. I have come to see if you will give her to him.’ ‘Who is she?’ Ailill asked. ‘The daughter of Ethal Anbúail,’ the Dagdae replied. ‘We do not have the power to give her to you,’ said Ailill and Medb. ‘Then the best thing would be to have the king of the síd called here,’ said the Dagdae. Ailill’s steward went to Ethal Anbúail and said ‘Ailill and Medb require that you come and speak with them.’ ‘I will not come,’ Ethal said, ‘and I will not give my daughter to the son of the Dagdae.’ The steward repeated this to Ailill, saying ‘He knows why he has been summoned, and he will not come.’ ‘No matter,’ said Ailill, ‘for he will come, and the heads of his warriors with him.’
After that, Ailill’s household and the Dagdae’s people rose up against the síd and destroyed it; they brought out three score heads and confined the king at Crúachu. Ailill said to Ethal Anbúail ‘Give your daughter to the son of the Dagdae.’ ‘I cannot,’ he said, ‘for her power is greater than mine.’ ‘What great power does she have?’ Ailill asked. ‘Being in the form of a bird each day of one year and in human form each day of the following year,‘ Ethal said. ‘Which year will she be in the shape of a bird?‘ Ailill asked. ‘It is not for me to reveal that,’ Ethal replied. ‘Your head off,’ said Ailill, ‘unless you tell us.’ ‘I will conceal it no longer, then, but will tell you, since you are so obstinate,’ said Ethal. ‘Next Samuin she will be in the form of a bird; she will be at Loch Bél Dracon, and beautiful birds will be seen with her, three fifties of swans about her, and I will make ready for them.’ ‘No matter that,’ said the Dagdae, ‘since I know the nature you have brought upon her.’
Peace and friendship were made among Ailill and Ethal and the Dagdae, then, and the Dagdae bade them farewell and went to his house and told the news to his son. ‘Go next Samuin to Loch Bél Dracon,’ he said, ‘and call her to you there.’ The Mace Óc went to Loch Bél Dracon, and there he saw the three fifties of white birds, with silver chains, and golden hair about their heads. Óengus was in human form at the edge of the lake, and he called to the girl, saying ‘Come and speak with me, Cáer!’ ‘Who is calling to me?’ asked Cáer. ‘Óengus is calling,’ he replied. ‘I will come,’ she said, ‘if you will promise me that I may return to the water.’ ‘I promise that,’ he said. She went to him, then; he put his arms round her, and they slept in the form of swans until they had circled the lake three times. Thus, he kept his promise. They left in the form of two white birds and flew to Bruig ind Maicc Óic, and there they sang until the people inside fell asleep for three days and three nights. The girl remained with Óengus after that. This is how the friendship between Ailill and Medb and the Mace Óc arose, and this is why Óengus took three hundred to the cattle raid of Cúailnge.
The Cattle Raid of Fróech
Introduction
‘The Cattle Raid of Fróech’ has a peculiar title. Fróech’s ‘cattle raid’ is nothing more than the recovery of his own cattle (and his wife) from beyond the Alps; moreover, this exploit, which has a late look to it, is tacked on to the main tale, which could better have been called ‘The Wooing of Findabair’. And the tale itself is unusual, for it is a mythological story – and with the personae of the Mythological Cycle – pressed into the service of the Ulster Cycle, as a preliminary tale to ‘The Cattle Raid of Cúailnge’. It begins in the realm of the Síde, with Fróech going to ask presents of his aunt, Bóand (compare Fróech’s cattle with the hounds of Arawn in ‘Pwyll Lord of Dyved’: white animals with red ears are always from the otherworld); immediately, the setting shifts to the heroic warrior-world of Connachta, though Fróech returns to the Síde for healing after his battle with the water monster.
The theme of ‘The Cattle Raid of Fróech’, that of the young hero who must win his love away from her unwilling father, appears also in ‘The Wooing of Étaín’ and ‘The Dream of Óengus’; it is a degraded form of the familiar regeneration motif. The mythic – actually folkloric, in this manifestation – pattern imposes an uncharacteristic degree of villainy on Ailill and Medb. (Also uncharacteristic is the dominance of Ailill – elsewhere in the Ulster Cycle it is Medb who is the strong partner.) Our version of the tale, however, is neither mythic nor heroic so much as literary and psychological. More attention is paid to motivation here than in any other early Irish story: Medb is guilt-stricken at having neglected Fróech’s retinue, Findabair refuses to elope with Fróech but admonishes him to bargain for her, Fróech rejects the bride price as excessive even for Medb, Ailill tricks Fróech into entering the water monster’s lake and seems to regret the ruse only because Fróech survives it, Findabair asserts her independence of her father after he has accused her of giving her ring (and by implication herself) to Fróech. Even the dialogue is unusually subtle. Oddly, though, Fróech’s lie about how he received the ring is never challenged – is this an extraordinarily ironic touch, or did the storyteller simply forget that Findabair actually does give Fróech the ring? – and Findabair, even after producing the ring on the salmon platter, is not allowed to go away at once with Fróech.
The Cattle Raid of Fróech
Fróech son of Idath of the Connachta was the son of Bé Find of the Síde, and Bé Find was a sister of Bóand.1 Fróech was the handsomest warrior in Ériu and Albu, but he did not live long. His mother gave him twelve cows from the síd; they were white, with red ears. Although he had no wife, his household prospered for eight years. Fifty kings’ sons were the number of his household, all equal in age and form and appearance.
Findabair, the daughter of Ailill and Medb, fell in love with Fróech after hearing stories about him, for Ériu and Albu were full of his fame and his stories. Fróech was told of this at his house, and it fell to him to go and speak with the girl. He discussed the matter with his people, and they said ‘Go to your mother’s sister, that she may give you some of the wondrous garments and gifts of the Síde.’
Fróech went then to his mother’s sister, to Bóand, in Mag mBreg. He brought back fifty blue mantles; each was the colour of a beetle’s back, with four dark grey corners and a brooch of red gold. Fifty tunics of brilliant white, with animal embroidery of gold. Fifty silver shields with gold rims, and fifty candles of a king’s house in the hand of each man, with fifty rivets of white gold in each candle, and fifty coils of refined gold about each.2 The spear butts were of carbuncle, the spear blades of precious stones, and these would light up the night like the rays of the sun. Fifty men with gold-hilted swords, and fifty dapple grey horses; for each horse a bridle bit of gold, a silver breastplate with little gold bells, a crimson saddlecloth with silver threads, an animal-head pin of gold and silver, and a horsewhip of white gold with a gold hook at the end. Seven hounds on silver chains, with an apple of gold between each two hounds. Shoes of bronze, and
no colour that was not on them. Seven horn-blowers, with horns of gold and silver and clothes of many colours, with shining mantles and the golden yellow hair of the Síde. Three fools preceding, each with a silver gilded diadem and a shield with an engraved spiral ornament and polished strips of bronze inlaid along the sides. Three harpers in royal garb about each fool.
That company set out for Crúachu, then, and the watchman at the fort perceived them as they entered Mag Crúachan. ‘I see a great company approaching the fort,’ he said. ‘Since Ailill and Medb became sovereigns, no nobler or handsomer company have ever arrived, and no such company ever will arrive. The wind that blows from them is such that my head might as well be in a vat of wine. One warrior performs a feat the like of which I have never seen: he casts his javelin on ahead of him, and before it can strike the ground, seven hounds with their silver chains have caught it.’
At that, the hosts came out of the fort of Crúachu to see the company, and there was such a crowd that the people suffocated, and sixteen men died looking. The company dismounted at the door of the fort. They unbridled their horses and unleashed their hounds; they hunted seven deer to Ráith Crúachan, and seven foxes and seven hares and seven wild boars, and the warriors slew these on the green of the fort. After that, the hounds leapt into the river Brei and caught seven otters and brought them up to the entrance of the royal dwelling.
The company sat down, then, and messengers came from the king to ask them who they were and whence they came; the company gave their true names, and their leader said he was Fróech son of Idath. The steward related that to the king. ‘Welcome!’ said Ailill and Medb. ‘A splendid warrior Fróech,’ said Ailill. ‘Let him enter the courtyard.’
Early Irish Myths and Sagas Page 11
