When the supper was ready, the one-eyed grey cat asked her whether she would rather have her supper with him, or with the others. She said she would rather have her supper with him, he was the one she liked the look of best. They had their supper, and then they were going to bed. The one-eyed grey cat asked her which she would rather, to go to bed with him, or to sleep with the others. She said she would rather go with him, he was the one she liked the look of best. They went to bed, and when they got up in the morning, they were in Lochlann. The one-eyed grey cat was really the king of Lochlann’s son, and his twelve squires along with him. They had been bewitched by his stepmother, and now the spell was loosed.
They were married then, and Lasair Gheug had three sons. She asked the king as a favour not to have them christened.
There was a well in the king of Ireland’s garden, and there was a trout in the well, and the queen used to go every year to wash in the well. She went there this time, and when she had washed, she said to the trout, ‘Little trout, little trout,’ said she, ‘am not I,’ said she, ‘the most beautiful woman that ever was in Ireland?’
‘Indeed and indeed then, you are not,’ said the trout, ‘while Lasair Gheug, the king of Ireland’s daughter, is alive.’
‘Is she alive still?’ said the queen.
‘She is, and will be in spite of you,’ said the trout. ‘She is in Lochlann, and has three unchristened children.’
‘I will set a snare to catch her,’ said the queen, ‘and a net to destroy you.’
‘You have tried to do that once or twice before,’ said the trout, ‘but you haven’t managed it yet,’ said he, ‘and though I am here now, many is the mighty water I can be on before night comes.’
The queen went home, and she gave the king a piece of her mind for making her believe that he had given her Lasair Gheug’s heart and liver, when she was alive and well in Lochlann still. She wanted the king to go with her to see Lasair Gheug, but the king would not stir, and he would not believe that she was there. She sent her twelve maids-in-waiting to Lochlann, and she gave a box to her own maid to give: Lasair Gheug, and she asked her to tell her not to open it until she was with her three unchristened children.
Lasair Gheug was sitting at the window sewing. She saw her father’s banner coming. In her delight she did not know whether to run out of the door or fly out of the window. They gave her the box, and she was so delighted with it that she did not wait to be with her three unchristened children. She opened the box when the others had gone home. When she opened the box, there were three grains of corn one poison grain stuck in her forehead and another in each of her palms, and she fell down cold and dead.
The king came home and found her dead. That would have beaten a wiser man than he. He was so fond of her, he would notlether be buried. He put her in a leaden coffin and kept it locked up in a room. He used to visit her early and late. He used to look twice as well when he went in as when he came out. This had been going on for a while when his companions persuaded him to marry again. He gave every key in the house to the queen, except the key of that room. She wondered what was in the room, when he looked so poorly coming out, compared with the way he was when he went in. She told one of the boys one day, if he was playing near the king, to see if he could manage to steal that key out of his pocket. The lad stole the key and gave it to his stepmother. She went in, and what was there but the king’s first wife. She looked her over: she saw the poison grain in her forehead and she took a pin and picked it out. The woman in the coffin gave a sigh. She saw another one in one of her palms, and took it out. The woman sat up. She found another one in the other palm, and took it out. Then she was as well as she had ever been. She brought her out with her and put her in another room. She sent the boy with the key to meet his father coming home and put it back in his pocket without his knowledge.
The king came home. The first thing he did was to go into that room as usual. There was nothing there. He came out then to ask what had happened to the thing that had been in the room. The queen said she had never had the key of that room. She asked what had been in the room. He said it was his first wife, and with the love he had for her he would not bury her: he liked to see her, dead though she was.
‘What will you give me,’ said the queen, ‘if I bring her alive to you?’
‘I don’t expect to see her alive,’ said he, ‘but I would be glad to see her even dead.’
The queen went then and brought her in on her arm, alive and well. He did not know whether to laugh or cry with his delight. The other queen said then that she might as well go home, there was no more need for her there. Lasair Gheug said that she was not to go home: she should stay along with her, and should have food and drink as good as herself, every day as long as she lived.
At the end of this another year had gone by. The queen of Ireland went to the well to wash there again.
‘Little trout, little trout,’ said she, ‘am not I the most beautiful woman that ever was in Ireland?’
‘Indeed and indeed you are not,’ said the trout, ‘while Lasair Gheug, the king of Ireland’s daughter, is alive.’
‘Is she alive still?’ said she.
‘Oh yes, and she will be in spite of you,’ said the trout.
‘I will set a snare to catch her,’ said the queen, ‘and a net to destroy you.’
‘You have tried to do that once or twice before,’ said the trout, ‘but you haven’t managed it yet,’ said he. Though I am here now, many is the mighty water I can be on before night comes.’
The queen went home then, and she got the king up and they went to visit Lasair Gheug. Lasair Gheug was sitting at the window this time, but she showed no pleasure at all at the sight of her father’s banner.
When Sunday came, they went to church. She had sent people to catch a wild boar that was in the wood, and others to get faggots and sticks and stuff to make a big fire. She got the wild boar: she got on to the boar’s back, went in at one door of the church and out at the other door. She called her three unchristened children to her side.
‘I am not going to tell my story to anyone at all,’ said she, ‘but to you three unchristened children.
‘When I was in my own father’s kingdom in Ireland, my stepmother and the eachrais ùrlair killed my father’s greyhound bitch and left it on the landing. They made me swear three baptismal oaths, that I would not be on foot, I would not be on horseback, and I would not be on the green earth the day I told of it. But I am on the wild boar’s back. They expected that my father would kill me, but my father has not killed me yet.’
She went in at one door, and she went out at the other door, and she called her three unchristened children to her side.
‘I am not going to tell my story to anyone at all,’ said she, ‘but to you three unchristened children.’
‘When I was in my own father’s kingdom in Ireland, my stepmother and the eachrais ùrlair killed my father’s graceful black palfrey and left it on the landing. They made me swear three baptismal oaths, that I would not be on foot, I would not be on horseback, and I would not be on the green earth the day I told of it. But I am on the wild boar’s back. They expected that my father would kill me, but my father has not killed me yet.’
She went in at one door, and she went out at the other door, and she called her three unchristened children to her side.
‘I am not going to tell my story to anyone at all,’ said she, ‘but to you three unchristened children.’
‘When I was in my own father’s kingdom in Ireland, my stepmother and the eachrais ùrlair killed my eldest brother and left him on the landing. They made me swear three baptismal oaths, that I would not be on foot, I would not be on horseback, and I would not be on the green earth the day I told of it. But I am on the wild boar’s back. They expected that my father would kill me, but my father has not killed me yet. Now,’ said she, ‘I have nothing more to tell you.’
The wild boar was set free. When they came out of the church, the quee
n of Ireland was seized and burned in the fire.
When the king was going home, he said to his daughter, Lasair Gheug, that she had done ill by him: he had come from home with a wife, and he was going home now without one. And Lasair Gheug said: ‘It wasn’t that way: you came here with a monster, but I have a woman friend, and you shall have her, and you will go home with a wife.’ And they made a great, merry, mirthful, happy, hospitable, wonderful wedding: it was kept up for a year and a day. I got shoes of paper there on a glass pavement, a bit of butter on an ember, porridge in a creel, a greatcoat of chaff and a short coat of buttermilk. I hadn’t gone far when I fell, and the glass pavement broke, the short coat of buttermilk spilt, the butter melted on the ember, a gust of wind came and blew away the greatcoat of chaff. All I had had was gone, and I was as poor as I was to start with. And I left them there.
12 Donald Alasdair Johnson
SÙIL-A-DIA AND SÙIL-A-SPORAIN
I ONCE HEARD of two men there, and they were living together in the same house, and one of them was called Sùil-a-Dia and the other Sùil-a-Sporain. And this Sùil-a-Dia, it was in God he believed, and Sùil-a-Sporain believed in nothing at all but the purse. They always went about together however, and this time a bit of an argument started between them and Sùil-a-Sporain said to Sùil-a-Dia:
‘Ah, well,’ said he, ‘for me the purse will . . . The purse will get anything for me.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Sùil-a-Dia. ‘It will get you anything money can buy for you,’ said he, ‘but God will give me something more than that.’
‘Oh, no He won’t,’ said Sùil-a-Sporain.
‘Oh, yes He will,’ said Sùil-a-Dia. ‘Even if you put . . . Even if you were to put both my eyes out God will give me other eyes in their place.’
Well, this is what they did. They sort of fell out so badly that Sùil-a-Sporain put Sùil-a-Dia’s eyes out, and he left him there. Well, anyway, here he was now, left there, and there was a house there – it was a deserted little house – and when the cats in the town were put out at night they gathered in this house, all of the cats, and there they’d be.
And, now, anyway, they were gathered in the house this night – the night that Sùil-a-Dia’s eyes were put out. And the king of the cats, their commander, it was Gugtrabhad they called him and he told them, this Gugtrabhad, he told one of the other cats to take a look outside to see if the Piseag Shalach Odhar [Scruffy Dun-coloured Kitten] was coming. And it was the Piseag Shalach Odhar, it seems, who brought them news of everything that was happening in the place, anyway. And she wasn’t coming, but then she arrived.
‘Well,’ said Gugtrabhad, ‘you’ve got here, then.’
‘Yes,’ said she.
‘Well, then, what did you hear today?’
O, she started telling the news, and she started telling about a well that had been discovered and that there wasn’t an affliction . . . not an affliction that anyone in the world could have that it would not heal if he got a rub of that water or a drink of that water, and that even if you were to lose your sight that you would get it back if you got a rub of that water.
Well, now, what place did Sùil-a-Dia happen to come on when he set off . . . Oh, he went . . . He was just going on his hands and knees anyway – he couldn’t see where he was going – but he came up against a wall and he followed the wall round till he found an opening in it, and he went in through it. And he followed the wall back round again and he came to what seemed to be a large wooden vessel like a tub, and he went and hid under the tub.
And what should this be but the very house the cats used as a meeting-place, and he was down here under the tub and he could hear the cats muttering off and on up there, and then he heard about this well that had been discovered. And she [the Piseag Shalach Odhar] told where the well was – how far it was from the house, and everything, and the road one should take to get to it. Gugtrabhad was questioning her and she was telling all about it.
But anyway, when they left off and settled down for the night he [Sùil-a-Dia] lay there dead quiet . . . till they had settled down and he was sure they were all asleep, and, when he was quite sure, he went and crawled out from under the tub and followed the wall round the way he had come till he found the door, and he went out of the house.
And he now began to work out which way he should go – at least according to the directions she had given and he kept going, anyway, on his hands and knees like that, and every time he happened to come to a pool on the way, and got his hand in it, he would rub his eyes with the water. And, here, at last, he happened to come to the well and he dipped his hand in this water, anyway, and wiped his eyes with his hand, and no sooner had he touched them than he had his sight back again.
And he stood up then and he spent some time cleaning himself and . . . Anyway, he set off and headed for home, and it was daylight before he got there. He went in and Sùil-a-Sporain was in bed.
‘You’re here!’ said Sùil-a-Sporain.
‘O, yes,’ said he, ‘I’m here all right, and didn’t I tell you that God would give . . . even if I lost my eyesight that I’d get it back again.’
And, ‘Well, very well then,’ said Sùil-a-Sporain, ‘you’ll go with me today and you’ll put my eyes out . . . in the very same place as I put yours out.’
Anyway, this is what they did. He went next day . . . When they were ready they set off and Sùil-a-Dia put Sùil-a-Sporain’s eyes out. And there he was now, left there not knowing where to go, but, here, anyway, as happened to Sùil-a-Dia, he started on his way and he came to this house, the cats’ house, and they hadn’t gathered there yet. And in he came . . . He managed to get in and he got under the very same tub that Sùil-a-Dia had been under – he stumbled on it, and he went and hid under it, and there he stayed.
Next, he heard a eat’s mew approaching, and he heard a lot of them coming, and he heard them muttering up there at the other end of the house and . . . Then he heard Gugtrabhad telling them to take a look outside to see if the Piseag Shalach Odhar was coming – that it seemed as if she wasn’t going to come at all tonight. And they were taking a look outside now and again and there was no sign of her coming, and it was some time before she came, but then she came at last.
‘Well,’ said Gugtrabhad, ‘what kept you so long?’
‘My master,’ said she, ‘he went off today and he hasn’t got back yet, and I was waiting to see if he’d come.’
‘O, I see,’ said Gugtrabhad. ‘Well, then, what did you hear today?’
‘Whatever I heard today,’ said she ‘. . . You’re not going to hear a syllable of what I heard today till you search the house. And the news I told you here last night,’ said she, ‘. . . There was a fellow down there listening to us, and he’s healed today because of it.’
Off went a gang of the cats right through the house and they started searching here and . . . in the corners, and in every corner of the house. And back they came:
‘There was nothing down there.’
‘Did you try that big tub down there?’ said she.
Down they went again and they started to claw away at the tub and in spite of . . . Anyway, one way or another, they managed to overturn the tub and there was Sùil-a-Sporain. The cats got to grips with him and they dragged him up to the fire.
‘Right,’ said Gugtrabhad, ‘stroke Mac Mharais,* and take the back of the paw to him.’
They started to stroke Mac Mharais by the fire – Sùil-a-Sporain – and they began with the back of the paw and they went on like that for a while.
‘Right, now,’ said Gugtrabhad, ‘try both back and front.’
The lads started with ‘back and front’ and, at last, before they stopped, there wasn’t a bit of Sùil-a-Sporain left that hadn’t been torn to pieces, and that was the end of poor Sùil-a-Sporain.
Well, when he got up next morning Sùil-a-Dia knew quite well that there was something wrong when he hadn’t come back, and he went and found him lying dead there and torn to pieces by the cats.
Well, he took care of him, anyway, and he carried him away from there. And then he made up his mind to set fire to this house, and one night when he thought every one of these cats had gathered in the house . . . He had got the place ready – he had put bits and pieces of things inside. The door was shut, and every hole was closed up, and he set fire to the place and the cats were burnt to death.
And that’s how I left them, and poor Sùil-a-Sporain was dead.
* The storyteller does not explain why the cats called Sùil-a-Sporain by this name.
13 Christine Fleming
CEANN SUIC
HERE NOW IS A STORY which I heard from Ceit Tharmoid a long time ago, regarding a certain woman and the landlord was pressing her for the rent and the poor woman hadn’t money until she would finish a web that she was weaving. And everything had to be – in connection with the tweed, as you know – had to be done by hand, and he was only giving her one month to make it, and if the tweed was not ready in a month’s time she would have to give him the only child that she had so that he would rear him and have him as a farm worker, and the poor woman didn’t want to do this.
On her way home she sat down by a knoll and cried, and this little man came to her, and what was it but a fairy. And he said . . . he asked what was wrong. She told him, and he said to her:
‘Well,’ says he, ‘I will make the tweed for you, but if you don’t know my name in a month’s time, when the tweed is ready, you must give the child to me.’
And the woman did not know what to do, but in any case she was going to lose the child if she did not do that, and she said to him that she would have the tweed made on these conditions.
Scottish Traditional Tales Page 12
