Part 8

Yet the time came when Naisi determined to tell her all and risk the worst that fate could do against them, finding death with her greatly better than life without her. Yet death with her was not to be granted to him. Deirdré heard, wondering and trembling, and Naisi must tell her the tale many times before she understood,--so utter had been her solitude and so perfect was yet her ignorance of all things beyond the fort where she was captive, and of all the doings of men. Concobar was not even a name to her, and she knew nothing of his power or the stronghold of Emain, the armies of the Ulaid, or the tributes of gold and cattle and horses. Spears and swords and those who wielded them were not even dreams to her until the coming of Naisi, when his gloom blended with her sunshine.

Talking long through the twilight, until the red gold of the west was dulled to bronze over the hills, and the bronze tarnished and darkened with the coming of the eastern stars, they planned together what they should do; and, the heart of Deirdré at last growing resolute, they made their way through the night to where the brothers of Naisi were, and all fled together towards the northern sea. Amongst the fishermen of the north they found those who were willing to carry them beyond the reach of Concobar's anger, and with a southerly breeze set sail for the distant headlands of Scotland, that they had seen from the cliff-top lying like blue clouds along the horizon. They set forth early in the morning, as the sun came up out of the east over blue Alban capes, and when the sun went down it reddened the dark rocks of Islay; so that, making for the shore, they camped that night under the Islay Hills. On their setting forth again, the sea was like a wild grey lake between Jura on the left and the long headland of Cantyre on their right; and thus they sped forward between long ranks of gloomy hills, growing ever nearer them on both sides, till they passed through the Sound of Jura and rounded into Loch Etive.

There they made the land, drawing up under the shadow of dark hills, and there they dwelt for many a day. Very familiar to Deirdré, though at first strange and wild and terrible beyond words, grew that vast amphitheatre of hills in their eternal grayness, with the long Loch stretching down like a horn through their midst. Very familiar to inland-bred Deirdré, though at first strange and fearful, grew the gray surges of the incoming tides, the white foam of the waves seething along boulders of granite, and the long arms of seaweed waving as she peered downward into the clear green water. Very familiar to Deirdré, though at first strange and confusing, grew the arms of Naisi around her in the darkness and his warm lips on her cheek. Happy were those wild days in the great glen of Etive, and dear did the sons of Usnac grow to her heart, loved as brothers by her who never knew a brother, or the gentleness of a mother's watching, or the solace of dear kindred.

The sons of Usnac sped forth before dawn among the hills from their green dwelling roofed with pine branches and reeds and moss; early they went forth to track the deer, pursuing them with their arrows, till the red flank of the buck was laced with brighter red. One of the three ever stayed behind with Deirdré, whether it was Naisi himself, or Alny, or Ardan, and the two thus remaining were like children playing together, whether gathering sticks and dry rushes and long spears of withered grass for their fire, or wandering by the white curling waves, or sending flat pebbles skipping over the wavelets; and the sound of their laughter many a time echoed along the Loch's green waters and up the hills, till the does peered and wondered from among the heather, and the heron, startled at his fishing, flew upwards croaking, with flapping wings. Happy were those days for Deirdré, and with utter sadness she looked back to them afterwards, when the doom foretold had fallen upon her. Happy sped the days, till once in the gray of the dawn, while Deirdré was resting in their green refuge with Naisi, she cried out in her sleep and waked, telling him, weeping, that she had heard the voice of the bird of doom in her dreams.

The voice she heard was indeed the voice of their doom; yet it was a cheerful voice, full of friendly gladness; the voice of Fergus, son of Roeg, former King of Emain, and now come to Loch Etive as messenger of Concobar, Fergus came up from the sea-beach towards the answering shout of the sons of Usnac, and glad greetings passed among them at the door of their refuge. Fergus looked long in admiration at the blue eyes and golden locks, the clear skin and gentle breast of Deirdré, nor wondered, as he looked, that Naisi had dared fate to possess her. Then Fergus told the story of his coming; how they had discovered the flight of the sons of Usnac from Emain, and how terrible was the black anger of Concobar; what passionate fire had gleamed in his eyes as he tossed the golden locks back from his shoulders and grasped the haft of his spear, and pledged himself to be avenged on Naisi and all his kin, swearing that he would have Deirdré back again.

Thus Fergus told the tale, laughingly, as at a danger that was past, a storm-cloud that had lost its arrows of white hail and was no longer fearful. For, he said, Concobar had forgotten his anger, had promised a truce to the sons of Usnac, and most of all to Naisi, and had bidden them return as his guests to Emain of Maca, where Deirdré should dwell happy with her beloved. The comrades of Fergus by this time had tied their boat and come up from the shore, and the sons of Usnac were ready to depart. Yet Deirdré's heart misgave her as she thought of the days among those purple hills and granite rocks, by the long green water of the Loch, and her clear-seeing soul spoke words of doom for them all: words soon to be fulfilled. Amongst the comrades of Fergus were certain of the adherents of Concobar, treacherous as he; for he had no thought of pardoning the sons of Usnac, nor any intent but to draw Deirdré back within his reach; the image of her bright eyes and the redness of her lips, and her soft breast and shining hair was ever before him, and his heart gnawed within him for longing and the bitterness of desire.

Therefore he had designed this embassy; and Fergus, believing all things and trusting all things, had gladly undertaken to be the messenger of forgiveness; fated, instead, to be the instrument of betrayal. So they turned their faces homewards towards Emain, Deirdré full of desponding, as one whose day of grace is past. They set sail again through the long Sound of Jura, with the islands now on their right hand and the gray hills of Cantyre on their left. So they passed Jura, and later Islay, and came at last under the cliffs of Rathlin and the white Antrim headlands. Deirdré's heart never lightened, nor did laughter play about her lips or in her eyes through all the time of her journey, but sadness lay ever upon her, like the heavy darkness of a winter's night, when a storm is gathering out of the West. But Fergus made merry, rejoicing at the reconciling; bidden to a treacherous banquet by the partisans of Concobar, his heart never misgave him, but giving the charge of Deirdré and the sons of Usnac to his sons, he went to the banquet, delaying long in carousing and singing, while Deirdré and the three brothers were carried southwards to Emain. There the treachery plotted against them was carried out, as they sat in the banquet-hall; for Concobar's men brought against them the power of cowardly flames, setting fire to the hall, and slaying the sons of Usnac as they hurried forth from under the burning roof.

One of the sons of Fergus shamefully betrayed them, bought by the gold and promises of Concobar, but the other bravely fell, fighting back to back with one of the sons of Usnac, when they fell overpowered by the warriors of Concobar. Thus was the doom of Deirdré consummated, her lover treacherously done to death, and she herself condemned to bear the hated caress of Concobar, thinking ever of those other lips, in the days of her joy among the northern hills. This is the lament of Deirdré for Usnac's sons:

The lions of the hill are gone, And I am left alone, alone; Dig the grave both wide and deep, For I am sick and fain would sleep!

The falcons of the wood are flown, And I am left alone, alone; Dig the grave both deep and wide, And let us slumber side by side.

Lay their spears and bucklers bright By the warriors' sides aright; Many a day the three before me On their linked bucklers bore me.

Dig the grave both wide and deep, Sick I am and fain would sleep. Dig the grave both deep and wide, And let us slumber side by side.

VI.

CUCULAIN THE HERO.

B.C. 50--A.D. 50.

The treacherous death of Naisi and his brothers Ardan and Alny, and her own bereavement and misery, were not the end of the doom pronounced at her birth for Deirdré, but rather the beginning. Yet the burden of the evils that followed fell on Concobar and his lands and his warriors.

For Fergus, son of Roeg, former king over Emain, who had stayed behind his charges feasting and banqueting, came presently to Emain, fearing nothing and thinking no evil, but still warm with the reconciliation that he had accomplished; and, coming to Emain of Maca, found the sons of Usnac dead, with the sods still soft on their graves, and his own son also dead, Deirdré in the hands of Concobar, and the plighted word of Fergus and his generous pledge of safety most traitorously and basely broken; broken by Concobar, whom he himself had guarded and set upon the throne.

Fergus changed from gladness to fierce wrath, and his countenance was altered with anger, as he uttered his bitter indignation against Concobar to the warriors and heroes of Emain and the men of Ulad. The warriors were parted in two by his words, swaying to the right and to the left, as tall wheat sways before one who passes through it. For some of them sided with Fergus, saying that he had done great wrong to put Concobar on the throne, and that even now he should cast him down again, for the baseness and treachery of his deed; but others took Concobar's part, saying that the first betraying was Naisi's, who stole away Deirdré,--the hostage, as it were, of evil doom, so that he drew the doom upon himself. They further said that Concobar was chief and ruler among them, the strong and masterful leader, able to uphold their cause amongst men. So indeed it befell, for the sedition of Fergus and his fight to avenge his wrong upon Concobar failed, so that he fled defeated to Meave, Queen of Connacht, at her stronghold amid the lakes whence issues forth the Shannon.

Meave, whose power and genius overtopped her lord Ailill, received the exiled king gladly, and put many honors upon him, holding him as the pillar of her army, with the two thousand men of the Ulaid who came with him;--those who had fought for him against the party of Concobar. At Cruacan, on the hillside, with the lakes of the Great River all around them, with the sun setting red behind the Curlew hills, with green meadows and beech-woods to gladden them, Meave and Ailill kept their court, and thence they sent many forays against Emain of Maca and Concobar, with Fergus the fallen king ever raging in the van, and, for the wrong that was done him, working measureless wrong on his own kingdom and the kingdom of his fathers.

After many a foray had gone forth against Ulad, crossing the level plains, it befell that Meave and Ailill her lord disputed between them as to which had the greatest wealth; nor would either yield until their most precious possessions had been brought and matched the one against the other. Their jewels of gold, wonderfully wrought, and set with emeralds and beryls and red carbuncles, were brought forth, their crescents for the brow, with hammered tracery upon them, their necklets and torques, like twisted ribbons of gold, their bracelets and arm-rings set with gold, their gems of silver and all their adornments, cloaks of scarlet and blue and purple, were all brought, and no advantage in the one was found over the other. Their battle-steeds also were brought, their horses for chariots; and likewise their herds of lowing wealth, their sheep with soft fleeces. When the cattle were driven up before them, it was found that among the herds of Ailill was one bull, matchless, with white horns shining and polished; and equal to this bull was none among the herds of the queen. She would not admit her lord's advantage, but sent forthwith to seek where another bull like the bull of Ailill might be found, and tidings were brought to her of the brown bull of Cuailgne,--of Cuailgne named after a chief of the Sons of Milid, fallen ages ago in the pursuit of the De Danaans, when the De Danaans retreated before the Sons of Milid from the southern headland of Slieve Mish to the ford at green Tailten by the Boyne, and thence further northwards to where Cuailgne of the Sons of Milid was killed. At that same place had grown up a dwelling with a fortress, and there was the brown bull that Meave heard the report of. She sent, therefore, and her embassy bore orders to Dairé, the owner of the bull, asking that the bull might be sent to her for a year, and offering fifty heifers in payment. Dairé received her messengers well, and willingly consented to her request; but the messengers of Meave from feasting fell to drinking, from drinking to boasting; one of them declaring that it was a small thing that Dairé had granted the request, since they themselves would have compelled him, even unwillingly, and would have driven off the brown bull by force. The taunt stung Dairé, after his hospitality, and in wrath he sent them forth empty-handed, and so they came slighted to Meave.

The queen, conceiving her honor impeached, would by no means suffer the matter so to rest, but stirred up wrath and dissension, till the armies of Connacht with their allies set forth to sack and burn in Ulad, and at all hazards to bring the brown bull. Fergus and the men who fought by his side went with them, and marching thus eastwards they came, after three days march through fair lands and fertile, to the river Dee--the frontier of Ulad, and the scene of many well-fought fights.

The army of Ulad was not yet ready to meet them, but one champion with his band confronted them at the ford. That champion was Cuculain, whose true name was Setanta, son of Sualtam, chief at Dundelga, and of Dectira the sister of Concobar. Cuculain was accounted the greatest and most skillful warrior of his time, and bards for ages after told how he kept the ford. For by the laws of honor, amongst them, the host from Connacht could not pass the ford so long as Cuculain held the ford and offered single combat to the champions. They must take up his challenge one by one; and while he stood there challenging, the host could not pass.

Many of their champions fell there by the ford, so that queen Meave's heart chafed within her, and her army was hot to do battle, but still Cuculain kept the ford. Last of the western champions came forth Ferdiad, taught in the famous northern school of arms, a dear friend and companion of Cuculain, who now must meet him to slay or be slain. This is the story of their combat, as the traditions tell it:

When they ceased fighting on the first day, they cast their weapons away from them into the hands of their charioteers. Each of them approached the other forthwith, and each put his hand round the other's neck, and gave him three kisses. Their horses were in the same paddock that night, and their charioteers at the same fire; and their charioteers spread beds of green rushes for them, with wounded men's pillows to them. The men of healing came to heal and solace them, applying herbs that should assuage to every cut or gash upon their bodies, and to all their wounds. Of every healing herb that was laid on the hurts of Cuculain, he sent an equal share to Ferdiad, sending it westward over the ford, so that men might not say that through the healing virtue of the herbs he was able to overcome him. And of all food and invigorating drink that was set before Ferdiad, he sent an equal portion northwards over the ford to Cuculain, for those that prepared food for him were more than those who made ready food for Cuculain. Thus that night they rested.

They fought with spears on the next day, and so great was the strength of each, so dire their skill in combat, that both were grievously wounded, for all the protection of their shields. The men of healing art could do little for them beyond the staunching of their blood, that it might not flow from their wounds, laying herbs upon their red wounds.

On the third day they arose early in the morning and came forward to the place of combat. Cuculain saw that the face of Ferdiad was dark as a black cloud, and thus addressed him: "Thy face is darkened, Ferdiad, and thine eye has lost its fire, nor are the form and features thine!" And Ferdiad answered, "O, Cuculain, it is not from fear or dread that my face is changed, for I am ready to meet all champions in the fight." Cuculain reproached him, wondering that, for the persuasions of Meave, Ferdiad was willing thus to fight against his friend, coming to spoil his land. But Ferdiad replied that fate compelled him, since every man is constrained to come unto the sod where shall be his last resting-place. That day the heroes fought with swords, but such was the skill of both that neither could break down the other's guard.

In the dusk they cast away their weapons, ceasing from the fight; and though the meeting of the two had been full of vigor and friendship in the morning, yet was their parting at night mournful and full of sorrow. That night their horses were not in the same enclosure, nor did their charioteers rest at the same fire.

Then Ferdiad arose early in the morning and went forth to the place of contest, knowing well that that day would decide whether he should fall or Cuculain; knowing that the sun would set on one of them dead that night. Cuculain, seeing him come forth, spoke thus to his charioteer: "I see the might and skill of Ferdiad, coming forth to the combat. If it be I that shall begin to yield to-day, do thou stir my valor, uttering reproaches and words of condemnation against me, so that my wrath shall grow upon me, enkindling me again for the battle." And the charioteer assented and promised.