The Táin

by Liam Mac Uistin

  Then one day he heard his parents talking about a special school at Eman Macha for the sons of noblemen. King Conor himself supervised their training in hurling and athletics. Setanta was interested immediately. This was the place for him!

  But when he asked his mother to send him there she shook her head firmly.

  ‘No, you’re far too young,’ she said.

  ‘Please,’ he begged. ‘I’d love to go. And besides, I’ve never met my uncle the king.’

  ‘All in good time,’ his mother smiled. ‘You can go to school and meet my brother in another few years.’

  ‘But I don’t want to wait,’ Setanta said.

  ‘Well, you’ll have to. Your father and I are too busy to take you there now.’

  ‘Tell me how to get to Eman Macha and I’ll go there myself.’

  ‘The road is northwards over Slieve Fuaid. It’s too long and difficult for a little boy like you.’

  But Setanta continued to plead with his mother and she finally agreed to let him go. His heart thumped with excitement as he set off with his toy spear, shield, hurley-stick and silver ball.

  To shorten the journey he played his favourite game. He hurled the ball a long distance ahead of him. Then he flung his hurley-stick after it, striking it in mid-air so that it travelled another long distance ahead. While the stick and ball were still in the air he threw his spear after them and raced like a deer to catch all three before they hit the ground.

  He amused himself this way until he arrived at Eman Macha. The boys from the school were playing a game of hurling. Setanta watched for a while and then ran out on the field to join them.

  The other boys were not too pleased to see him. No stranger was allowed in their games unless he had first sought their protection. But Setanta was not aware of this rule.

  He burst into a group of boys and took possession of the ball. Then he steered the ball with his hurley to the end of the field, running so fast that no one could stop him.

  He turned around smiling, only to see a crowd of furious boys advancing on him from all sides. They suddenly closed in on him and flung their hurley-sticks at him. But Setanta skipped this way and that, avoiding all the sticks. Then they threw their spears at him but he blocked them all with his toy shield. By now he too was furious at the rough reception he was getting. He charged at the boys, knocking most of them to the ground and scattering the rest around the field.

  Some of the boys ran for their lives towards the palace. Setanta raced after them, angrily brandishing his spear. King Conor was sitting in his garden playing a game of chess. He looked up in astonishment when the fleeing boys suddenly burst into the garden and leaped over the chess-board, with Setanta hot on their heels. Conor reached out and caught him in a firm grip.

  ‘Let me go!’ Setanta yelped, struggling to free himself.

  ‘Easy on now,’ Conor said. ‘Why are you treating those boys so roughly?’

  ‘Because that’s the way they treated me when I joined in their game. The king won’t be pleased when I tell him about this.’

  ‘I am the king. And who might you be?’

  ‘I am your nephew, Setanta.’

  Conor smiled and released his grip. ‘Well, I’m delighted to meet you,’ he said, ‘even if you have upset my pupils.’

  ‘It’s their own fault,’ Setanta said. ‘They shouldn’t have turned on me when I tried to play with them.’

  ‘Don’t you know you should have looked for their protection first?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘We must stick to the rules,’ the king said quietly. He called the boys together and ordered them to give the newcomer their protection. Then he told them to return to the field and start the game again. He went to watch them as they played.

  Setanta got possession of the ball and raced away with it, knocking boys down like nine-pins. Conor called him over.

  ‘You’ll injure my pupils if you’re not careful,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps they’d better look for my protection,’ Setanta suggested.

  The king nodded. ‘I think that would be best,’ he agreed.

  So Setanta promised protection to the other boys and they resumed their game. Conor was very pleased with the way his nephew outshone the others in skill and courage. He was convinced the boy would grow up to be a great warrior.

  ‘And so he did,’ Fergus said to Maeve, finishing his tale of Setanta.

  ‘But how did he get the name “Cuchulainn”?’ the queen asked.

  ‘That’s another story,’ Fergus replied. ‘And I’ll tell it to you now.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HOW CUCHULAINN GOT HIS NAME

  SETANTA QUICKLY SETTLED INTO THE SCHOOL at Eman Macha. Soon he became its star pupil. No other boy could beat him at running, at wrestling, at hurling, or at spear-throwing. Conor was very proud of him. He boasted about his nephew’s feats to all his friends and introduced him to every distinguished visitor to the palace.

  One day the king received an invitation to a feast at the house of Culann his blacksmith. As Culann had never met Setanta, the king decided to bring the boy along with him. He went to the field where Setanta was playing a hurling match.

  ‘I’m going to a feast at Culann’s house,’ he called out. ‘I’d like you to come with me.’

  ‘Let me finish this game first,’ pleaded Setanta.

  ‘Very well,’ Conor replied. ‘You can follow on after me as soon as it’s finished.’

  Then he set off for the feast accompanied by his bodyguards. He received a royal welcome from Culann who led him to the place of honour at the table.

  ‘Is there anybody still to come after you?’ Culann asked the king.

  ‘No,’ Conor answered, forgetting all about Setanta.

  ‘I keep a savage hound to guard my house,’ Culann explained. ‘I’ll set him loose outside before the feast begins.’

  He took the hound off the chain and put him outside. Then he locked the door and returned to his guests. The huge hound sat in front of the house snapping his sharp teeth and growling fiercely.

  When Setanta finished the game he hurried off to follow his uncle. He took his hurley-stick, ball, and spear with him, throwing them ahead of him as he went on the journey. So interested was he in this game that he failed to notice the hound when he arrived at Culann’s house.

  A sudden savage growl warned him of danger. He turned quickly and saw the hound just as it sprang at him with gnashing teeth. His hurley and spear were still twirling high in the air so he had no weapon to defend himself. But luckily the ball was in his hand.

  The snapping jaws were reaching for his face when Setanta flung the ball with all his might down the hound’s throat. The animal stopped, choked, and collapsed on the ground. It lay there, growling angrily with its dying breath.

  The men inside the house heard the commotion. A sudden silence fell on the feast. Conor jumped up with a look of horror on his face. ‘My nephew!’ he gasped. ‘I forgot that I told him to follow me here.’

  Culann rose ashen-faced from the table. ‘I fear my hound may have killed him,’ he said in a trembling voice. He called his servants. ‘Go out at once and see what’s happened to the boy.’

  The servants rushed out. They stared in amazement as Setanta stood there with his foot on the dead hound. Then they brought him into the house.

  ‘You’re alive!’ Conor exclaimed joyfully.

  ‘Yes, but I’m afraid the hound is dead,’ Setanta said.

  Culann could not conceal his anger. ‘You are welcome here for your uncle’s sake but not for your own sake,’ he said icily. ‘You have deprived me of the best watchdog in the land.’

  ‘Don’t be angry,’ Setanta said. ‘I’ll find another hound for you.’

  ‘And what will I do in the meantime?’ Culann asked

  ‘I shall be your faithful watchdog,’ Setanta replied.

  ‘From now on you will be called Cuchulainn, “The Hound of Culann”!’ the king declared.

  ‘A
nd that has been his name ever since,’ Fergus said to Maeve as he concluded the tale.

  The queen stared thoughtfully at the heads of her warriors stuck on the tree fork in the middle of the ford. This Cuchulainn could prove to be a formidable enemy. She had better learn all there was to be known about him.

  ‘Tell me some more about this extraordinary man,’ she said to Fergus.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CUCHULAINN AND EMER

  CUCHULAINN GREW VERY RESTLESS after four years at the school in Eman Macha. Though still only a boy he was impatient to become a warrior. He decided to ask King Conor for permission to take the arms of manhood.

  The king shook his head. ‘It is too soon for that,’ he said. ‘You must wait some more years.’

  ‘But I have already learned all the skills of combat,’ Cuchulainn argued.

  ‘There are other things you have yet to learn,’ Conor declared. ‘My Chief Druid has come to instruct the pupils in druid lore. Go now and hear what he has to say.’

  Cuchulainn went off reluctantly to join the other boys. He sat there with a bored expression on his face as the tall silver-haired druid rose to begin his talk. But soon he was listening with fascination to the tales of magic and mystery.

  At the end of the talk a pupil stood up and asked what that day would be favourable for.

  ‘Whoever assumes arms for the first time today will become the most famous warrior in Ireland,’ the druid said. He paused and added, ‘But his life will be short and fleeting.’

  Immediately he heard this, Cuchulainn rushed out and went back to King Conor. He pleaded again to be allowed take arms. The king was silent for a while. Then impressed by the eagerness in his nephew’s eyes he smiled and nodded.

  ‘I cannot refuse you,’ he said. He handed Cuchulainn a sword, spear, and shield. ‘Now you are a warrior.’

  Cuchulainn shook the weapons to test them. They fell to pieces in his hands. ‘These arms are useless!’ he exclaimed in disgust.

  The king sighed. ‘I’ll give you my own arms,’ he said. ‘They’re the only ones you’ll never break.’

  As he was presenting the weapons to Cuchulainn the Chief Druid entered the room. ‘Is your nephew taking arms?’ he asked.

  ‘He is,’ Conor replied.

  ‘Well, he who does so for the first time today will be great and famous,’ the druid said. ‘But his life will be a short one.’

  There was silence for a moment. Then Cuchulainn shrugged and smiled. ‘I don’t care if I live for only a day and a night,’ he declared, ‘provided my fame lives after me.’

  And so Cuchulainn became a warrior. By the time he was a young man he was famous throughout the province for his courage and daring. Though he was small he was very handsome and many women fell in love with him. Conor decided it was time his nephew married. He was afraid the druid’s prophecy would come true and he wanted Cuchulainn to leave a son after him who would grow up to be a hero like his father.

  The king sent messengers all over Ireland to find a wife for his nephew. But though they searched for a year they failed to find a woman that suited him.

  ‘There must be some girl you like!’ the king said with a gesture of impatience.

  ‘I haven’t met her yet,’ Cuchulainn said. ‘But when I do I’ll marry her.’

  Then one day when he was out hunting he met Emer. She was the daughter of Forgall, chieftain of Lusk, and she was walking near her father’s fort when Cuchulainn’s chariot sped by. He pulled the horses to a sudden stop, nearly overturning the chariot. He jumped out, strode over to her, and introduced himself.

  ‘I have heard of your fame,’ she smiled and told him who she was.

  ‘And I have heard of your beauty,’ Cuchulainn said. ‘I see now that every word of it is true.’

  They walked and talked for a while. Then Cuchulainn asked her to marry him.

  ‘I will gladly be your wife,’ Emer answered, ‘but first you must talk to my father.’

  ‘I’ll talk to him now,’ Cuchulainn said, turning towards the fort.

  Emer shook her head. ‘He is away at present. Come back in a week and you will find him here.’

  ‘I shall do that,’ Cuchulainn promised. He kissed her then, leaped into his chariot, and whipped up the horses. He turned as he drove away and waved to Emer. She waved back to him, her eyes glowing with love.

  But Forgall was angry when he heard what had happened. As was the custom at the time, he had already promised his daughter in marriage to a wealthy nobleman. The last thing he wanted was to see her married to Cuchulainn. ‘I’ll soon put an end to this!’ he swore.

  He travelled in disguise to Eman Macha and went to see Cuchulainn. First he praised his heroism. Then he told him he could be an even better hero if he visited Scatha, the great woman warrior who lived far away in the Land of Shadows.

  ‘If you study with her,’ Forgall said, ‘you will become the greatest hero in the world.’

  He smiled persuasively as he spoke. He knew that the Land of Shadows was full of danger and that Cuchulainn might never return alive.

  Cuchulainn hesitated, then nodded his head. ‘I will go and visit Scatha,’ he said.

  Forgall returned triumphantly to his fort. He called Emer and told her what he had done. ‘You will never see Cuchulainn again,’ he laughed.

  But before he left Ireland, Cuchulainn arranged to meet Emer in secret. She told him of her father’s trickery. ‘You must be very careful,’ she warned. ‘He will do his best to destroy you.’

  They promised to be faithful to each other. Then Cuchulainn set out for the Land of Shadows. After long travelling he arrived at the camp where Scatha’s pupils lived. He asked where Scatha was and they told him she was on an island nearby. It could only be reached by the Pupils’ Bridge. ‘But no one can cross it,’ they said, ‘unless he is a fully-trained warrior; for the bridge is low at each end and high in the centre, and if you step on one end the other end flies up and throws you down.’

  Cuchulainn made three attempts to cross the bridge. He failed every time. The others began to jeer him. This angered Cuchulainn.

  He approached the bridge again, crouched down, and prepared to make a great salmon leap. He hurled himself into the air and landed in the centre of the bridge. Then he sprang up quickly again and reached the island safely. He went to Scatha’s fort and hammered on the door with his spear.

  Scatha gave him a great welcome. He stayed with her for a year and a day, learning all the heroic skills she had.

  ‘You are the best pupil I have ever trained,’ she said with a pleased expression on her face. ‘Before you go home I will give you a special weapon called the Ga Bolga.’ The Ga was a spear that was thrown with the foot. When it pierced an enemy it filled every part of his body with its barbs.

  Then, his training finished, Cuchulainn returned to Ireland and to Emer. But his troubles with her father were not over yet.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE ENCHANTED LAND OF THE SHEE

  ON THE JOURNEY BACK TO IRELAND Cuchulainn thought only of his coming reunion with Emer. He could hardly wait to see her again.

  Immediately the boat touched land he leaped into his chariot and drove directly towards Forgall’s fort. He cracked his whip impatiently over the horses’ heads, urging them on to greater speed. The wheels of the chariot carved deep ruts in the rough track, sending clouds of dust billowing high in the air. Soon the fort came into view and Cuchulainn gave a great shout of delight. The sound echoed for miles around, alarming the birds and animals of the countryside.

  But it also alarmed Forgall inside the fort. He looked out, saw Cuchulainn approaching, and ordered his guards to lock the gate. Then, taking Emer by the arm, he hurried with her to the top of the highest tower in the fort. Cuchulainn pulled his horses to a halt in front of the gate and jumped out of the chariot.

  ‘Emer!’ he called out. Emer tried to answer him but her father clasped his hand over her mouth. Cuchulainn ran up to the massive wooden ga
te and knocked on it loudly.

  The gate did not open. He knocked on it again. But it still did not open. Then he beat a tattoo on the gate with the shaft of his spear. ‘Go away!’ a rough voice ordered.

  Cuchulainn hesitated, then turned and walked slowly away. Forgall laughed triumphantly as he watched from the tower.

  ‘The young pup is leaving,’ he whispered in Emer’s ear. ‘He will bother us no more.’ Her brown eyes clouded with tears.

  Then Cuchulainn stopped, spun around, and faced the fort. He dropped into a crouch and the muscles of his body began to ripple like waves in the sea. Suddenly he launched himself into his salmon leap. He soared like an arrow high over the walls of the fort and landed in the centre of the courtyard.

  ‘Kill him!’ Forgall shouted angrily to his men. Twelve guards rushed into the courtyard and trapped Cuchulainn inside a bristling circle of spears. He quickly drew his sword and with swift flashing strokes cut down six of the guards. The others retreated, then threw away their weapons and fled.

  ‘Emer!’ Cuchulainn called out again. Emer suddenly broke free from her father’s grip and raced down to the door of the tower. As soon as she appeared in the doorway Cuchulainn ran over to her. But Forgall thought he was coming to kill him and he made a desperate attempt to escape by climbing down the outside of the tower. His foot slipped and he plunged to his death on the ground below.

  More guards rushed out to attack Cuchulainn. He took Emer in his arms and prepared to make his salmon leap again. Before the guards could reach them Cuchulainn and Emer shot up in the air and flew back over the walls of the fort, landing beside the chariot. He leaped into the chariot, pulled Emer in quickly, and soon they were speeding away in the direction of Eman Macha.