This, now, is the story of the two bulls, the Brown of Cuailgne, and the White-horned of Cruachan Ai, and this is the way it was with them- for they were not right bulls, but there was enchantment on them.

In the time long ago Bodb was king of the Sidhe of Munster, and it is in Femen, of Slieve-na-man he was, and Ochall Ochne was king of the Sidhe of Connaught, and it is in Cruachan he used to be. They used at one time to be fighting one against the other, but afterwards they made peace, and were good friends. Now Bodb had a swineherd, whose name was Friuch, and Ochall had a swineherd whose name was Rucht, and they were friendly with one another the same as their masters. And they had the knowledge of enchantments, and could turn themselves to every shape. And when there was a great plenty of mast in Munster, the swineherd from Connaught would bring his lean swine to the south, and in the same way, when mast was plentiful in Connaught, the swineherd would bring his swine northward, and would bring them home again fat.

But after a while some bad feeling rose up between the two, for the men of Connaught and the men of Munster began to set them one against the other. So one year when there was great mast in Munster, and Rucht brought his herd from Connaught, so soon as his comrade Friuch had bade him welcome, he said:

“The people are all saying your power is greater than mine”.

“It is no less any way”, said Ochall’s herd.

“We will soon know that,” said Friuch. “I will put an enchantment on your swine, and even though they eat their share of mast, they will not be fat, like mine will be”. And so it happened, he put an enchantment on the Connaught swine, and when Rucht went home with them they could hardly walk at all, they were so thin and so weak, and all the people were laughing at the state they were in.

“It was a bad day for you, you went to the South,” they said, “for your comrade has greater power than what you have.”

“That is not so,” said he. “Wait till it is our turn to have mast, and I will play the same trick on him”.

So the next year he did as he had said, and the Munster swine pined away, so that every one said their power was the same. And when Bodb’s swineherd went back home to Munster with his lean swine, his master put him out of the place. And Ochall put his herd out of his place as well, because of the swine coming back in so bad a state from Munster.

* * *

One day, two full years after that, the men of Munster were gathered together near Femen, and they took notice of two ravens that were making a great cawing.

“What a noise those birds have been making all through the year!” they said. “They never stop scolding at one another.” Just then Findell, Ochall’s steward from Cruachan, came towards them on the hill, and they bade him welcome.

“What a noise those birds are making!” he said; “any one would think them to be the same two birds we had in Cruachan last year.” With that, they saw the two ravens change into the shape of men, and they knew them to be the two swineherds, and they bade them welcome. “It is not right you to welcome us,” said Bodb’s swineherd, “for there will be many dead bodies of friends, and much crying on account of us two.”

“What has happened you all through this time?” they asked.

“Nothing good,” he said. “Since we went from you we have been all the time in the shape of birds, and you saw the way we were scolding at one another all through this year. And we were quarrelling in the same way the whole of last year at Cruachan, and the men of the North and of the South have seen what our power is. And now,” he said, “we will go into the shape of water beasts, and be under the water for the length of two years.” And with that one of them went into the Sionnan, and the other into the Suir, and they were seen for a year in the Suir, and for a year in the Sionnan, and they devouring one another.

And one day the men of Connaught had a great gathering at Ednecha, on the Sionnan, and they saw these two beasts in the river; each one of them looked to be as big as the top of a hill, and they made such a furious attack on one another that fiery swords seemed to be coming from their jaws, and the people came round them on every side. They came out of the Sionnan then, and as soon as they touched the shore, they changed again into the shape of the two swineherds. Ochall bade them welcome.

“Where have you been wandering?” he asked them. “Indeed it is tired we are with our wanderings,” they said. “You saw what we were doing before your eyes, and that is what we were doing through these two years, under seas and waters. And now we must take new shapes on us, till we try one another’s strength again.” And with that they went away.

* * *

It happened a good while after that there was a great gathering of the men of Connaught at Loch Riach, for Bodb was coming on a friendly visit to Ochall. And Bodb brought a great troop with him, the most splendid ever seen; speckled horses they had, and green cloaks with silver brooches, and shoes with clasps of red bronze, and every one of them had a collar of gold, with a stone worth a newly-calved cow set in it. When Ochall saw what grand clothes and horses they had, he called to his people secretly, and asked could they match Bodb’s people in dress and in horses and aims, and they said they could not. Then Ochall said: “That is a pity, and our great name is lost.” But just then a troop of men were seen coming from the North, and black horses with them, that you would think had been cast up by the sea, and bridle-bits of gold in their mouths. And the men bad black-grey cloaks, and a gold brooch at the breast of each, and a white tunic with crimson stripes, and fifty coils of bright gold round every man. And every man of them had black hair, as smooth as if a cow had licked it. And they stopped a little way off, and then the men of Connaught stood up and gave up their place to them. There was a Druid from Britain there, and when be saw them make way he said: “From this out, to the end of life and time, the Connaught men will be under the yoke, attending on hounds and on Sons of kings and queens for ever.”

Then after they bad been feasting for a while, Bodb asked could any Connaught man be found that would fight against his champion Rinn, that was with him, and that had a great name, but no one knew where he came from. And at first there could no one be found, but then a strange champion came out from among the men of Connaught, and he said, “I will go against him.”

“That is no welcome news,” said Rinn. Then they fought against one another for three days and three nights, and before the end of that time the two armies began to join into the fight, and a troop came from Leinster and joined with Bodb, and another troop came from Meath and joined with Ochall. And four kings were killed there, and Ochall among them, and then Bodb went back to Slieve-naman. But as to the two champions, they were seen no more, and it was known they were the two swineherds. After that they were for two years with the appearance of shadows, threatening one another, the way that many people died of fright after seeing them.

And after that, they were in the shape of eels, and one went into the river Cruind, in Cuailgne; and after a while a cow belonging to Daire, son of Fachna, drank it down. And the other went into the Spring of Uaran Garad, in Connaught; and one day Maeve went out to the spring, and a small bronze vessel in her hand, and she dipped it in the water, and the little eel went into it, and every colour was to be seen on him. And she was a long time looking at him, she thought the colours so beautiful. Then the water went away, and the eel was alone in the vessel.

“It is a pity you cannot speak to me,” said Maeve.

“What is it you want to know?” said the eel.

“I would like to know what way it is with you in that shape of a beast,” she said; “and I would like to know what will happen me after I get the sway over Connaught.”

“Indeed it is a tormented beast I am,” he said, “and it is in many shapes I have been. And as to yourself,” he said, “handsome as you are, you should take a good man to be with you in your sway.”

“I have no wish,” said Maeve, “to let a man of Connaught get the upper hand over me,” and with that she went home again.

But she married Ailell after that, and as for the eel, he was swallowed down by one of Maeve’s cows that came to drink at the spring.

And it was from that cow, and from the cow that belonged to Daire, son of Fachna, the two bulls were born, the White-horned and the Brown. They were the finest ever seen in Ireland, and gold and silver were put on their horns by the men of Ulster and Connaught. In Connaught no bull dared bellow before the White-horned, and in Ulster no bull dared bellow before the Brown.

As to the Brown, he that had been Friuch, the Munster swineherd, his lowing when he would be coming home every evening to his yard was good music to the people of the whole of Cuailgne. And wherever he was, neither Bocanachs nor Bananachs nor witches of the valley, could come into the one place with him. And it was on account of him the great war broke out.

Now, when Maeve saw at Ilgairech that the battle was going against her, she sent eight of her own messengers to bring away the Brown Bull, and his heifers. “For whoever goes back or does not go back,” she said, “the Brown Bull must go to Cruachan.”

Now when the Brown Bull came into Connaught, and saw the beautiful trackless country before him, he let three great loud bellowings out of him. As soon as the White-horned heard that, he set out for the place those bellowings came from, with his head high in the air.

Then Maeve said that the men of her army must not go to their homes till they would see the fight between the two bulls. And they all said some one must be put to watch the fight, and to give a fair report of it afterwards. And it is what they agreed, that Bricriu should be sent to watch it, because he had not taken any side in the war; for he had been through the whole length of it under care of physicians at Cruachan, with the dint of the wound he got the day he vexed Fergus, and that Fergus drove the chessmen into his head. “I will go willingly,” said Bricriu. So he went out and took his place in a gap, where he could have a good view of the fight.

As soon as the bulls caught sight of one another they pawed the earth so furiously that they sent the sods flying, and their eyes were like balls of fire in their heads; they locked their horns together, and they ploughed up the ground under them and trampled it, and they were trying to crush and to destroy one another through the whole length of the day.

And once the White-horned went back a little way and made a rush at the Brown, and got his horn into his side, and he gave out a great bellow, and they rushed both together through the gap where Bricriu was, the way he was trodden into the earth under their feet. And that is how Bricriu of the bitter tongue, son of Cairbre, got his death.

Then when the night was coming on, Cormac Conloingeas took hold of a spear-shaft, and he laid three great strokes on the Brown Bull from head to tail,and he said: “This is a great treasure to be boasting of, that cannot get the better of a calf of his own age.” When the Brown Bull heard that insult, great fury came on him, and he turned on the White-horned again. And all through the night the men of Ireland were listening to the sound of their bellowing, and they going here and there, all through the country.

On the morrow, they saw the Brown Bull coming over Cruachan from the west, and be carrying what was left of the White-horned on his horns. Then Maeve’s sons, the Maines, rose up to make an attack on him on account of the Connaught bull he had destroyed. “Where are those men going?” said Fergus. “They are going to kill the Brown Bull of Cuailgne.” “By the oath of my people,” said Fergus, “if you do not let the Brown Bull go back to his own country in safety, all he has done to the White-horned is little to what I wilt do now to you.”

Then the Brown Bull bellowed three times, and set out on his way. And when became to the great ford of the Sionnan he stopped to drink, and the two loins of the White-horned fell from his horns into the water. And that place is called Ath-luain, the ford of the loin, to this day. And its liver fell in the same way into a river of Meath, and it is called Ath-Truim, the ford of the liver to this day.

Then he went on till he came to the top of Slieve Breagh, and when be looked from it he saw his own home, the hills of Cuailgne; and at the sight of his own country, a great spirit rose up in him, and madness and fury came on him, and he rushed on, killing everyone that came in his way.

And when he got to his own place, he turned his back to a hilt and he gave out a loud bellowing of victory. And with that his heart broke in his body, and blood came bursting from his mouth, and he died.

* * *

Source: Cuchulain of Muirthemne, London 1902.

Now at the time when the Tuatha de Danaan chose a king for themselves after the battle of Tailltin, and Lir heard the kingship was given to Bodb Dearg, it did not please him, and he left the gathering without leave and with no word to any one; for he thought it was he himself had a right to be made king. But if he went away himself, Bodb was given the kingship none the less, for not one of the five begrudged it to him but only Lir. And it is what they determined, to follow after Lir, and to burn down his house, and to attack himself with spear and sword, on account of his not giving obedience to the king they had chosen. “We will not do that,” said Bodb Dearg, “for that man would defend any place he is in; and besides that,” he said, “I am none the less king over the Tuatha de Danaan, although he does not submit to me.”

All went on like that for a good while, but at last a great misfortune came on Lir, for his wife died from him after a sickness of three nights. And that came very hard on Lir, and there was heaviness on his mind after her. And there was great talk of the death of that woman in her own time.

And the news of it was told all through Ireland, and it came to the house of Bodb, and the best of the Men of Dea were with him at that time. And Bodb said: “If Lir had a mind for it,” he said, “my help and my friendship would be good for him now, since his wife is not living to him. For I have here with me the three young girls of the best shape, and the best appearance, and the best name in all Ireland, Aobh, Aoife, and Ailbhe, the three daughters of Oilell of Aran, my own three nurslings.” The Men of Dea said then it was a good thought he had, and that what he said was true.

Messages and messengers were sent then from Bodb Dearg to the place Lir was, to say that if he had a mind to join with the Son of the Dagda and to acknowledge his lordship, he would give him a foster-child of his foster-children. And Lir thought well of the offer, and he set out on the morrow with fifty chariots from Sidhe Fionnachaidh; and he went by every short way till he came to Bodb’s dwelling-place at Loch Dearg, and there was a welcome before him there, and all the people were merry and pleasant before him, and he and his people got good attendance that night.

And the three daughters of Oilell of Aran were sitting on the one seat with Bodb Dearg’s wife, the queen of the Tuatha de Danaan, that was their foster-mother. And Bodb said: “You may have your choice of the three young girls, Lir.” “I cannot say,” said Lir, “which one of them is my choice, but whichever of them is the eldest, she is the noblest, and it is best for me to take her.” “If that is so,” said Bodb’, “it is Aobh is the eldest, and she will be given to you, if it is your wish.” “It is my wish,” he said. And he took Aobh for his wife that night, and he stopped there for a fortnight, and then he brought her away to his own house, till he would make a great wedding-feast.

And in the course of time Aobh brought forth two children, a daughter and a son, Fionnuala and Aodh their names were. And after a while she was brought to bed again, and this time she gave birth to two sons, and they called them Fiachra and Conn. And she herself died at their birth. And that weighed very heavy on Lir, and only for the way his mind was set on his four children he would have gone near to die of grief.

The news came to Bodb Dearg’s place, and all the people gave out three loud, high cries, keening their nursling. And after they had keened her it is what Bodb Dearg said: “It is a fret to us our daughter to have died, for her own sake and for the sake of the good man we gave her to, for we are thankful for his friendship and his faithfulness. However,” he said, “our friendship with one another will not be broken, for I will give him for a wife her sister Aoife.”

When Lir heard that, he came for the girl and married her, and brought her home to his house. And there was honour and affection with Aoife for her sister’s children; and indeed no person at all could see those four children without giving them the heart’s love.

And Bodb Dearg used often to be going to Lir’s house for the sake of those children; and he used to bring them to his own place for a good length of time, and then he would let them go back to their own place again. And the Men of Dea were at that time using the Feast of Age in every hill of the Sidhe in turn; and when they came to Lir’s hill those four children were their joy and delight, for the beauty of their appearance; and it is where they used to sleep, in beds in sight of their father Lir. And he used to rise up at the break of every morning, and to lie down among his children.

But it is what came of all this, that a fire of jealousy was kindled in Aoife, and she got to have a dislike and a hatred of her sister’s children.

Then she let on to have a sickness, that lasted through nearly the length of a year. And the end of that time she did a deed of jealousy and cruel treachery against the children of Lir.

And one day she got her chariot yoked, and she took the four children in it, and they went forward towards the house of Bodb Dearg; but Fionnuala had no mind to go with her, for she knew by her she had some plan for their death or their destruction, and she had seen in a dream that there was treachery against them in Aoife’s mind. But all the same she was not able to escape from what was before her.

And when they were on their way Aoife said to her people: “Let you kill now,” she said, “the four children of Lir, for whose sake their father has given up my love, and I will give you your own choice of a reward out of all the good things of the world.” “We will not do that indeed,” said they; “and it is a bad deed you have thought of, and harm will come to you out of it.”

And when they would not do as she bade them, she took out a sword herself to put an end to the children with; but she being a woman and with no good courage, and with no great strength in her mind, she was not able to do it.

They went on then west to Loch Dairbhreach, the Lake of the Oaks, and the horses were stopped there, and Aoife bade the children of Lir to go out and bathe in the lake, and they did as she bade them. And as soon as Aoife saw them out in the lake she struck them with a Druid rod, and put on them the shape of four swans, white and beautiful. And it is what she said: “Out with you, children of the king, your luck is taken away from you for ever; it is sorrowful the story will be to your friends; it is with flocks of birds your cries will be heard for ever.”

And Fionnuala said: “Witch, we know now what your name is, you have struck us down with no hope of relief; but although you put us from wave to wave, there are times when we will touch the land. We shall get help when we are seen; help, and all that is best for us; even though we have to sleep upon the lake, it is our minds will be going abroad early.”

And then the four children of Lie turned towards Aoife, and it is what Fionnuala said: “It is a bad deed you have done, Aoife, and it is a bad fulfilling of friendship, you to destroy us without cause; and vengeance for it will come upon you, and you will fall in satisfaction for it, for your power for our destruction is not greater than the power of our friends to avenge it on you; and put some bounds now,” she said, “to the time this enchantment is to stop on us.” “I will do that,” said Aoife, “and it is worse for you, you to have asked it of me. And the bounds set to your time are this, till the Woman from the South and the Man from the North will come together. And since you ask to hear it of me,” she said, “no friends and no power that you have will be able to bring you out of these shapes you are in through the length of your lives, until you have been three hundred years on Loch Dairbhreach, and three hundred years on Sruth na Maoile between Ireland and Alban, and three hundred years at Inis Domnann and Inis Gluaire; and these are to be your journeys from this out,” she said.

But then repentance came on Aoife, and she said: “Since there is no other help for me to give you now, you may keep your own speech; and you will be singing sweet music of the Sidhe, that would put the men of the earth to sleep, and there will be no music in the world equal to it; and your own sense and your own nobility will stay with you, the way it will not weigh so heavy on you to be in the shape of birds. And go away out of my sight now, children of Lir,” she said, “with your white faces, with your stammering Irish. It is a great curse on tender lads, they to be driven out on the rough wind. Nine hundred years to be on the water, it is a long time for any one to be in pain; it is I put this on you through treachery, it is best for you to do as I tell you now.

“Lir, that got victory with so many a good cast, his heart is a kernel of death in him now; the groaning of the great hero is a sickness to me, though it is I that have well earned his anger.”

And then the horses were caught for Aoife, and the chariot yoked for her, and she went on to the palace of Bodb Dearg, and there was a welcome before her from the chief people of the place. And the son of the Dagda asked her why she did not bring the children of Lir with her. “I will tell you that,” she said. “It is because Lir has no liking for you, and he will not trust you with his children, for fear you might keep them from him altogether.”

“I wonder at that,” said Bodb Dearg, “for those children are dearer to me than my own children.” And he thought in his own mind it was deceit the woman was doing on him, and it is what he did, he sent messengers to the north to Sidhe Fionnachaidh. And Lir asked them what did they come for. “On the head of your children,” said they. “Are they not gone to you along with Aoife?” he said. “They are not,” said they; “and Aoife said it was yourself would not let them come.”

It is downhearted and sorrowful Lir was at that news, for he understood well it was Aoife had destroyed or made an end of his children. And early in the morning of the morrow his horses were caught, and he set out on the road to the south-west. And when he was as far as the shore of Loch Dairbhreach, the four children saw the horses coming towards them, and it is what Fionnuala said: “A welcome to the troop of horses I see coming near to the lake; the people they are bringing are strong, there is sadness on them; it is us they are following, it is for us they are looking; let us move over to the shore, Aodh, Fiachra, and comely Conn. Those that are coming can be no others in the world but only Lir and his household.”

Then Lir came to the edge of the lake, and he took notice of the swans having the voice of living people, and he asked them why was it they had that voice.

“I will tell you that, Lir,” said Fionnuala. “We are your own four children, that are after being destroyed by your wife, and by the sister of our own mother, through the dint of her jealousy.” “Is there any way to put you into your own shapes again?” said Lir. “There is no way,” said Fionnuala, “for all the men of the world could not help us till we have gone through our time, and that will not be,” she said, “till the end of nine hundred years.”

When Lir and his people heard that, they gave out three great heavy shouts of grief and sorrow and crying.

“Is there a mind with you,” said Lir; “to come to us on the land, since you have your own sense and your memory yet?” “We have not the power,” said Fionnuala, “to live with any person at all from this time; but we have our own language, the Irish, and we have the power to sing sweet music, and it is enough to satisfy the whole race of men to be listening to that music. And let you stop here tonight,” she said, “and we will be making music for you.”

So Lir and his people stopped there listening to the music of the swans, and they slept there quietly that night. And Lir rose up early on the morning of the morrow and he made this complaint:–”It is time to go from this place. I do not sleep though I am in my lying down. To be parted from my dear children, it is that is tormenting my heart.

“It is a bad net I put over you, bringing Aoife, daughter of Oilell of Aran, to the house. I would never have followed that advice if I had known what it would bring upon me.

“O Fionnuala, and comely Conn, O Aodh, O Fiachra of the beautiful arms; it is not ready I am to go away from you, from the border of the harbour where you are.”

Then Lir went on to the palace of Bodb Dearg, and there was a welcome before him there; and he got a reproach from Bodb Dearg for not bringing his children along with him. “My grief!” said Lir. “It is not I that would not bring my children along with me; it was Aoife there beyond, your own foster-child and the sister of their mother, that put them in the shape of four white swans on Loch Dairbhreach, in the sight of the whole of the men of Ireland; but they have their sense with them yet, and their reason, and their voice, and their Irish.”

Bodb Dearg gave a great start when he heard that, and he knew what Lir said was true, and he gave a very sharp reproach to Aoife, and he said: “This treachery will be worse for yourself in the end, Aoife, than to the children of Lir. And what shape would you yourself think worst of being in?” he said.

“I would think worst of being a witch of the air,” she said. “It is into that shape I will put you now,” said Bodb. And with that he struck her with a Druid wand, and she was turned into a witch of the air there and then, and she went away on the wind in that shape, and she is in it yet, and will be in it to the end of life and time.

As to Bodb Dearg and the Tuatha de Danaan they came to the shore of Loch Dairbhreach, and they made their camp there to be listening to the music of the swans.

And the Sons of the Gael used to be coming no less than the Men of Dea to hear them from every part of Ireland, for there never was any music or any delight heard in Ireland to compare with that music of the swans. And they used to be telling stories, and to be talking with men of Ireland every day, and with their teachers and their fellow-pupils and their friends. And every night they used to sing very sweet music of the Sidhe; and every one that heard that music would sleep sound and quiet whatever trouble or long sickness might be on him; for every one that heard the music of the birds, it is happy and contented he would be after it.

These two gatherings now of the Tuatha de Danaan and of the Sons of the Gael stopped there around Loch Dairbhreach through the length of three hundred years. And it is then Fionnuala said to her brothers: “Do you know,” she said, “we have spent all we have to spend of our time here, but this one night only.”

And there was great sorrow on the sons of Lit when they heard that, for they thought it the same as to be living people again, to be talking with their friends and their companions on Loch Dairbhreach, in comparison with going on the cold, fretful sea of the Maoil in the north.

And they came on the morrow to speak with their father and with their foster-father, and they bade them farewell, and Fionnuala made this complaint:–’Farewell to you, Bodb Dearg, the man with whom all knowledge is in pledge. And farewell to our father along with you, Lir of the Hill of the White Field.

“The time is come, as I think, for us to part from you, O pleasant Company; my grief it is not on a visit we are going to you.

From this day out, O friends of our heart, our comrades, it is on the tormented course of the Maoil we will be, without the voice of any person near us.

“Three hundred years there, and three hundred years in the bay of the men of Domnann, it is a pity for the four comely children of Lir, the salt waves of the sea to be their covering by night.

“O three brothers, with the ruddy faces gone from you, let them all leave the lake now, the great troop that loved us, it is sorrowful our parting is.”

After that complaint they took to flight, lightly, airily, till they came to Sruth na Maoile between Ireland and Alban. And that was a grief to the men of Ireland, and they gave out an order no swan was to be killed from that out, whatever chance might be of killing one, all through Ireland.

It was a bad dwelling-place for the children of Lir they to be on Sruth na Maoile. When they saw the wide coast about them, they were filled with cold and with sorrow, and they thought nothing of all they had gone through before, in comparison to what they were going through on that sea.

Now one night while they were there a great storm came on them, and it is what Fionnuala said: “My dear brothers,” she said, “it is a pity for us not to be making ready for this night, for it is certain the storm will separate us from one another. And let us,” she said, “settle on some place where we can meet afterwards, if we are driven from one another in the night.”

“Let us settle,” said the others, “we meet one another at Carraig na Ron, the Rock of the Seals, for we all have knowledge of it.”

And when midnight came, the wind came on them with it, and the noise of the waves increased, and the lightning was flashing, and a rough storm came sweeping down, the way the children of Lir were scattered over the great sea, and the wideness of it set them astray, so that no one of them could know what way the others went. But after that storm a great quiet came on the sea, and Fionnuala was alone on Sruth na Maoile; and when she took notice that her brothers were wanting she was lamenting after them greatly, and she made this complaint:–

“It is a pity for me to be alive in the state I am; it is frozen to my sides my wings are; it is little that the wind has not broken my heart in my body, with the loss of Aodh.

“To be three hundred years on Loch Dairbhreach without going into my own shape, it is worse to me the time I am on Sruth na Maoile.

“The three I loved, Och! the three I loved, that slept under the shelter of my feathers; till the dead come back to the living I will see them no more for ever.

“It is a pity I to stay after Fiachra, and after Aodh, and after comely Conn, and with no account of them; my grief I to be here to face every hardship this night.”

She stopped all night there upon the Rock of the Seals until the rising of the sun, looking out over the sea on every side till at last she saw Conn coming to he; his feathers wet through and his head hanging, and her heart gave him a great welcome; and then Fiachra came wet and perished and worn out, and he could not say a word they could understand with the dint of the cold and the hardship he bad gone through. And Fionnuala put him under her wings, and she said: “We would be well off now if Aodh would but come to us.”

It was not long after that, they saw Aodh coming, his head dry and his feathers beautiful, and Fionnuala gave him a great welcome, and she put him in under the feathers of her breast, and Fiachra under her right wing and Conn under her left wing, the way she could put her feathers over them all. “And Och! my brothers,” she said, “this was a bad night to us, and it is many of its like are before us from this out.”

They stayed there a long time after that, suffering cold and misery on the Maoil, till at last a night came on them they had never known the like of before, for frost and snow and wind and cold. And they were crying and lamenting the hardship of their life, and the cold of the night and the greatness of the snow and the hardness of the wind. And after they had suffered cold to the end of a year, a worse night again came on them, in the middle of winter. And they were on Carraig na Ron, and the water froze about them, and as they rested on the rock, their feet and their wings and their feathers froze to the rock, the way they were not able to move from it. And they made such a hard struggle to get away, that they left the skin of their feet and their feathers and the tops of their wings on the rock after them.

“My grief, children of Lir,” said Fionnuala, “it is bad our state is now, for we cannot bear the salt water to touch us, and there are bonds on us not to leave it; and if the salt water goes into our sores,” she said, “we will get our death.” And she made this complaint:–”It is keening we are tonight; without feathers to cover our bodies; it is cold the rough, uneven rocks are under our bare feet.

“It is bad our stepmother was to us the time she played enchantments on us, sending us out like swans upon the sea.

“Our washing place is on the ridge of the bay, in the foam of flying manes of the sea; our share of the ale feast is the salt water of the blue tide.

“One daughter and three sons; it is in the clefts of the rocks we are; it is on the hard rocks we are, it is a pity the way we are.”

However, they came on to the course of the Maoil again, and the salt water was sharp and rough and bitter to them, but if it was itself, they were not able to avoid it or to get shelter from it. And they were there by the shore under that hardship till such time as their feathers grew again, and their wings, and till their sores were entirely healed. And then they used to go every day to the shore of Ireland or of Alban, but they had to come back to Sruth na Maoile every night.

Now they came one day to the mouth of the Banna, to the north of Ireland, and they saw a troop of riders, beautiful, of the one colour, with well-trained pure white horses under them, and they travelling the road straight from the south-west.

“Do you know who those riders are, Sons of Lir?” said Fionnuala. “We do not,” they said; “but it is likely they might be some troops of the Sons of Gael, or of the Tuatha de Danaan.”

They moved over closer to the shore then, that they might know who they were, and when the riders saw them they came to meet them until they were able to hold talk together.

And the chief men among them were two sons of Bodb Dearg, Aodh Aithfhiosach, of the quick wits, and Fergus Fithchiollach, of the chess, and a third part of the Riders of the Sidhe along with them, and it was for the swans they had been looking for a long while before that, and when they came together they wished one another a kind and loving welcome.

And the children of Lir asked for news of all the Men of Dea, and above all of Lir, and Bodb Dearg and their people.

“They are well, and they are in the one place together,” said they, “in your father’s house at Sidhe Fionnachaidh, using the Feast of Age pleasantly and happily, and with no uneasiness on them, only for being without yourselves, and without knowledge of what happened you from the day you left Loch Dairbhreach.”

“That has not been the way with us,” said Fionnuala, “for we have gone through great hardship and uneasiness and misery on the tides of the sea until this day.”

And she made this complaint:–

“There is delight tonight with the household of Lir! Plenty of ale with them and of wine, although it is in a cold dwelling-place this night are the four children of the king.

“It is without a spot our bedclothes are, our bodies covered over with curved feathers; but it is often we were dressed in purple, and we drinking pleasant mead.

“It is what our food is and our drink, the white sand and the bitter water of the sea; it is often we drank mead of hazel-nuts from round four-lipped drinking cups.

“It is what our beds are, bare rocks out of the power of the waves; it is often there used to be spread out for us beds of the breast-feathers of birds.

“Though it is our work now to be swimming through the frost and through the noise of the waves, it is often a company of the sons of kings were riding after us to the Hill of Bodb.

“It is what wasted my strength, to be going and coming over the current of the Maoil the way I never was used to, and never to be in the sunshine on the soft grass.

“Fiachra’s bed and Conn’s bed is to come under the cover of my wings on the sea. Aodh has his place under the feathers of my breast, the four of us side by side.

“The teaching of Manannan without deceit, the talk of Bodb Dearg on the pleasant ridge; the voice of Angus, his sweet kisses; it is by their side I used to be without grief.”

After that the riders went on to Lir’s house, and they told the chief men of the Tuatha de Danaan all the birds had gone through, and the state they were in. “We have no power over them,” the chief men said, “but we are glad they are living yet, for they will get help in the end of time.”

As to the children of Lir, they went back towards their old place in the Maoil, and they stopped there till the time they had to spend in it was spent. And then Fionnuala said: “The time is come for us to leave this place. And it is to Irrus Domnann we must go now,” she said, “after our three hundred years here. And indeed there will be no rest for us there, or any standing ground, or any shelter from the storms. But since it is time for us to go, let us set out on the cold wind, the way we will not go astray.”

So they set out in that way, and left Sruth na Maoile behind them, and went to the point of Irrus Domnann, and there they stopped, and it is a life of misery and a cold life they led there. And one time the sea froze about them that they could not move at all, and the brothers were lamenting, and Fionnuala was comforting them, for she knew there would be help come to them in the end.

And they stayed at Irrus Domnann till the time they had to spend there was spent. And then Fionnuala said: “The time is come for us to go back to Sidhe Fionnachaidh, where our father is with his household and with all our own people.”

“It pleases us well to hear that,” they said.

So they set out flying through the air lightly till they came to Sidhe Fionnachaidh; and it is how they found the place, empty before them, and nothing in it but green hillocks and thickets of nettles, without a house, without a fire, without a hearthstone. And the four pressed close to one another then, and they gave out three sorrowful cries, and Fionnuala made this complaint:–

“It is a wonder to me this place is, and it without a house, without a dwelling-place. To see it the way it is now, Ochone! it is bitterness to my heart.

“Without dogs, without hounds for hunting, without women, without great kings; we never knew it to be like this when our father was in it.

“Without horns, without cups, without drinking in the lighted house; without young men, without riders; the way it is to-night is a foretelling of sorrow.

“The people of the place to be as they are now, Ochone! it is grief to my heart! It is plain to my mind to-night the lord of the house is not living.

“Och, house where we used to see music and playing and the gathering of people! I think it a great change to see it lonely the way it is to-night.

“The greatness of the hardships we have gone through going from one wave to another of the sea, we never heard of the like of them coming on any other person.

“It is seldom this place had its part with grass and bushes; the man is not living that would know us, it would be a wonder to him to see us here.”

However, the children of Lir stopped that night in their father’s place and their grandfather’s, where they had been reared, and they were singing very sweet music of the Sidhe. And they rose up early on the morning of the morrow and went to the Inis Gluaire, and all the birds of the country gathered near them on Loch na-n Ean, the Lake of the Birds. And they used to go out to feed every day to the far parts of the country, to Inis Geadh and to Accuill, the place Donn, son of Miled, and his people that were drowned were buried, and to all the western islands of Connacht, and they used to go back to Inis Gluaire every night.

It was about that time it happened them to meet with a young man of good race, and his name was Aibric; and he often took notice of the birds, and their singing was sweet to him and he loved them greatly, and they loved him. And it is this young man that told the whole story of all that had happened them, and put it in order.

And the story he told of what happened them in the end is this. It was after the faith of Christ and blessed Patrick came into Ireland, that Saint Mochaomhog came to Inis Gluaire. And the first night he came to the island, the children of Lir heard the voice of his bell, ringing near them. And the brothers started up with fright when they heard it. “We do not know,” they said, “what is that weak, unpleasing voice we hear.”

“That is the voice of the bell of Mochaomhog,” said Fionnuala; “and it is through that bell,” she said, “you will be set free from pain and from misery.”

They listened to that music of the bell till the matins were done, and then they began to sing the low, sweet music of the Sidhe.

And Mochaomhog was listening to them, and he prayed to God to show him who was singing that music, and it was showed to him that the children of Lir were singing it. And on the morning of the morrow he went forward to the Lake of the Birds, and he saw the swans before him on the lake, and he went down to them at the brink of the shore. “Are you the children of Lir?” he said.

“We are indeed,” said they.

“I give thanks to God for that,” said he, “for it is for your sakes I am come to this island beyond any other island, and let you come to land now,” he said “and give your trust to me, that you may do good deeds and part from your sins.”

They came to the land after that, and they put trust in Mochoamhog, and he brought them to his own dwelling-place, and they used to be hearing Mass with him. And he got a good smith and bade him make chains of bright silver for them, and he put a chain between Aodh and Fionnuala, and a chain between Conn and Fiachra. And the four of them were raising his heart and gladdening his mind, and no danger and no distress that was on the swans before put any trouble on them now.

Now the king of Connacht at that time was Lairgren, son of Colman, son of Cobthach, and Deoch, daughter of Finghin, was his wife. And that was the coming together of the Man from the North and the Woman from the South, that Aoife had spoken of.

And the woman heard talk of the birds, and a great desire came on her to get them, and she bade Lairgren to bring them to her, and he said he would ask them of Mochaomhog.

And she gave her word she would not stop another night with him unless he would bring them to her. And she set out from the house there and then. And Lairgren sent messengers after her to bring her back, and they did not overtake her till she was at Cill Dun. She went back home with them then, and Lairgren sent messengers to ask the birds of Mochaomhog, and he did not get them.

There was great anger on Lairgren then, and he went himself to the place Mochaomhog was, and he asked was it true he had refused him the birds. “It is true indeed,” said he. At that Lairgren rose up, and he took hold of the swans, and pulled them off the altar, two birds in each hand, to bring them away to Deoch. But no sooner had he laid his hand on them than their skins fell off, and what was in their place was three lean, withered old men and a thin withered old woman, without blood or flesh.

And Lairgren gave a great start at that, and he went out from the place. It is then Fionnuala said to Mochaomhog: “Come and baptize us now, for it is short till our death comes; and it is certain you do not think worse of parting with us than we do of parting with you. And make our grave afterwards,” she said, “and lay Conn at my right side and Fiachra on my left side, and Aodh before my face, between my two arms. And pray to the God of Heaven,” she said, “that you may be able to baptize us.”

The children of Lir were baptized then, and they died and were buried as Fionnuala had desired; Fiachra and Conn one at each side of her, and Aodh before her face. And a stone was put over them, and their names were written in Ogham, and they were keened there, and heaven was gained for their souls.

And that is the fate of the children of Lir so far.

* * *

Part I book V of Lady Gregory’s Gods and fighting men. From sacred-texts.com

As regards Medb, it is related here: She gathered the men of Erin and led them forth to Cruachan to behold the battle of the bulls. As regards the Brown Bull of Cualnge, it is now recounted in this place: When he saw the beautiful, strange land, he sent forth his three bellowing calls aloud. And Finnbennach Ai (‘the Whitehorned of Ai’) heard him. Now no male beast durst send forth a low that was louder than a moo in compare with him within the four fords of all Ai, Ath Moga and Ath Coltna, Ath Slissen and Ath Bercha. And he lifted his head and he hastened to Cruachan to look for the Brown Bull of Cualnge.

It was then the men of Erin debated who would be fitted to witness the fight of the bulls. They all agreed that it should be Bricriu son of Carbad that were fitted for that office. For, a year before this tale of the Cualnge Cattle-raid, Bricriu had gone from the one province into the other to make a request of Fergus. And Fergus had retained him with him waiting for his treasures and goods. And a quarrel arose between him and Fergus at a game of chess. And he spake evil words to Fergus. Fergus smote him with his fist and with the chessman that was in his hand, so that he crave the chessman into his head and broke a bone in his head. Whilst the men of Erin were on the foray of the Tain, all that time Bricriu was being cured at Cruachan. And the day they returned from the expedition was the day Bricriu rose. And this is why they selected Bricriu, for that Bricriu was no fairer to his friend than to his foe. And he was brought before the men of Erin to a gap whence to view the bulls.

Each of the bulls sighted the other and there was a pawing and digging up of the ground in their frenzy there, and they tossed the earth over them. They threw up the earth over their withers and shoulders, and their eyes blazed red in their heads like firm balls of fire. Their cheeks and their nostrils swelled like smith’s bellows in a forge. And each of them gave a resounding, deadly blow to the other. Each of them began to hole and to gore, to endeavour to slaughter and demolish the other. Then the Whitehorned of Ai visited his wrath upon the Brown Bull of Cualnge for the evil of his ways and his doings, and he crave a horn into his side and visited his angry rage upon him. Then they directed their headlong course to where Bricriu was, so that the hoofs of the bulls drove him a man’s cubit deep into the ground after his destruction. Hence, this is the Tragical Death of Bricriu son of Carbad.

Cormac Conlongas son of Conchobar saw that, and he laid hold of a spearshaft that filled his grasp, and gave three blows to the Brown Bull of Cualnge from ear to tail, so that it broke on his thick hide from ear to rump. ” No wonderful, lasting treasure was this precious prize for us,” said Cormac, “that cannot defend himself against a stirk of his own age!” The Brown Bull of Cualnge heard this– for he had human understanding– and he turned upon the Whitehorned. Thereupon he he rushed at him, so that they continued to strike at each other for a long while and great space of time, till night fell on the men of Erin. And when night had fallen, all that the men of Erin could hear was the bellowing and roaring. That night the bulls coursed over the greater part of all Erin.

* * *

Chapter 28 of Lady Gregory’s Gods and fighting men. From sacred-texts.com

Accadde un giorno, quando Setanta aveva circa sette anni, che egli ascoltò alcuni dei suoi parenti da parte di madre parlare della corte del re Conchubar a Emain Macha, e dei figlî dei re e dei nobili che vivevano lì, e di come essi passassero gran parte del loro tempo in giochi e a praticare l’hurling. “Lasciami andare lì a giocare con loro”, disse a sua madre. “È troppo presto perché tu possa farlo”, gli rispose quella, “ma aspetta fino a quando sarai in grado di viaggiare così lontano e fino a che ti potrò far portare da qualcuno che vada alla corte, che ti metta sotto la protezione di Conchubar”. “L’attesa potrebbe essere troppo lunga”, egli disse, “ma ci andrò da solo, se mi indicherai la strada”. “È troppo lontano per te”, disse Dechtire, “dal momento che Emain Macha si trova oltre Slieve Fuad”, “È a est o a ovest di Slieve Fuad?”, domandò. E quando ella gli ebbe risposto, egli uscì e se ne andò, senza portare null’altro con sè che la sua mazza da hurling, e la sua palla d’argento, e il suo piccolo giavellotto e la lancia; e sembra che per alleggerirsi il viaggio abbia dato un colpo alla palla e dopo averla battuta abbia lanciato innanzi la sua mazza da hurling, e poi ancora il giavelloto, e dopo abbia fatto una corsa tale da arrivare ad acchiappare tutto con le mani prima che una sola cosa toccasse terra.

In questo modo egli procedette fino a quando arrivò al prato a Emain Macha, e lì egli vide tre quinti dei figlî di re praticare l’hurling e apprendere le azioni militari. Egli si parò innanzi a loro, e quando la palla gli capitò vicino la prese tra i piedi e la battè in avanti nonostante loro gli si opponessero fino a mandarla vicina alla meta. Quando videro ciò che aveva fatto si sorpresero e si arrabbiarono furiosamente, e Follaman, figlio di re Conchubar, che era loro capo, gridò loro di accorrere e cacciare fuori lo straniero e fargli fare una brutta fine. “Non ha diritto”, egli disse, “di venire nel bel mezzo del nostro gioco senza chiedere il permesso, e senza mettere la sua vita sotto la nostra protezione. E potere stare certi”, disse, “che è il figlio di un qualche semplice guerriero, e non può proprio partecipare al nostro gioco”. Con ciò, tutti sferrarono un attacco contro di lui, e iniziarono a lanciargli le loro mazze da hurling, e le loro palle e i giavellotti, ma egli le schivò tutte, e poi si avventò contro di loro, e cominciò a cacciarne a terra parecchî. Fergus usciva proprio allora dal palazzo, e appena si accorse di quello che stava combinando quel ragazzino, lo portò dentro dove Conchubar stava giocando a scacchi, e raccontò al re quello che era successo. “Non è un gioco corretto quello che stavi giocando”, egli disse. “È stata colpa loro”, rispose il ragazzo; “venivo come straniero, e non ho ricevuto un benvenuto degno di uno straniero”. “Allora non sapevi”, disse Conchubar, “che nessuno può giocare insieme al gruppo dei ragazzi di Emain senza prima avere il loro permesso e la loro protezione”. “Non lo sapevo, ma avrei dovuto domandarlo”, disse. “Quali sono il tuo nome e la tua famiglia?”, disse Conchubar. “Mi chiamo Setanta, figlio di Sualtim e Dechtire”, disse. Quando Conchubar sentì che era suo nipote gli diede un caloroso benvenuto e ordinò al gruppo di ragazzi di accettarlo nella loro compagnia. “Lo faremo”, essi risposero. Ma quando essi uscirono a giocare, Setanta cominciò a farsi largo tra loro con la forza, e a buttarli a terra, tanto che essi non furono in grado di resistergli. “Cosa vuoi da loro, adesso?”, disse Conchubar. “Giuro sugli dèi cui crede il mio popolo”, disse il ragazzo, “che non alzerò più le mani su di loro dal momento in cui essi si porranno sotto la mia protezione, nello stesso modo in cui io mi sono posto sotto la loro”. Allora tutti i ragazzi accettarono quella proposta; e Setanta rimase presso la casa del re a Emain Macha, e tutti i comandanti degli uomini dell’Ulster collaborarono nel farlo crescere.

C’era un grande fabbro nell’Ulster di nome Culain, che organizzò in quel periodo una festa per Conchubar e il suo popolo. Mentre Conchubar stava andando alla festa, passò dal prato dove il gruppo di ragazzi era intento nei proprî giochi, e lì guardò per qualche momento, e vide come il figlio di Dechtire li stava battendo tutti. “Quel ragazzetto servirà già l’Ulster”, disse Conchubar; “chiamamelo subito”, disse, “e fallo venire con me alla festa del fabbro”. “Non posso venire con voi adesso”, disse Setanta quando lo andarono a chiamare, “poiché questi ragazzi non ne hanno ancora avuto abbastanza di giocare”. “Potrebbe essere troppo lunga l’attesa”, disse il re. “Non è necessario che mi aspetti; seguirò la traccia del carro”, disse Setanta.

Così Conchubar andò avanti fino alla casa del fabbro, e fu accolto con un gran benvenuto, e a terra vennero messi giunchi freschi, e vi furono poemi e canzoni e relazioni delle leggi, e la festa ebbe inizio, ed essi iniziarono ad allietarsi. E allora Culain disse al re: “C’è qualcun’altro che verrà dopo di te questa notte?”. “Non verrà più nessuno”, disse Conchubar, dal momento che aveva dimenticato di avere detto al ragazzetto di seguirlo. “Ma perché me lo chiedi?”, disse. “Ho un cane da guardia grande e feroce”, disse il fabbro, “e quando lo slego, non permette a nessuno di avvicinarsi nei suoi paraggî, e non obbedirà ad altri che a me, e possiede da solo la forza di cento”. “Liberalo pure”, disse Conchubar, “ché dia pure un’occhiata in giro”. Così Culain lo liberò e il cane fece una corsa in tutta la zona, e poi tornò indietro nel luogo in cui riposava di solito e controllò la casa, e tutti lo temevano, dato che era così feroce e crudele e selvaggio.

Ora, quando i ragazzi a Emain ebbero finito di giocare, ciascuno di essi tornò alla casa del proprio padre o dove doveva comunque andare. Ma Setanta seguì le tracce dei carri, alleggerendosi il viaggio come come soleva fare con la mazza da hurling e la palla. Quando arrivò al prato davanti alla casa del fabbro, il cane da guardia lo udì, iniziò ad abbaiare così forte che avrebbe potuto essere udito fino nell’Ulster, e si mise a correre nella sua direzione senza mostrare di volersi fermare né di temerlo in benché minima misura, ma per inghiottirlo in un sol boccone. Il giovane non aveva armi, solo la sua mazza e la sua palla, ma quando vide il cane avventarsi contro di lui colpì la palla con una forza tale che essa finì nelle fauci del mastino e attraversò il corpo. Allora lo afferrò per le zampe posteriori e lo sbattè violentemente su un masso finché non gli rimase più un solo scampolo di vita.

Quando gli uomini che stavano festeggiando all’interno sentirono l’abbaiare del mastino, Cochubar si levò e disse: “Questo nostro viaggio è capitato in un giorno davvero infausto, dal momento che questo sicuramente è il figlio di mia sorella che è venuto a raggiungermi, e che ha trovato la morte per causa del mastino”. Al che, tutti gli uomini si precipitarono fuori, senza aspettare di uscire dalla porta, ma scavalcando i muri e gli ostacoli che incontravano. Ma Fergus fu il primo ad arrivare dove si trovava il ragazzo, lo sollevò e se lo caricò sulle spalle, e lo portò sano e salvo da Conchubar, e vi fu grande gioia per questo.

Ma Culain il fabbro uscì insieme a loro, e quando vide il suo grande mastino che giaceva morto e fatto a pezzi il suo cuore si riempì di dolore, ed egli entrò e disse a Setanta: “Non vi è alcun benvenuto per te”. “Cosa hai contro il ragazzo”, domandò Conchubar.

“Non è stata la buona sorte a menarlo qui, o a farmi organizzare questa festa in tuo onore, re”, egli disse; “poiché d’ora innanzi, essendo morto il mio mastino, i miei possedimenti andranno in rovina, e sarà compromessa tutta la mia vita. E, giovane ragazzo”, disse, “quel cane era uno della mia famiglia, dal momento che proteggeva i miei beni e i miei greggi e le mie mandrie e tutto ciò che posseggo”. “Non te ne crucciare”, disse il ragazzo, “sarò io stesso a fare tutto quello che faceva il tuo mastino”. “Come farai?”, chiese Conchubar. “Questo è il modo in cui lo farò: se c’è un cucciolo della stessa razza in Irlanda, del quale io possa entrare in possesso, lo alleverò e allenerò sino a che diverrà valido quanto il mastino che ho ucciso; e fino a quel giorno, Culain”, disse, “io stesso sarò il tuo cane da guardia, per sorvegliare i tuoi beni e il tuo bestiame e la tua casa”. “Hai fatto un’offerta giusta”, disse Conchubar. “Io stesso non avrei potuto fare di meglio”, disse Cathbad il Druido. “E d’ora innanzi”, disse, il tuo nome sarà Cuchulain, il Mastino di Culain”. “Preferisco il mio nome personale Setanta, figlio di Sualtim”, disse il ragazzo. “Non dire così”, disse Cathbad, “dal momento che un giorno tutti gli uomini al mondo avranno il nome di Cuchulain sulle labbra”. “Se è così, sono contento di assumerlo”, disse il ragazzo. E questo è il modo in cui egli prese il nome di Cuchulain.

Un giorno, parecchio tempo dopo, nella sua casa a nord-est di Emain, Cathbad il Druido stava insegnando ai suoi allievi. C’erano otto ragazzi insieme a lui quel giorno, e uno di loro gli domandò: “I tuoi segni ti indicano qualcosa in particolare cui la giornata di oggi sia propizia?”. “Se qualche ragazzo prenderà le armi oggi”, disse Cathbad, “il suo nome diverrà più grande di ogni altro nome in Irlanda. Ma la lunghezza della sua vita sarà breve”, disse.

Cuchulain era fuori a giocare, ma sentì quello che aveva detto Cathbad, e immediatamente smise e andò diritto alla camera da letto di Conchubar, e disse: “Tante buone cose a te, re!”. “Cos’è che vuoi?”, disse Conchubar. “Ciò che voglio è prendere le armi oggi”. “Chi te lo ha messo in testa?”. “Cathbad il Druido”, disse Cuchulain. “Se è così, non te lo negherò”, disse Conchubar. Fece dunque scegliere al ragazzo le armi, e questi ne provò la robustezza, e non ce n’era alcuna che gli piacesse, o che fosse abbastanza forte per lui, a eccezione di quelle di Conchubar stesso. Così egli gli diede le sue due lance, e la sua spada e il suo scudo.

Proprio allora Cathbad il Druido fece il suo ingresso, e restò alquanto meravigliato, e disse: “Questo giovane ragazzo sta prendendo le armi?”. “Proprio così”, disse il re. “Mi dispiace vedere il figlio di tua sorella prendere le armi in questo giorno”, disse Cathbad. “Non sei stato tu a ordinarglielo?”, disse Conchubar. “No di certo”, rispose. “Allora mi hai mentito, ragazzo”, disse il re. “Non ho mentito, re”, disse Cuchulain, “poiché è stato proprio lui a mettermelo in mente, mentre stava insegnando agli altri, poiché quando uno di loro gli ha domandato se ci sia una qualche speciale valenza in questo giorno, egli ha risposto che chiunque sia a prendere oggi per la prima volta le armi, il suo nome diverrà più grande di ogni altro in Irlanda, e non ha detto che gli verranno fatti danni, ma che la sua vita sarà breve”. “E quello che ho detto è vero”, disse Cathbad, “avrai fama e un grande nome, ma il tempo della tua vita non sarà lungo”. “Mi importa poco”, disse Cuchulain, “se la mia vita arriverà al termine in un giorno e una notte, ma il mio nome e la storia di ciò che ho fatto vivrà dopo di me”. Allora Cathbad disse: “bene, sali su un carro immediatamente, e vediamo se ho detto il vero”.

Allora Cuchulain salì su un carro e ne provò la robustezzà, e lo fece a pezzi, e ruppe nello stesso modo i diciassette carri che Conchubar aveva preso per il gruppo di ragazzi di Emain, e disse: “Questi carri non sono da usare, Conchubar, non sono degni di me”. “Dove è Jubair, figlio di Riangabra?”, domandò Conchubar. “Sono qui”, rispose quello. “Prepara il mio carro, e aggioga a esso i miei due cavalli, perché questo ragazzo lo possa provare”, disse Conchubar. Così Cuchulain provò il carro del re, e lo fece tremare e lo condusse al massimo, ma il carro resse. “Questo è il carro che mi soddisfa”, disse. “Ora, piccolo”, disse Jubair, “lascia che io stacchi i cavalli e li porti al pascolo”. “C’è tempo per questo, Jubair; perché non guidiamo il carro sino al luogo in cui sono i ragazzi del gruppo, così che mi augurino buona fortuna nel giorno in cui prendo le armi?”. E così essi guidarono il carro, e tutti i ragazzi quando lo videro gli urlarono “Hai preso le armi?”. “Proprio così”, rispose Cuchulain. “possa tu ben ferire, uccidere la prima volta e vincere le spoglie”, gli dissero, “ma è un peccato per noi averti perso come compagno di giochi”.

“Lascia andare i cavalli a pascolare”, disse Jubair. “È ancora troppo presto”, disse Cuchulain, “dimmi piuttosto dove porta quella grande strada che va a Emain”. “Porta ad Ath-an-Foraire, la sentinella del guado a Slieve Fuad”. “Perché è chiamato sentinella del guado?”. “È facile dirlo: perché qualcuno dei migliori campioni tra gli uomini dell’Ulster lo tiene d’occhio ogni giorno per difendere la provincia e ingaggiare battaglia con ogni straniero che arrivi alla frontiera a sfidare”. “Sai chi sia di turno oggi?”, disse Cuchulain. “So bene che c’è Conall Cearnach, il Vittorioso, il capo-campione dei giovani uomini dell’Ulster e di tutta Irlanda”. “Allora andremo al guado”, disse Cuchulain. E così essi proseguirono attraversando la pianura, e vicino al bordo dell’acqua trovarono Conall, ed egli disse: “Sono quelle le armi che hai preso oggi, ragazzino?”. “Proprio così”, rispose Jubair per lui. “Possano recargli trionfo e vittoria e lo spargimento del primo sangue”, disse Conall. “Ma credo, piccolo mastino”, disse, “che tu sia troppo giovane per portarle; poiché non sei ancora adatto a svolgere il lavoro di un campione”. “Cos’è che stai facendo qui, Conall?”, disse il ragazzo. “Sto a controllare e a fare la guardia alla provincia”. “Levati, Conall”, disse, “e per questo giorno lascia a me il controllo”. “Non mi chiedere questo, piccolo”, disse Conall; “dal momento che non sei ancora in grado di resistere contro guerrieri ben preparati”. “Allora scenderò fino alle secche di Loch Echtra e vedrò se avrò il modo di far arrossare le mie armi contro amici o nemici”. “Allora verrò con te io stesso”, disse Conall, “a prendermi cura di te e a proteggerti, perché non possa capitarti alcun danno”. “Non farlo”, disse Cuchulain, “Lo farò davvero, invece”, disse Conall, “poiché se ti lascerò andare da solo in una terra straniera, tutto l’Ulster si vendicherà contro di me”.

Così i cavalli di Conall furono aggiogati al carro, ed egli partì per seguire Cuchulain, che non lo aveva aspettato, ed era anzi già partito per suo conto. Quando Cuchulain vide Conall arrivargli appresso pensò tra sé: “se anche avrò la possibilità di compiere qualche grande impresa, Conall non me la lascerà mai fare”. Così prese da terra una pietra della dimensione del suo pugno e fece un tiro così preciso che colpì il giogo del carro di Conall, e lo ruppe, e il carro si staccò e cadde, e lo stesso Conall fu scaraventato a terra. “Perché l’hai fatto?”, gli disse. “Per vedere se sono in grado di lanciare bene, e se sto per diventare un grande campione”. “Cattiva sorte sul tuo lancio e su di te”, disse Conall. “E più nessuno che lo voglia potrà più levarti dalla testa il tuo proposito, poiché io non proseguirò oltre”. “È proprio ciò che desideravo”, disse Cuchulain. E con ciò, Conall tornò al suo posto al guado.

Il ragazzo, invece, andò verso Lough Echtra a sud. Allora Jubair disse: “Se mi ascolterai, piccolo, ti confesserò che vorrei che ce ne tornassimo subito a Emain; poiché a quest’ora inizia il taglio del cibo, ed è un gran bene per te, che hai un tuo posto fisso, vicino alle ginocchia di Conchubar. Ma quanto a me”, disse, “è tra le aurighe e i menestrelli e i messaggeri che sto, e devo prendermi un posto e contenderlo quando ne sono in grado”. “Cos’è quella montagna davanti a noi?”, disse Cuchulain. “Quella è Slieve Mourne, e quello sulla sua vetta è Finncairn, il bianco tumulo”. “Andiamoci”, disse Cuchulain. “Ci vorrebbe troppo per arrivarci”, disse Jubair. “Sei un compagno fannullone”, disse Cuchulain”; “questa è la mia prima avventura, ed è il primo viaggio che fai insieme a me”. “E possa anche essere l’ultimo”, disse Jubair, “se mai tornerò ancora a Emain”. Essi proseguirono sino al tumulo. “Buon Jubair”, disse il ragazzo, “adesso mostrami tutto quello che possiamo vedere da qui dell’Ulster, perché non conosco ancora abbastanza il paese”. Così Jubair gli mostrò tutto quello che dal tumulo si poteva vedere dell’Ulster, le colline e le pianure e le lande. “Cos’è quella pianura quadrata in pendenza davanti a noi a sud?”. “Quella è Magh Breagh, il bel prato”. “Mostrami le lande e i forti in quella pianura”. Così Jubair gli mostrò Teamhair e Tailte, Cleathra e Cnobhach e il Brugh di Angus sul Boyne e la landa dei figlî di Neachtan Sceine. “I figlî di Neachtan sono quelli che affermano, vantandosi, di avere ucciso tanti uomini dell’Ulster quanti quelli che oggi sono in vita?”. “Sono proprio loro”, disse Jubair. “Allora avanti, andiamo in quella landa”, disse Cuchulain. “Nulla di buono ti verrà dal parlare in questo modo”, disse Jubair; “e chiunque sia ad andare là, io non ci andrò”, disse. “Dì quello che vuoi, ma vivo o morto ci andrai”, disse Cuchulain. “Se le cose stanno così, ci andrò vivo”, disse Jubair, “ma sarò morto prima di tornare”.

Proseguirono fino alla landa dei figlî di Nechtan, e quando arrivarono al verde prato Cuchulain scese dal carro, e c’era una lunga pietra nel prato, e un anello di ferro attorno, e c’erano Ogham scritti sopra che dicevano che nessun uomo che fosse venuto lì portando armi avrebbe potuto andarsene senza prima aver sfidato qualcuno di quella landa. Quando Cuchulain ebbe letto quell’Ogham, mise le sue armi intorno alla pietra, che lanciò nell’acqua che c’era vicino. “Non mi pare che stia meglio lì rispetto a dove era prima”, disse Jubair; “ed è probabile che sia giunto il momento in cui troverai ciò che cercavi, cioè una morte veloce”. “Buon Jubair”, disse il ragazzo, “distendi le coperte del carro, perché io possa dormire un momento”. “Non è una buona cosa quella che stai per fare”, disse Jubair, “cioè metterti a dormire in una terra nemica”. Poi tirò fuori le coperte, e Cuchulain si distese e si addormentò.

Fu proprio in quel mentre che Foill, figlio di Nechtan Sceine, uscì fuori, e quando vide il carro, ammonì Jubair: “non togliere il giogo ai cavalli”. “Non stavo per farlo”, disse Jubair; “ho ancora le redini in mano”. “Che cavalli sono?”. “Sono i due cavalli screziati di Conchubar”. “È quello che ho immaginato appena li ho visti”, disse Foill. “E chi è che li ha portati oltre il confine?”. “Un piccolo ragazzino”, disse Jubair, “che per caso ha preso oggi le armi e per mettersi in mostra è venuto a Magh Breagh”. “Possa non essere mai fortunato”, disse Foill, “e se è un guerriero non è da vivo, ma da morto che oggi tornerà a Emain”. “Davvero non sa combattere, né ci si può aspettare che lo sia”, disse Jubair, “ed è come un bambino che se ne dovrebbe stare a casa di suo padre”. In quel momento il ragazzo sollevò la testa da terra, e rosso era il suo volto, e uguale tutto il resto del corpo, all’udire un così grave insulto nei suoi confronti, e disse: “Io sono in grado di combattere davvero bene!”. Ma Foill disse: “Sono più incline a credere che tu non lo sia”. “Saprai presto che pensare”, disse il ragazzo, “vieni subito giù al guado. Ma va’ prima a prendere la tua armatura”, disse, “perché non mi piacerebbe uccidere un uomo disarmato”. Allora Foill fu colto dall’ira, e corse a prendere le sue armi. “Adesso devi stare attento”, disse Jubair, “perché quello è Foill, figlio di Nechtan, e né punta di lancia, né lama di spada possono nuocergli”. “A me sta bene”, disse il ragazzo. Poi tornò Foill, e Cuchulain si alzò e prese in mano la sua palla di ferro e gliela scagliò in testa, ed essa la attraversò tutta e uscì dalla nuca, e il cervello insieme, così che l’aria poteva passare attraverso il buco che aveva creato. E allora Cuchulain gli tagliò la testa.

Allora Tuachel, il secondo figlio di Nechtan, uscì sul prato. “È probabile che tu ti stia tanto vantando di quella che invece sarà anche la tua fine”, disse. “Non ci vedo niente di cui vantarsi”, disse Cuchulain, “dal momento che solo un uomo è caduto per mia mano”. “Non avrai da vantartene a lungo”, disse Tuachel, “poiché io stesso ora sto per farti fare una brutta fine”. “Allora torna indietro e prendi le tue armi”, disse Cuchulain, “perché solo un codardo si presenterebbe disarmato”. Allora quello tornò nella casa, e Jubair disse: “Adesso devi stare attento, perché quello è Tuachel, figlio di Nechtan, e se non viene ucciso alla prima percossa o al primo lancio o al primo colpo non può più essere ucciso, perché a quel punto non vi sarà più modo di riuscire a prenderlo”. “Non c’è bisogno che tu me lo stia a dire, Jubair”, disse Cuchulain, “dal momento che prenderò in mano questa, la grande lancia di Conchubar, la Velenosa, ed è con essa che gli infliggerò l’ultimo colpo, poiché dopo che lo avrò colpito non ci sarà alcun medico capace di guarire le sue ferite”.

Poi Tuachel uscì sul prato, e Cuchulain afferrò la grande lancia e gliela lanciò contro, e questa gli trapassò lo scudo e gli ruppe tre costole e e gli fece un buco nel cuore. E allora Cuchulain gli tagliò la testa, prima che il corpo toccasse terra.

Allora si presentò Fainnle, il più giovane dei tre figlî di Nechtan. “Sono stati sciocchi i miei compagni”, disse, “ad affrontarti nel modo in cui l’hanno fatto. Ma seguimi”, disse, “nell’acqua, dove i tuoi piedi non tocchino il fondo”, e ciò detto si tuffò in acqua. “Bada bene, ora”, disse Jubair, “perché quello è Fainnle, la Rondine, e il motivo per cui gli fu dato questo nome è che egli viaggia attraverso l’acqua con la rapidità di una rondine e non c’è nessuno dei nuotatori nel mondo intero che possa tenergli testa”. “Non è a me che dovresti dirlo”, disse Cuchulain, “dal momento che conosci il fiume Callan che scorre attraverso Emain, e ciò che facevo”, disse, “quando i ragazzi del gruppo interrompevano i giochi e si tuffavano nel fiume per nuotare, era prendere uno di loro su una spalla e uno sull’altra e uno su una mano e una sull’altra, e li portavo lungo il fiume senza nemmeno bagnarmi la schiena”.Ciò detto balzò in acqua, nel punto in cui era molto profonda, ed egli e Fainnle lottarono, finchè gli riuscì una presa, e sferrò un colpo con la spada di Conchubar, e gli tagliò la testa, e poi lasciò che il corpo fosse portato via dalla corrente.

Poi egli e Jubair andarono nella casa e distrussero tutto quello che vi si trovava, e le diedero fuoco, e la lasciarono bruciare, e se ne tornarono a Slieve Fuad portando con sé le teste dei tre figlî di Nechtan.

In quel momento videro innanzi a sé una mandria di cervi selvatici. “Di che tipo di bestiame si tratta?”, disse il ragazzo. “Non è bestiame, sono i cervi selvatici dei luoghi oscuri di Slieve Fuad”. “Fa’ andare i cavalli più veloci”, disse Cuchulain, “fino a che non saremo in grado di osservarli meglio”. Ma per quanto andassero al galoppo, i cavalli non erano in grado di tenere la velocità dei cervi selvatici. Allora Cuchulain scese dal carro e si mise a inseguirli, finché due cervi gemendo e ansimando si buttarono a terra affaticati dalla corsa nel pantano, e li aggiogò al retro del carro. Poi proseguirono sino a quando arrivarono alla pianura di Emain, e lì videro uno stormo di cigni bianchi, che erano ancora più bianchi dei cigni del lago di Conchubar, e Cuchulain domandò donde venissero. “Sono cigni selvatici”, disse Jubair, “che vengono dalle rocce e dalle isole del grande mare a nutrirsi qui nelle zone basse del paese. “Sarebbe meglio prenderli vivi o ucciderli?”. “Sarebbe meglio prenderli vivi”, disse Jubair, “poiché più d’uno è in grado di ucciderne, e più d’uno fa i suoi lancî contro di loro, ma difficilmente troverai qualcuno che sia in grado di catturarli vivi”. Ciò udito, Cuchulain mise una piccola pietra nella sua fionda e fece un lancio, e abbattè otto di quegli uccelli, e poi mise una pietra più grande, e con quella ne abbattè altri sedici. “Adesso scendi, Jubair”, disse, “e portami qui gli uccelli”. “Non lo farò”, disse Jubair, “dal momento che non sarà facile fermare i cavalli visto il modo in cui stanno correndo, e se salterò giù le ruote di ferro del carro mi faranno a pezzi, oppure le corna dei cervi faranno un buco in mezzo al mio corpo”. “Non sei un granché come guerriero, Jubair; dammi allora le redini e io quieterò i cavalli e i cervi”. E così Jubair scese e prese i cigni e li legò al carro e ai finimenti. E fu in questo modo che procedettero fino a che arrivarono a Emain.

Era Levarcham figlia di Aedh, la conversatrice e messaggera del re, che talvolta se ne stava via sulle colline, a trovarsi lì in quel momento, e fu la prima a vederli arrivare. “Sta arrivando un guerriero con il suo carro, Conchubar”, ella disse, “ed è adirato. Ha con sè le teste sanguinanti dei suoi nemici sul carro, cui sono legati cervi selvatici, e bianchi uccelli gli tengono compagnia. Per tutte le bestemmie della mia gente!”, ella disse, “se arriverà qui da noi con ancora tutta quella rabbia, i migliori uomini dell’Ulster cadranno per mano sua”. “Io conosco il guerriero su quel carro”, disse Conchubar. “È il ragazzino, il figlio di Dechtire, che proprio oggi è andato al di là della frontiera. Si sarà certamente arrossato le mani, e se la sua ira non può essere raffreddata, i giovani uomini di Emain saranno in pericolo”, disse.

Allora si consultarono tutti insieme, e questo è quello che decisero: di mandare fuori a incontrarlo tre gruppi di cinquanta donne di Emain col seno scoperto. Quando il ragazzo vide le donne arrivare, provò vergogna e abbassò la testa tra i cuscini del carro e nascose loro il suo viso. E il furore si impadronì di lui, e furono portati i suoi vestiti da festa e acqua per lavarlo; e gli fu dato un grande benvenuto.

Questa è la storia delle gesta del giovane Cuchulain, e fu raccontata da Fergus a Ailell e a Maeve al tempo della guerra per il Toro Bruno di Cuailgne.

* * *

IL PRIMO CAPITOLO DEL LIBRO

ACQUISTA IL LIBRO

Tanto tempo fa Conchubar figlio di Ness era il re dell’Ulster, e teneva la sua corte nel palazzo di Emain Macha. E questo è il modo in cui egli divenne re. Era appena un ragazzo, e suo padre non era più in vita, e Fergus figlio di Rogh, che era a quel tempo re dell’Ulster, domandò in sposa sua madre Ness.

Ora Ness, che era a un tempo la più dolce e la più gentile delle donne d’Irlanda, divenne la più crudele e perfida per via di uno sgarbo che le venne fatto, e progettò di strappare il regno a Fergus per darlo a suo figlio. Così ella disse a Fergus: “Lascia tenere il regno per un anno a Conchubar, a che i suoi figlî dopo di lui possano essere chiamati figlî di un re; e questa è la dote matrimoniale che desidero mi venga tributata”.

“Dovresti farlo”, gli dissero gli uomini dell’Ulster; “per quanto Conchubar assuma il titolo di re, resterai tu il nostro re per tutto il tempo”. Così Fergus accettò, e prese Ness in moglie, e il figlio di lei Conchubar divenne re al posto suo.

Ma, nel corso di tutto quell’anno, Ness continuava a tramare per conservare il regno al figlio, e fece grandi doni al comandante dell’Ulster, per portarlo dalla sua parte. E sebbene Conchubar fosse un ragazzetto a quel tempo, fu saggio nel giudicare, e coraggioso in battaglia, e bello nell’aspetto e nella figura, ed essi lo apprezzavano assai. E alla fine dell’anno, quando Fergus domandò di riavere indietro il regno, essi si consultarono; e questo fu ciò che essi decisero: che dovesse mantenerlo Conchubar. Ed essi dissero: “Non si cura granchè di noi Fergus, dal momento che fu subito pronto a lasciare il suo rango elevato per un anno; che Conchubar tenga il regno”, dissero, “e che Fergus si tenga la moglie che si è preso”.

Ora, venne un giorno in cui Conchubar stava tenendo una festa a Emain Macha per il matrimonio di sua sorella Dechtire con Sualtim figlio di Roig. E alla festa Dechtire era assetata, e le diedero una tazza di vino, e appena ella iniziò a bere, un’efèmera volò nella tazza, ed ella la bevve insieme al vino. E subito ella andò nella sua sala esposta al sole, e le sue cinquanta ancelle con lei, e cadde in un profondo sonno. E, nel suo sogno, le apparve Lugh dalla Lunga Mano, e disse: “L’efèmera che venne a te nella tazza ero io stesso, ed è con me che devi venir via adesso, e le tue cinquanta giovani ancelle con te”. E fece assumere loro l’apparenza di uno stormo di uccelli, ed esse andarono con lui verso sud sino a che arrivarono a Brugh na Bonne, la dimora del Sidhe. E nessuno a Emain Macha fu in grado di riferire alcunchè sul loro conto, o sapere dove fossero andate, o cosa fosse loro capitato.

Fu circa un anno dopo, che si tenne in Emain un’altra festa, e Conchubar e i suoi comandanti sedevano alla festa. E improvvisamente essi videro dalla finestra uno stormo di uccelli, che si posò a terra e cominciò a mangiare tutto quello che trovava, al punto che non rimase un solo ciuffo d’erba.

Gli uomini dell’Ulster si arrabbiarono quando videro gli uccelli distruggere tutto quello che trovavano, e misero il giogo a nove dei loro carri per inseguirli. Conchubar era sul suo stesso carro, e vi erano a inseguire insieme a lui Fergus figlio di Rogh, e Legaire Buadach, il Vincitore-di-Battaglie, e Celthair figlio di Uithecar e molti altri, e Bricriu dalla lingua pungente era con loro. Inseguirono gli uccelli attraverso tutto il paese verso sud, attraverso Slieve Fuad, a Ath Letham, ad Ath Garach e a Magh Gossa, tra Fir Rois e Fir Ardae; e gli uccelli erano sempre davanti a loro. Erano i più belli che siano mai stati visti; nove stormi ce n’erano, collegati a due a due con una catena d’argento, e alla testa di ciascuno stormo c’erano due uccelli di colori diversi, collegati con una catena d’oro; e c’erano tre uccelli che volano da soli, e tutti quanti volavano davanti ai carri, verso l’estremo limite del paese, sino a che cadde la notte, e allora vennero persi di vista.

E quando la buia notte stava arrivando, Conchubar disse al suo popolo: “È meglio che ora togliamo il giogo ai carri, e andiamo a cercare qualche posto dove passare la notte”.

Allora Fergus andò avanti a cercare un posto, e il luogo in cui arrivò era una piccolissima casa povera all’aspetto. Vi erano in essa un uomo e una donna, e quando lo videro gli dissero: “Porta qui i tuoi compagni con te, e dì loro che sono i benvenuti”. Fergus tornò indietro dai compagni e riferì loro ciò che aveva visto. Ma Bricriu disse: “Che vantaggio c’è ad andare in una casa come quella, con nessuna stanza, né provviste, né coperte; non è dignitoso starsene qui a meditare se andare o meno”.

Allora Bricriu andò egli stesso nel posto dove stava la casa. Ma quando vi arrivò, quello che vide fu una casa splendida, nuova e ben illuminata; e all’uscio stava un giovane uomo che indossava un’armatura, molto alto e di bell’aspetto e risplendente. Ed egli disse: “Vieni dentro la casa, Bricriu; perché ti guardi attorno?”. E c’era una giovane donna accanto a lui, fine e nobile, e con capelli riccî, che disse: “Certamente sei il benvenuto da parte mia”. “Perché mi dà il benvenuto?”, disse Bricriu. “Se per lei sei il benvenuto, lo sei anche per me”, disse il giovane uomo. “Ma non c’è nessuno che vi manchi a Emain?”, aggiunse. “Certo che c’è”, rispose Bricriu. “Ci mancano da un anno cinquanta giovani ragazze”. “Sapresti riconoscerle nuovamente se le vedessi?”, disse il giovane uomo. “Se non le sapessi riconoscere”, disse Bricriu, “il motivo sarebbe che in un anno potrebbero essere cambiate, e così non le saprei più riconoscere”. “Prova, e riconoscile”, disse il giovane uomo, “dal momento che le cinquanta giovani ragazze sono in questa casa, e questa donna al mio fianco è la loro signora, Dechtire. Sono state esse stesse, trasformate in uccelli, ad andare a Emain Macha e a portarvi qui”. Allora Dechtire diede a Bricriu un mantello purpureo con frange d’oro; ed egli tornò indietro a incontrare i suoi compagni. Ma mentre andava pensò tra sè: “Conchubar darebbe un grande tesoro per ritrovare quelle cinquanta giovani ragazze, e sua sorella con loro. Non gli dirò che le ho trovate. Gli dirò solo che ho trovato una casa abitata da una bella donna, e null’altro”.

Quando Conchubar vide Bricriu, gli domandò notizie. “Che notizie porti con te, Bricriu?”, disse. “Sono giunto a una bella casa ben illuminata”, disse Bricriu; “Vi ho visto una regina, nobile, graziosa, dall’aspetto regale, con capelli riccî; ho visto un gruppo di donne, belle, ben vestite; ho visto l’uomo di casa, alto e di bell’aspetto e risplendente”. “Andiamo lì per la notte”, concluse Conchubar. Così essi portarono i loro carri e i loro cavalli e le loro armi; ed essi stavano a malapena nella casa, tanti i cibi e le bevande di ogni sorta, alcuni da loro conosciuti e altri no, che furono posti loro innanzi, così che essi mai passarono una notte migliore di quella. E quando ebbero mangiato e bevuto e iniziarono a essere soddisfatti, Conchubar disse al giovane uomo: “Dov’è la signora della casa, che non viene a porgerci il suo benvenuto?”. “Non puoi vederla stanotte”, disse, “perché sta patendo le doglie del parto”.

Così restarono lì per quella notte, e alla mattina Conchubar fu il primo a svegliarsi; ma non vide più l’uomo della casa, e ciò che udì fu il pianto di un bambino. E si recò nella stanza dalla quale proveniva il pianto, e vi trovò Dechtire, e le sue ancelle appresso, e un neonato al suo fianco. Ed ella diede il benvenuto a Conchubar, e gli raccontò tutto ciò che le era capitato, e che lo aveva chiamato lì perché riportasse lei e il bambino a Emain Macha. E Conchubar disse: “Ti sei comportata molto bene con me, Dechtire; hai dato riparo a me e ai miei carri; hai tenuto i miei cavalli al caldo; hai dato da mangiare a me e al mio seguito, e adesso ci hai dato questo bel regalo. Che sia nostra sorella Finchoem a crescere il piccolo”, egli disse. “No, non deve essere lei a crescerlo, ma io”, disse Sencha figlio di Ailell, giudice supremo e capo dei poeti dell’Ulster. “Dal momento che io sono esperto; sono versato nelle dispute; ho buona memoria; sono tra tutti il primo a parlare in presenza del re; bado a quello che egli dice; giudico nelle contese regali; sono il giudice degli uomini dell’Ulster; nessuno, al di fuori di Conchubar, ha il diritto di replicare alle mie richieste”.

“Se il bambino verrà dato a me da crescere”, disse Blai, il distributore, “non soffrirà mancanze, né di cure né di attenzione. Sono i miei messaggî a realizzare la volontà di Conchubar; io richiamo i guerrieri da tutta Irlanda; sono in grado senza problemi di rifornirli tutti per una settimana, o anche per dieci giorni; decido sui loro affari e le loro dispute; sostengo il loro onore; chiedo soddisfazione per i loro insulti”.

“Hai un’opinione troppo elevata di te stesso”, disse Fergus. “Sarò io a crescere il bambino; sono forte; sono istruito; sono il messaggero del re; nessuno può competere con me in onore e ricchezze; sono agguerrito in battaglia; sono un buon artigiano; merito di crescere il bambino. Sono il protettore di tutti gli infelici; il forte mi teme; sono il soccorritore dell’impaurito”.

“Adesso calmatevi; e infine ascoltate me”, disse Amergin, “io sono in grado di crescere il piccolo come un re. Il popolo loda il mio onore, il mio coraggio, la mia forza d’animo, la mia saggezza; loda la mia buona sorte, la mia età, il mio modo di parlare, il mio nome, il mio coraggio e la mia razza. Sebbene io sia un guerriero, sono pure un poeta; merito il favore del re; prevalgo su tutti gli uomini che combattono con i loro carri; non sono legato da riconoscenza verso nessuno, a eccezione che per Conchubar; non obbedisco a nessun’altro che al re”.

Allora Sencha disse: “Tenga Finchoem il bambino fino a che non saremo arrivati a Emain, e Morann, il giudice, deciderà la questione quando saremo là”.

Così gli uomini dell’Ulster si avviarono verso Emain, e Finchoem teneva il bambino con sè. E quando furono giunti Morann diede il suo giudizio: “Spetta a Conchubar”, egli disse, “provvedere al buon nome del fanciullo, poiché egli ne è il parente più prossimo; sia Sencha a insegnargli le parole e il parlare; sia Fergus a tenerlo sulle ginocchia; sia Amergin il suo tutore”. Ed egli aggiunse: “Questo bambino sarà lodato da tutti, dalle aurighe e dai guerrieri, dai re e dai saggî; sarà amato da molti uomini; vendicherà tutti i vostri errori; difenderà i vostri guadi; combatterà tutte le vostre battaglie”.

E così fu deciso. E il bambino venne affidato, sino a che non fosse cresciuto, a sua madre Dechtire e al marito di lei, Sualtim. Ed essi lo allevarono nella pianura di Muithemne, ed il nome col quale venne conosciuto fu Setanta, figlio di Sualtim.

* * *

IL SECONDO CAPITOLO DEL LIBRO

ACQUISTA IL LIBRO