Early Irish Myths and Sagas (10 page)

They put in to shore, then, and the noise that the three fifties of boats made shook Da Derga’s hostel so much that the weapons on the racks all fell to the floor with a clatter. ‘Explain that, Conare – what is that noise?’ everyone asked. ‘I do not know it,’ said Conare, ‘unless the earth has turned over; or the Leviathan that encircles the world has overturned it with his tail; or the ship of the sons of Dond Désa has landed. Alas that they are not here tonight, for they were dear foster-brothers and a beloved fían-band, and then we would not have to fear them.’ After that, Conare arrived at the hostel’s green. When Mace Cécht heard the din outside, he thought that warriors were attacking his people. He sprang for his weapons to help them, and to those outside his springing was like the thunder feat of three hundred.

The boat of the sons of Dond Désa held a champion, one powerful with arms, baleful at the prow of the boat, a lion implacable and terrifying, Ingcél Cáech grandson of Conmac. Wide as an oxhide the one eye in his head; seven pupils in it, and all black as a beetle. The síze of a heifer’s cauldron each of his knees; the size of a reaping basket each of his fists. The size of a cheese on a withe each of his buttocks; as long as an outer yoke each of his shins. And the five thousand landed at Trácht Fuirbthen, with ten hundred in every thousand.

Conare went into the hostel, then, and everyone took his seat, geiss or no geiss; the three Deirgs sat down, as did Fer Calliu, with his pig. Da Derga came to them after that, with three fifties of warriors: each man had long hair to the nape of his neck and a short green mantle reaching to his buttocks; each man wore short, speckled trousers and carried a great thorn club with a band of iron round it. ‘Welcome, popa Conare,’ said Da Derga. ‘If the greater part of the men of Ériu were to accompany you, I would still feed them.’

As they were there in the hostel, a woman appeared at the entrance, after sunset, and sought to be let in. As long as a weaver’s beam, and as black, her two shins. She wore a very fleecy, striped mantle. Her beard reached her knees, and her mouth was on one Side of her head. She put one shoulder against the doorpost and cast a baleful eye upon the king and the youths about him, and Conare said to her from inside the house ‘Well then, woman, what do you see for us, if you are a seer?’ ‘Indeed, I see that neither hide nor hair of you will escape from this house, save what the birds carry off in their claws,’ the woman replied. ‘It is not ill fortune that we prophesied, woman,’ said Conare. ‘Neither do you usually prophesy for us. What is your name?’ ‘Cailb,’ she replied. ‘A name with nothing to spare, that,’ said Conare. ‘Indeed, I have many other names,’ she said. ‘What are they?’ asked Conare. ‘Not difficult that,’ she replied. ‘Samuin, Sinand, Sesclend, Sodb, Saiglend, Samlocht, Caill, Coll, Díchoem, Díchuil, Díchim, Díchuimne, Díchuinne, Dárne, Dárine, Der Úane, Egem, Agam, Ethamne, Gnim, Cluche, Cethardam, Nith, Nemuin, Nóenden, Badb, Blosc, Bloar, Úaet, Mede, Mod.’ And she recited these in one breath, and standing on one foot, at the entrance to the house.

‘What do you want, then?’ Conare asked. ‘Whatever
pleases you,’ she answered. ‘There is a geiss against my admitting a single woman after sunset,’ said Conare. ‘Geiss or not,’ replied the woman, ‘I will not go until I have had hospitality from this house tonight.’ ‘Tell her,’ said Conare, ‘that she will be sent an ox and a salted pig and the leftovers if only she will go elsewhere tonight.’ ‘Indeed, if the king cannot spare a meal and a bed in his house for one woman, if the hospitality of the sovereign in this hostel is no more, then something will be gotten from someone else, someone of honour,’ answered the woman. ‘Savage her reply,’ said Conare. ‘Let her in, then, despite the geiss against it.’ After this conversation with the woman, and her prophecy of doom, a great fear came over the host, but no one knew why.

The raiders, meanwhile, reached land and advanced as far as Lecca Cind Slébe. The hostel was always open, and that is why it was called a hostel, for it was like the mouth of a man when he yawns. Each night, Conare kindled a huge fire, a boar in the forest. Seven outlets it had, and when a log was taken from its SíDe, the extent of the flames at each outlet was that of a burning oratory. Seventeen of Conare’s chariots stood at each entrance to the house, and the great light inside was visible to the watchers outside through the wheels of those chariots.

‘Explain that, Fer Rogain,’ said Ingcél. ‘What is that great light yonder?’ ‘I do not know it,’ said Fer Rogain, ‘unless it is the fire of a king.’ ‘May God not bring that man here tonight. It is grievous,’ said the sons of Dond Désa. ‘What are the properties of his reign in Ériu?’ Ingcél asked. ‘His reign is good,’ replied Fer Rogain. ‘Since he became king, no cloud has obscured the sun from the middle of spring to the middle of autumn. Not a drop of dew falls from the grass until noon; no gust of wind stirs a cow’s tail until evening. No wolf takes more than one bull calf from every
enclosure during the year, and seven wolves remain by the wall of his house as a guarantee of this agreement; there is a further guarantee, moreover, and that is Mace Locc, who pleads their case in Conare’s house. Each man’s voice seems to his neighbour as melodious as the strings of harps, and that because of the excellence of law and peace and goodwill throughout Ériu. It is in Conare’s reign that we have the three crowns of Ériu: the crown of corn, the crown of flowers and the crown of acorns. May God not bring that man here tonight. It is grievous. It is a pig that falls before acorns. It is a child who is aged. It is grievous his shortness of life.’

‘I would be most satisfied if he came here,’ said Ingcél. ‘It would be one destruction for another. This destruction would be no more difficult for me than was the destruction of my mother and my father and my seven brothers and the king of the country that I did for you as my part of the bargain.’ ‘True, true,’ said the evil-doers who had accompanied the raiders. The raiders started out from Trácht Fuirbthen, then, and each man took with him a stone for the making of the cairn, for this is the distinction that the fiana instituted between a destruction and a rout: they erected a pillar stone for a rout but built a cairn for a destruction. Since this was to be a destruction, the raiders made a cairn, and they built it far from the house lest they be seen or heard.

After that, the raiders held a council, in the place where they had made the cairn. ‘Well then,’ said Ingcél to those who knew the country, ‘what is nearest to us?’ ‘Not difficult that: the hostel of Da Derga, the royal hospitaller of Ériu,’ these men answered. ‘A good chance, then, that chieftains will be seeking their fellows in that hostel tonight,’ said Ingcél. It was decided, then, that one of the plunderers should go and look to see how things were in the house.
‘Who should go to look?’ it was asked. ‘Who but I?’ said Ingcél. ‘For it is to me that the debt is owed.’

Ingcél then went to spy upon the hostel with one of the three pupils in his eye, and he adjusted his eye so as to cast a baleful look upon the king and the youths about him, and he looked through the wheels of the chariots. He was perceived from the house, however, and so he hurried away until he rejoined the raiders. They had formed circles, one about the other, in order to hear the news, and in the centre of the circles were the six chieftains: Fer Gel, Fer Gar, Fer Rogel, Fer Rogain, Lomnae Drúth and Ingcél Cáech.

‘What is there, Ingcél?’ asked Fer Rogain. ‘Whatever it is,’ answered Ingcél, ‘the customs are regal, the tumult is that of a host and the noise is that of princes. Whether or not there is a king there, I will take the house in payment of the debt, and I will plunder there.’ ‘We leave it to you, Ingcél,’ said Conare’s foster-brothers, ‘save that we should not destroy the house until we know who is inside.’ ‘Did you look the house over well, Ingcél?’ Fer Rogain asked. ‘My eye made a quick circuit, and I will accept it in payment just as it is,’ said Ingcél. ‘Although you take the house, it is yours by right,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘Our foster-father is inside, the high king of Ériu, Conare son of Eterscélae. Whom did you see in the champion’s seat, the one facing the king?’ ‘I saw a huge, bright-faced man,’ said Ingcél, ‘with clear, shining eyes and straight teeth and a face narrow below and broad above. Fair, flaxen, golden hair he had, and a proper hood over it, and a silver brooch in his mantle. In his hands a gold-hiked sword and a shield with five concentric circles of gold and a five-pointed spear. A fair, ruddy complexion he had, with no beard, and a modest bearing. On his left and on his right and in front of him I saw three men, and you would think that all nine had the same father and the same mother. They were of the same age, and all were equal in appearance and
handsomeness. All had long hair and green mantles with gold pins; all bore in their hands round shields of bronze and ridged spears and ivory-hilted swords. All performed the same trick: each man would take the point of his sword between his two fingers and wind it about his fingers, and the sword would straighten out by itself afterwards. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’

‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘Cormac Cond Longes son of Conchubur he, the best warrior to hold a shield in Ériu. Of modest bearing he. Little does he fear tonight. A warrior in weaponry, a hospitaller in husbandry. Of the men about him, three are named Dúngus, three Dáelgus and three Dángus, and they are the nine companions of Cormac Cond Longes. Never have they slain men at a disadvantage, and never have they spared men at an advantage. Good the warrior in their midst, that is, Cormac. I swear by what my people swear by, nine tens will fall by Cormac at the first onslaught, and nine tens by his companions; and there will also fall a man for each weapon and a man for each man. Cormac will match the performance of any man at the entrance to the hostel; he will boast of victories over kings and royal heirs and plundering chieftains, and though his companions be wounded, he himself will escape.’

‘Woe to him who carries out this destruction,’ said Lomnae Drúth, ‘if only because of that one man, Cormac Cond Longes. I swear by what my people swear by, if I ruled the council, I would not attempt the destruction, if only because of that one man and because of his gentleness and excellence.’ ‘You do not rule it,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you. Gér’s word will seize the two cheeks of Gabur; it will be brought against him by the oath of an angry Fer Rogain. Your voice has begun to break, Lomnae. They have known you to be an evil warrior. Clouds of blood… An easier death for a house full of hosts death by
iron weapons… Neither old man nor storyteller will say that I retreated from this destruction; they will say that it was I who carried it out.’

‘Do not impugn our honour, Ingcél,’ said Gér and Gabur and Fer Rogain. ‘The destruction will be wrought, unless the earth breaks under us and swallows us.’ ‘Indeed, it is yours by right,’ said Lomnae Drúth son of Dond Désa. ‘You will suffer no loss – you will bear off the head of a king from another tribe, and you will cut off another head, and you and your two brothers, Éccell and Dartaid, will escape the destruction. It will be more difficult for me, however. Woe to me before everyone, woe to me after everyone. Afterwards, my head will be tossed about between the chariot shafts, where devilish enemies will meet; it will be thrown into the hostel thrice, and it will be thrown back out thrice. Woe to them that go, woe to them with whom they go, woe to them to whom they go. Doomed they that go, doomed they to whom they go.’

‘Nothing can touch me,’ said Ingcél, ‘not my mother, not my father, not my seven brothers, not the king of my country, whom I slew – there is nothing I will not endure from now on.’ ‘Though blood flow through you, the destruction will be wrought by you tonight,’ said Gér and Gabur and Fer Rogain. ‘Woe to him who delivers the hostel into the hands of its enemies,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘After that, what did you see?’

‘I saw an apartment with three men in it,’ said Ingcél, ‘three huge, brown men with brown hair equally long in front and at the back. They wore short black capes that reached to their elbows, and the capes all had long hoods. In their hands they held large, black swords and black shields and broad, dark, glittering spears; and each spear shaft was as thick as the lifting bar of a cauldron. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’

‘Difficult that to explain,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘I know no trio in Ériu like that, unless they are the three Cruithnig who forsook their country and came into Conare’s household: Dub Longes son of Trebúait and Trebúait grandson of Lonsce and Curnach grandson of Fíach. They are the three best warriors to have taken arms among the Cruithnig. Nine tens will fall by them at the first onslaught, and a man for each weapon, and a man for each man. They will match the performance of any trio in the hostel; they will boast of victories over kings and royal heirs and plundering chieftains, and, though wounded, they will escape afterwards. Woe to him who carries out this destruction, if only because of those three.’ ‘I swear by the god my people swear by,’ said Lomnae Druth, ‘if my advice were taken, the destruction would not be attempted.’ ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come.’ ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.

‘I saw an apartment with nine men in it; all had fair, yellow hair and all were equally handsome, and they wore mantles of various hues,’ said Ingcél. ‘Overhead there were nine pipes, all four-toned and ornamented; and the light from the ornamentation was sufficient for the royal house. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’

‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘They are the nine pipers that came to Conare from Síd Breg because of the famous tales about him; their names are Bind, Robind, Ríanbind, Nibe, Dibe, Dechrind, Umal, Cumal and Cíalgrind. They are the best pipers in the world. Nine tens will fall by them at the first onslaught, and a man for each weapon, and a man for each man. They will match the performance of anyone in the hostel; each of them will boast of victories over kings and royal heirs and plundering chieftains, and they will escape afterwards, for combat with them is combat with a shadow. They will slay and will not be slain, for they
are of the Síde.’ ‘Woe to him who carries out this destruction, if only because of those nine men,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you.’ ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.