Old Friends: The Lost Tales of Fionn Mac Cumhaill

by Tom O'Neill

  The queen’s mind immediately assumed that the woman sleeping in her garden, the woman she had thought so innocent was, in fact, part of a devious plot. This was her thought because that was how things had always worked in her domain. Only the most devious, the most cunning, the most wicked, survived.

  When Eibhlín opened her eyes that morning, it was to the sight of two beautiful gem-encrusted feet, very close to her face. She looked slowly upwards from the feet. She was dazzled by the splendour of the demon queen. A silken robe of dark purple reached from her slight shoulders to her knees. She was not very tall. When Eibhlín stood up and dusted herself off apologetically, she noticed that she was nearly a head above the queen. A delicate kind of pale beauty surrounded the woman, Eibhlín thought.

  ‘Did you bring visitors?’ the queen asked, without any greetings or introductions. As though she was talking to someone she already knew well.

  ‘Blessings on you, kind lady,’ said Eibhlín. ‘Eibhlín Rua is the name given to me.’

  ‘Did you bring visitors?’ the queen asked again, in the same soft voice, with the same eerie look on her face that might have been a smile or might have been something else.

  ‘No; that I did not,’ said Eibhlín. ‘I am sorry if you were expecting guests. I’m afraid there’s only me.’

  ‘Who were those men I saw come ashore this morning, then?’

  ‘I am sorry, but I don’t know. I didn’t know anyone else had landed. I had been hoping a boat would come some day and that I might be able to get home. But I didn’t know one had come today.’

  ‘Why are you wanting to go?’

  ‘Because, well... because your king did not seem to me... I don’t mean to cause offence, but he didn’t seem to be quite as great as I had heard tell of.’

  Eibhlín was expecting anger or upset from the woman at the insult to her king. But there was still no reaction. Just the same face.

  ‘Why, then, are you not packing your little bag and running down to catch the boat I am telling you landed this morning?’

  ‘Well, to tell you the truth, once I left your king behind and came up here, I found a peace and contentment that I never knew in my life before. And now I’m not in such a hurry to go.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘If it’s alright with you, of course, and whoever else belongs to this land.’

  Still no reaction from the other woman.

  Eventually, she said, ‘I am deciding whether to believe you. I can always tell when a human is lying and my heart tells me that you are not.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Eibhlín, suddenly starting to feel afraid. What did the mention of humans mean? What was this woman if not human?

  The queen continued as if Eibhlín hadn’t spoken, ‘But good sense tells me that I would be foolish to believe you.’

  Eibhlín felt the coldness of these words like a stream of icy water running down her back. She started moving slightly towards her bedding, making to gather her things.

  ‘There is no point in trying to move away,’ said the queen. ‘I can cut you down in an instant. The only reason I have been hesitating is that I have come to like you a little bit. You can gain yourself more time on this side of life while you tell me interesting things about yourself. The first thing you tell me that is not interesting, that is the moment when I will run through your heart.’

  Just from the tone and look of this woman, small and frail though she appeared, Eibhlín had not the smallest shadow of doubt that what she had said was true and that she would be dying very, very soon. She couldn’t see that there was anything at all to do other than to start talking, because she realised that she would prefer to die after her next breath rather than before it.

  ‘I am an inventor,’ she said.

  ‘That is interesting,’ said the queen. ‘Continue.’

  ‘I am very intelligent,’ said Eibhlín.

  ‘Yes,’ said the queen.

  ‘In some ways,’ said Eibhlín, ‘but it wasn’t very intelligent to come here and walk into my death.’

  ‘No,’ said the queen. ‘That wasn’t very clever, but how could you have known?’

  ‘I make weapons and shields’, said Eibhlín.

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘I have never seen metalwork finer than my own.’

  ‘Good. There is not time in life for false modesty.’

  ‘I have not yet ever met a man other than my father, whom I either respected,’ said Eibhlín, ‘or loved.’ Now she was looking into space.

  She didn’t know why she said this. She wasn’t trying to be interesting anymore. She was just describing the last thoughts that were entering her head before death.

  ‘You are indeed a very surprising human woman and if you carry on in this way you may find that it will cause me regret to kill you.’

  ‘Well maybe you should kill me now, then,’ said Eibhlín, looking the queen straight in the eye. ‘I am no longer afraid.’

  The queen looked shaken for the first time. Her expression changed momentarily.

  ‘I always stick to my word,’ she said. ‘Please carry on.’

  ‘I haven’t cared for other people very much,’ said Eibhlín. ‘At all, in fact, now that I think of it.’

  ‘That does not lessen you in my estimation,’ said the queen. ‘Every human I have ever met has fallen easy victim to flattery, conceit or greed.’

  ‘Instead of making fine bugles or spindles or ornaments, as I once did, I now use my genius to craft new weapons and shields.’

  ‘Do you indeed, my clever girl?’ said the queen, smiling.

  Pleased with the approval, Eibhlín continued recklessly.

  ‘I have even stopped worshipping Creidhne. She’s the one that metalworkers believe they must pay homage to in my land. My secret: I don’t believe in her anymore. I think I am better.’ She paused. ‘I sometimes think the real reason I do this is because I get some kind of satisfaction in thinking of the havoc and mayhem, the torn limbs and the pierced hearts, that will be caused by the fine slender tools that I make.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ said the queen.

  She reached into her robe. Eibhlín could see her shape start to change. Her arms lengthened. Then there was a long spike in her hand, made of some mix of metals Eibhlín hadn’t seen before. Eibhlín was completely settled, though she was now certain she was about to die.

  She wasn’t the only one who was sure she was about to die. As the spike came forward there was a terrible crashing sound and the most horrendous-looking creature Eibhlín had ever seen came blundering through the bramble patch above. This huge creature had the shape of a very tall, but quite pink and bulbous, human body, and a face like a pig’s bum, and with only two or three bounds was standing between Eibhlín and the queen.

  The queen looked almost as shocked as Eibhlín.

  The creature spoke in a young male voice: ‘Don’t kill her, don’t kill her! You’ll have to kill me first!’

  ‘What?’ said the queen, sneering.

  ‘I love her and you can kill me first as it’s the only way you are going to get to her.’

  ‘What? Love me?’ said Eibhlín, ‘I am flattered, ehh, sir, but a little surprised since I have never had the misfortune of seeing you before.’

  The queen’s arms extended in an instant, went around and behind the creature, and plucked Eibhlín from in front of him. ‘Stupid boy,’ she said. ‘Meet Siphon,’ she said to Eibhlín, still in her grip. ‘Unhappily for him, he is the son of your friend, the despicable little pig man.’

  The creature got to his knees and said, ‘Your Highness, I beg, I plead, have mercy on her.’

  ‘No mercy,’ she said. ‘Stand up and be a man. I have no time for mercy.’

  ‘Please don’t kill her.’

  ‘For your information,’ said the queen, looking at Eibhlín, ‘I was merely showing our little expert guest the unusual metals in this very fine spike. Nothing to do with mercy. I made a deal. I would kill her on the first boring thing sh
e said. And I can see it would take a long time if I had to wait for her to say something that didn’t interest me.’

  She pushed the boy aside and spoke to Eibhlín.

  ‘You are free to stay, if you still want to. There are things I can teach you.’

  Eibhlín was freed from the grip. And the queen’s attention made her blush. The boy started applauding in sheer delight. He probably thought he had found a friend at last.

  ‘I thank you. I would like that very much,’ said Eibhlín, oblivious to the cruel kick the queen had directed at her cowering son. Eibhlín was fascinated by the queen. She had no hesitation at all about the offer. Maybe she could learn from this woman. At last, a person who didn’t think her strange or awful, who didn’t flinch at the idea that a person could dedicate their life to making instruments of war. She thought she might enjoy being like the queen, looking down with disdain on dishonest, pathetic humans, above it all; living up here in peace and solitude. She started gathering her things, looking forward to entering the queen’s domain.

  ‘What are you doing?’ said the queen. ‘I said you could stay, not come. You will live out here in the bushes. And I shall come and talk to you when I feel like it. If I like you more, I may show you my palace. One day. I will leave you now before this curious good feeling wears thin.’

  The creature lad started grunting and pointing down the hill. ‘Look, look, look!’

  ‘Shut up, idiot,’ said the queen, knocking him back onto his bottom with a blow as she disappeared.

  She should probably have listened, but she seemed so distracted with thoughts of how a protégée might change her life, that for great good luck she had forgotten about the boat and didn’t see what the boy had seen – the approach of Mac Cumhaill, Conán, Diarmuid and Goll, crouching through the tall bracken on the side of the hill. Fionn had taken only his three bravest and most battle-hardened commanders with him – men who understood the benefits of not looking for war where it’s not looking for you.

  Mac Cumhaill called to Eibhlín in an urgent whisper, ‘Quick my child, over here!’

  She looked around and then continued tidying her nails on a small sharpening stone. Mac Cumhaill took a risk and stood out from the bracken. Again he whispered, ‘Quick, alanna, over here, quick.’

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ said Eibhlín slowly, casually. ‘I’m busy.’

  ‘Come on with me, will you, before your one remembers there are intruders and comes to try to murder the whole lot of us,’ said Mac Cumhaill.

  ‘She wouldn’t do that,’ said Eibhlín.

  ‘Oh, she would,’ came a voice from behind Eibhlín. The ugly lad.

  ‘Well, I thought the great Fianna with their great swordsmanship, skill, agility, cunning and strength could not be beaten by anyone,’ she said with an overdose of sarcasm.

  ‘We don’t want to have to fight her if there is no need for it,’ said Mac Cumhaill, ‘so come on, quickly.’

  ‘I won’t. I’m staying here.’

  ‘Go with them. You’re lucky. Go with them,’ said the lad with tears in his voice.

  ‘She respects me. I like her. And I like it here.’ Eibhlín turned to the boy. ‘Why should I go?’

  ‘She will turn against you,’ he said. ‘She will turn against us all. She thinks I don’t know that. She’s gone for a sleep now. She does it at this time every day. But it will only last as long as it takes to boil an egg. You should go quickly.’

  ‘No. She might be stern, that doesn’t mean she’s evil... hey... hey!’

  Mac Cumhaill was lifting the young woman under his arm and gathering the remnants of her weapons in the other hand. She started shouting.

  ‘Shut your gob,’ said Conán in a rage. ‘You’re so smart. You think you know better than everyone. You know that demon for an hour and you think you know her better than her poor unfortunate son who’s known her all his life? Shut your gob before you give me a bellyache.’

  She actually did go quiet for a minute. There wasn’t a person in Éire who didn’t flinch when the ferocious-looking Conán opened his mouth in temper. And maybe, too, she was shocked that other people seemed to know things about the queen already – she thought she had just discovered her. Maybe she was shocked at the news that the creature that the queen pushed around was actually her own son, and the grotesque fruit of a liaison with Glic. The one she had called ‘despicable’. That repulsive thought did not quite fit in with her image of the austere queen. Or maybe she was just shocked at Conán’s rudeness. Anyway, they were halfway down the hill before she started yelling again.

  As the others were getting into their currachs, Mac Cumhaill stopped to talk to some people on the beach. Eibhlín was waving and kicking under his arm. Mac Cumhaill talked to them for a few minutes, pointing up to the hill and then across to the castle.

  When they had rowed a bit offshore and were near the bigger boat, Goll said to Mac Cumhaill, ‘Should we not have saved those poor people?’

  ‘How do you mean?’ said Mac Cumhaill.

  ‘Should we not have got rid of Glic and the demon queen for them?’

  ‘I told them the truth,’ said Mac Cumhaill. ‘That gives them the power to rid themselves of their burden.’

  ‘Still, it would have been easier for them if the two of them were gone.’

  ‘We came with one job to do, and that is what we are doing,’ said Mac Cumhaill, letting Eibhlín go.

  She was quiet now and listening to them.

  ‘Well,’ said Goll, ‘if you came to do only one job, why did you take him with us?’

  He was pointing disapprovingly at the ugly lad huddled up in the back of the currach.

  ‘How else could I have shown those people on the beach that there is no beast and that this chap is harmless?’ said Mac Cumhaill.

  ‘Nonsense, you could have just told them, the same as you told them about how the queen is the one who really rules over them through hired vagabonds and how she has a new man every twenty years and has him kill her previous son.’

  The boy at the back of the boat covered his ears and started shaking. Eibhlín obviously hadn’t known that either, but she just looked at the boy with disdain. Conán was the one who nearly toppled the boat making his way clumsily back to the boy to pat him on the back, saying, ‘You’re alright now, chief. Don’t worry a bit. You’re alright now’.

  ‘I could have,’ said Mac Cumhaill, ‘but I don’t think Cormac will mind this one slight deviation from his instructions.’

  A freezing northeasterly pushed them rapidly away from Angledaneland and ushered them quickly home.

  Of course, the people of Angledaneland did not recover from their oppression. They somehow came to disbelieve what Fionn Mac Cumhaill told them about the demon queen. Some refused to believe she existed. Others didn’t believe Mac Cumhaill’s assurance that she could never rule them directly, because she had so much disdain for people that she couldn’t bear to be close to them for long enough to control a whole country of them. Or that her only method of ruling was through suckling kings like Glic. And that all they had to do was chase him, along with any other chancers who came to take his place. They did not believe that they had the ability to free themselves: that Glic had no powers whatsoever, not even the power to lift a sword. Even though it all made sense to the people on the beach at the time Mac Cumhaill told them, they were somehow not ready to hear it. Even though they saw with their own eyes that the beast of their nightmares was as harmless as a lamb. They started to convince themselves that the foreigners had just put a spell on it to make it temporarily safe. Some people were like that – buried so deep in misery that they were afraid to leave its cold embrace.

  The absence of the son for Glic’s successor to kill caused a minor problem for the queen. She summoned Glic up to her palace. He knew his time was up. He brought one of the very light swords that Eibhlín had left in his castle, trying to build his courage by telling himself he would finally put this woman in her place and reminding himsel
f how thin her neck was. But of course she was ready for him and killed him slowly. The Angledanes found the mangled body and made up a legend about the heroic battle he had fought.

  And soon the queen had a new suitor and a new son in the making. The new man was a small-time thief from Móna, who thought he would like to swap a life of stealing other people’s sheep for a stint at absolute power over the unfortunate people of Angledaneland.

  From the day they got home, Eibhlín told anyone who would listen how she had been whipped from paradise by Mac Cumhaill. She was too proud to admit any mistake on her own part and always talked about the wonderful, misunderstood queen into whose shoes she might have one day stepped. Of course, she knew the truth. The proof of that was that in all the years she lived afterwards, there was no account ever heard of her trying to board a ship to head back to Angledaneland.

  Mac Cumhaill had thought that bringing back the boy might soften Eibhlín’s heart. But she never had a minute to pass a kind word or thought to the boy who had offered his own life to save hers.

  His affection for her eased in time. He went to live in bogland in the middle of the country and married a nice human woman. The people in that area could not pronounce his name, Grendle Heorot Sionnach. They just called him Grennan. Traces of his features are still to be seen in some of the people from those parts today.

  The voice faded with the fire, and Dark was alone in the rath again. He heard a movement in the bushes. A head probed through. Two yellow eyes looked straight at him. Even though it was dark, he knew what he saw. Bigger than a fox and with a longer, grey face. It stared at him, sitting on the pine needles, for maybe five seconds. He didn’t move a muscle. It retreated.

  Before school, when Dark was walking across the yard with milk sloshing in buckets for the calves in the lower sheds, he heard conversation from the milking parlour. He looked out in the back yard. Sure enough there was a red pick-up truck there parked next to Brian’s. Dark knew the truck. It belonged to Trevor Saltee, the one neighbour who had never called in while Connie was around. He had a very big farm just across the Brown River. He was gaunt and unsmiling. His shoulders were hunched, and he always had a hard, hungry look. He liked to speak in a pompous, old-fashioned way, with a put-on English accent. These days he called regularly to offer help to Dark’s mother ‘in the difficult circumstances’, but he never came dressed for work and never did any.