Scottish Traditional Tales

by A. J. Bruford

  ‘Well, the sword is fit for Conall,’ said he, ‘and Conall is fit for it,’ said he.

  ‘Away you go then,’ said the old man, ‘and put on this pair of boots of mine,’ said he, ‘and this is the very day,’ said he, ‘that the armies are to meet. And when you get there,’ said he, ‘you’ll know your own folk,’ said he, ‘and you’ll go in on their side,’ said he.

  Conall went and put on his grandfather’s boots and he had been fast enough as he was, but he was much faster now. And when he appeared the two armies were just closing with each other and Conall went in on the side of his own folk.

  It was then that the hero put on his battle-hard fighting gear and fit fighting gear for a hard battle it was, when he arrayed himself in silk and satin, with his smooth shirt of saffron silk, with his fringed iron shirt of mail, with his jewelled, gold-crested helmet to guard his neck and his white throat.

  It was then that the hero arranged his keen, hard warlike smiter on his left side, on which there was many a blazon of lion and leopard, of griffin and striking serpent, fiery and scaly, drawn from the slender pine-green cover where it had been carefully placed, an object of admiration, and carefully [?], and it was polished and glittering, it was strong and supple, it was elegant, thrusting, fit to strike, with its blade keen, light and marvellous like a weapon of sharpness its [?] and like a weapon of [?] its edge. That was an edge that would cut an apple on water and a single shaggy hair, that would drive water from its [?frontlet] and red fire from its [?hilt]. That was the rising, falling sword that would cut nine nines as it went from him and nine nines as it came back and he would catch it again with the self-same hand. From where he attacked them in front to where he broke through at the rear, where they had been thickest they were thin, where they had been thin they were swiftly scattered and where they had been swiftly scattered they were totally slaughtered, and he left no man alive to tell the tale or spread the news – except he hid in a hole in the ground or the shelf of a crag – but one little, squinting, red-haired man with one eye and one knee and one palm, and though there were thrice ten fluent, fully-wise tongues in his head he would be busy telling of his own trouble and the trouble of the rest, and the valour of the champion. That was all he left alive on the battlefield and no-one drew a sword except himself.

  ‘Oh, Conall, Conall,’ said the king. ‘Is this ruling my kingdom?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with your kingdom,’ said Conall, ‘since I left it yesterday afternoon,’ said he.

  Conall went and turned his grandfather’s boots the other way and before very long he was back home in Brugh Beinn Gulbann.

  ‘Well, Conall,’ said his grandfather, ‘how did you get on?’

  ‘Oh, very well,’ said Conall. ‘Nobody there drew a sword except myself,’ said he.

  ‘Oh, didn’t I know it, Conall,’ said he. ‘But give the lad food,’ said he, turning to his mother.

  Then Conall was given a meal.

  ‘Away you go now,’ said he, ‘and find the most beautiful maiden on the face of the earth,’ said he, ‘the daughter of the king of the Province of Leinster. And her father has her on a golden throne,’ said he, ‘at the top of the castle. And bring her here,’ said he, ‘and marry her. And any time you are in a tight spot,’ said he, ‘just think of me and I’ll be beside you,’ said he.

  Conall set off and kept on till he reached the king’s palace and he started to walk round the king’s castle. He saw the maiden through a window going round and round on the golden throne.

  ‘Oh, my dear, how I wish you were mine!’ said Conall.

  ‘Ho, coward,’ said she, ‘why don’t you jump up and carry me off?’ said she.

  Conall backed away and with his first leap he was on the window-sill and he just took her and plucked her from the golden throne and sprang out with her and put her over his shoulder and away with her. But he had not gone far when she gave one great cry.

  ‘What’s the matter now?’ said he.

  ‘Oh,’ said she, ‘they’re coming after you,’ said she, ‘five hundred fine champions, five hundred full champions and five hundred mighty champions.’

  ‘You wait there, then,’ said Conall, ‘till I get back,’ said he.

  He set her down, and Conall went back and he didn’t leave a single head on a neck among them but slew them all. And he went off with her again. They had not gone far when she gave another cry, and:

  ‘What’s the matter with you now?’ said he.

  ‘Oh,’ said she, ‘there are as many more coming after you,’ said she.

  ‘Oh well, you stay there,’ said he.

  Conall went back and killed every man of them. And he kept on till he got to Ireland, and when he got to Ireland he was pretty tired and he sat down on the side of Beinn Eudain in Ireland and laid his head on her lap.

  ‘Well,’ said he, ‘you must let me sleep for a while now.’

  ‘Ah, God,’ said she, ‘what shall I do if anyone comes?’ said she. ‘How can you be wakened?’

  ‘Take that big rock over there,’ said he, ‘and strike me on the chest with it, or,’ said he, ‘drag me by the hair down the glen and drag me up the glen again by the hair, and that will wake me.’

  ‘Oh, I can’t do that,’ said she.

  ‘Oh well, then,’ said he, ‘you’ll just have to leave me till I wake up by myself,’ said he.

  Conall went to sleep – but what should she see coming but a boat with only one man in it, and it came to land and this big man came up and made straight for her.

  ‘Ho!’ said he. ‘Many’s the place I’ve travelled looking for you,’ said he, ‘but I’ve found you at last.’

  ‘Who are you looking for?’ said she.

  ‘The daughter of the king of the Province of Leinster,’ said he.

  ‘Who’s she?’ said she.

  ‘Oh, you needn’t deny it,’ said he. ‘You carry your own marks of identity with you,’ said he. ‘But who is this man with you?’

  ‘He’s a brother of mine,’ said she. ‘I’ve come to give him his dinner,’ said she.

  ‘Well, you come along with me,’ said he.

  ‘Oh, I mustn’t go,’ said she, ‘till he wakes up,’ said she, ‘or he won’t know where I’ve gone.’

  ‘How can he be wakened?’ said he.

  ‘By striking him on the chest with that big rock over there,’ said she.

  ‘Ho! A fit waking for a mighty champion,’ said he.

  ‘Or by dragging him by the hair down the glen,’ said she, ‘and dragging him up the glen again by the hair, and that will wake him.’

  ‘Well, that’s the easier one,’ said he.

  Conall had long hair and he twisted it round his fist and dragged him down the glen and then he began to drag him up against the slope, and his [Conall’s] sword was jolted out of the scabbard and it was by no means free of stains – and he [the big man] looked at the sword: ‘Ha! My poor fellow,’ said he, ‘it’s no wonder you’re sleepy,’ said he. ‘You haven’t been idle since night fell if your sword is stained like that,’ said he. ‘And since you haven’t troubled me, I shan’t trouble you,’ said he.

  He went off with the king’s daughter and left Conall sleeping. And when Conall woke up he was all alone.

  He did not know what to do and he went down [to the shore] but then he thought of his grandfather. And who should be behind him but his grandfather.

  ‘Ho, Conall,’ said he, ‘you may have been strong enough but you weren’t clever enough,’ said he. ‘Why not do what I’d have done?’ said he.

  He took a little wand from the sleeve of his jacket and he struck a standing stone with it and turned it into a long-ship.

  ‘Away you go now,’ said he, ‘and find your sweetheart.’

  Conall set off with the ship and where should he come to but the kingdom of the Wild Forest. And he went straight up to the castle and demanded that the king’s daughter should be sent out to him or strife and slaughter for her.

  Th
ey directed him down to the House of the Tamhuisg: he would get plenty of strife and slaughter there.

  Conall went straight down and there was a big, long house there with eighteen score doors and eighteen, and when Conall went in there were eighteen score and eighteen Tamhuisg there, and every one of them gave a great bellow of laughter. And Conall gave a laugh that drowned all the rest.

  ‘What made you laugh?’ said they.

  ‘What made you laugh yourselves?’ said Conall.

  ‘The fun we’re going to have killing you,’ said they.

  ‘Well, what made me laugh,’ said Conall, ‘was the fun I would have killing you.’

  They gathered round Conall and every one of them took out a knife, and one would say: ‘Let’s give him the cropping of a fool and an idiot.’ Another would say: ‘I’ll pick your eye out.’ Another: ‘I’ll cut your nose off.’

  Conall looked them over and the one with the biggest head and the thinnest shanks he could see among them, he seized him by the shanks and laid into the rest with him, till he had killed the whole lot of them.

  But then he heard a shout from the rafters over his head.

  ‘Well! Joy and success to you.’

  Conall looked up: ‘What sort of creature are you,’ said Conall, ‘up there?’

  ‘Ho,’ said he, ‘I’m the Tuathanach O Drao, and I was sent down here,’ said he, ‘for the Tamhuisg to eat. But I was so agile and so quick,’ said he, ‘that I sprang up here and they couldn’t get at me. And there was nothing else for me but to stay here till I fell down among them.’

  ‘Oh, well, you can come down now,’ said Conall.

  The Tuathanach O Drao came down.

  ‘Well, Conall,’ said he, ‘the best thing we can do is to stay here tonight,’ said he. ‘The town carts come here with all the scraps from the town for the Tamhuisg,’ said he, ‘and we can pick among it,’ said he, ‘and get enough to keep us going tonight.’

  That was what they did. They heard the carts coming now. The drivers just tipped them outside the doors and went away. They saw no sign of the Tamhuisg or anyone else. They went out and picked out all the best bits they could find.

  Next morning Conall went straight up to the castle and called for strife and slaughter again.

  Conall Ceithir Cheannach, Son of the King of the Wild Forest, was not the man to sit and listen to this. He did not wait to open the door but burst his own breadth out through the wall. Out he rushed and the duel began outside between him and Conall Gulbann, till the dark, dusky clouds of night were closing in and the long languid clouds of day leaving them. And Conall Ceithir Cheannach sprang inside and left Conall Gulbann bleeding from his wounds outside.

  And the Tuathanach O Drao gave a cry:

  ‘O, Conall, Conall,’ said he, ‘you’ll be dead. There’s that man now, all healed by a fairy woman he has in there,’ said he, ‘and he’ll be as fresh tomorrow as he was today, and you’ll be dead.’

  ‘Oh, it can’t be helped,’ said Conall.

  ‘But hold on a moment,’ said he. ‘He’s got a sister in there and she’s very keen on men,’ said he, ‘and I’ll go in,’ said he, ‘and you never know but I might get shelter for you tonight yet,’ said he.

  The Tuathanach O Drao went in and:

  ‘Ah, what a shameful disgrace on you,’ said the Tuathanach O Drao, ‘that the greatest champion sun has ever shone on or wind blown on,’ said he, ‘who has come for love and longing and choice of you from Ireland,’ said he, ‘is bleeding from his wounds out there, and your own brother all healed before his feet could touch the floor.’

  ‘Hah, you wretch!’ said she. ‘If he had come for love of me he would not have come like that.’

  ‘But was it not excess of noble pride,’ said the Tuathanach O Drao, ‘that made him do that? Well do I know it myself,’ said he.

  ‘Go on then,’ said she, ‘and ask him to come in.’

  The Tuathanach O Drao went out:

  ‘Well, in you go now, Conall,’ said he, ‘and be sure you say something to her,’ said he.

  Conall went in and there was cold water for his hands and warm water for his feet and he was laid in a bed, and she got in with him herself.

  And next morning when Conall rose, he went outside and called again for strife and slaughter. Out rushed Conall Ceithir Cheannach and the fight started again till the dark clouds of night were closing in. And Conall Ceithir Cheannach leapt inside and Conall Gulbann was left outside, bleeding from his wounds.

  The Tuathanach O Drao gave a cry: ‘Oh, alas, alas, Conall!’ said he, ‘you’ll be dead tonight for sure,’ said he. ‘You never said a word to that woman last night,’ said he, ‘and I don’t suppose it’s any good me going to see her tonight.’

  ‘Oh, it can’t be helped,’ said Conall.

  ‘But hold on a moment,’ said he. ‘I’m so fair-spoken and so flattering and so cunning,’ said he, ‘you never know but I might get shelter for you yet,’ said he.

  The Tuathanach O Drao went in:

  ‘What a shameful disgrace on you,’ said he, ‘leaving the greatest champion sun has ever shone on or wind blown on bleeding from his wounds out there and your own brother all healed before his feet could touch the floor – when he has come for love and longing and choice of you from Ireland.’

  ‘Hah! Get out of here you cheat,’ said she. ‘He went and laid a naked sword between myself and him last night.’

  ‘But was it not excess of noble pride,’ said the Tuathanach O Drao, ‘that made him do that? Well do I know it myself,’ said he.

  ‘Go on then,’ said she, ‘and tell him to come in.’

  The Tuathanach O Drao went out:

  ‘In you go now, Conall,’ said he. ‘Who knows but you may . . . Be sure you say something to her tonight,’ said he, ‘but you needn’t ever go and ask a favour of her again,’ said he.

  Conall went in and if he had been tired last night he was really tired tonight.

  But next morning when Conall rose he went straight out and called on him for the same again. Out rushed Conall Ceithir Cheannach.

  ‘Well,’ said Conall Gulbann, ‘we’ve spent two whole days at swordplay,’ said he. ‘But today we’ll try a grip,’ said he, ‘wrestling to see which of us is the better.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Conall Ceithir Cheannach.

  They came to grips with each other and then it was rock, rock, and knock, knock, and when they sank in least they sank in to their knees and when they sank in most they sank in to their eyes, till the dark, dusky clouds of night were closing in and the long, languid clouds of day were leaving them. And Conall decided he was near his foes and far from his friends and he gave him a light, lively lift and threw him to earth on firm, flat flagstones and he broke an arm below and a rib above.

  ‘Oh, let me up, Conall,’ said he. ‘Well do I know the purpose of your trail and your travel – looking for Ann Uchdan, Daughter of the King of the Province of Leinster, but you won’t find her here,’ said he. ‘Macan Mór na Sorcha has her,’ said he, ‘and I’ll go along with you myself,’ said he.

  Then he and Conall and the Tuathanach O Drao set out and they kept going and when they came to Macan Mór na Sorcha and he saw them coming, he went and let out a bull. And the bull came on against them and Conall Ceithir Cheannach swung his sword at the bull and cut off its head. Then he went and let out a lion, and he did the very same to it: he killed the lion. And he came out himself then, on his knees begging for mercy.

  ‘Oho!’ said he. ‘Mercy is not for you, you wretch,’ said he, ‘but send the Daughter of the King of the Province of Leinster out here,’ said he.

  ‘Oh though I let them out . . .’ said he, ‘these were just beasts I used to let out when my son was coming home,’ said he. ‘They would give him a game till he got to the door,’ said he.

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t that that made you do it,’ said they, ‘but you send out the king’s daughter at once,’ said he.

  And then they took away the Daughter
of the King of the Province of Leinster with them in the long-ship.

  And that was when they hoisted the billowing, bannered sails to the top of the tough tall masts, so that there was no mast unbent or sail untorn, weathering the weltering, washing waves [? of the green main, the red main of Norway]: the larger sea-creature eating the smaller creature and the smaller creature doing as best she could and the little bent brown buckie that had been seven years on the sea-floor, it would crack against her gunwale and squeak against her planking. So well was the hero handling her. The black eels of the boulders were coiling around the tops of her yards.

  And Conall said to the Tuathanach O Drao: ‘Take a look aloft now,’ said he, ‘to see how the ship goes.’

  ‘Oh,’ said the Tuathanach O Drao, ‘she’s as fast as the swift March wind before her and the swift March wind behind cannot catch her up.’

  ‘That is no speed for my ship,’ said he. ‘Give her more canvas.’

  They gave the ship more canvas and:

  ‘Take a look now,’ said he, ‘to see what her speed is like.’

  ‘Indeed she would split a grain of oats end-on,’ said the Tuathanach O Drao.

  ‘That is no speed for my ship,’ said he. ‘Give her more canvas.’

  They gave the ship more canvas and:

  ‘Take a look aloft now,’ said Conall.

  ‘Oh,’ said he, ‘she’s as fast now as the fancy of flighty women,’ said he.

  ‘Oh, well,’ said Conall, ‘that’s fast enough,’ said he.

  Conall got to Ireland with the king’s daughter and he married her. And I left them there all safe and sound.

  ALTERNATIVE ENDING:

  Conall and the Tuathanach O Drao and Conall Ceithir Cheannach set out and they kept going till they reached the Kingdom of Sorcha. And when they got there, she [the Daughter of the King of the Province of Leinster] was alone in there and her fingers were wet with tears. And Conall asked her where Macan Mór na Sorcha was.

  ‘Ah, he’s hunting in the hill,’ said she.