The Tain Page 3

  ‘It’s true what they say, girl,’ said Ailill. ‘Well-off woman, wealthy man’s wife.’

  ‘True enough,’ said the woman. ‘What makes you say it?’

  ‘Just this,’ said Ailill, ‘that you’re better off now than the day I took you.’

  ‘I was well-off before it,’ said Medb.

  ‘If you were, I never heard tell of it,’ said Ailill, ‘apart from your woman’s assets that your neighbour enemies kept plundering and raiding.’

  ‘Not so,’ said Medb, ‘for my father was High King of Ireland – namely, Eochu Feidlech son of Finn son of Finnoman son of Finnen son of Fingall son of Roth son of Rigéon son of Blathacht son of Beothacht son of Enna Agnech son of Angus Turbech. He had six daughters: Derbriu, Ethne, Éle, Clothru, Muguin, Medb. I was the noblest and most celebrated of them all. The most generous in bestowing gifts and favours. The best at warfare, strife and combat. I had fifteen hundred royal mercenaries, the sons of exiles, and as many more the sons of freeborn native men, and for every soldier of them I had ten, and for every ten I had nine more, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one.4 And that was just my household guard.

  ‘Then my father gave me a province of Ireland, Connacht that is ruled from Crúachan. That is why I am called Medb of Crúachan. Envoys came from Finn the King of Leinster, the son of Ross Ruad, to woo me, and from Cairbre the son of Niafer King of Tara – another son of Ross Ruad – and from Conchobar5 King of Ulster, son of Fachtna, and from Eochaid Bee. I turned them all down. I asked a more exacting wedding-gift than any woman ever before me – a man without meanness, jealousy and fear.

  ‘If he were mean, we’d be ill-matched, because I am generous in bestowing gifts and favours. And it would be a disgrace if I were more generous than him, but no disgrace if we are equal, both bestowing freely. If he were cowardly, we’d be ill-matched, for I am powerful in warfare, fight and fray. It would be a disgrace if I were more forcible than him, but no disgrace if both of us are forcible. Nor would it do for my husband to be jealous: I never had one man without another waiting in his shadow. I got the right man – yourself, Ailill, the other son of Ross Ruad of Leinster. You are not mean, you are not jealous, you are not cowardly. When we made the contract, I gave you a bride-price that befits a woman: outfits for a dozen men, a chariot worth thrice seven bondmaids, the breadth of your face in red gold, the weight of your left arm in white bronze. Whoever brings you shame or strife or trouble, you’ve no claim to compensation or redress, beyond what I claim, for you’re a man dependent on a woman’s wealth.’

  ‘Not so,’ said Ailill, ‘for I have two brothers, Cairbre who rules Tara, and Finn the King of Leinster. And I let them rule because of seniority, not because they were more generous with their largesse. I never heard of a province of Ireland that depended on a woman’s assets except this one, which is why I came and assumed the throne in succession to my mother, for she is Mata Muiresc, Mágach’s daughter. And what better queen for me, than the daughter of the High King of Ireland?’

  ‘All the same,’ said Medb, ‘my wealth is greater than yours.’

  ‘You astonish me,’ said Ailill. ‘No one has more wealth, more goods and jewels than myself. I know this for a fact.’

  So the least valuable of their assets were brought out, to see who had more wealth and goods and jewels: their cauldrons and buckets and pots, their porringers and tubs and basins. Then their gold artefacts, their rings and their bracelets and their thumb-rings were brought out, and their outfits of purple and blue and black and green and yellow, whether plain or multi-coloured, plaid, checked or striped. Their flocks of sheep were brought in from the fields and the meadows and the green lawns. They were counted and compared, and found to be equal in number and size. Among Medb’s sheep was a prize ram worth one bondmaid, and among Ailill’s was one to match.

  From pasture and paddock and stable their horses and steeds were brought in. Among Medb’s horses was a prize stallion worth one bondmaid, and Ailill had one to match. Their great herds of swine were brought in from the woods and the glens and the wastelands. They were reckoned and counted and claimed, and found to be equal in size and number. Medb had a prize boar, and Ailill had another.

  Then their herds of cows and droves of cattle were brought in from the woods and the wastes of the province. They were reckoned and counted and claimed, and found to be equal in size and number. But among Ailill’s cattle was a prize bull, that had been a calf of one of Medb’s cows – Finnbennach his name, the White-horned. Not wanting to be reckoned as a woman’s asset, he had gone over to the king’s herd. And to Medb it was as if she hadn’t a single penny, for there was no bull to equal Finnbennach among her cattle.

  Mac Roth the Messenger6 was summoned by Medb, and Medb told Mac Roth to go and see if the match of the bull might be found in any of the provinces of Ireland.

  ‘I know where to find such a bull and better,’ said Mac Roth, ‘in the province of Ulster in the district of Cúailnge7 in the house of Dáire Mac Fiachna. His name is the Donn8 Cúailnge, the Brown Bull of Cúailnge.’

  ‘Take yourself there, Mac Roth,’ said Medb, ‘and ask Dáire for a year’s loan of the Donn Cúailnge, and when the year is up I’ll give him back the Brown Bull and fifty heifers to boot. And you can make him another offer, Mac Roth. If the people of those borderlands begrudge the loan of the Pride of the Herd, the Donn Cúailnge, let Dáire himself bring me the bull and I’ll grant him a piece of the smooth plain of Aí as big as all his lands, and a chariot worth thrice seven bondmaids, as well as the friendship of my own thighs.’

  Messengers set out for Dáire Mac Fiachna’s house. There were nine of them in Mac Roth’s band. Mac Roth was made welcome in Dáire’s house, as was right and proper for a Head Messenger. Dáire asked him what had brought him on his journey, and why he had come. The Messenger told him why he had come, and of the dispute between Medb and Ailill.

  ‘So I’ve come to ask for the loan of the Donn Cúailnge,’ he said, ‘to match the White-horned Bull. And when the loan is up, you’ll get back the Brown Bull and fifty heifers into the bargain. And there’s more on offer: if you bring the bull yourself, you’ll get a piece of the smooth plain of Aí as big as all your lands, and a chariot worth thrice seven bondmaids, as well as the friendship of Medb’s thighs.’

  Dáire was well pleased by this. He leaped up and down on his couch and the seams of the flock mattress burst beneath him.

  ‘’Pon my soul!’ he cried. ‘Let the Ulstermen say what they will, I’ll take the Pride of the Herd, the Donn Cúailnge, to Ailill and Medb in the land of Connacht.’

  Mac Roth was well pleased by Dáire’s response.

  The messengers were attended to, and straw and fresh rushes strewn for them. They were given a feed of meat and drink, until they were well full. Two of the messengers’ tongues got loose.

  ‘It’s true what they say,’ said one, ‘that the man of this house is a great man.’

  ‘Very true,’ said the other.

  ‘Is there a better man in Ulster?’ said the first messenger.

  ‘There is indeed,’ said the second messenger. ‘Dáire’s master, Conchobar, is a better man, for if every man in Ulster bowed to him, there’d be no shame on them. Mind you, it was very great of Dáire to give us nine foot-soldiers what would have been a job for the four strong provinces of Ireland, that is, to bring the Donn Cúailnge out of Ulster.’

  A third messenger joined the conversation.

  ‘What’s all the talk about?’ he said.

  ‘Your man here was saying that the man of this house is a great man. Very true, says your other man. Is there a better man in Ulster? says your man here. There is indeed, says your other man. Dáire’s master, Conchobar, is a better man, for if every man in Ulster bowed to him, there’d be no shame on them. Mind you, it was very great of Dáire to give us nine foot-soldiers what would have been a job for the four strong provinces of Ireland, that is, to bring the Donn Cúailng
e out of Ulster.’

  ‘I’d like to see the mouth that said that spout blood, for if he hadn’t given willingly, we would have taken the bull anyway.’

  Just then Dáire Mac Fiachna’s head butler came into their quarters with a man carrying drink and another food, and he heard what they were saying. In a fit of rage he put down the food and drink. And he didn’t say, ‘Help yourselves’, and he didn’t say, ‘Don’t help yourselves.’ He went straight to Dáire Mac Fiachna’s quarters, and said:

  ‘Are you the man who gave the messengers the Pride of the Herd, the Donn Cúailnge?’

  ‘I am indeed,’ said Dáire.

  ‘That’s not the gesture of a king, for what they say is true, that if you hadn’t given him willingly, he would have been taken anyway by the forces of Ailill and Medb, and the craftiness of Fergus Mac Róich.’9

  ‘By the gods I worship, nothing will leave here without my leave!’

  They waited until morning. The messengers were up early and they went to Dáire’s quarters.

  ‘Tell us, your lordship, where we might find the Donn Cuailnge.’

  ‘Indeed I will not,’ said Dáire, ‘and if I were the sort of man to give foul play to any messenger or traveller or guest that comes this way, none of you would leave here alive.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ said Mac Roth.

  ‘There’s a very good reason why,’ said Dáire. ‘You said that whatever I didn’t give willingly, it would be taken from me anyway by the forces of Ailill and Medb, and the craftiness of Fergus Mac Róich.’

  ‘Come now,’ said Mac Roth, ‘you shouldn’t heed what messengers say when they’ve a feed of your meat and drink in them. It’s not as if it was Ailill’s and Medb’s fault.’

  ‘All the same, Mac Roth, I won’t be giving up my bull.’

  The messengers returned to Crúachan Fort in Connacht. Medb asked them for their news, and Mac Roth broke the news – that they had not brought back the bull from Dáire.

  ‘Why not?’ said Medb.

  Mac Roth told her why not.

  ‘There’s no need to iron out the knots in this one, Mac Roth,’ said Medb, ‘for it was known that if the bull were not given willingly, he would be taken by force. And taken he shall be.’

  II

  THE

  TÁLN

  BEGINS

  A GREAT ARMY was mustered in Connacht by Ailill and Medb, and a call to arms went out to the other three provinces. Ailill sent messengers to his six brothers, namely, Cet, Anlúan, Maccorb, Bascall, Én and Dóche, all sons of Mágach. Each brought three thousand men. And Ailill sent word to Cormac Conn Longas the Exile,1 who was billeted in Connacht with his three thousand men.

  Cormac’s men marched to Crúachan in three divisions. The first division wore dappled cloaks. Their heads were shaved. They wore knee-length tunics. Each man was equipped with a long shield, a silver-handled sword and a broad bright spear on a slender shaft.

  ‘Is that Cormac?’ said they all.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Medb.

  The second division wore dun-grey cloaks and calf-length tunics with red embroidery. Their long hair hung down their backs. Each man was equipped with a bright shield, swords with guards of gold and a five-pronged spear.

  ‘Is that Cormac?’ said they all.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Medb.

  The third division arrived. They wore purple cloaks and hooded, ankle-length tunics with red embroidery. Their hair was cut shoulder-length. Each man was equipped with a curved, scallop-edged shield and a ‘palace-turret’ spear. Together they lifted their feet, and together they put them down again.

  ‘Is that Cormac?’ said they all.

  ‘That’s Cormac,’ said Medb.

  That night they pitched camp and thick smoke rose from their fires between the four fords of Aí – Moga, Bercna, Slissen and Coltna. They stayed there for a fortnight, drinking and feasting and revelling to ease the hardship of the imminent campaign. Then Medb asked her charioteer to hitch up the horses for her to go and consult her druid. She arrived at the druid’s place and asked him to look into the future.

  ‘There are those today who leave behind lovers, friends and relations. And if they do not come back safe and sound, they all will curse me, because I made the call to arms. Yet I too have to go, and count myself as much as them. Find out for me if I will come back or not.’

  And the druid said: ‘Whoever comes back or not, you will come back.’

  The driver turned the chariot round. As they made to go back to camp a young woman appeared before them. She had yellow hair. She wore a dappled cloak with a gold pin, a hooded tunic with red embroidery and shoes with gold buckles. Her face was broad above and slender beneath, her eyebrows dark, and her black eyelashes cast a shadow halfway down her cheek. Her lips were of a Parthian red, inset with teeth like pearls. Her hair was done up in three plaits, two wound round her head and the third hanging down her back to her calf. In her hand was a weaver’s beam of white bronze inlaid with gold. Her eyes had triple irises. The young woman was armed. Her chariot was drawn by two black horses.

  ‘What is your name?’ said Medb to the young woman.

  ‘My name is Fedelm, one of the women poets of Connacht.’

  ‘Where have you come from?’ said Medb.

  ‘From learning poetry in Alba,’ said the young woman.

  ‘Have you the Second Sight?’ said Medb.

  ‘I have that too,’ said the young woman.

  ‘Look for us, then, and see how our expedition will fare.’

  The girl looked.

  And Medb said: ‘For our army, Fedelm, what lies ahead?’

  Fedelm replied: ‘I see it crimson, I see it red.’

  ‘That can’t be right,’ said Medb, ‘for Conchobar is in Emain, laid low by the Curse,2 together with the rest of the Ulster warriors. My spies have told me so.’

  And Medb said: ‘For our army, Fedelm, what lies ahead?’

  Fedelm replied: ‘I see it crimson, I see it red.’

  ‘That can’t be right,’ said Medb, ‘for Conchobar Mac Uthidir is in Dún Lethglaise with a third of Ulster’s forces, and Fergus son of Róich Mac Echdach and his force of three thousand are here with us in exile.’

  And Medb said: ‘For our army, Fedelm, what lies ahead?’

  Fedelm replied: ‘I see it crimson, I see it red.’

  ‘That’s neither here nor there,’ said Medb. ‘Whenever a great army musters, there is bound to be trouble and strife and bloody wounds. Soldiers will boast and soldiers will quarrel before the onset of any expedition. I want the truth.’

  And Medb said: ‘For our army, Fedelm, what lies ahead?’

  Fedelm replied: ‘I see it crimson, I see it red.’

  Then the young woman chanted this verse:

  I see a forceful blond man,

  on whom victories are built.

  A fierce light springs from his head,

  wounds hang on him like a belt.

  Seven jewels play about

  the stark pupil of each eye.

  His sharp teeth are unsheathed.

  He wears a shirt of crimson dye.

  His features are beautiful,

  his form pleasing to women –

  deadly handsome and youthful,

  in battle like a dragon.

  That same courage can be found

  in the famous Blacksmith’s Hound –

  Cú Chulainn of Muirthemne.3

  Who this is I do not know,

  but this I know for certain –

  he stains red his every foe.

  I see him loom on the plain,

  a whole army to withstand,

  wielding four short, sharp, smart swords

  in each of his two deft hands.

  He attacks in battle-gear

  with his fierce barbed gae bolga,4

  his bone-hilted sword, his spear,

  each picked for a special use.

  Red-cloaked he drives through the field,

  utter
ing a battle-hymn.

  From his chariot he deals

  death across the left wheel-rim,

  the Torqued Man5 changed terribly

  from when his form first struck me.

  He’s taken the war-path now.

  Havoc unless you pay heed

  to Sualdam’s son, the Hound.

  He pursues you with all speed.

  Acres will be dense with dead,

  as he mows the battlefield,

  leaving a thousand lopped heads:

  these things I do not conceal.

  Blood spurts from soldiers’ bodies,

  released by this hero’s hand.

  He kills on sight, scattering

  Deda’s followers and clan.6

  Women wail at the corpse-mound

  because of him – the Forge-Hound.

  They set out the Monday after Samhain. This was their route, south-east from Crúachan Aí:

  through Mag Cruinn, the Round Plain,

  through Tuaim Móna, the Mound of Turf,

  through Turloch Teóra Crích, the Vanishing Lake of the Borderlands,

  through Cúl Sílinne, the Dripping Backwater,

  through Dubloch, the Black Lake,

  through Fid Dubh, the Black Wood,

  through Badbna,

  through Coltain, the Feast,

  across the Shannon,

  through Glúine Gabur, the Goat’s Knees,

  through Mag Trega, the Plain of Spears,

  through North Tethba,

  through South Tethba,

  through Cúl, the Backwater,

  through Ochaín,

  northwards through Uata,

  southwards through Tiarthechta,

  through Ord, the Hammer,

  thorugh Slaiss, the Blows,

  through Indeoin, the Anvil,

  through Carn,

  through Meath,

  through Ortrach,

  through Findglassa Assail, Assal’s Clear Stream,