‘That is a thing that Skatha never trained me to,’ cried the boy. ‘And I am hurt—I am hurt—’
And Cuchulain slipped clear of the slight body and lifted him and laid him across the rock; and so saw on his hand the gold ring that he had given to Aifa, fifteen summers ago.
He gathered the boy in his arms and carried him out of the shallows and laid him down on the white sand before Conor and the Lords of Ulster. ‘Here is Connla my son for you,’ he said, grey and cold. ‘There is little enough that Ulster or Ulster’s honour has to fear from him now, my Lord the King.’
‘Is that the King?’ the boy asked faintly, for the life was still in him.
‘That is Conor Mac Nessa, your kinsman, and the King,’ Cuchulain said, kneeling to support him.
‘If I had five years to grow to manhood among your warriors, we would conquer the world, to the very—gates of Rome and—beyond.’ And he looked up into his father’s face as though already from a long way away. ‘But since the thing is as it is, my father, let you point out to me the famous champions that are here; for often I have thought of the Champions of the Red Branch, and I would see them before I go.’
So one after another the Red Branch Warriors came to kneel beside him and speak their names, and then the boy said, ‘So: my heart is glad that I have seen great men, and it is time that I must be away,’ and turned his face against his father’s shoulder and cried out once, small and plaintive like a new-born child, and the life was gone from him.
The men of Ulster dug his grave in the coarse grass, under the rest-harrow and frilled yellow sea poppies of the shore, and set up his pillar stone with deep mourning.
That was the second and the last time in all his life that Cuchulain used the Gae Bolg; and the first time he slew his dearest friend with it, and the second time he slew his only son.
15. The Witch Daughters of Calatin
FROM THAT TIME forward, the shadows began to gather about the Hound of Ulster, and with them, unknown to any man, they gathered also for Ulster itself.
And this was the way of it.
Maeve of Connacht had indeed made her seven years’ peace with Conor Mac Nessa, after the battle of Garach, but at the same time, in the deepest and fiercest inner chamber of her heart, she vowed the death of Cuchulain for the shame and loss that he had brought on her and on all Connacht, and for Ailell’s triumphing over her. And she set to thinking how she might bring her cherished vengeance to flower.
She found the weapons to her hand soon enough, for the widow of the Clan Calatin, whom Cuchulain had slain at the ford, not long after his death, brought forth three daughters. They were much as their sire had been, hideous, venomous as so many poison-toads, one-eyed, wicked; and seeing them one day squatting in the peat ash at their mother’s feet, Maeve knew the unripe evil and the beginning of the unholy skills that were in them. And so she took them from their mother and sent them to learn the arts of magic, not only in Ireland, but in Britain and even as far afield as Babylon, which for divination and spell casting and necromancy was the very heart of the black rose.
They grew swiftly and learned swiftly, not in the way of mortal women, and in seven years they returned to Cruachan grown to their full strength and skill and power, so that even their father would have thought twice before he stood over against them in a duel of witches now. And they bided ready till Maeve should be ready to slip them like she-wolves upon Cuchulain.
Then Maeve called to her all those others who best hated Cuchulain—she had enough to choose from, for a man does not live as the Hound of Ulster lived, and make no enemies. Chief among them was Erc, the High King of Tara, whose father Cairpre Cuchulain had slain in battle long since, and that King of Munster who would have had Emer for his own; and Lugy the son of Curoi of Kerry—that same Curoi who had proved Cuchulain Champion of all Ireland. And the way of Lugy becoming his enemy, who had once been his friend, was this:
Curoi’s wife had set her love on Cuchulain, the time that he came into Kerry for his testing, and though she waited patiently for more years than one, the time came when after a bitter quarrel with Curoi her lord, she sent lying word to Cuchulain of how her lord mistreated her, and begging him to come and bring her away from Curoi’s Dūn, and telling him that if he hid with his men in the woods below, he should know when the time to attack the Dūn was come by the sign of the stream that came from it running white. And she made her small blue fire and cut a long black strand of her hair and made a singing magic over it before she gave it to the woman slave who was to carry her word to Cuchulain, to be sure that he would come.
So Cuchulain came with his hearth companions, and hid in the woods; and when the time came that she thought her lord was from home, Blanid milked the three white cows with red ears that were the pride of his heart, and poured their milk into the stream so that it ran white down to the woods where Cuchulain waited.
Then Cuchulain led his war band out of the woods to storm the Dun. But Curoi had suspected something, and returned in secret, so that instead of taking it by surprise, they found warriors armed and ready and Curoi himself in their midst. The fighting was sore and long, but none the less they broke through at last and Curoi was slain and Cuchulain carried away the Queen, Blanid. He had meant to bring her back to Emain Macha, but that was not in her Fate, for Fercartna, Curoi’s favourite song maker, went with them, pretending that he also was glad to be free of his lord yet in truth with the hope of avenging him; and he bided his time on the journey, until one evening he found himself near Blanid as she stood on the cliff edge of Beara looking out to sea, and he flung his arms round her and leapt with her over the cliff, so that both together they were dashed to pieces on the sea-washed rocks beneath.
And so it was that Lugy, who had been Cuchulain’s friend, carried hatred in his heart towards him, and gladly answered Maeve’s summons when it came.
Maeve knew that the Great Weakness of the Ulster warriors would surely come upon them again as their need for strength grew sorer, and that once again it would be left to Cuchulain to defend the Gap of the North until they recovered. ‘Only,’ she said, ‘this time we must have a yet greater war host than we had before,’ and she sent Lugy southward to summon the King of Munster, and Erc to rouse out the chief men of Leinster to join them.
Only no one called forth old Fergus Mac Roy, for Maeve said, ‘We shall never make an end of the Hound with Fergus among us,’ and instead she bade the daughters of Calatin to put a spell of quietness upon him so that he remained in his Dūn, taking no heed of the world beyond his own hunting runs.
So the war host of the Four Provinces gathered to Cruachan by the Hill of the Lordly Ones, and from there they drove out against the Plains of Bregia and Quelgney.
Word came to Conor that his borders were being harried by the men of Munster and Connacht and all Ireland, but already the Great Weakness was upon him, and all too well he knew that all his warriors must be in the same case, save for Cuchulain who was in his own place at Murthemney. So he called for Levarcham, oldest of the women of Emain Macha, and said, ‘Go you and bring Cuchulain here to me, for it is chiefly against himself that Maeve has again gathered the war host.’
‘And how if he will not come?’ grumbled the old woman. ‘He has little enough care for his own skin, that one.’
‘Fool! How should he come, if you are mad enough to speak to him of his own skin? Bid him to come without delay, for Conor the King would have his counsel for the saving of Ulster.’
So old Levarcham went with the King’s word to Dūn Dealgan; and at first Cuchulain would not listen to her, but in the end she prevailed, and he summoned Laeg to yoke the chariot, and while he made ready his war gear, Emer called for her own chariot, and sent the women slaves and the children and the best of the cattle away into the secret glens of Slieve Cuillen where they might be safe; and then with Levarcham they set out for Emain Macha.
When they reached the King’s Dūn, the women came out with the harpers and song-maker
s, who were not subject to the Great Weakness when it struck down the fighting men; and they welcomed them and swept them into the House of the Red Branch, and set them down to feasting and the sweet music of the harp. For Conor had said to them, ‘Cuchulain I leave in your hands, to save him from the hatred of Maeve and the dark power of the Witch Daughters. See that you do not fail me, for if he goes down the strength and prosperity of Ulster go down for ever.’
Meanwhile the war hosts of Ireland had reached Murthemney, and finding Cuchulain gone from Dūn Dealgan, they wasted no time on the place, but the three Witch Daughters flew on the wind to Emain Macha, and set themselves down in the meadow below the Royal Dūn and began to pull up tufts of grass; and by their witch arts, from the grass stems and withered alder leaves and fuzz-balls, they made the semblance of mighty war hosts, so that it seemed to Cuchulain, starting up from the feast-table, that the Dūn was being attacked, and on’all sides were the shouts of battling men and the smoke of burning buildings going up, so that it was all that Emer and those with her could do to hold him back. They cried out to him that it was but the magic of the Daughters of Clan Calatin, seeking to draw him out to his death. Then he looked about him like one rousing from a drugged sleep, and sat down once more, pressing his hands across his forehead. But again and again the madness leapt upon him and he sprang from his seat, drawing his sword to rush out and fight, and each time it was harder for his friends to hold him back. For three days it went on so, and Cuchulain’s mind was confused and darkened by the ceaseless sounds of battle and the music of the harp of the Lordly People that mingled it through and through, so that although part of him believed old Cathbad when he told him that it was witchcraft, and he even seemed to listen when his Druid grandfather said to him, ‘Only bide quiet for a few more days for it is a seven day magic and will burn itself out,’ and nodded when they told him that word had gone to Conall of the Victories, who was away receiving the yearly tribute from the Islands, and being out of Ulster might have escaped the Weakness, and that in a few days Conall would have returned to his aid, yet time and again he would leap up, crying the old war cries, and struggle so fiercely to rush out against the phantom host, that the friends who thronged about him and held him back did so at the risk of their lives.
On the fourth morning, Conor roused himself and dragged his pain-wracked wits together, and sent for Cathbad and for Emer and the rest of the women of the Red Branch House, among them Lendabair, the wife of Conall of the Victories, who had some influence with Cuchulain. And he spoke to them urgently, while they stood about his skin-piled sleeping-place. ‘Have you thought how you will keep Cuchulain safe among you yet another day and two more to follow?’
‘Indeed we have thought and thought, and it is a thing that none of us know,’ said Lendabair, and she biting her knuckles like one that is near to her wit’s end.
‘I will tell you, for I also have been thinking,’ said Conor. ‘You must take him away from here into Glean-na-Bodha, the Deaf Valley. For if all the men of Ireland were to stand about the rim of that valley, and they letting out their wildest war cries, no one in the valley would hear a sound. Bring him there, and keep him there, until the enchantment be spent and Conall of the Victories comes to be at his shoulder.’
‘I cannot go with them,’ Emer said, ‘for with the war host of Maeve rieving through Murthemney, my place is in Dūn Dealgan, that the household be not left leaderless with none to keep the roofs on the byres. But let Lendabair be beside him in my stead; he will listen to her maybe more than to me, for he has never greatly listened to me,’ and this she said, not in bitterness, but only as one speaking a true thing.
Then it was agreed, and Cathbad went to Cuchulain, and said, ‘Dear son, you have been pent in this place overlong like a mewed falcon; now today I am holding a feast in my house for the harpers and song-makers and the women of the Red Branch. Let you come with us now, for you have ever loved the music of the harp, and today we will hear such harping as few men hear in their lives.’
‘I am well enough where I am, and in little mood for music,’ said Cuchulain, clenching his fists at the sounds of battle in the air.
‘Remember that it is geise to you not to refuse a feast,’ said Cathbad.
‘As it was to Fergus Mac Roy, and see what came of it! My grief! What a time is this for me to be feasting and making merry, with all Ulster going up in flames, and the men of Ulster helpless under the Weakness, and the men of Ireland putting scorn and laughter on me, that I have run from them like a frightened hare!’
‘What time is it for you to be breaking your geise?’ said Cathbad.
And Emer put her arms about his neck and held him close. ‘Hound, my Hound, I never but once tried until now to hold you back from any venture, whatever the hazard of it. So now do not refuse me this time, my first love, my darling of all the men of the world. Go with Cathbad and Lendabair.’
And Lendabair went to him and took his hands, ‘Ah, come, Cuchulain, the men of Ireland shall not laugh long; only let you wait for Conall of the Victories.’
Long and long they argued with him, until at last he yielded, and took his leave of Emer, and grim and silent mounted into the chariot when Laeg brought it round to the forecourt of the Red Branch House, and went with them wherever they wished.
So they brought him into the valley of Glean-Na-Bodha. And when he realised what place it was, Cuchulain cursed and beat his fists together. ‘Now of all places this is the worst that I could come to, for now indeed the men of Ireland will say that the Hound has run from them with his tail between his legs!’
‘You gave your word to Lendabair,’ Laeg said quickly, ‘that you would not go against the men of Ireland without her leave.’
‘If I did so,’ said Cuchulain, ‘then it is right for me to hold to my word.’
The chariots were unyoked, and the Grey of Macha and the Black Seinglend were turned loose to graze in the glen. Then they all went in to the house that Cathbad had sent his servants ahead to make ready for them. They set Cuchulain in the chief place at the High Table and began to make a great show of laughter and pleasantness all about him, just as they had done at his coming into the Red Branch Hall. While in their midst Cuchulain sat black browed and taut as an overstrung bow, listening to every sound from beyond their merriment.
He had not long to wait in his listening; for when the Witch Daughters found him gone from the Red Branch House, they rose high into the air like an upswirl of withered leaves, and on a blast of moaning wind they whirled over the whole of Ulster, searching out every wood and valley until they came at last over Glean-Na-Bodha. And there below them, among other horses and chariots, they saw Black Seinglend and the Grey of Macha grazing, and Laeg leaning on his spear close by. And by that they knew that Cuchulain was somewhere in the valley. And as they eddied downward they saw the timber hall under the eaves of the woods, and heard the laughter and the sound of harp song coming from within.
They took thistle stalks and little fuzz-balls and withered leaves as before, and made of them the appearance of vast war hosts, so that it seemed that all the world beyond the valley was full of swiftly moving men, and everywhere were wild yells and chatterings, the cries of wounded men and the wailing of women and the neighing of horses, and demon laughter and the braying of war horns; and everywhere it seemed was fire and smoke as though all Ulster were burning.
Within Cathbad’s feast-hall they heard the dreadful uproar, and men and women began to shout their laughter and to sing to the harp and clap their hands and do all that they could think of to keep the magic outcry from reaching Cuchulain’s ears. But the tumult was beyond drowning, and Cuchulain sprang up, crying that he heard the men of Ireland despoiling the whole province.
But Cathbad rose towering over him and caught him by the shoulders and said, ‘Let it pass by. It is only the tumult made by the Witch Daughters, to draw you out of the safety of this place, that they may make an end of you.’
And Cuchulain turned a
way and dashed his hand against the roof-tree of the hall so that his knuckles bled. And then he sat down again and held his head in his hands. And the Daughters of Calatin went on for a while and a while, making all the air of the glen to throb with the wild shrieks of their phantom war host. But they understood at last that Cathbad and the woman and the song-makers all together were too strong for them. And then at last Bave, the most hideous of the three, went down to the very door of the feast-hall, and there she put on the likeness of one of Lendabair’s women who had not accompanied her, and she beckoned Lendabair out to speak with her.
Lendabair went out to her, thinking that she must have brought some word from Emain Macha, and Bave, finger on lip, bade her and the other women who had come with her to follow where she led. Then she took them a long way down the glen, drawing them on by telling them always that it was a little farther and a little farther, until she judged that they were far enough from the hall; and then she raised a thick mist about them and put on them a spell of straying that would keep them from finding their way back until it was too late; and left them wandering.
Then she made a spell to make herself like Conall’s wife and she flew back to the feast-hall and through the door and flung herself at Cuchulain’s knees, her eyes haggard and her bright hair wild, crying out to him, ‘Up and out, Cuchulain! Dūn Dealgan is burning and Murthemney destroyed, and all Ulster trampled down by the men of Ireland! And all men will say that it lies at my door, for I held you back! Go now, swiftly, swiftly! Or Conor will be my death!’
‘Truly it is hard to trust in women,’ Cuchulain said, ‘for it was indeed yourself said that you would not give me leave for all the riches in the world!’ But he sprang up even as he spoke, and flung on his cloak and strode out, shouting to Laeg to yoke the horses and make ready the chariot. And though Cathbad and the remaining women followed him out, striving by every means in their power to hold him back, they might as well have sought to hold marsh fire or mountain mist between their fingers, for the air was still full of the tumult of battle, and he seemed to see the whole war host of Ireland trampling through Ulster, the roofs of Emain Macha and Dūn Dealgan in a great smoke lit with bursts of red flame, and the corpse of Emer tossed out over Dūn Dealgan ramparts.