“And the third night, Murchadh mac Brian,” said he, “when the food was on the table, a knock was heard at the door, and there was no second knock when the door was smashed in in splinters on to the floor and that woman there was taken out from my side.
“ ‘You’re out now,’ said the man who had taken her out, ‘and there is not one in the four far-flung quarters of the world who can get you back inside, unless the Feamanach Mór Fabhsach should come, a man without mildness or meakness or mercy, without love of God or fear of man, and even if that one did come, it would be no easy task for him to get you tonight.’
“I took it to be my business,” said the Man in the Cassock, “and I set off close after him, for I said to myself that I would not let him get so far from the house tonight. And as I was catching up with him and the woman, I called to them asking what [? infant] of the mighty and most powerful one we had here.
“ ‘What you are,’ said that man answering back, ‘is a man set for short shrift.’
“ ‘You put the maiden down,’ said I, ‘or you ’ll have to fight for her.’
‘ “Oh, you can have as much of a fight as you like for her,” said he “but you won’t get the maiden tonight.”
‘He hurled the spear he was carrying at me,’ said the Man in the Cassock, ‘and it struck me on the bronze beads that were above my brow and I went down on one knee. But I leapt to my feet and I made a cast at him with my own spear and struck him in the upper part of the chest, and I rushed over to him and killed him.
‘And I said to myself that night, good as the Tiobart was, that I had had enough of it. And I went and got the Gruagach of the Stag and the Hound to go with me and she and I and the woman went back home. And when we reached the sea, we took out our water-helmets and we were not long on the journey.
‘And when we got home, I was sent to sleep that night in a long, bare barn, with none beside me. And a voice came to the window to tell me that I had three days of hunting and sport to put in before I could get wedding or marriage.
‘ “So be it,” said I answering back, “but if there were any more you would not live to tell the tale!”
‘ “Indeed your share of the enchantment of this island would be none the less for that,” said the man who was outside. “If I didn’t lay these geasa on you, someone else would.”
‘Anyway, I got up next morning,’ said the Man in the Cassock, ‘and I went to the deer forest, and I hunted a great, gay, heroic hunt,’ said he, ‘such as had never, I thought, been hunted in Ireland before. And I made full haste to get back home, but if I did, when I got home there was no sign of the woman. I asked the Gruagach of the Stag and the Hound where she was.
‘ “Indeed,” said she, “after you went off to the deer forest, three harpers came here. And since you were not at home yourself for them to kill, and since they found the woman at home, they made off with her.”
‘Oh, disaster and destruction and deep-sorrow upon me,’ said the Man in the Cassock [sic]. ‘Where can I find her now?
‘But when I had got ready,’ said he, ‘I set out,’ he said, ‘and I went down to the shore and launched the long ship.
‘And I set her stem to the sea and her stern to the shore.
I raised the dappled, flapping sails against the tall, tough masts
So that there was no mast unbent nor sail untorn
Weathering the white wallowing ocean.
Splashing of the sea-pool’s shore was music to soothe me to sleep:
Screaming of sea-gulls, coiling of eels,
The greater whale eating the lesser whale
And the lesser whale doing as best it could,
The bent brown buckies of the deep rattling in on to her bottom boards
So surely was I steering her,
I was steersman in the stern, pilot in the prow:
I would loose the rope that was fast in her
And make fast the rope that was loose in her.
‘But as I passed a great long desert island there, what did I see but the three harpers, and one of them was sitting on either side of the woman giving her kiss and kiss about, and the third one was standing playing music. But, Murchadh mac Brian,’ said he, ‘there was not a finger among my fingers that I did not gnaw, for fear I should fall asleep at the sweetness of the music that man was making.
‘And at the same time, I was edging, edging the ship in to the island to see if I could get within striking distance. And when I got near,’ said he, ‘to the two who were sitting one on either side of her, I drew my squared staff that never left a stroke half-finished in a single place where it was ever struck, and as much as was below the knees of the two who were sitting one on either side of her – the woman – I cut it off. And wherever in the world the third one fled to, I didn’t bother to follow him when I got the woman. And I took her back to the boat with me and went back home with her.
‘And that night I was sent to sleep again,’ said he, ‘in a long, bare barn, and a voice came to the window calling to me that I had two days of hunting and sport to put in before I could get wedding or marriage.
‘ “Indeed, so be it,” said I, “and if there were any more, you would not live to tell the tale!”
‘ “Your share of the enchantment of the island would be none the less for that,” said the man who was outside. “If I didn’t lay these geasa on you, someone else would.”
‘Anyway, I went next morning to the deer forest,’ said the Man in the Cassock, ‘and I hunted a great, gay, heroic hunt,’ said he, ‘such as had never before, I thought, been hunted in Ireland. And I made full haste to get back home, but if I did, when I got home I could find no sign of the woman. And I asked the Gruagach of the Stag and the Hound where she was.
‘ “Indeed,” said she, “little do I care where that same woman is.”
‘I took her answer so badly,’ said the Man in the Cassock, ‘that I said to myself that she deserved to be killed for it, but then I said to myself that if I killed her, I would never find out where the woman had gone. And after a little while,
‘ “Well,” said the Gruagach of the Stag and the Hound, “who came here but three great giants when you had gone to the deer forest. And since you were not at home for them to kill, and they happened upon the woman, they made off with her.”
‘ “Hu-hu-hai!” said I. “Well do I know where to go and look for her this time, and sore, sore, were the straits into which these same three got me once before.”
‘But anyway,’ said he, ‘next day I got myself ready and set out and I reached the castle of the giants, for I knew the place well enough. And when I got there the place was terribly quiet. There was not a soul to be seen about the place at all. I kept going in at doors and I couldn’t see anybody: then I would come back out. But, this time, I was coming out of a door,’ said he, ‘and when I was just in the doorway I felt myself being tugged at from behind. But, Murchadh mac Brian,’ said he, ‘I think that though the lowest foundation stone in the castle had been tied to me I would have carried it off with me, such was the jerk with which I took myself out when I felt myself being tugged at from behind.
‘But then I said to myself that it was a pretty feeble tug and that I would have a look to see what had done it and I peered closely inside, and there behind the door there was a man lying bound, and who was that but Macan Liathach Lochlann.
‘And he implored me for pity’s sake to untie him and he would follow me every step I made forever after, to help me in any way he could, and he said that the giants were out fishing at the moment, and that they were going to kill him when they got home in the evening – and he implored me to untie him. And I went,’ said he, ‘and untied him, and wherever in the world he may have fled to, I never saw another sight of him.
‘But I kept going in at doors and I couldn’t see anybody, but this time I went into a room,’ said he, ‘and the woman I was looking for was there, sitting on a decorated golden throne and the decorated golden throne was going round
and round by itself . . . and one moment she would be weeping and the next moment she would be laughing.
‘ “What,” said I, “is the cause of your joy . . . and the cause of your sorrow the next moment?”
‘ “Indeed,” said she, “that is no small thing. I am overjoyed at seeing you . . .”
‘ “Why are you overjoyed [sic]* at seeing me?” said I . . .
‘ “Because your head is the first thing I shall be offered tonight.”
‘ “Oh, indeed, they won’t get my head, anyway,” said I.
‘ “Oh, they will,” said she. “Goodness knows what can stop it. That lot,” said she, “are away fishing just now, and even if we make off, you and I, we shall have to pass the very point where they are fishing. And the only way I can see we would be safe: we’re very lucky that they’ve left their water-helmets at home, and if we could get them burnt before we go, they would have no means of following us. And,” said she, “you’d better go out and start getting the fires going, for,” said she, “we’ll have to make a separate fire for each one of them. As for putting them in the one fire, all of them, they would just become seven times as good as they were before.”
‘And I went out,’ said the Man in the Cassock, ‘and I began to get the fires built, and, now, there was a Cailleach Earra-ro-ghlas there on guard to see that she stayed inside, but she would slip out now and again without the hag noticing her and she would build two fires to my one.
‘And when we had the fires ready, we threw the water-helmets into them – one to each fire – and when they were burnt to cinders, the ashes were scattered to the winds. And the woman and I set out then, and we put to sea.
‘And when we were passing the point where the giants were fishing they cast their three black lines after the boat, and they caught her right in the stern. But, Murchadh mac Brian,’ said he, ‘if my ship was fast leaving the shore, she was seven times faster going back to them!
‘ “Consider now,” said the woman to me; “though their three black lines are bewitched, the gunwale of your ship is not. Why not let them have the piece of the gunwale that they have hooked and put a piece of your cassock in its place?”
‘I went,’ said he, ‘and struck a blow with the squared staff that never left a stroke half-finished in a single place where it was ever struck, and as much of the gunwale of the ship as was caught on their three black lines, I let them have, and they fell sprawling in the sea. And I went and put a piece of the cassock in its place and off we went.
‘ “Never mind,” said they, “we won’t be long catching you when we get our water-helmets.”
‘But then they heard the Cailleach Earra-ro-ghlas calling the giants home, for she had discovered that the woman was missing, and the names she called them by were Siobar Bheul-dubh and Corran Caiflidh and Cairgeil Cosgail. And the giants went home to get their water-helmets and go in pursuit of the Man in the Cassock [sic] to take the woman from him. And when they got home they found the water-helmets burnt, and there was not a cow in calf, or a sheep in lamb, or a woman in child, or a mare in foal, within seven miles distance of the castle gate, but they miscarried with every wailing howl that they gave lamenting for their water-helmets.
‘And I took the woman home that time,’ said the Man in the Cassock, ‘and that night I was sent to sleep again in a long, bare barn. And a voice came,’ said he, ‘to the window calling to me that I had a day of hunting and sport to put in before I could get wedding or marriage.
‘ “So be it,” said I, answering back, “but if there were any more you would not live to tell the tale!”
‘ “Your share of the enchantment of the island would be none the less for that,” said the man who was outside. “If I didn’t lay these geasa on you, someone else would.”
‘Anyway, I rose very early next morning,’ said the Man in the Cassock, ‘and I set out. And I hunted a great, gay, heroic hunt, such as had never, I thought, been hunted in Ireland before. And I made full haste to get back home, but if I did, when I got home I could find no sign of the woman. I asked the Gruagach of the Stag and the Hound where she was.
‘ “Indeed,” said she, “after you went off to the deer forest, the Macan Òg of Greece came back. And since you were not at home yourself for him to kill, and since he found the woman at home, he made off with her, but he would not go to the deer forest to look for you.”
‘ “Oh yes,” said I. It couldn’t be helped. But next morning I got ready,’ said he, ‘and I launched the long ship.
‘And I set her stem to the sea and her stern to the shore.
‘And my course was no crooked one,’ said he, ‘but I sailed straight to Greece. And when I went ashore.
‘I put my hand on the prow of the ship and dragged her seven times her own length on to green grass where wind would not snatch at her and where sun would not blister her and where no little guttersnipe from the city could get near her to mock her or make sport of her till I got back to her again.
‘And I went on in through the country and I had not gone far when I met a herdsman looking after a herd of cattle.
‘ “What news have you, herdsman?” said I . . .
‘ “You have given me nothing to make it worth my while telling it.”
‘ “Have I not, my good lad?”
‘ “No, you haven’t,” said he.
‘I went and put my hand in my pocket and gave him a handful of gold and a handful of silver.
‘ “Indeed, may good luck and blessings be your lot,” said the herdsman, “and may success attend you, and your descendants after you. And there is a wedding feast and a great marriage tonight in the City of Athens for the Macan Òg of Greece and the daughter of the Gruagach of the Tiobart, and oaths have been sworn that if they see a man with a black cassock, a squared staff, a string of bone beads and a string of bronze beads approaching within seven miles of the city gate, he will be dead long before he reaches it.”
‘ “Truly, indeed, my good lad,” said I, “you are not without news.”
‘ “I am not,” said he.
‘ “Here you are,” said I. “Here is another handful of gold and silver for you, and you take off your clothes and I shall put them on, and I shall take my clothes off and you shall put them on.”
‘And we did that,’ said the Man in the Cassock. ‘We exchanged clothes. But, Murchadh mac Brian,’ said he, ‘if you had seen me with the little herdsman’s clothes not covering my thighs and my clothes on the little herdsman, trailing two or three yards along the ground behind him! But, anyway, I set off,’ said he, ‘and I reached,’ said he, ‘the king’s palace . . . or near it. And I saw a pretty little house,’ said he, ‘a little way from the castle, and I went and made straight for it, and when I went in there was no one there but an old woman sitting by a fire – a pretty little fire too, and she gave a shout of laughter when she saw me at the door.
‘ “Why,” said she, “are you not up at the big house up yonder with the other poor folk who are there, to get your share of the feast?”
‘ “Why,” said I, “are you not up at the big house yourself along with the poor folk who are there, to get your share of the feast?”
‘ “Oh,” said she, “I’m nothing,” said she, “but a poor old woman who can’t walk or get very far, and my share will be brought here to me.”
‘ “Oh well,” said I, “if my share isn’t going to be brought to me, I’d better go and get it where it is.”
‘And I went straight out of the house and right on up. And,’ said he, ‘there was a big table laid there outside the main door and the poor folk of the kingdom were seated on either side of it. And they had had their fill of food and drink, every one of them. And what was going on when I got there was this: they were scattering money amongst them, and they were catching it.
‘But I didn’t care about the money,’ said the Man in the Cassock. ‘I said to myself that if I lived long enough I could easily have plenty of money, and I made for the food, for I was
badly in need of it – and I started on the food and the drink.
‘And when I began to feel the drink, every now and then I would pick up one of the men who were sitting nearer the house than me and I would set him down on the seat on my other side. And in this way I was getting much nearer to the main door. And before I was finished,’ said he, ‘I was right beside the door-post. And then,’ said he, ‘I just waited there to see if I could see the door being opened a chink – but I couldn’t.
‘But at long last,’ said he, ‘I saw it being opened a chink and I leapt to my feet and set my shoulder to the door and started to push it open. And the men inside started to push it shut, but, Murchadh mac Brian,’ said he, ‘I think it would have been easier for them to push out the lowest foundation-stone in the castle gate, than to push my shoulder away from the door when I had it against it.
‘And the Macan Òg of Greece called out when he heard the disturbance around the door, asking what was the trouble down there. They told him it was just one of the poor folk trying to get in.
‘ “Ho! Let him in,” said the Macan Òg of Greece. “He must be just a poor man who has been used to company.”
‘And they let me in,’ said the Man in the Cassock, ‘and I went humbly down to the far end of the house where no-one was sitting. And I had not been there very long,’ said he, ‘when a shambling, ill-mannered young man came up and stood in front of me. And he danced a reel there,’ said he, ‘looking at me. And when he had finished, he swung his fist and hit me on the forehead, but, Murchadh mac Brian,’ said he, ‘if he was quick to hit me with his fist, he was seven times quicker stuffing it in his mouth . . . for where had he hit me but on the bronze beads above my brow.
‘ “Oh, oh,” said he, “I’m hurt! If he ever walked the world or the earth,” said he, “you’ve got him right in here on the floor – a man with a black cassock, a squared staff, a string of bone beads and a string of bronze beads.”
Scottish Traditional Tales Page 18
