{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_50292/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_50292","id":"gutenberg_50292","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50292","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Celts -- Folklore","Fantasy literature"],"text":"THE LAUGHTER OF PETERKIN\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: The king saw a fountain of exceeding beauty.\n\n  _Frontis._]\n]\n\n\n\n\nTHE LAUGHTER OF PETERKIN.\n\n  \u201cA RETELLING OF OLD TALES OF\n  THE CELTIC WONDERWORLD.\u201d by\n\n  \u22c5 FIONA MACLEOD \u22c5\n\n  [Illustration]\n\n  \u22c5DRAWINGS\u22efBY\u22efSUNDERLAND\u22efROLLINSON\u22c5\u00a7\u22c5\n\n  \u22c5LONDON\u22c5\n  \u22c5ARCHIBALD\u22c5CONSTABLE\u22c5&\u22c5CO\u22c5\n  \u22c51897\u22c5\n\n\n\n\n      TO\n        ISLA,\n          EILIDH,\n            FIONA,\n              AND\n                IVOR\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                  PAGE\n  _PROLOGUE._ THE LAUGHTER OF PETERKIN               9\n\n  THE FOUR WHITE SWANS                              33\n\n  THE FATE OF THE SONS OF TURENN                   117\n\n  DARTHOOL AND THE SONS OF USNA                    177\n\n  _NOTES_                                          281\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\nBY SUNDERLAND ROLLINSON\n\n\n  THE KING SAW A FOUNTAIN OF EXCEEDING\n    BEAUTY                                  _Frontispiece_\n\n  AS SHE TOUCHED FIONULA, LIR\u2019S FAIR YOUNG\n    DAUGHTER BECAME A BEAUTIFUL SNOW-WHITE\n    SWAN                            _To face page_      33\n\n  TURENN INTERCEDING FOR HIS SONS         \"            117\n\n  A GREAT RAVEN, GLOSSY BLACK, AND BURNISHED\n    IN THE SUN RAYS                 _To face page_     177\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nThe Laughter of Peterkin\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nThe Laughter of Peterkin\n\n\nAt the rising of the moon, Peterkin awoke, and laughed. He was in his\nlittle white bed near the open window, so that when a moonbeam wavered\nfrom amid the branches of the great poplar, falling suddenly upon his\ntangled curls and yellowing them with a ripple of pale gold, it was as\nthough a living thing stole in out of the June night.\n\nHe had not awaked at first. The moonbeam seemed caught in a tangle:\nthen it glanced along a crescent tress on the pillow: sprang back like\na startled bird: flickered hither and thither above the little sleeping\nface: and at last played idly on the closed eyelids with their long\ndark eyelashes. It was then that Peterkin awoke.\n\nWhen he opened his eyes he sat up, and so the moonbeam fell into the\ntwo white cups of his tiny hands. He held it, but like a yellow eel it\nwriggled away, and danced mockingly upon the counterpane.\n\nWith a sleepy smile he turned and looked out of the window. How dark\nit was out there! That white moth which wavered to and fro made the\ntwilight like a shadowy wall. Then upon this wall Peterkin saw a\ngreat fantastic shape. It grew and grew, and spread out huge arms and\ninnumerable little hands: and in its shadow-face it had seven shining\neyes. Peterkin stared, awe-struck. Then there was a dance of moonshine,\na cascade of trickling, rippling yellow, and he saw that the shape\nin the night was the familiar poplar, and that its arms were the\nbig boughs and branches where the spotted mavis and the black merle\nsang each morning, and that the innumerable little hands were the\never-tremulous, ever-dancing, round little leaves, and that the seven\nglittering eyes were only seven stars that had caught among the topmost\ntwigs.\n\n\nII\n\nPeterkin was very sleepy, but before his head sank back to the pillow\nhe saw something which caused him to hold his breath, and made his\neyes grow so round and large that they were like the little pools one\nsees on the hill-side.\n\nEvery here and there he saw tiny yellow and green lives slipping and\nsliding along and in and out of the branches of the poplar. Sometimes\nthey were all pale yellow, like gold; sometimes of a shimmering green;\nsometimes so dusky that only by their shining eyes were they visible.\nAt first he could not clearly distinguish these unfamiliar denizens of\nthe great poplar. The vast green pyramid seemed innumerously alive.\nThen gradually he saw that each delicate shape was like a human being:\nlittle men and women, but smaller than the smallest children, smaller\neven than dolls. They were all laughing and chasing each other to and\nfro. Some slid swiftly down an outspread branch, and then dropped on to\na green leafy billow or plunged into an inscrutable maze: others swung\nby the little crook at the end of each leaf, and laughed as they were\nblown this way and that by puffs of air: and a few daring ones climbed\nto the topmost sprays of the topmost boughs and held up tiny white\nhands like daisies. These wished to clasp the moonshine. As well might\na fish try to catch the moon-dazzle on the water! No wonder Peterkin\nlaughed.\n\nEver and again a delicate sweet singing came from the moonshine-folk.\nPeterkin listened, but could hear no words he knew. Perhaps there were\nno words at all, or mayhap he himself knew too few. But the singing was\nstrangely familiar. Sometimes when mother sang, surely he had heard it:\nas far back, farther back, than memory could take him, he had heard\nsome echo of it. Cradle-sweet it was, that dim snatch of a fugitive\nstrain. And, too, had he not heard something of it in the wind, when\nthat went whispering through the grass and in and out of the wild-rose\nthicket, or when it lifted and waved a great wing and fanned the trees\ninto vast swaying flames of green? Yes, even in the fire he had heard\nit. When the orange and red flames flickered among the coals, or caught\nthe sap in the pine-logs and grew into yellow and blue with hearts of\npurple, he had heard a faint far-off music.\n\nPeterkin gave a little gasp when a sudden wave of shadow, trailed\nacross the poplar by a long slow-travelling cloud, swept from bough\nto bough. It was as though all the singing, laughing, dancing folk had\nbeen drowned.\n\nHe stared through the darkness, but there was nothing to be seen.\nHe shivered. It was lonely out there. Again he heard a sound as of\na remote singing. As before, he could not hear what the words were.\nBut, once more, it was not all unfamiliar. It was sadder than anything\nthat dimly he remembered, save the long mournful crooning of a Gaelic\ncradle-song, sadder than any flame-whisper in a waning fire, or than\nany cadence of the wind in the grass, or among the thickets of wild\nrose.\n\n\nIII\n\nNext night Peterkin lay awake a long time, hoping to see the\nmoonshine-folk again. He had spoken of them, but was told that there\nwere no little people in the poplar. At first this was the more strange\nto him, for had he not seen them? Then, after he had scrupulously\nexamined the branches from beneath as well as at a distance, he\ncomforted himself with the thought that, while there might be no\nlittle people actually living in the poplar, they came into the tree\non the flood of the moonshine.\n\nBut that night there was no moon-flood. A south wind had arisen at\nsundown, and had shepherded from beyond the hills a medley of strayed\nclouds: these, intricately interwoven, now spread from horizon to\nhorizon, obliterating the stars and obscuring even the radiance of the\nnew-risen moon.\n\nIf there were no moonlight, and therefore no little yellow and\ngreen lives with bright shining eyes, there was a strange exquisite\nwhispering that grew into music sweeter than any which Peterkin had\never heard.\n\nHe rose and crept stealthily from his bed to the door. It was ajar, and\nhe looked, half-fearfully, half-wonderingly, into the open passage.\nHow long and dark it was, and haunted by unfamiliar shadows: but,\nclasping the skirts of his nightgown close to him, he ran swiftly to\nthe balustrade at the far end.\n\nThere the stair lamp shed a comfortable glow. Peterkin looked warily\ndown the stairs, into the hall, along the closed or opened rooms. There\nwas no one stirring. The front door too was open, for the night was\nwarm, or perhaps some one had strayed without.\n\nThe child stood awhile, hesitating. Then he slipped down the stairway\nlike a swift moonbeam. For the first time he realized he was only a\nlittle child, when he passed the great antlered stag\u2019s-head in the\nhall, and the high stand hung with coats and hats, the raiment of\ngiants as they seemed, and mysteriously life-like.\n\nBut once in the open air he lost all fear. True, a great mass of\nrhododendrons ran close to the avenue to the right, and through this\nthe path meandered to the gardens behind the house: but there was\nnothing unfamiliar about their gloom, for Peterkin loved their green\nshadowy depths at noon, and their fragrant dusk when the long shadows\non the lawn slept longer and bluer, till they sank invisibly into the\ngrass.\n\nOld Donal McDonal the gardener, on his way through the shrubberies,\nrubbed his eyes: for he thought he saw a sprite. He could have sworn,\nhe said to Mairgred Cameron the cook, after he entered the house, that\nhe had seen a small white ghost flitting from bush to bush. Both shook\ntheir heads, and wondered if the White Lady were come again, that\napparition which legend averred was to be seen by mortal eyes once in\nevery generation, and always before some tragic event or death itself.\n\nBut as for Peterkin he had no thought of such things. He was now in the\ngarden, eager in his quest of the little people who hide among leaves\nand grass, and love the dusk and the moonlit dark.\n\nHe had no fear as he ran to and fro along the grassy ways. Why should\nhe be afraid of the dark? There was nothing there to frighten him, or\nany child.\n\nFor a time he ran to and fro, or crept warily among the lilac bushes.\nHis little white figure drifted hither and thither like a moth. Once\nhe was still, when he stood, shimmering white, among the lilies of the\nvalley, which clustered among their green sheaths at the far end of the\ngarden. Here, a few days ago, he had buried a dead bird he had found\nunder a net. It was a thrush, the gardener had told him, puzzled at\nthe slow tears which welled from the eyes of the little lad. And now\nPeterkin wondered if the bird were awake.\n\nHe had gone to Ian Mor, who was staying with his father and mother, and\ntold him about the buried bird: and Ian had comforted him with this\ntale:--\n\n\u201cLong ago there was a great king. He had the wisdom of wisdom, as the\nsaying is. One day the plague came to his kingdom, and he lost the\nthree lives which were dearest to him in all the world. These were his\nmother, his wife, and his little son.\n\n\u201cThis king was a poet and dreamer, as well as a great warrior and\nprince, and he had ever been wont to have communion with the powers and\nsweet influences which are behind the innumerable veils of the world.\nThrough these he had come to know the mystery of the Spirit of Life.\n\n\u201cWith this Eternal Spirit he held communion in his deep sorrow. It was\nthen that he learned how what is beautiful cannot pass, for beauty\nis like life that is mortal, but whose essence does not perish. In\nfragrance, in colour, in sweet sound, somehow and somewhere, that which\nis beautiful is transmuted when suddenly changed or slain.\n\n\u201cSo he prayed to the Spirit of Life that his dear ones might not pass\nfrom him utterly.\n\n\u201cOn the morrow, when he rose and went into his favourite place in the\nroyal gardens, a secret hollow in a glade of ilex and pine, he saw a\nfountain of exceeding beauty. The spray rose dazzling white against\nthe sombre green of the old trees, and seemed to be alive with a myriad\nrainbow-spirits, who ceaselessly flashed their wings as they darted\nhither and thither. The king was looking upon this, entranced by its\nsunny loveliness, when he noticed a white dove flying round the high\nsunlit fount, and at the hither margin of the water a cream-white\ndappled fawn, which stooped its graceful neck and drank.\n\n\u201cThe king marvelled; for not only had there never been any fountain in\nthat place, but he knew that no wild fawn could wander there from the\ndistant forests, and no dove had he ever seen so snowy white and with\nwings radiant as though stained by the rainbow-hues of the flying spray.\n\n\u201cSuddenly it was as though a mist fell from his eyes. He saw and\nunderstood. His old mother, his wife, his little son, had not passed\naway, although they were dead. His mother had been fair and beautiful\neven in her white-hair years; and of the beauty of his wife, whom he\nloved so passing well, the poets had sung from one end of the land to\nanother; while his little son had been held to be so perfect that there\nwas none like him.\n\n\u201cAnd now the king saw that the beauty of his mother had passed into a\nliving fount of waters, whose spray cooled the air and made a sound of\naerial music and a laughing radiance everywhere; and that the beauty\nof the woman whom he had loved so passing well was transmuted into the\nwild fawn which drank at the water\u2019s edge; and that the beauty of his\nlittle son was now the white dove which beat its wings in the rainbow\nspray.\n\n\u201cThe king rejoiced therein with a great joy. Many of his people thought\nhim mad, but he smiled at that saying, and with grave eyes prayed that\nthat madness would come to all true and noble souls in his kingdom.\n\n\u201cFor a year and a day this joy was his. Then the fountain ceased to\nrise, and the dove to beat its pinions in the spray, and the wild fawn\nto drink at the water\u2019s edge. The rumour went from mouth to mouth that\nthis was because the plague had come again. The king was heavy with\nsorrow, for he had taken his deepest happiness in the beauty of these\nthree lovely things, as, of yore, in the beauty of his aged mother,\nand in the beauty of the woman whom he loved, and in the beauty of his\nlittle son. So once again he remembered how he had been helped. With\nshame at his heart he upbraided himself because he had lived too much\nto the things of the moment and so had lost touch with those which\nwere of the enduring life. That night he spent in unspoken prayer and\nprolonged meditation; and at dawn on the morrow he went slowly and\nsadly forth, hoping against hope that his life might be gladdened again.\n\n\u201cThe sun rose as he crossed the glade of ilex and pine. There was no\nfountain, as he well knew; but where the fountain had been he saw a\ngarth of wild hyacinths, of a blue so wonderful that no Maytide sky was\never more delicately wrought of azure and purple. And above this were\ntwo little brown birds, which sang with so sweet voice and bewildered\nrapture that his heart melted within him.\n\n\u201cThen he knew that in these new joys he had found again the beauty he\nhad lost.\n\n\u201cWhen, in the change of the days, the hyacinths spilt their blue wave\ninto the rising green of the fern, and the birds ceased singing their\nlovely aerial songs, the king no longer grieved, for now he knew that\nwhat was beautiful would not perish but drift from change to change.\n\n\u201cAnd so it was. For when, weary of his pain, he went forth one night\nto the lovely glade of ilex and pine, he saw the ground white with the\nlittle blooms we call Stars of Bethlehem, and among these a glow-worm\nlay and glowed like a lamp in a white wilderness, and from an ancient\nilex came the voice of a nightingale.\n\n\u201cThus the king was comforted.\n\n\u201cAnd so you too, Peterkin,\u201d added Ian Mor, \u201cneed not sorrow too much\nfor your little dead bird. It will live again mayhap in the fragrance\nof a lily or in the beauty of a rose. It will rise again, Peterkin.\u201d\n\nThis tale had sunk deeply into the child\u2019s mind, and perhaps all the\nmore so because the words, and the meaning behind the words, were\nsometimes beyond him. But he understood well the drift of what Ian Mor\nhad told him.\n\nHe was prepared for any miracle. If his little bird should rise through\nthe brown earth and ascend singing towards the stars; or if he should\nhear a song and see no bird; or if a fount should well from where its\nbody lay; or if a rare bloom should spring from the earth; or if a\nfragrance, new and sweet, should reach him--if one of these things\nshould happen, or anything akin, it would be no surprise to him.\n\nBut while he was still wondering, he heard voices.\n\n\u201cPeterkin! Peterkin!\u201d\n\nHe did not answer, but laughing low to himself, crept in among the\nlilies-of-the-valley, and lay there, himself like a white bloom. The\nvoices came near, nearer, and passed by. Peterkin\u2019s heart smote him,\nfor he heard the pain in the calling voices; but it was so cool and\nquiet there among the lilies, and it was so sweet to be out of sight of\nevery one and lost, that he could not break the spell.\n\nWhat if he were to be found by the elfin-folk and led into fairyland?\nHe thrilled both with fear and eager delight at the thought. Surely\neven now he heard the delicate music of the lily-bells?\n\nPeterkin did not know that he had a neighbour. Suddenly, he heard a\nfaint rustle. Ah, it was one of the Shee--one of the little people!\nMayhap it was the green Harper, of whom Ian Mor had told him, or one of\nthe seven star-crowned queens, or the haughty Midir, with a peacock\u2019s\nfeather in his moon-gold hair, or Fand, who walked in fairy dew,\nor--or----\n\nAnd then Peterkin saw who his neighbour was. From under a stone, beset\nby lily-sheaths, a small toad crawled. Its strange bright eyes were\nfixed upon the staring child, whom, however, it did not seem to heed\nafter it had once examined this strange white creature who lay among\nthe lilies.\n\nSuddenly Peterkin began to laugh. The toad sat still, solemnly\nregarding him. Peterkin laughed the more. Once the toad gave a short\njump, though this was not from fear, or even from lack of interest in\nhis unfamiliar neighbour, but because a gnat had come temptingly almost\nwithin reach of his long, thin, serpentine tongue.\n\n\u201cTell me, toad,\u201d Peterkin said at last, \u201cwhy are you so funny?\u201d\n\nWhether it was because the toad was not given to gaiety, or whether his\ndisappointment about the gnat had soured him, he did not respond save\nby an unwinking stare. After a while it shot out its tongue, as though\nit were speculating as to Peterkin\u2019s flavour as a pleasant morsel, or\nperhaps only to find if he were within reach.\n\nThis was too much for Peterkin, who rolled back among the lilies,\ncrushing the little white bells into a floating fragrance. But, alas,\nthat betraying laughter!\n\nPeterkin was still in its throes when he heard a voice falling upon him\nas though out of the skies.\n\n\u201cAh, there you are, you little rascal! How you frightened us all, and\nwhat a hunt we have had!\u201d\n\nAlmost before he recognised the voice of Ian Mor, Peterkin was seized\nand lifted high into the air.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t be angry, Ian,\u201d the child whispered. \u201cI came out to see the\nfairies. And then I ran on here to see if the little dead bird had come\nout of the earth again.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd have you seen a fairy, Peterkin?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know. I saw a toad.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat did the toad do?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt looked at me till I laughed. Then it put out its tongue, and I\nlaughed and laughed and laughed.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m thinking that toad must have been a fairy in disguise, Peterkin.\nBut now come: I am going to carry you back to your bed.\u201d\n\nAnd whether it was because of Peterkin\u2019s escape into the garden, or\nwhat vaguely came to him there, or what Ian Mor told him as he carried\nhim homeward in his arms, he did hear the horns of elf-land that night,\nand did see the gathering of the Shee in the moonshine. But it was in\na drowsy hollow in the dim wood of sleep, wherein the birds were white\nsoft-pinioned dreams, and the moon waxed and waned like the lily that\nsinks and rises in dark pools.\n\n\nIV\n\nIn those first fragments of Peterkin\u2019s experiences, all his life was\nforeshadowed. Wonder, delight, longing, laughter--the four winds of\nchildhood--these blew for him through his first few years, through\nchildhood and boyhood and youth. He is a man now; but though the\nlaughter is rarer and the longing deeper and more constant, there still\nblow through the dark glens and wide sunlit moors of his mind the four\nwinds of Laughter, Longing, Wonder, and Delight.\n\nAs year after year went by, his mind became a storehouse of all that\nwas most beautiful and marvellous in the Celtic wonder-world. It is\nno wonder this, since he had for story-teller Ian Mor, and Eilidh whom\nIan loved; and knew every shepherd on the hillsides of Strachurmore,\nand every fisherman on the shores of Loch Fyne. The old ballads, the\nold romances, the strange fragments of the Ossianic tales, the lore of\nfairydom, fantastic folk-lore, craft of the woodlands, all of the outer\nand inner life grew into and became interwrought with the fibre of his\nmost intimate being.\n\nI am not here telling the story of Peterkin himself. He stands, indeed,\nfor many children rather than for one, for many lives and not an\nindividual merely.\n\nIn a sense, therefore, Peterkin is not merely a little child, a boy,\na youth, who went through his years gladly laughing, mysteriously\nwondering, wrought to pain and joy, to suffering and delight, by all he\nsaw and heard and inwardly learned; but a type of the Wonder-Child, and\nso a brother to all children, to poets, and dreamers.\n\nOf the many tales of old times which Peterkin loved, none did he dwell\nupon with so much delight as those three which are familiar throughout\nIreland and Gaelic Scotland as \u201cThe Three Sorrows of Story-Telling.\u201d\nIn \u201cThe Children of Lir,\u201d in \u201cDeirdre and the Sons of Usna,\u201d in \u201cThe\nChildren of Turenn,\u201d he found pre-eminently the haunting charm and\nsad exquisite beauty which are the colour and fragrance of the Celtic\ngenius. And though in his manhood he turned with deeper emotion to\ntales such as \u201cDermid and Grainne,\u201d or \u201cThe Amadan Mor,\u201d it was of\nthese early favourites that he loved to think, that he loved to\nre-read, to hear again, to re-tell.\n\nThat is why, therefore, I have chosen to make this book essentially\na re-telling of the beautiful old tales of \u201cThe Three Sorrows,\u201d so\nfamiliar once to our Gaelic ancestors, and still, in however crude a\nform, the most popular of all the tales of the Gael. They are sad,\nit is true, because all the old beautiful tales are sad; but it is a\nsadness which is a fragrance about an exquisite bloom, and that bloom\nwrought of joy and keen delight. They were not sad, they who lived the\nold, joyous, heroic life; in some poignant vicissitude, some sudden\nslaying, some passing of a bright flame into a melancholy wane, we\nsee a sad gleam about the end of their days, and, seeing thus the\nfortuitous coming and going of life and death, read into the old\nchronicles a melancholy which often is not there.\n\nOf course, a tale such as \u201cThe Fate of the Children of Lir\u201d--probably\nthe story known above all others among the children of Western Scotland\nand Ireland--is sad with another sadness, that of prolonged and\nunmerited suffering. But to the Gaelic mind, at least, this is redeemed\nby the sense of heroic endurance, of the deep unselfish devotion of a\nlovely womanly type such as is represented by Fionula, and perhaps,\nabove all, by the music and beauty which were the sweet doom of Fionula\nand her brothers.\n\nBut to me not one of them is sad, save with beauty. For through all I\nhear the sound of Peterkin\u2019s laughter. Sometimes it was aroused by an\nepisode; sometimes it leapt like a hound along the trail of vagrant\nthoughts; sometimes it came and went as an eddying wind, none knowing\nwhence or whither.\n\nThis laughter of Peterkin has become for me one of the sweet wonderful\nvoices of nature--the four winds of Childhood: Wonder, Delight,\nLonging, and Laughter. Ah, children, children, to one and all I wish\nthe golden fortune of Peterkin.\n\n\nV\n\nWhen Peterkin was still a child he was familiar with tales of the old\nworld which now-a-days we keep from children, because they are not old\nenough to understand. That, I fear, is more because we ourselves do not\nunderstand, or are out of sympathy. Is a child more likely to be hurt,\nor to be nobly attuned to the chant-royal of life, by acquaintance with\nstories of vivid and beautiful human love such as that of Nathos and\nDarthool, or Dermid and Grainne? Surely, what is beautiful is not a\nthing to be feared; and though, alas! so many of us do now indeed dread\nbeauty and feel toward it a strange baffled aversion, there are others\nwho know it to be the profoundest and most exquisite mystery in life.\n\nTo Peterkin at any rate there was never anything but what was stirring\nand heroic and full of charm and beauty in these old tales: and through\nall his days their atmosphere was in his mind, so that he made life\nfairer for himself and others.\n\nFew stories delighted him more than the wild folk-lore tales which he\nheard from the shepherds and fishermen, or than those which he was told\non Iona. It was to that island he was taken when he was still a child,\nat a time when the shadow of death darkened his young life. But there,\nstaying with Ian Mor and with Eilidh, his wife, he lived the happiest\nmonths of his early years, and came closer to the beauty of the past\nand to the beauty of the present than ever before or after.\n\nIt was on Iona that he first heard the \u201cThree Sorrows of\nStory-Telling,\u201d though that of Nathos and Darthool--or of \u201cThe Sons of\nUsna,\u201d as it is generally called--was rather overheard by him as Ian\nrelated it to Eilidh, than told to him direct.\n\nThroughout the first months of his stay in Iona, Peterkin was told\nsomething daily by Ian Mor, so that, child as he was, he became\nfamiliar with strange names and peoples of the past, as well as with\nall the wonders of the living world. True, there was thus in his mind\na jumble of the past and the present, and Columba was more real to him\nthan McCailin Mor himself, and Finn and Cuchulain, Ossian and Oscar and\nDermid as vivid and actual as any fisherman of Iona.\n\nWhen he was old enough to follow aright, Ian Mor told him, anew and in\nhis own way, the three famous tales which follow.\n\n\n\n\n  The Tale of the Four\n  White Swans\n\n\n\n\n    \u201cThe cold and cruel fate that overtook\n     The children of the great De Danann, Lir,\n     Is of the Sorrow-stories of our isle.\n     This sorrow-tale indeed is old and young;\n     Old, for so many hundred years have gone\n     Since last beneath the midnight shimmering star\n     Was heard the music of the birds of snow:\n     Young, for amid the bright-eyed tuneful Gael\n     The sorrows of the snowy-breasted four\n     Are told again to-day, and shall be told\n     Long as the children of Milesius last\n     To people Banba\u2019s hills and pleasant vales.\u201d\n\n       _The Three Sorrows of Story-Telling_:\n                       \u201cThe Children of Lir,\u201d\n                           _trs. by Dr. Douglas Hyde_.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: As she touched Fionula, Lir\u2019s fair young daughter became\na beautiful snow-white swan.\n\n  _To face p. 33._]\n]\n\n\n\n\n  The Tale of the Four\n  White Swans\n\n\nThe story that I will tell you now is one of the most famous among all\nthe peoples of the Gael. It is called sometimes \u201cThe Tale of the Four\nWhite Swans,\u201d sometimes \u201cThe Fate of the Children of Lir,\u201d sometimes\nsimply \u201cFionula,\u201d[1] because of the beauty and tenderness of Lir\u2019s\ndaughter.\n\nThe tale is of the old far-off days. It was old when Ossian was a\nyouth, and Fionn heard it as a child from the lips of grey-beards.\nOften I have spoken to you, Peterkin, of the Danann folk, the\nTuatha-De-Danann who lived in the lands of our race before the foreign\npeoples came and drove the ancient dwellers in Ireland and Scotland\nto the hills and remote places. When men allude to them now in this\nlate day, they speak of the Dedannans (as they are often called) as the\nHidden Folk, the Quiet People, the Hill Folk, and even as the Fairies.\nIt is natural, therefore, that years are as dust in the chronicles of\nthis lost race. They live for hundreds of years where we live for ten;\nand so it is that the foam of time is white against the brief wave of\nour life, when against the mighty and long reach of theirs it is but\nflying spray.\n\nYou have heard Eilidh singing the song of the Four White Swans. It is a\nmusic that hundreds of tired ears have heard. It is so sweet, Peterkin,\nthat old men grow young, and old women are girls again, and weary\nhearts ache no more, and dreams and hopes become real, and peace puts\nout her white healing hand.\n\n\u201cHave you heard that singing, Ian?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, my boykin, often. And you, too, shall often hear it. It is\nin lonely places, in lonely hours, that you shall hear it. It is a\nbeautiful strange sound, and so old and so wonderful that in it you\nwill hear the beating of the heart of the world thousands of years\nago. But first I will tell you the story of the Four Swans, and then\nwe can speak again of the strange singing I have heard at times, and\nthat you often shall hear.\u201d\n\nThe Dedannans were the most wonderful and happy people in the world\ntill they became discontented with what the unknown and beautiful\ngods had given them. Then they split into sections, and some sought\none vain thing and some another, and in the end all found weariness.\nTheir wise men knew that as long as they were at one no enemy could\nprevail against them; but it has never been the way of the unquiet\nto believe in the old wisdom, and so feuds arose, and the Fairy Host\nitself--as the great array of the warriors of the Tuatha-De-Danann was\ncalled--ceased to be invincible, because the banners blew to the four\nwinds.\n\nNot all their ancestral sojournings in the dim lands of the East, nor\nin the ages of their migration to the country of fjords which has its\nwhole length in the sea, nor in Alba, that is now Scotland, nor Eir\u00e9,\nthat is now Ireland, not all they had learned in their remote past\nhelped them against the undoing of their own folly.\n\nIt has been said that the Dedannans never fought against men till the\nMilesians, the warriors of Miled out of some land in the south--the\nland, mayhap, we know as Spain--came against them upon the banks of a\nriver then as now called the Blackwater, in the heart of Meath.\n\nBut before the Dedannans themselves ever saw it, the Green Isle was\nheld by the Firbolgs, a terrible, heroic race, but allied to the dark\npowers. Some say they became demons, after they were defeated in many\nbattles by the Tuatha-De-Danann, and at last wholly conquered. But so\nold is this ancient tired world, that long before the Dedannans and the\nFirbolg people fought for sovereignty, the Firbolg had striven with\nand overcome an earlier race--the Nemedians--which had come to Ireland\nunder a mysterious king, Nemed. None knows who Nemed was, though he may\nhave been a god, seeing that he overcame that most ancient people who\nwere the first to set foot in the Isle of Destiny, under Partholan, a\nson of him who was called the Most High God.\n\nWhether it be true or not that the overlordship of the world was meant\nfor man, certain it is that man has thought so. Therefore are all\nstories of his cosmic strife coloured by this destiny. Terrible and\nmighty were the Firbolgs, fierce and terrible and beautiful were the\nDedannans, but now there is no rumour of either, save in the wail of\nthe wind, or in the stirring of swift, stealthy feet in the moonshine.\n\nBut now, Peterkin, I will tell you about the children of Lir, who was\none of the great princes of the Dedannans.\n\nThe first great battle between the Milesians and the Dedannans had been\nfought, and the ancient people, for all their secret powers of wonders\nand enchantment, had been defeated. Throughout all Erin--for Ireland at\nthat time was called either Eir\u00e9 (Erin), or Fola, or Banba, after three\ngreat queens--there was a rumour of lamentation. It was the beginning\nof the end, though few save the wisest Druids foresaw it.\n\nBut the people knew that their dissensions were the cause of their\nsorrow. They clamoured for one king to be overlord, so that the whole\nDedannan race might be united.\n\nThere were five great princes who claimed to be king by right. Of these\ntwo were greater than the others--Bove Derg, son of Dagda, one of the\ndivine race (and some say a mighty god), and Lir of Shee Finnaha.\nIn the end Bove Derg was elected Ardree, or High King. Even Midir\nthe Haughty acquiesced in this judgment of the people, but Lir was\nwroth and held aloof. All the princes and warriors were fierce with\nLir because he had left the assembly in anger, paying heed to no one,\nand scornfully ignoring the majesty of the king. A hundred swords of\nproven heroes leapt before Bove Derg, for all were eager to follow Lir\nand destroy him and his, because of the insult to the king and to the\nvoice and freewill of the people. But Bove Derg was a wise and generous\nprince, and forbore. This was well. For in time a great sorrow came\nupon Lir. When the rumour of this sorrow reached Bove Derg, he saw how\nhe might win over Lir.\n\n\u201cIn my house,\u201d he said, \u201care my three foster-children, the daughters\nof Aileel of Ara. Each is beautiful, all are wise and sweet and noble.\nLet messengers go to Lir, and tell him that my friendship is his if he\nwill have it. Surely now he will submit to the will of the people. And\nhe can have to wife whomsoever of the three daughters of Aileel he may\nchoose, if so be that she will gladly and freely go with him.\u201d\n\nLir was glad at this message. He called his warriors together, and in\nfifty chariots he and they set forth. They rested not till they came\nto the palace of Bove Derg, by the Great Lake, nigh to the place now\ncalled Killaloe. Great were the rejoicings, and again at the alliance\nwhich after many days was made between the king and Lir.\n\nWhen Lir saw the three daughters of Aileel, he could not say who was\nthe most beautiful.\n\n\u201cEach is alike beautiful, O king,\u201d he said; \u201cand I cannot tell which is\nbest. But surely the eldest must be the noblest of the three, and so I\nwill choose her, if so be that she gladly and freely come with me as my\nwife.\u201d\n\nAnd so it was. When Lir returned to his own place, he took with him\nas his wife the beautiful Aev, who was the eldest of the daughters of\nAileel of Ara, and was foster-child of Bove Derg the king. From that\nday, too, a deep and true friendship lived between Bove Derg and Lir.\n\nIn the course of time Aev bore him twin children, a son and a daughter.\nThe daughter was named Fionula, because of her lovely whiteness, and\nthe son was named Aed, for that his eyes, and the mind behind his\neyes, were bright and wonderful as a flame of fire.\n\nAnd at the end of the second year Aev again bore twin children. Both\nwere sons, and they were named Fiachra and Conn. But in giving them\nlife she lost her own.\n\nLir was in bitter distress because of her death, and for the reason\nthat his four little children were now motherless. He was comforted by\nBove Derg, who not only gave him friendship and kingly aid and counsel,\nbut said that he should not be left alone to mourn, and that his little\nones should not go motherless.\n\nThus it was that Aeifa, the second of the daughters of Aileel of Ara\nand foster-child of Bove Derg the king, came to Shee Finnaha and\nespoused Lir.\n\nFor some years all went well. Aeifa nursed the children, and tended\nthem. They were so fair and beautiful that the poets sang of them\nfar and wide. Even Bove Derg loved them as though they were his own.\nAs for Lir, so great was his love, that he could not bear to be long\napart from them. His sleeping-room was separated from them only by a\ndeerskin, and this often he pulled aside at dawn, so that he might see\nhis dear ones, and perchance go to them to talk lightly and happily, or\nto caress them with loving laughter and joy.\n\nLir was never sad save when the four children went south to the Great\nLake to stay awhile with Bove Derg, who in his turn was filled with\nmelancholy when the time came for them to go home again. Nor was Lir\never so proud as when, at the Feast of Age, whenever that festival came\nto be held at Shee Finnaha, the king and the nobles and the warriors\ndelighted in the beauty and marvellous sweet charm of Fionula and Aed\nand Fiachra and Conn. Thus it was that the saying grew: \u201cFair as the\nfour children of Lir.\u201d\n\nBut there was a deep shadow behind all this joy. This shadow came out\nof the heart of Aeifa. In love there is sometimes a poisonous mist. It\nis what we call Jealousy. At first Aeifa truly loved her step-children.\nBut as the years lapsed, and when Fionula was passing from girlhood\ninto maidenhood, the wife of Lir was filled with anger against the four\nchildren. She was bitter at heart because their father loved them with\nso great a tenderness, and that even the king himself cared for them\nabove all else, and because all the Dedannans had joy of them.\n\nThe time came when this dull smouldering fire, which she might have\novercome had she loved nobly and not ignobly, burst into flame. This\nflame withered her heart, and rose thence till it obscured her mind.\n\nShe had something of the old druidical wisdom, but she feared the\ncounter-spells of others wiser than herself. Nevertheless she set\nherself to learn one or other of the ancient incantations against which\neven the gods are powerless to avert evil from men and women.\n\nWhile she was brooding thus--and for weeks and even months she lay in\nthe house of Lir as one stricken with some terrible ill--her rage grew\ntill she could no longer endure the sight of her husband or of her\nstep-children.\n\nOne day she arose and ordered the horses to be yoked to her chariot,\nand bade a small chosen company to be ready to go with her and the\nfour children to the Great Lake: for, she said, she wished to see\nBove Derg, her foster-father, and to take the children to gladden\nhis heart. Lir was sad, and sadder still when he saw the tears in\nFionula\u2019s eyes. In vain he asked her why this drifting dew was there\ninstead of the sun-bright laughing glancings he joyed so much to see.\nShe would not answer: for all she could have said was that in a dream\nshe had fore-knowledge of the evil desire of Aeifa to kill her and\nher brothers. Perhaps, she thought, it was but a dream. She loved\nhonour, too, and would not put her father against his wife because of a\nvisionary thing that came to her in the night.\n\nIt was when they were in a deep gorge of the hills that Aeifa was\novercome by her hatred. Turning to her attendants, she offered them\nwealth and whatsoever they desired if only they would slay the four\nchildren of Lir then and there, inasmuch as these had come between her\nand her husband, and had therein and in all else made her life a burden\nto her.\n\nThe attendants listened with horror. Not one there would lift a hand\nagainst Lir\u2019s children. What was wealth, or any fruit of desire,\ncompared with so foul a treachery, so terrible a crime! The oldest\namong them even warned Lir\u2019s wife that the very thought of such evil\nwould surely work a dreadful punishment against her.\n\nAt this, Aeifa laughed wildly. Then, seizing a sword, she strove to\nwield it herself against the defenceless children. The three boys\nstood, wondering. In the blue eyes of Fionula there was something the\nwife of Lir dreaded more than the wrath of husband or king. Dashing\nthe sword to the ground, she cried to the chariot-driver to make haste\nonward.\n\nNo word was spoken among them till they reached the hither end of the\nLake of Darvra.[2] There Aeifa called a halt, and the horses were\nunyoked for rest. It was a fair and warm day, so when she bade the\nchildren undress and go into the water, they did so gladly.\n\nWhile their white sunlit bodies were splashing in the lake, she took\nfrom beneath the rim of the chariot, where she had secreted it, a\ndruidical fairy wand. This had been given her by a Dedannan druid, and\nwas a dreadful thing to possess, for its power was of the black magic,\nagainst which nothing might prevail. Going to the side of the clear\nwater, she struck lightly with the wand the shoulder of each of the\nfour children; and, as she touched Fionula, Lir\u2019s fair young daughter\nbecame a beautiful snow-white swan, and as she touched Aed and Fiachra\nand Conn, Lir\u2019s three young sons were changed like unto Fionula.\n\nA cry of lamentation arose from the witnesses of this deed, though none\nguessed that the ill was so dreadful and beyond the reach of druidic\nskill, nor did the children know at first what evil had befallen them,\nbut swam to and fro laughing in their hearts, and rejoicing in their\nwhite feathers and in their swift joy in the water. But when Fionula\nheard the lamentation, and looked upon the evil face of Aeifa her\nstepmother, she knew that the hour of doom had come.\n\nThen Aeifa stretched out her arms, and chanted these words:\n\n    \u201cLost far and wide on Darvra\u2019s gloomy water,\n       With other lonely birds tost far and wide.\n     For nevermore shall Lir behold his daughter,\n       And never shall his sons lie by his side.\u201d\n\nThen while all on the shore stood in deep grief, Fionula swam close,\nand looked up into the white face of Aeifa, which was whiter then than\nthe whitest breast-feathers of these poor bewildered swans.\n\n\u201cThis is an evil deed thou hast done, O Aeifa,\u201d she said. \u201cOut of a\nbitter heart thou hast wrought this cruel wrong upon us who love thee,\nand have never done or wished thee ill. Nevertheless it is not our\nill that shall endure for ever, but thine own evil. There shall be an\navenging terrible for thee, whensoever it come.\u201d\n\nIt was then that Fionula for the first time sang as a swan, and even\nthen the marvellous sweet singing brought both gladness and tears into\nthe hearts of those who heard.\n\n    \u201cIn the years long ago, long ago now, long ago,\n     We were loved by her who dooms us to this evil cruel woe:\n           Who with magic wand and words\n           Hath changed us into birds--\n     Snow-white swans to drift and drift for evermore\n     Homeless, weary, tempest-baffled hence from shore to shore.\u201d\n\nA silence followed this melancholy singing. Then at last Fionula spoke\nagain.\n\n\u201cTell us, O Aeifa, how long this doom is to be upon us, so that we may\nknow when death shall come to take away our suffering?\u201d\n\nThen because in that day it was not honourable to refuse the truth when\nasked, Aeifa did as Fionula prayed of her.\n\n\u201cBetter would it be for thee and thy brothers to know nothing and to\nhope much. But since thou hast asked this thing I will tell it:\n\n\u201cThree hundred years shall ye, Fionula, and Aed and Fiachra and Conn,\nwho are now four white swans, abide here on this great lonely, desolate\nlake of Darvra. For three hundred years thereafter shall ye inhabit the\nwild sea of Moyle, which lies between the Stairway of the Giants, and\nthe bleak shores of the great headland of Alba.[3] And for yet another\nthree hundred years ye shall drift to and fro among the storm-swept\nseas off the rocky isles to the west of Erin.\n\n\u201cFurthermore, ye shall be idle sport for the storms until Lairgnen, a\ngreat prince of the north, has union with Decca, in the south: until\nthe Taillkenn,[4] the new prophet, shall come to Erin and preach a new\nfaith that shall chase away the old gods: and until ye shall be filled\nwith fear and wonder at a strange sound, that shall be the ringing of\nthe first Christian bell. All this I tell ye because of the prophetic\nsight I have, and that has come to me through the druidic wand\nwherewith I have changed ye into four wild white swans. And this too, I\nsay unto ye, Fionula and Aed and Fiachra and Conn, that neither by your\nown power nor by your prayers, nor by mine, nor by the power of Lir and\nBove Derg, nor by that of all kings and princes and druids whatsoever;\nno, nor by any god, nor by any power in heaven or earth, can ye be\nfreed from this spell I have put upon ye, until the times and events I\nhave spoken of shall be fulfilled.\u201d\n\nWhen Aeifa had ceased speaking, there was no sound to be heard, save\nthe lap-lapping of the lake-water upon the shore. Of the company of\nthose with her none spake a word, each dreading the evil that was sure\nto come. At last a faint sobbing came from amid the sedges, where the\nyoung brothers nestled by the side of Fionula, who had already begun to\nmother these dear ones whom she loved.\n\nWhen she heard these sobs, Aeifa\u2019s heart smote her. Even if she would,\nshe could not now undo the age-long spell she had set upon the children\nof Lir. But one thing was left to her that she might do with the fairy\nwand, which could be moved once again if stirred by the breath of her\nwill.\n\n\u201cHearken, O children of Lir,\u201d she cried, \u201cfor I have yet one thing\nto say: and that out of the sorrow in my heart because of the doom I\nhave put upon ye. Although ye are turned into wild swans, ye shall not\nbecome as the desert birds, and have no speech but the savage screams\nand cries of the wilderness. Ye shall keep for ever your own sweet\nGaelic speech, and so be able to talk each with the other, and with\nany of the human kind whom ye may meet. And more than this, ye shall\nbe able to sing the most sweet, plaintive songs, and the most wild,\nhaunting music that ever man has heard; so that all whose ears list\nshall be lulled into deep sleep, or into a peace sweeter than slumber\nitself. Nor shall the law of the soulless brutes be upon you, but ye\nshall be Fionula and Aed and Fiachra and Conn, the children of Lir.\u201d\n\nHaving said these words, Aeifa raised her arms and chanted this song:\n\n    \u201cSpeed hence, speed hence, O lone white swans,\n       Across the wind-sprent foam;\n     The wave shall be your father now,\n     And the wind alone shall kiss your brow,\n       And the waste be your home.\n\n     Speed hence, speed hence, O lone white swans,\n       Your age-long quest to make;\n     Three hundred years on Moyle\u2019s wild breast,\n     Three hundred years on the wilder west,\n       Three hundred on this lake.\n\n     Speed hence, speed hence, O lone white swans,\n       And Lir shall call in vain;\n     For all his aching heart and tears,\n     For all the weariness of his years,\n       Ye shall not come again.\n\n     Speed hence, speed hence, O lone white swans,\n       Till the ringing of Christ\u2019s bell;\n     Then at the last ye shall have rest,\n     And Death shall take ye to his breast\n       At the ringing of Christ\u2019s bell.\u201d\n\nHaving sung this farewell song, Aeifa ordered the horses to be yoked\nagain to her chariot.\n\nThis done, she drove away westward, nor was there a single heart in\nthose who accompanied her but was filled with sorrow and foreboding.\n\nWhen the lake was no longer visible, and the gloom of the mountains\ncame down upon the pass which led towards the westlands where Bove Derg\ndwelled, a faint wild aerial singing was heard, delicate as tinkling\ncowbells on far hill-pastures.\n\nBefore Aeifa drew near to the great dun of Bove Derg, she put each of\nher company under a solemn bond of silence as to what she had meant to\ndo and not done, and as to what later she had done; and because of the\nlealty of the bond to a woman, and also because of the fear of each\ntowards the druidical fairy wand that she still carried, the oath was\ntaken by one and all.\n\nTherefore it was easy for Aeifa to mislead Bove Derg as to the reason\nwhy she had not brought the children of Lir with her. Nevertheless he\ndoubted greatly that his foster-daughter deceived him, for he could not\nthink that Lir his friend would so mistrust him as to refuse to let\nFionula and her brothers accompany their stepmother.\n\nSo, secretly, he sent a swift messenger across the hills and straths to\nthe dun of Lir.\n\nLir was at once wroth and filled with fear when he heard that Aeifa\nhad reached the dun of Bove Derg without the children. Some treachery\nsurely had been done, he cried.\n\nThen, calling together a company, he set forth with all speed. Towards\nsundown, the cavalcade came upon the wide desolate shores of the great\nlake of Darvra.\n\n\u201cWhat is that sound?\u201d cried Lir.\n\n\u201cIt is the wind in the reeds, O Lir,\u201d answered a spearman by his side.\n\n\u201cThe wind in the reeds is a sweet sound to hear, Coran, but never have\nI heard any wind that could make so sweet a music.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is the little gentle lapping of the wavelets by the west wind, O\nLir.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is no gentle lapping of the wavelets by the west wind, Coran, nor\nyet is it the wind in the reeds; but that is the voice of Fionula\nsinging.\u201d\n\nAnd as the sound grew clearer, all heard it, and soon the words were\naudible:\n\n    \u201cBehold the Danann host is on the shore,\n     Seeking for those now lost for evermore;\n     But let us haste towards that proud array\n     And tell the tidings of this fatal day.\u201d\n\nAnd while the song was still in the ears of all there, Lir gave a great\ncry and pointed to where above the midmost of the lake four wild swans\nwere winging swiftly towards the eastern shore.\n\nWhen he heard from Fionula--and he knew her voice, which was sweeter\nthan any other he had ever heard--of all that had happened, and of\nthe strange and dreadful doom that was put upon her and her brothers,\nhe fell sobbing to the ground. From all his company the keening of a\nbitter lamentation arose.\n\nAlas, as he knew well, not even the great length of years which the\nDedannan folk lived--and a score of years is to them what one year\nis to us--would enable him to see his dear ones again. Three hundred\nyears on Darvra, these he might mayhap live to see; but not the three\nhundred years on the bleak and wild region of the Moyle, nor the three\nhundred on the wild tempestuous western seas, nor the far-off day when\na prophet called Taillken would come to Erin with a new faith, and in\nthe glens and across the plains would be heard the strange chiming of\nChrist\u2019s bell.\n\nYet was he comforted when he heard that his children were to keep their\nGaelic speech, and to be human in all things save only in their outward\nshape. And glad he was that they were to be able to chant music so\nwild and sweet that all who should hear it would be filled with joy\nand peace. For music is the most beautiful and wonderful thing in the\nworld, and is the oldest, as it will be the latest speech.\n\n\u201cRemain with us this night, here by the lake,\u201d said Fionula, \u201cand we\nshall sing to you our fairy music.\u201d\n\nSo all abode there, and so sweet was the song of the children of Lir,\nthat he himself and all his company fell into a deep, restful slumber.\nAll night long they sang their sweet sad song, and were glad because of\nthe quiet dark figures by the lake-side lying drowned in shadow. Slowly\nthe moon sank behind the hills. Then the stars glistened whitelier and\nsmaller, and a soft rosy flush came over the mountain crest in the\neast. Then Lir awoke, and Fionula and Aed and Fiachra and Conn ceased\ntheir singing, and spread out their white pinions to the light of a\nnew day, and ruffled their snowy breasts against the frothing that the\ndawn-wind made upon the lake.\n\nLir took a harp from one of his followers, and sang a song of farewell\nto his children. At that singing all awoke, and the heart of each man\nwas heavy because of the doom that had fallen upon the children of Lir.\n\nHe sang of the fateful hour when he had taken Aeifa to wife, and of the\ncruel hardness of her heart, that thus out of jealous rage she could\nwork so great and unmerited evil. And what rest could there be for him,\nhe chanted, since whenever he lay down in the dark he would see his\nloved ones pictured plain before him: Fionula, his pride and joy; Aed,\nso agile and adventurous; the laughing Fiachra; and little Conn, with\nhis curls of gold.\n\nThen with a heavy heart indeed Lir went on his way. Before he and his\ncompany entered the great pass at the western end of Lough Darvra, he\nlooked back longingly. In the blue space of heaven he saw four white\ncloudlets drifting idly in a slow circling flight.\n\n\u201cO Fionula,\u201d he cried, \u201cO Aed, O Fiachra, O Conn, farewell, my little\nones! Well do I know that you have risen thus in high flight so that my\neyes may have this last glimpse of you. Nevertheless I will come again\nsoon.\u201d\n\nIt was a weary journey thence to the dun of Bove Derg, but all\nweariness was forgotten in wrath against Aeifa.\n\nNo sooner had Lir spoken to the king, no sooner had the king looked at\nthe face of Aeifa as she heard the accusation, than Bove Derg knew that\nthe truth had been told, and that Aeifa was guilty of this cruel wrong.\nTurning to his foster-daughter, he exclaimed, in the hearing of all:\n\n\u201cThis ill deed that thou hast wrought, Aeifa, will be worse for thee\nthan all thou hast put upon the children of Lir. For in the end they\nshall know joy and peace, while as long as the world lasts thou shalt\nknow what it is to be lonely and accursed and abhorred.\u201d Then for a\nbrief time Bove Derg brooded. There was naught in all the world so\ndreaded in the dim ancient days as the demons of the air, and no doom\ncould be more dreadful than to be transformed into one of those dark\nand lonely and desperate spirits that make night and desolate places so\nfull of terror. At last the king rose. Taking his druidical magic wand,\nhe struck Aeifa with it, and therewith turned her into a demon of the\nair. A great cry went up from the whole assemblage as they saw Aeifa\nspread out gaunt shadowy wings, and struggle as in a sudden anguish of\nnew birth. The next moment she gave a terrible scream, and flew upward\nlike a swirling eagle, and disappeared among the dark lowering clouds\nwhich hung over the land that day.\n\nThus was it that Aeifa became a demon o the air. Even now her screaming\nvoice may be heard among the wild hills of her own land, on dark windy\nnights, when tempests break, or in disastrous hours.\n\nBut out of a wrong done the gods may work good. So was it with the\nDedannans.\n\nFor not only Lir, and all his people, but Bove Derg and a great part of\nthe nation assembled by the shores of Lake Darvra, and there pitched\ntheir tents, which afterwards grew into a vast rath, wherein the king\nbuilded a mighty dun.\n\nFor Lir and Bove Derg had vowed that henceforth they would live their\nyears by the shores of Darvra, where they might converse with their\ndear ones, and where they might listen to the sweet oblivious songs\nwhich Fionula and her brothers sang to the easing of the heart, and the\nsilence of all pain and weariness.\n\nBut so great was the rumour of this marvel that all Erin heard of it.\nThe Milesians in the south agreed to a long truce of three hundred\nyears; and came and dwelt in amity with the Dedannans, for they too\nloved the sweet and wonderful music of the white swans that were the\nchildren of Lir.\n\n\u201cThree hundred years yet may we live,\u201d said Bove Derg to Lir, \u201cand as\nI am a king, I swear never to leave the lough of Darvra while the four\nswans that are thy sons and daughter inhabit it. The heavy years shall\npass for us, listening to their beautiful sweet singing; and therein we\nshall know peace and joy.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo be it,\u201d said Lir, and he spoke the truth, for in that day the\nDedannans lived to a great age; some say to three hundred, some to\nfive, some to seven hundred years.\n\nThe years went by, one after the other, and by tens and by scores, and\nstill Lir and Bove Derg and the Dedannans and Milesians dwelled by the\nshores of Lake Darvra. For never in the world\u2019s history has there been\nchronicle of so sweet a singing as that of the four children of Lir.\nAll day the swans discoursed lovingly with their father and Bove Derg,\nand their kith and kin, and all who sought them; and each night they\nsang their slow, sweet, fairy music--a music so wonderful and passing\nsweet, that all who listed to it forgot weariness and pain and bitter\nmemories and the burden of years, and fell into a deep restful slumber,\nwhence they awoke each morrow as though they had drunken overnight of\nthe Fountain of Youth.\n\nThe hair of Lir and Bove Derg was long and white, and almost had the\nDedannans and the Milesians forgotten their ancient enmity, when a day\nof the days came whereon Fionula called aside her three brothers.\n\n\u201cDear brothers,\u201d she said, as she looked sadly at the three beautiful\nwhite swans, and at the four drifting shadow-swans in the depths of\nthe lake, \u201cdear brothers, do you know that the time has come when we\nmust put away our happiness as a dream that has been dreamed? For now\nthe three hundred years of our sojourn here are at an end, and at dawn\nto-morrow we must arise and wing our sad flight across the dear lands\nof Erin, till we come to the wild and stormy waters of the sea-stream\nof the Moyle.\u201d\n\nAed and Fiachra and Conn made so loud and bitter lamentation at this\nthat all heard, and soon the whole host that was encamped there filled\nthe region with long keening cries of grief, and a sorrowful mourning\nstrain as of the melancholy wind among the hills.\n\nBut once more all were soothed that night into deep slumber and happy\npeace, because of the slow, sweet, fairy music of the chanting swans.\n\nAt dawn, the four swans arose, and with their white pinions circled\nhigh above the lake, glittering as they soared into the sunflood as it\nswept across the summits of the eastern hills.\n\n\u201cFarewell! farewell! farewell!\u201d they chanted, and at that sad sound all\nthe Dedannan host and all the Milesians, headed by Lir and Bove Derg,\nkneeled along the lake pastures and amid the reeds and sedges.\n\nThen Fionula, as she and her brothers slowly descended in wide-sweeping\ncurves, sang this song:\n\n    \u201cFarewell! Farewell! Farewell!\n     Far hence we lost ones go:\n       Hearken our knell,\n       Hearken our woe!\n\n     Farewell! Farewell! Farewell!\n     With breaking hearts we flee:\n       For none can tell\n       Our wild home on the sea.\n\n     For ages on the Moyle,\n     In loneliness and pain,\n       Our feet shall tread no soil,\n       Wild wave, wild wind, wild rain.\n\n     For ages in the west,\n     Fierce storms and fiercer cold\n       Shall be alone our rest,\n       While ye grow old.\n\n     Let not our memories pass,\n     O ye who stay behind--\n       Who are as the grass\n       And we the wind.\n\n     Farewell! Farewell! Farewell!\n     Far hence we lost ones go:\n       Hearken our knell,\n       Hearken our woe!\u201d\n\nAs Fionula ceased this song, she and her brothers swept so close to\nthe water\u2019s edge that their white wings made a little dazzle of spray.\nThen with swift pinions they rose again, and soared in great spirals\nof flight, till they gleamed against the morning blue like four white\nbanners adrift before a skiey wind.\n\nThen for a brief while they suspended on outspread wings, and looked\nlongingly down upon the dear ones and all their kith and kin, who on\ntheir part could scarce see the four white swans for the mist of tears\nthat was before all faces.\n\nSuddenly they swung hither and thither, like foam tossed by a tidal\nwind, and then flew straight to the northward. Soon they were but white\nspecks; then the blue closed in upon them, as the wastes of the sea\nclose at last behind the hulls of drifting ships.\n\nBefore the torch of a stormy sun sank that night amid the tossed green\nbillows of the Moyle, there where the sea flows to and fro betwixt Erin\nand Alba, the children of Lir drooped their weary wings. Their home\nnow was the running wave. In darkness and loneliness and sorrow, they\nfloated close to each other, waiting for the dawn to steal into that\nfirst night of bitter exile.\n\nFrom that day they were severed from those who loved them. Of a truth,\nthere was keening and lamentation and sorrow by the shores of the\nlough of Darvra. At the last, as the snow melts, the great host of the\nDedannans and Milesians passed away: to the westward, some; others, to\nthe south.\n\nAs for Bove Derg and Lir, their white hairs and the grey ashes of\ntheir lives were the mournful refrain of many a song on the lips of\nwandering bards.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere were tears in the eyes of Peterkin when Ian Mor ceased speaking.\nHis heart was sore because of Fionula and Aed and Fiachra and Conn.\n\nNevertheless, he too would be glad to be a swan for a time, if only so\nas to be able to soar into the blue spaces of the sky, and to spread\nwhite wings over the dancing waters, and to move through them swifter\nthan any boat. With what joy he had once climbed on to the fan of an\nold windmill, and slowly revolved through the hot August air, which\nwinnowed around him a coolness like the flowing of wind over the summit\nof a hill.\n\nA bright shining came into his eyes, then laughter bubbled to his lips.\n\nEilidh looked at him, half in mock reproof, half rejoicingly.\n\n\u201cPeterkin, why do you laugh?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, for sure, dear, it\u2019s not laughing I am at the poor swans, but\nat the face of Old Nanny, my nurse, when she came out of the cottage\nin the glen and saw me lying flat and holding on to the fan of the\nwindmill, with my hair all blown back, and both my legs hanging in the\nair.\u201d\n\n\u201cSome day you will kill yourself, Peterkin,\u201d said Eilidh gravely.\n\n\u201cThen I\u2019ll be a swan! and I\u2019ll fly round and round Iona, and whenever\nyou or Ian want to go to the mainland, I\u2019ll take you on my back.\u201d\n\nSuddenly Peterkin sprang to his feet, and jumped to and fro, clapping\nhis hands.\n\n\u201cAh, how I would love it!\u201d he exclaimed.\n\n\u201cLove what, dearie?\u201d\n\n\u201cLove to see Ian fall off my back and go plump in among the herrings in\nthe Sound! _What_ a splash he would make!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd poor Ian---- Why, he might be drowned, Peterkin!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, no; I would swoop down the way a gannet does when it sees a fish,\nand would scoop him up with my bill.\u201d\n\nThe picture was too much for Peterkin. The thought of grabbing the\ndripping half-drowned Ian in his bill, and of soaring away with him to\nthe white dry sands, was better than any dream of the fairies he had\never had, even than that when he rode a fairy horse in the guise of a\nwhite mouse, with grasshoppers for hounds, and a great bumble-bee as\na wild boar for the occasion. He threw himself on the floor in front\nof the hearth, and rolled over and over, contorting his small body\ninto alarming convulsions, clapping his hands, and laughing, laughing,\nlaughing.\n\nEilidh, too, let the laughter take her, and then Ian found it sweet;\nand soon the little room was full of joyous laughter upon laughter, and\nof the leaping flame-light from the blazing log on the peats, and of\nthe dancing of the shadow-men in the corners and up and down the walls.\n\n\u201cThe swans! The swans!\u201d cried Peterkin suddenly, as he grabbed wildly\nat some shadowy shapes which slid along the floor. But these swans\nproved as tantalising as the wind-shadows on the grass which so often\nhe chased, and suddenly in a flash they disappeared altogether. They\nseemed to spring right into Ian Mor; at any rate it was in his arms\nthat Peterkin found himself.\n\n\u201cWhere are the shadows? Where are the shadows, Ian?\u201d he cried: \u201cI\nbelieve you are hiding them inside yourself! Where are they? Where are\nthey?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, you boykin, where could they be?\u201d\n\n\u201cThey are in your heart, Ian! I know they are! I see them! I see them!\u201d\n\nIan glanced at Eilidh. Then, putting his arm round Peterkin, he laid\nhis lips against his downy cheek and whispered:\n\n\u201cYes, my little lad, you\u2019ve guessed right.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen why don\u2019t you chase them out, Ian?\u201d\n\nAgain Ian Mor glanced at Eilidh.\n\n\u201cThey live there, lennavan-mo. They jumped out because of your\nlaughter, but they are back now.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I\u2019ll be laughing often, Ian dear, and some day I\u2019ll catch them\nand drive them out into the sunshine, and then they\u2019ll melt--ay, ay,\nthey\u2019ll melt for sure, Ian, and what will you be after doing then?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, like Fionula and the wild swans, Peterkin, I\u2019ll rise up and soar\naway on the great flood of the sun across the sea till I come to Hy\nBr\u00e1sil, the Isle of Youth far away in the West.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I know,\u201d Peterkin said gravely: \u201cHy Br\u00e1sil: Eilidh told me that\nis where she and you are going to live. Will you take me there too?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, you will come there too, mochree, some day.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut with you -- when you and Eilidh go?\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps we\u2019ll not be going there together, Peterkin. But we won\u2019t be\nforgetting our dear little Peterkin. We\u2019ll be on the shore looking out\nfor you when you come.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy are your eyes wet, Ian, and Eilidh\u2019s too?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, you unfeeling little wretch, it\u2019s because we have left the poor\nswans, Fionula, and Aed, and Fiachra, and Conn, alone on the rough seas\nof the Moyle all this while.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me, tell me now about the children of Lir. Did they see any one\nup there? Were they ever happy?\u201d\n\n\u201cEilidh knows the rest of the story as well as I do, Peterkin, so go\nand sit in her lap while she tells it to you and to me.\u201d\n\nWith that, Ian Mor rose and put another log on the red peats. A shower\nof sparks shot up into the dark hollow of the chimney. Peterkin laughed.\n\n\u201cHush!\u201d whispered Eilidh, with smiling eyes: and then in her sweet,\nlow voice resumed the tale of the Children of Lir, from where Ian had\nstopped.\n\nIt was at the edge of winter when Fionula and her brothers reached the\nwild bleak seas of the Moyle.\n\nAt first there was no too bitter cold or too fierce tempestuousness\nto make their evil lot still more hard to bear; but sad indeed were\ntheir hearts as day after day they saw nothing but the same grey skies,\nthe same grey wastes and dark sullen waves, the same bleak, rocky\ncoasts inhabited only by the cormorant and the sea-mew. Never to see a\nfamiliar face, never to hear a familiar voice: to dwell from morning\ndusk till evening dark in loneliness and sorrow--that, indeed, was a\nhard fate upon the four children of Lir. From hunger and cold, too,\nthey suffered much. No longer could they be cheered as they were on\nLough Darvra, and often and often they lamented that their doom could\nnot have permitted them to remain as swans indeed, but as swans on that\nnow dear and home-sweet inland sea of Darvra.\n\nDay after day passed, but while their misery and want did not grow less\nthey were not yet tortured by wintry storms and bitter frosts.\n\nBut one forlorn afternoon a terrible congregation of clouds, black and\nheavy and flanked with livid gleams, appeared above the horizon and\nslowly invaded the whole west, and then all the sky northward and all\nsouthward.\n\nFionula saw that a great tempest was nigh, so she called Aed, and\nFiachra, and Conn, to come to her side.\n\n\u201cDear brothers,\u201d she exclaimed, \u201cthe storm that will soon be upon us\nwill be worse than any we have yet known. Hardly can we hope not to\nbe driven far apart. Let us agree, therefore, to meet somewhere, if\nso be that we are not utterly destroyed. For though Aeifa, our cruel\nstepmother, doomed us to these long ages of suffering, it may well be\nthat even her potent spell is not strong enough against death: and\ndeath may come to us through famine, or cold, or in the drowning wave.\u201d\n\nAt first the brothers could answer nothing. Then Aed spoke. \u201cThou\nart wise, dear Fionula. Let us, then, fix upon the rocky isle of\nCarrick-na-ron, as that place is well known to each of us, and can be\ndescried from a great way off.\u201d\n\nThus it was that Carrick-na-ron was made their place of meeting, if so\nbe that in the blind fury and confusion of the tempest they should be\ndriven the one from the other.\n\nThis was well: for that night, with the darkening of the night into a\nhollow of starless blackness, a terrible tempest swept over the seas,\nand lashed them into foam and into vast heaving, rolling, swaying\nbillows. Amid the noise of the waves, and behind the screaming of the\nwind, the four weary rain-drenched bewildered swans could hear the\ncrashing of the thunder and see the wild fitful blue glare of savage\nlightnings.\n\nBefore midnight they were whirled this way and that by the fierce paws\nof the gale. Soon they were separated, and with despairing cries,\neach swept solitary through the night. In the heart of each of the\nchildren of Lir there was little hope of any morrow. All nearly died of\nweariness and despair. Nevertheless dawn broke at last, and with the\nfirst coming of light the tempest passed away.\n\nWhen the sun rose the waters were almost smooth again. A sparkling came\ninto the crest of every wave. The sea blued.\n\nFionula was the first to descry the rocky isle of Carrick-na-ron, and\ngladly she swam towards it, for she was now too weary to fly. Eagerly\nshe hoped to find her brothers there, safe-havened. Alas, there was not\na sign of any, not even when she flew to the summit of the highest\nrock and looked far and wide across the wilderness of waters.\n\nGreat sorrow was hers, for sure, when she beheld nothing but wave upon\nwave, wave upon wave, till on the far horizon the long low line of sea\nclimbed into the sky.\n\nA song of mourning broke from Fionula, so sad and sweet and despairing\nthat the gannets and sea-mews and dark fierce cormorants wheeled around\nCarrick-na-ron, wondering at the marvel of this wild swan, with the\nstrange remote voice of the human kind. It was a song of farewell.\n\nWhen Fionula ceased her lament she looked once more across the wastes\nof the sea. Suddenly she uttered a glad cry, for she descried Conn\nswimming slowly towards the rocky isle, slowly, and with drooping head,\nfor he was drenched with the salt brine, and so weary that he could\nscarce move.\n\nHardly had she welcomed him with joy, and helped him to reach a flat\nledge of rock whereon the sunlight poured with healing warmth, than she\nsaw Fiachra desperately striving to make his way towards them, but so\nfar spent that it seemed as though death would overtake him before he\nreached the foam-edged rocks. Fionula sprang into the running wave,\nand soon was beside Fiachra, aiding him to her utmost. With difficulty\nshe helped him to the ledge where Conn crouched in the sun, but so weak\nwas he that when he was spoken to he could utter no word in reply.\nFionula looked with pity upon her two young brothers. It was hard for\nher to see their unmothered pain and weariness. So she spread out\nher broad white pinions, and gave the warmth of her body to the two\ndrenched and shivering swans.\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d she exclaimed, as she crouched on the ledge, with Fiachra\nnestling by her right side and Conn by her left; \u201cah! if only Aed were\nhere too, all might yet be well. And even if it be death, sweeter\nfar that we might all perish together.\u201d It was as though her loving\nprayer were answered, for before long she descried Aed swimming swiftly\nthrough the sunny foam-splashed seas. He, at least, she saw with joy,\nhad not suffered as his younger brothers had done, for he came on with\nhead erect and his white plumage all unruffled and dazzlingly ashine.\n\nNevertheless, Aed, too, was glad to rest in the sunshine, so Fionula\nplaced him under her breast.\n\nNoon found them thus: Fionula with sad eyes staring out across the\nwastes of windy seas; under the warm feathers of her breast, Aed; and\nclose nestled to the warm down of her sides, Fiachra and Conn. She\nheard their low breathing as they slept, and that they might sleep the\ndeeper and longer she sang her low, sweet, fairy music:\n\n    Sleep, sleep, brothers dear, sleep and dream,\n      Nothing so sweet lies hid in all your years.\n            Life is a storm-swept gleam\n            In a rain of tears:\n    Why wake to a bitter hour, to sigh, to weep?\n      How better far to sleep----\n            To sleep and dream.\n\n    To sleep and dream, ah, that is well indeed:\n      Better than sighs, better than tears;\n    Ye can have nothing better for your meed\n            In all the years.\n    Why wake to a bitter hour, to sigh, to weep?\n            How better far to sleep----\n    To sleep and dream, ah, that is well indeed!\n\nThis and other songs Fionula chanted low throughout the day, till at\nlast she too was overcome by her weariness; and she slept.\n\nAt the rising of the moon, all awoke. Full glad were Aed and Fiachra\nand Conn that their tribulation was over; only Fionula knew that the\ndoom which Aeifa had put upon them held worse things, and many, in\nstore for them.\n\nFor some days thereafter there was peace. Then a snow-whisper came, and\nthe inland hills and the peaked summits of the isles were white. The\ncold grew deeper day by day; at each dawn the frost bit with a keener\ngrip. The bitter hardships of the children of Lir were now more almost\nthan they could bear. Nevertheless, they had a yet more dreadful trial\nto endure: for at mid-winter there came a tempest of whirling snow and\nicy wind so fierce and terrible, that for a day and a night the waves\nwere strewn with the dead bodies of sea-mews and terns. Nothing the\nfour swans had ever suffered was like unto what they suffered at this\ntime.\n\nBut when Fionula had again found and sheltered her dear ones, and\nmothered them with her great love, she knew that whatever their\nsufferings they would now surely endure until the end. Had they been\nsubject to the mortal law, they could not have survived that dreadful\nday, and still more awful night.\n\nAnd so another year passed. The worst sorrow of the children of Lir was\ntheir great loneliness, a thing more bitter than hunger or thirst or\nany privation. They longed for their kind as the first white flowers of\nthe year long for the sun. When mid-winter came again a terrible frost\narose. All the north isles were like black bosses in a gleaming shield,\nfor sheets of ice covered the seas, and each island was gripped as in\nan iron vice. Day by day the cold grew more terrible. On the morrow of\nthe ninth day the four children of Lir thought that the end of their\nmisery was at hand. The whole sea was one solid floor of ice; the isle\nof Carrick-na-ron, where they were, was like a black iceberg; into ice\nlapsed each faint failing breath that they drew with ever greater pain.\n\nEach morning they had waked to find their feet frozen to the rock,\nand even the edges of their wings; and a bitter thing it was to tear\nthemselves free, and to leave clinging to the rock the soft feathers of\ntheir breasts and the outer quills of their wings and the skin of their\nfeet.\n\nHow fain each was of death! How gladly they would have passed away\nfrom the world of the living, though in exile, and longing with aching\nhearts to see once more their own dear land and the faces of those whom\nthey loved! But their doom was on them, and they could not leave the\nsea of Moyle, nor could they win death.\n\nThe brave heart of Fionula knew this. She knew too what cruel pain it\nwould give her and her brothers to swim through the salt seas with\ntheir bleeding wounds, for the brine would enter them and cause agony.\nNevertheless, she led them forth towards the coast of the mainland.\nThere they found a fjord and a haven amid the pine-clad shores, and\nbefore long their wounds were healed, and the feathers on their wings\nand breasts grew again.\n\nBut of what avail to tell the tale of all their years? Fionula saw that\nwhile they must ever return each night to the sea of Moyle till the\nthree hundred years were over and done, they might fly as far and wide\nas they could between dawn and dusk. Mighty and strong were they now\nupon the wing, and fit to endure the slashing of rains, the buffetings\nof wild winds, the whirling briny sleet of the seas, and the cold of\nthe high forlorn spaces of the lonely sky.\n\nFar and wide therefore they roamed, sometimes along the foam-swept\nheadlands of Alba, sometimes by the stormy coasts of Erin, sometimes\nfor leagues and leagues out into the vast dim wilderness, wherein, so\nmen said, Hy Br\u00e1sil lay--Hy Br\u00e1sil, the Isle of Rest, the Isle of Joy,\nthe Isle of Youth Eternal.\n\nOne day, far in the oblivion of these selfsame years, they chanced to\nbe flying past the mouth of the Bann, on the north coast of Erin: and\nAed gave a cry of joy, and bade Fionula and his brothers look inland,\nfor there, coming out of the south-west, was a stately cavalcade, the\nhorsemen mounted on white steeds, beautifully apparelled, and with\nweapons gleaming in the sun.\n\nHow joyous it was to see their own kind again! All gave a cry of\nrapture, their hearts aching the while that they could not set foot\nupon the land, as that was forbidden to them, though they might\nadventure to the shore.\n\nLong and earnestly Fionula looked, but she could not tell who the\nstrangers were.\n\n\u201cKeen are your eyes, Aed,\u201d she said; \u201ccan you discern who the men of\nyonder cavalcade are?\u201d\n\n\u201cI know them not as men: but it seems to me that they are a troop of\nour own Dedannan folk, or perchance they may be of the Milesians.\u201d\n\nBut while they were still wondering and discussing, the cavalcade drew\nnearer, and the men of it saw the four swans, and, recognising them as\nthe children of Lir, made signs to Fionula and her brothers to alight\non the shore.\n\nWith joy the Dedannans, for so they were, hailed the poor exiles, for\nwhom indeed they had long been seeking along the north coasts of Erin.\nAs for the children of Lir they could scarce speak, so great was their\nhappiness to hear their dear familiar speech once more and to see the\nfaces of their own people.\n\nAgain and again they were embraced by the two chiefs of the Fairy\nHost, as the Dedannan warriors were called--Aed the keen-witted,\nand Fergus the chess-player, the two sons of Bove Derg, king of the\nTuatha-De-Danann.\n\nWith joy the children of Lir learned that their father was still alive,\nand was even then celebrating at his house at Shee Finnaha, along with\nBove Derg and the chiefs of the Dedannans, the Feast of Age. As for Aed\nand Fergus and all their following, they wept when they heard the tale\nof the misery of these lost years, when Fionula and Aed and Fiachra\nand Conn were the sport of the winds.\n\nWhile eagerly and lovingly they were conversing, none noticed that the\nsun was sinking upon the low wavering line of the ultimate wave. But\nwhen at last Fionula saw this, she uttered a sad cry of warning to her\nbrothers, and all four rose on their white wings and made ready to fly\nback to the bleak and desolate sea of Moyle. And sad, sadder than ever,\nwas the heart of Fionula, for she knew that they could not be there\ntill nightfall, and that the penalty of this would be that they should\nnot again see the face of their kind, either on the shores of Erin or\nAlba, until the end of the three hundred years on the wastes of the\nMoyle.\n\nAs they circled in the air, she sang this song, the last of the\nswan-songs heard of any of the Dedannans who were in that company:\n\n    Happy our father Lir afar,\n    With mead, and songs of love and war:\n    The salt brine, and the white foam,\n    With these his children have their home.\n\n    In the sweet days of long ago\n    Soft-clad we wandered to and fro:\n    But now cold winds of dawn and night\n    Pierce deep our feathers thin and light.\n\n    The hazel mead in cups of gold\n    We feasted from in days of old:\n    The sea-weed now our food, our wine\n    The salt, keen, bitter, barren brine.\n\n    On soft warm couches once we pressed\n    While harpers lulled us to our rest:\n    Our beds are now where the sea raves,\n    Our lullaby the clash of waves.\n\n    Alas! the fair sweet days are gone\n    When love was ours from dawn to dawn:\n    Our sole companion now is pain,\n    Through frost and snow, through storm and rain.\n\n    Beneath my wings my brothers lie\n    When fierce the ice-winds hurtle by:\n    On either side and \u2019neath my breast\n    Lir\u2019s sons have known no other rest.\n\n    Ah, kisses we shall no more know,\n    Ah, love so dear exchanged for woe,\n    All that is sweet for us is o\u2019er,\n    Homeless for aye from shore to shore.\n\nA great lamentation went up from the cavalcade of the Fairy Host\nwhen Fionula ended this song, and she and her brothers flew swiftly\nnorthward athwart the waves, red and wild because of the stormy setting\nof the sun.\n\nSad was the tale the Dedannans had to relate when they returned to Shee\nFinnaha.\n\nNevertheless, Bove Derg, the aged king, and white-haired Lir himself,\ntook comfort in this, that Fionula and her brothers were still alive.\nMoreover, they knew that in the end the spell of Aeifa would be broken\nand that the exiles would be freed from their sufferings.\n\nBut often, often, they thought with tears, as the slow revolving\nseasons lapsed one into the other, of the children of Lir upon the\ndesolate far seas of the Moyle.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHere Eilidh\u2019s voice lapsed into silence. Then, looking no longer at\nPeterkin, but staring into the red heart of the peats, she sang a\nGaelic song, called the Sorrow of the Grey Hairs of Lir.\n\nPeterkin never loved Eilidh so well as when she sang; but he was\nsorrowful to-night when he saw that the song brought tears into her\neyes.\n\n\u201cEilidh,\u201d he whispered.\n\n\u201cYes, Peterkin, dear.\u201d\n\n\u201cWouldn\u2019t you be liking to kiss Ian?\u201d\n\nEilidh laughed low, a faint flush coming and going upon her face.\n\n\u201cFor why, boykin?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I know that whenever you have tears in your eyes Ian can chase\nthem away. I have seen him kiss you when you are tired.\u201d\n\nAt this Ian Mor rose and lifted Peterkin in his arms.\n\n\u201cEilidh is thinking of something sad, Peterkin; that is all. See, she\nis smiling now, and laughing too by the same token.\u201d The boy tossed his\ncurls, and with a roguish smile added:\n\n\u201cAh, that is just because I said she wanted to kiss you.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re much too wise, Peterkin. But there, down with you! Now run to\nthe door, and tell me if it is still raining.\u201d\n\nPeterkin never could go straight anywhere, for his progress was ever\nlike that of a kid or lambkin, a series of jumps and little sudden\nruns. No sooner was he gone, than Ian turned to Eilidh, and took her in\nhis arms.\n\n\u201cSweetheart,\u201d he whispered, \u201cthat little burst o\u2019 sunshine is right. A\nkiss from your lips is the best thing to chase away the tears. But why\nare you sad, mochree?\u201d\n\n\u201cI was thinking of the sorrow of old Lir; and how little it matters\nwhether one live fifty years or five hundred, as these old Dedannans\ndid. Then suddenly the thought flashed across me that some day soon we\nshould lose Peterkin: he too will become a wild swan, and it will be we\nwho shall hear the far-off singing of his laughing childhood.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps he will take his childhood with him into manhood, dear. Let\nhim look often into your beautiful eyes, Eilidh, and the little one\nwill learn much without knowing that he is learning. And then, too,\nto be near you: why, that is to be a child always deep down, and to\nhave sunshine in the heart and mind--for have you forgotten your name,\n\u2018Sunshine\u2019?\u201d\n\nAs he spoke, Ian Mor leaned and kissed her. Puzzled at the sudden\nradiant smile on her face, he looked round. There was Peterkin, sitting\nsquatted on the hearth, with an impish smile in his blue eyes. He had\ncrawled behind the hanging curtain at the door, and unseen and unheard\ngained the fireside.\n\nWith a joyous laugh he sprang to his feet.\n\n\u201cAh, Ian, you and your rain! Is it not hearing you are? It\u2019s on the\nwindow as if the brownies were throwing little wee stones. It was not\nthe rain you were wanting, but only a kiss from Eilidh! Now, Eilidh,\ntell me true?\u201d\n\n\u201cTell you true, Blumpits. Why----\u201d\n\nBut here Peterkin, overcome by some sudden memory suggested by the pet\nname which Eilidh sometimes gave him, went dancing round the room,\nlaughing and chuckling by turns, and once and again clapping his hands\nin elfin glee.\n\n\u201cEilidh, Eilidh,\u201d he cried, \u201cdo tell me again that story of Blumpits\nand the Bunnywig.\u201d\n\nIan looked puzzled.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s a bunnywig, Blumpits?\u201d\n\n\u201cA bunnywig--you\u2019re not for knowing what a bunnywig is--and you, Ian\nMor, too! A bunnywig is a _kunak_.\u201d[5]\n\n\u201cAnd what did Blumpits do?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe got on the bunnywig, in the green fern, and rode on it into\nfairyland, and no one saw him go but a squirrel. But no, Eilidh, I am\nnot wanting to hear about that now; and don\u2019t be looking at my bed\nthere, for I haven\u2019t got the sleep upon me yet. Tell me the rest of\nthe tale about Fionula and Aed and Fiachra and Conn.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wonder, now, if that\u2019s because you really want to hear, or if it\u2019s\nbecause you don\u2019t want to be sent to bed?\u201d\n\nPeterkin had kicked aside his shoes, and taken off his socks, and was\nwarming his feet at the fire. His body was bent nearly double, as he\nlooked round, clutching the while his big toe in the hollow of his tiny\nfist.\n\n\u201cO Eilidh,\u201d he said reproachfully, but with a light of such mischief in\nhis eyes that Eilidh laughed. Then stooping, she took him on her lap,\nand after a few seconds, when all three looked idly and dreamily into\nthe red fanwave in the heart of the peats, her lips moved again to the\nsorrowful sweet tale of the Children of Lir.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nYear after year passed for the four swans that were the children of\nLir. On that bleak and lonely sea of the Moyle they saw none of their\nown kind from year\u2019s end to year\u2019s end: only the sea-mew and the\ncormorant, the gannet and the tern, the slow droves of the pollack, the\ntravelling schools of mackerel and herring, the swift seals migrating\nfrom isle to isle. With each Spring they saw the great solanders and\nwild swans flying northward towards the polar seas: thence, at the\nfirst days of winter, they saw them again flying southward, athirst for\nthe thin blue wine of unfrozen seas.\n\nThere was no change save the changefulness of the seasons; the\ngrey-black wave of winter lapsed into the grey-blue wave of spring, and\nout of the dark-blue wave of summer grew the grey-green wave of autumn.\n\nCold and hunger and weariness: these only did not vary.\n\nBut at last the long weary exile on the Sea of Moyle came to an end.\nOne day Fionula told her brothers that on the morrow they would have to\nfly far westward, for the three hundred years on the sea-stream of the\nMoyle were over, and now they had to begin their long and mayhap still\nmore bitter, bleak, and mournful exile on the wild western ocean beyond\nErin.\n\n\u201cWe must fly straight to the bleak headland of Irros Domnann,\u201d she\nsaid, \u201cand then must remain on the wild and desolate seas off the isle\nof Glora, the island that is farthest away from the mainland of our\nbeloved Erin.\u201d\n\nThither, accordingly, the four swans flew on the morrow. It was with\njoy that they left the sea of the Moyle, where they had known so much\nprivation and misery; but little cause had they for joy, for not less\nbleak were the skies, not less desolate the coasts, not less wild the\nstorm-lashed, rain-swept seas, off the lifeless, barren isle of Glora.\nThe great waves of the shoreless western ocean beat upon it for ever,\nand their thunder often filled the darkness for countless leagues with\na sound most dreadful to hear.\n\nBut after many years it chanced that a young man, named Ebric, the son\nof a Dedannan lord, came to farm a tract of land lying along the shore\nof Irros Domnann. This youth, who was a poet, and loved all beautiful\nthings, soon cared more for the sweet, wonderful singing of the four\nswans, which often he heard, and to see their white bodies glistening\nin the sun, than to till his land.\n\nOne day Fionula and her brothers descried him. Flying to the shore,\nthey called, and great was his wonder to hear the dear familiar Gaelic\nspeech in the mouths of wild swans.\n\nFrom that time he walked daily down to the extreme rocks on the shore,\nthat he might converse with the children of Lir, and hear all they had\nto tell of their sad story; though he, on his part, could relate little\nto them of what had happened, or was happening further inland in Erin,\nthough they heard from him with sorrow that the Milesians were now\nmightier than the Dedannans, and that the Fairy Host was no longer able\nto withstand the might of these enemies who long since had come out of\nthe south.\n\n\u201cFor,\u201d he said, \u201cit is the way of what is beautiful and wonderful; that\nthe wonder passes and the beauty fades.\u201d\n\nThat night he heard Fionula singing, and knew that the burden of her\nsong was no other than the saying he had uttered:\n\n    Dim face of Beauty haunting all the world,\n    Fair face of Beauty all too fair to see,\n    Where the lost stars adown the heavens are hurled,\n            There, there alone for thee\n            May white peace be.\n\n    For here where all the dreams of men are whirled\n    Like sere torn leaves of autumn to and fro,\n    There is no place for thee in all the world,\n            Who driftest as a star,\n            Beyond, afar.\n\n    Beauty, sad face of Beauty, Mystery, Wonder,\n    What are these dreams to foolish babbling men --\n    Who cry with little noises \u2019neath the thunder\n            Of ages ground to sand,\n            To a little sand.\n\nEbric moved homeward through the moonlight wondering much at that song\nof Fionula. But because he was a poet, he understood.\n\nFrom him the people of the hills, and the valleys round about Irros\nDomnann, heard the story of the speaking swans; and soon the wonder of\nit, and the whole sorrowful tale of the Children of Lir became as well\nknown in that region as, long, long ago, to the Dedannans and Milesians\non the shores of Lough Darvra, when they encamped by its shores because\nof the slow, sweet, fairy music of the four swans.\n\nThen once again it chanced that the four children of Lir unwittingly\ntransgressed their doom, and so had to leave the shores where they\ncould converse with the people who loved them. But Ebric, to whom they\nhad told everything, was a poet, and wrought of their story a tale so\nsweet and marvellous that it has lasted all these ages, and is heard to\nthis day on the lips of peasants in the west of Erin.\n\nFrom that time onward the sufferings of Fionula and her brothers were\nno less than they had been on the sea of the Moyle. Yet even the\nworst they had there known was surpassed midway in the heart of a\nterrible winter, a winter when cattle died in covered sheds, and men\nand women in their houses, and the wild creatures of the forest under\ntheir branches, and the storm-inured seabirds in the hollows of their\nocean-fronting cliffs.\n\nOn that day the whole surface of the sea from Irros Domnann to Achill\nwas frozen into one solid mass of ice. Across this a polar wind drove\nsheets of hail and sleet. By nightfall, Aed and Fiachra and Conn were\nso far spent that they despaired of any morrow; and at the last Fionula\nherself, who had striven to comfort them, was herself in so pitiful a\nmisery that she could only lament with them that death was so long in\ncoming.\n\nBut in the full horror of midnight, while they clung nigh-frozen to\nthe rock of Glora, Fionula had a vision. It was of that God, that new\nfaith, that great wonder and beauty which was even then coming towards\nErin, though St. Patrick had not yet set foot upon its shores.\n\n\u201cBrothers,\u201d she cried, \u201ctake heart. I have had a vision. Of a truth\nour ancient gods are but the children of a greater than they. Aed, dear\nAed and Fiachra and Conn, believe now in this great and loving God, the\nmost splendid God of the living truth: for it is He who has made all\nthings, the pleasant, fruitful land and the wild barren sea; and it has\nbeen revealed to me that if we put our trust in Him, He will comfort us\nand send us help.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat we now do, O Fionula!\u201d cried Aed and Fiachra and Conn.\n\nThereupon they fell into a deep slumber. When they awoke the sun was\nshining; the fierce wind no longer blew; the waves danced joyously,\ntossing little sheets of spray from one to another. The bitter cold was\ngone, and they rejoiced exceedingly.\n\n\u201cIt is Spring!\u201d Aed cried, with joy.\n\n\u201cIt is the answer of God,\u201d said Fionula gravely.\n\nFrom that hour they had peace. Thenceforth they suffered no more from\ncold or hunger. When the savage frosts of winter, or the wild rains of\nautumn, came over the western sea, the four swans alighted on Innis\nGlora, and sang their wild, sweet, beautiful music, and then fell\nasleep, nestling side by side, till they awoke to warmth and joy.\n\nSo was it till the end of the three hundred years. Three hundred years\non the lough of Darvra; three hundred on the sea-stream of the Moyle;\nthree hundred on the sea of Glora, to the west of Erin. All these ages\nhad they endured, and now their exile was at an end.\n\n\u201cOn the morrow, dear brothers,\u201d Fionula sang rejoicingly, \u201con the\nmorrow we shall wing our way inland; for our hearts ache to see again\nour own country and our kindred, and the faces of Lir our father, and\nBove Derg the king, and all whom we love. Great shall be the joy at\nShee Finnaha when they behold us once more; but not more joyous shall\ntheir delight be than it will be for us to see the smoke rising from\nthe fires of our people, and to see the greatness and beauty of Shee\nFinnaha.\u201d\n\nThey could not sleep that night for eagerness. At dawn they rose on\nwhite wings, circling through the wide blue spaces of the air. When the\nyellow stream of the sun poured westward out of the mountain-ridges of\nAchill, they chanted a farewell song, and then stretched their wide\npinions and flew homeward with beating hearts.\n\nSweet it was to see below them the green grass instead of the cold,\nrunning wave; and the hollows of the meadows, how much dearer were they\nthan the troughs of the drowning billows!\n\nWhen they came to the great hill above Shee Finnaha, their wings were\nseized with so great a trembling that scarcely could they reach into\nview of Lir\u2019s high shining house.\n\nDescending, therefore, they alit on a rock and rested awhile. A deep\nsadness oppressed Fionula. There was so great a silence on every rock,\non every tree. Moreover, she had seen a stag stand staring inland with\nidle eyes, and had seen the hill-fox and the wolf prowling in the glen\nwhere as a child she had often played.\n\n\u201cWhat is the fear that is in your eyes, Fionula?\u201d asked one of her\nbrothers with sudden dread.\n\n\u201cAlas! Aed, if Lir and the Dedannans were still here, would a stag\nstand staring inland, where Shee Finnaha is, with heedless eyes and no\nhoof lifted, and nostrils idly sniffing the unfrequented wind?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf a surety no, Fionula.\u201d\n\n\u201cYet that have I seen, Aed. And if in Shee Finnaha still dwelled our\nDedannan folk, would the hill-fox and the wolf prowl in the Glen of the\nWhite Water, there where we were wont to play and bathe, we and all the\nlittle children?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf a surety no, Fionula.\u201d\n\n\u201cYet that have I seen, O Aed and Fiachra and Conn. Come! we are rested\nnow. Let us hasten homeward to Shee Finnaha, that we have longed for\nall these years, and to our father Lir, who awaiteth us.\u201d\n\nOnward they flew.\n\nBut just as they soared over the shoulder of Knoc-na-Shee, Fionula\nuttered a piercing cry.\n\nThere indeed was the valley where Lir long, long ago had made his home.\nBut now there was not a single wreath of smoke rising to the sky, not a\nsingle cow lowed in the pastures, neither man nor woman nor child moved\nto and fro. Nay, there were not even any houses. All had gone. Amid the\ndesolate place rose the gaunt, dishevelled ruins of Lir\u2019s great dun;\nits halls empty and roofless, or tenanted only by the rank grass and\ntall companies of nettles.\n\n\u201cAlas!\u201d cried Aed, \u201cfor the omen of the stag staring idly on Shee\nFinnaha, and for that of the hill-fox and the wolf prowling in the Glen\nof the White Water.\u201d\n\nBut Fionula could speak no word, for her heart was breaking.\n\nFor long they crouched silent amid the desolation of that ruined place.\nThrice three hundred years had passed since they had played in front of\nthe house of Lir: beneath yonder ruined wooden arch they had set forth\nwith Aeifa on that ill-fated journey.\n\nThe dusk came. Still the four children of Lir crouched silent amid the\nruined desolation which was all that remained of lordly Shee Finnaha.\n\nThe wolf prowled near, but turned away the flame of his yellow eyes,\nfor he feared those who crouched there and had the voices of the human\nkind. The bats and owls alone paid no heed.\n\nWhen the stars glistened in the sky, and the moon rose, and on the\nnight wind there was not the lowing of a cow or the barking of a\ndog, or any sound whatsoever, save from the rustling forest and the\nmurmuring stream, Fionula and Aed and Fiachra and Conn fell into a\nbitter sobbing and a long, mournful keen, that rose into the hills\nwith plaintive echoes.\n\nWhen the day broke, each told the other that they could no longer stay\nin Shee Finnaha. That desolation was now to them more bitter than\nthe wilderness of the bleak seas of the Moyle. While they were still\nspeaking thus sorrowfully, Conn descried an old man--so old and worn\nthat his hair hung about his wrinkled face like thistledown, so white\nand bleached was it. He carried a small harp, but in his eyes was the\nlook of one who saw only far into the mind and never from the mind\noutward.\n\n\u201cWho art thou, O stranger?\u201d Conn asked.\n\nThe man looked at the swan that spoke to him in human speech, and in\nthe sweet, familiar tongue of the Gael.\n\n\u201cI have heard strange things,\u201d he muttered, \u201cand in my madness have\ncome to learn of the beasts. Have not the hawks and eagles of Shee\nFinnaha told me bitter tidings, and has not the hill-fox barked to me\nof the graves of dead hopes, and has not the she-wolf whined to me in\nthe dusk of the sorrows that flit through the woods--the old ancient\nsorrows of the wise and the beautiful and the brave that are now no\nmore? Why then should not a wild swan speak? Have I forgotten that,\nages ago, the children of Lir were changed into swans, and that they\nspoke with the human tongue, and sang songs so passing sweet that life\nand death became as the selfsame dream? Ah! that dream of dreams:\nfragrant it was as the breath of Moy Mell, the honey-sweet plain of\nHeaven; restful as the sound of the waves beating on the shores of\nTir-fa-Tonn, where the dead dwell in youth and joy; strange and wild as\nthe noise of invisible wings over the blessed isle that is Hy Br\u00e1sil in\nthe west.\u201d\n\nConn spake again:\n\n\u201cArt thou a Dedannan, old man?\u201d\n\n\u201cA Dedannan I am, O Swan, that speakest with the tongue of man; yea, a\nDedannan I am, if a sere and fallen leaf can be called a child of the\ngreen tree. Say, rather, a Dedannan I was.\u201d\n\n\u201cDost thou know aught of Bove Derg, the King of the Dedannans, or of\nLir, the lord of Shee Finnaha?\u201d\n\nThe stranger sighed, and by the veiling of his eyes Conn knew that the\nold harper was with the past.\n\n\u201cAy,\u201d he muttered at last, \u201cbut who can note the passage of the years\nwhen one is old and broken and sick unto death? A hundred years have\ntrodden the red leaves again, or it may be thrice a hundred, since I\nchanted the death-song of Bove Derg, the King of the Dedannans; since\nI looked on the white face of Lir, as he lay grey and ashy among the\nashy-grey thistles.\u201d\n\nConn uttered a cry of sorrow, and a bitter keen of lament came from his\ntwo brothers and from Fionula.\n\n\u201cThen these also speak,\u201d muttered the old harper: \u201calmost can I\npersuade myself that I look on the wild swans that are the four\nchildren of Lir--Fionula and Aed and Fiachra and Conn. Ages ago I\nthought they had lapsed in death. All are gone now, save only Aeifa,\nwho is a demon of the air, and wails among the hills and in desolate\nplaces.\u201d\n\nAll this time Fionula had been looking earnestly at the old man. Now\nshe spoke.\n\n\u201cTell me, art thou not Irbir the Harper?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is Irbir the Harper I am, the chief harper of Bove Derg, that\nwas King of the Dedannans before the Fairy Host faded away from the\nmeadows and pastures of Erin. And if indeed ye be the children of Lir,\nknow I am that Irbir who sang the birth-song at the birthing of ye,\nFionula and Aed, and at the birthing of ye, Fiachra and Conn.\u201d\n\nThereupon the old harper embraced the four swans, tears running down\nhis face the while.\n\nWhile he was yet embracing them, his wildered mind began to wander, and\nhe talked idly of vain things.\n\nNevertheless, they learned from him that more than a hundred years\nback, and maybe thrice a hundred, the Tuatha-De-Danann had fought a\nlast great battle with the Milesians and had been utterly defeated.\nThey were now a dispersed and hidden people, some deathless, others\nliving to the thousand and one years of the old-world folk, and some\nwith a new and terrible mortality upon them. As for Bove Derg and all\nthe Fairy Host, the wild thistle waved over their nameless graves. Lir\nlay beneath the grass outside his great dun of Shee Finnaha. His last\nwords had been: \u201cI hear the beating of wings. O wild swans, I hear the\nbeating of thy wings.\u201d\n\nThereafter Irbir the Harper moved aimlessly away, and with him passed\nthe shadow of the greatness that was gone.\n\nThe children of Lir now spoke wearily among themselves of what they\nshould do. At the last they decided to go back to the Isle of Glora,\nand there await the fulfilment of their doom.\n\nOne more night they spent at Shee Finnaha, mourning over the grey\nsorrow of Lir, and over the desolation of that noble place, and over\nthe ruin of the Dedannan folk. So wild and mournful was their singing\nthat night that the beasts of the forest congregated round the ruined\ndun, and from the crags of the hills thronged the cliff-hawks and the\neagles. In the heart of the woods Irbir, the old harper, died, dreaming\nthat he was in Tir-nan-Og, the Land of Youth, and was listening again\nto the voices of Love.\n\nOn the morrow the children of Lir flew sorrowfully away from Shee\nFinnaha and returned to Innis Glora. They alit at a small lake in the\nheart of that isle, and there began once more to sing their slow,\nsweet, fairy music.\n\nSo wonderful was their singing, with all its added pain and the mystery\nof years, that the birds of all the regions round were wont to collect\ndaily, and gather in flocks round about the singing swans. Thus it was\nthat the little lake came to be called the Lake of the Bird Flocks.\n\nAt sunrise these innumerable birds would disperse far and wide; some\nseaward, some inland, some northward to Achill, some as far south as\nthe three rocks known as Donn\u2019s Sea-Rest, some to Inniskea--to this\nday called the Isle of the Lonely Crane, for there dwells, and has\ndwelled since the beginning of the world, and shall dwell till the day\nof flame, a solitary brooding crane. But at night every bird returned\nto Innis Glora, to hear the slow, sweet, fairy music of the children of\nLir.\n\nIn this way the years went past.\n\nOn a day of the days Fionula called her brothers to listen to her,\nbecause of a dream that she had dreamed.\n\n\u201cThe Taillkenn[6] has come at last,\u201d she said. \u201cI saw a strange light\nin the East at midnight. A star rose out of it, and travelled through\nthe gulfs of the sky, and rested over Erin, and sank slowly over this\nour dear land. Then I heard a smoke of voices rising to the stars, and\nthence, too, came a chiming sweeter than any chants we have sung in all\nthese thrice three hundred years.\u201d\n\nOn the eve of that day a man came forth from the mainland in a coracle.\nHe came to Innis Glora, and alighted there, and kneeled in a strange\nfashion, and supplicated some god.\n\nIt was St. Kemoc.\n\nAfter nightfall the wild swans were silent, for all were heavy with the\nstrangeness of this man, who was not like unto any Dedannan or even a\nMilesian, and who prayed on his knees, and supplicated a god set beyond\nthe stars.\n\nIn the grey dawn they awoke, trembling. Trembling still, they started\nand ran bewilderedly to and fro, for strange and dreadful to them was\nthe sound that they heard. It was but a little sound, and faint and\nafar; but it was the chiming of a bell, and in all the thrice three\nhundred years and more they had lived they had heard nought like it.\nThe bell was the matin-bell of St. Kemoc, but they knew it not, nor\nwhat it meant. Aed and Fiachra and Conn ran wildly and far, but at\nlast when the bell ceased, they returned to Fionula.\n\n\u201cDo you know what this sound is, this faint, fearful sound that has\nterrified us, dear brothers?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, we have heard the faint, fearful voice, but know not what it is.\nIs it the voice of the strange man who has come among us, and is he a\ngod?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d answered Fionula, with grave joy, \u201cbut it is the voice of the\nChristians\u2019 bell. Soon we shall be free of our spell; soon we shall\nhave peace. It is the bell we have dreamed of for so many years.\u201d\n\nAll were glad at that. Kemoc had again begun to ring his matin-bell,\nand the four swans crouched low, listening to its strange music. When\nit ceased, Fionula spoke:\n\n\u201cLet us now sing our music.\u201d\n\nTherewith they sang their slow, sweet, fairy music.\n\nKemoc rose in his place, amazed with great wonder. At first he thought\nit was the voices of the angels singing in Paradise. Then suddenly it\nwas revealed to him that it was the slow, sweet, fairy music of the\nchildren of Lir, whereat he rejoiced exceedingly, for he had fared\nwestward in the hope to find and save Fionula and Aed and Fiachra and\nConn, of whom he had heard soon after he came to Erin with tidings of\nChrist and the Christian faith.\n\nSo when his prayers were done, and sunrise put a shine of gold upon the\nsea, Kemoc rose and went to the lake, and hailed the four white swans.\nAnd when they answered and told him who they were, he gave thanks to\nGod.\n\n\u201cCome now to land,\u201d he added, \u201cand sojourn with me, for it is in this\nplace that ye are destined to be freed from your enchantment.\u201d\n\nFilled with a great joy on hearing the words of the Christian saint,\nthey came ashore, and went with him to where he had builded his cell\nagainst the forefront of a cave.\n\nThree days later a skilled craftsman for whom he had sent came to Innis\nGlora, and wrought two slender shining chains of silver. These St.\nKemoc put upon Fionula and Aed and upon Fiachra and Conn, to show that\nthey were now bondagers to Christ, for all that they were still swans\nand under the doom of the spell of Aeifa.\n\nThereafter the time passed with joy and peace. Kemoc taught them the\nholy faith, and came to love them with his whole heart. As for the\nchildren of Lir they were glad with so great a gladness that they\nremembered no more their long misery, and even loved better to hear\nthe hymns and litanies of St. Kemoc than the lifesweet war-chants and\nlove-songs they had heard in their childhood from Irbir and other bards\nand minstrels.\n\nBut at that time[7] there was a queen in Erin who above all other\nthings desired the glory of having these marvellous singing swans as\nher own. In the olden days men and women were wont to hold the decrees\nof the gods and of fate in reverence; and more thought was taken of\nthe inner meanings of dreams, marvels, and the strange vicissitudes\nof life. Has not a wise poet declared that the smaller the soul the\ngreater the tyranny? This queen was Decca, daughter of Finghin, king of\nMunster, and wife of Lairgnen, the king of Connaught.\n\nIt was of these two that Aeifa, long, long ago, had spoken\nprophetically, but none remembered this save only Fionula, in whose\nmind dreams and memories floated as water-blooms on a mountain\nlake--the blooms that float and sink and rise as though a breath\nsustained or swayed them, the breath out of still, pellucid depths.\n\nAt last the desire of Decca overmastered her. She begged Lairgnen to\nfare westward to Kemoc, and obtain the swans from the saint and bring\nthem to her. But this the king feared to do, nor held it a kingly act.\nThen Decca gave way to her anger, and left the great house of the king\nand vowed that she would not sleep there another night till Lairgnen\nbrought her the singing swans.\n\nSo the woman fled southward into Munster, her father\u2019s realm.\n\nLairgnen the Connaught king loved his wife to weakness. He was the\nslave of her dark eyes and her smiling lips and her selfish heart and\nher poor will: so he came to evil then, and later. For according as a\nman\u2019s love is, and as he loves to strength, so shall his life be abased\nor uplifted.\n\nSo Lairgnen sent messengers after Decca, and sought her in the south.\nThus was the prophecy fulfilled.\n\nThe woman returned, but put a bond upon the king. He was weak, and she\nmade a sport of him as women do who are loved to weakness and not to\nstrength: as with men also, when women love them ignobly, and not as\nhigh mate with high mate.\n\nThus it came about that Lairgnen gave the word to St. Kemoc that\nhe desired the four swans to be sent to him at his royal house in\nConnaught. Kemoc, however, refused. He served the King of kings, not\nthe king of Connaught.\n\nFull of wrath, Lairgnen set out for the western coast, and at last\nreached Innis Glora. When he asked Kemoc if he had indeed refused to\ngive up the swans at his command, and was told that this was so, he\nswore the old pagan oath by the sun and the moon and the wind, and\nvowed that he would not leave that place without them.\n\n\u201cDoom must be fulfilled, O king,\u201d said Kemoc, \u201cbut woe unto that man by\nwhom the evil of a day of the days is wrought.\u201d\n\nLairgnen laughed, and followed the saint into the little chapel where\nthe four swans stood before the altar, singing a sweet wonderful song\nthat was a hymn of peace and joy. Seizing the silver chain of Fionula\nand Aed in one hand, and that of Fiachra and Conn in the other, he\nforced them to follow him.\n\n\u201cDo not do this thing, Lairgnen, son of Colman,\u201d said St. Kemoc.\n\n\u201cAnd for why not?\u201d asked the king, smiling grimly, as he neared the\ndoor of the wattle-church. \u201cAm I not the king, and can I not do as I\nwill in mine own lands?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is another King. If thou doest a wrong against Him, thou shalt\nhave neither the desire of thine heart nor yet go free of the penalty\nof lifelong sorrow and a bitter end.\u201d\n\nFor a moment Lairgnen quailed. The angry voice of a cleric was a\nperilous omen in those days. Then he strode forward, dragging after him\nthe four swans.\n\nSuddenly a wild, strange cry resounded over the church. All stood\nsilent, appalled. To Fionula only was it revealed that it was neither\nthe screaming of the wind, nor the thin shrewd wail of the sea, nor the\nsavage cry of a sea-mew--but that it was the voice of Aeifa, that lost\nforlorn demon of the air for whom there might be no rest now till the\nday of the flame of which St. Kemoc spoke.\n\n\u201cCome!\u201d said Lairgnen, with a great effort.\n\nBut when he strove with the chains, lo! a strange thing happened.\nThese fell apart, and at the same moment the great wings of the swans\ncontracted, and the white feathers that were the beauty of their bodies\nshrivelled. A mist of blown feathers was about them: and when Lairgnen\nand Kemoc looked through this as it settled upon the ground like dust,\nthey beheld a wonderful and a terrible thing.\n\nFor as the feathers fell away from the children of Lir, Fionula and\nher brothers once more regained their human shape. But now they were\nno longer fair and sweet and young, as they were when Aeifa put her\nenchantment upon them. They stood there, worn with intolerable age.\nGrey and ashy were their bodies, and long and sere and white their\nthin, blanched hair: and they were tremulous as reeds, and their wan\nhands were as the shaking wan leaves of the poplar when autumn is dead.\n\nThe children of Lir looked one upon the other with dim, forlorn eyes.\nIt was a bitter thing to live so many ages only to find that their own\nkith and kin were as dust, and that their habitation was a wilderness,\nand that their very race had passed away: to see each other in human\nform again, but Fionula an aged ancient woman, grey as old hanging moss\nand wrinkled as the wave-rippled sand, and tall Aed and swift Fiachra\nand laughing Conn as three feeble old men, wavering as their own\nshadows.\n\nWhen Lairgnen saw this he was overcome with dread. He uttered a strange\ncry, and, averting his face, fled from the little chapel, nor looked\nback once upon Innis Glora; and feared the following flight of his own\nshadow till once more he reached his great house in Connaught, over\nwhich he heard a demon of the air wailing and laughing, and knew that\nit was Aeifa, and that the terror of this banshee would be with him and\nhis for ever.\n\nAs he fled, he heard the bitter execrations of St. Kemoc, but these he\nheeded less than the thin, inarticulate murmur of the voices of the\nchildren of Lir, like the hum of gnats in a well.\n\nNevertheless Kemoc himself was able to hear the whisper of Fionula. So\none may hear the faint rustle of leaves in the heart of a forest where\nthere is no wind.\n\n\u201cBe swift, holy one, and give us baptism, here before the altar. We\nhave but a brief while wherein to draw breath. Great is thy sorrow at\nthis parting, but not more great than is ours. Nevertheless the end\nis always in the beginning, and we are but the dry thistledown of the\nyoung sprays of green. For thee, too, O Kemoc, the vial of silence\nshall be broken, but not until thy hair is like the foam of the sea,\nand thine eyes dim as the light beneath a wave.\u201d\n\nThereupon St. Kemoc led them slowly towards the altar, and bade\nfarewell to each, for he saw that the shadow of death had covered them\nfrom the soles of the feet to the chin of the head, and was rising to\nthe eyes.\n\nOnce more Fionula spoke.\n\n\u201cFarewell, dear brothers,\u201d she said. \u201cWe are so old that we have\nforgotten age. Very weary should we be were it not for sweet death. We\ngo far hence, and it may well be that we visit Hy Br\u00e1sil before we see\nthe shining of the gates of Paradise. There we shall greet our father\nLir, and he shall come with us. And if he come not, we shall abide with\nhim, for love is stronger than death.\u201d\n\n\u201cEven so,\u201d whispered Aed and Fiachra and Conn.\n\n\u201cAnd to thee, Kemoc, thou holy one,\u201d she murmured, \u201cI have this thing\nfor the saying. We are of our people, and would fain be in the darkness\nas our ancient forgotten dead before us. It is not fitting that we lie\nin the earth who are of the old race, and have the blood of kings, and\nhave lived in no dishonour, and die as we have lived.\u201d\n\n\u201cSpeak, Fionula.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen we fail utterly and perish, as we shall do within this hour that\nis upon us, O Kemoc, remember that as in life I so often sheltered my\nbrothers against my breast and sides when we were swans, we must not be\napart in death. Therefore bury us on this spot and in one grave.[8] And\nin that grave let Conn stand near me at my right side, and Fiachra at\nmy left, and let Aed my twin-brother be before my face.\u201d\n\nWith that she sighed. So sighs a wan, drifting leaf wind-slidden over\nsere grass.\n\nThen Kemoc baptized Fionula and Aed and Fiachra and Conn: and when he\nhad given them eternity and the company of saints, they died. They did\nnot fall, but wavered as dry reeds, and were suddenly at one with\ntheir own shadows, and were no more.\n\nWhen the saint rose from his knees, he put the tears from his face and\nstared into the deeps of heaven. Then he had the joy of a glad vision.\nOverhead he beheld four children with light silver-shining wings, their\nfaces radiant: yet knew not whether they were little ones or were\nyouthful with new life, for the glory dazzled him. A moment, as the\nfoam-bells on a falling wave, they were there: then they vanished, and\npassed westward, and were in Hy Br\u00e1sil with Lir and their own people\neven while Kemoc bent lamenting over the frail ancient bodies that had\nbeen the children of Lir.\n\nSo in that place a grave was digged, and Fionula was placed standing\ntherein: and by her right side, Conn; and by her left, Fiachra; and\nbefore her face, Aed. Over this grave Kemoc raised a mound, and put a\ngreat stone upon it. Then he made a lament over the dead.\n\nWhen all the people were gone, there remained only Kemoc, and a young\npoet and cleric named Ebric the son of Ebric, the son of Ebric of Irros\nDomnann. And when St. Kemoc went to his cell, and knew the dark hour,\nbecause of his sorrow, Ebric stood by the great stone at the mound and\ngraved in Ogham the names of Fionula and Aed and Fiachra and Conn.\n\nThe salt grasses wave out of the dust, the dust of the powder of that\nstone which Ebric graved with cunning hand: but out of the hearts\nof men who shall take the sorrowful tale of the Children of Lir, or\nagainst it shall prevail what frost of age, what breath of time?\n\nThe stone perisheth, but the winged word on the breath of the lips\nendureth for ever.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n  The Fate of\n  the Sons of Turenn\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Turenn interceding for his sons.\n\n  _To face p. 117._]\n]\n\n\n\n\n  The Fate of\n  the Sons of Turenn\n\n\nI will tell you now the old heroic saga of the Fate of the Sons\nof Turenn: how they paid the great eric laid upon them by Lu the\nLong-Handed, called the Ildanna because of his great wisdom in all\nmagic craft and Dedannan lore; and how at the last their dauntless\nbravery was as sand before the wind, as mist before the sun, as dew\nupon the grass.\n\nIt is one of the most ancient of tales. Brian, Ur, and Urba, the sons\nof Turenn, did their great wrong upon Kian, the father of Lu of the\nLong Hand, and paid their unheard-of and heroic eric, when Bove Derg,\nthe last king of the Dedannans, was still a youth--and that was long\nbefore the Children of Lir were changed into four white swans.\n\nNo Milesian had been seen in Erin in those days. Nevertheless the\npower of the Dedannans was already broken, though they were still\nforemost in green Banba, as the bards loved to call Erin, after a great\nqueen who had reigned there, when the Fairy Host was supreme: for the\nfierce Fomorian pirates of the north had descended upon them again and\nagain like a devastating plague, and at last their High King, the King\nof Lochlin, Balor of the Evil Eye, had subdued them into bondage.\n\nYear by year, and that for the fourth part of a year, Balor sent\nhis emissaries to collect tribute. The men were of the greatest\nand fiercest of the black Fomorians, so called because they were\nblack-haired and black-bearded, with fells as coarse and thick as\nthose of wild boars. These men were dreaded by the Dedannans, for they\nappeared to be beyond all reach of magic spells, and to have more\nterrible arms and an invincible power in warfare.\n\nAt that time Nuadh of the Silver Hand was High King of Erin. He was\nthe most prudent of all the Dedannan kings, but there were many of\nthe wisest druids and bards even in his own day who lamented that he\nwas over-prudent, and that it would be wiser to risk all in order\nto regain honour and freedom than to lose all for the sake of an\ninglorious peace. Nevertheless, so great was the love of life among the\npeople at large, and so keen was their desire to be left at peace by\nthe Fomorians, that Nuadh of the Silver Hand put aside his kinglihood,\nand agreed to pay both tribute and homage.\n\nThe yearly tax laid by Balor of the Evil Eye upon Nuadh of the Silver\nHand and all the Dedannan folk, was this: a tax separately upon\nquerns, kneading-troughs, and baking-flags, the three things which\nevery Dedannan had to use. Besides this, there was a tax of one gold\nounce for every man and woman of the Tuatha-De-Danann. Every year the\npeople had to assemble at the Hill of Tara, where the High King had\nhis palace, and there submit their tribute with many obeisances to the\ndark, scowling emissaries of Balor of the Evil Eye.\n\nIn one year of the years this happened as before. But after Nuadh of\nthe Silver Hand and all his nobles and druids and all the Dedannans had\nmade humble obeisance before the Fomorians, and while the tribute was\nbeing put together, a strange sight was descried.\n\nComing from the east was a company of lordly men, splendidly arrayed in\nwhite with gleaming helmets and shields, and riding tall white horses.\nThese were headed by a youthful champion of so great a stature and so\nwarlike a mien, that all men knew he could be none other than Lu the\nLong-Handed, son of Kian the Noble. All the northlands and eastlands of\nErin were aware of the rumour of his great valour and worth, and there\nwas at that day no champion so feared between the two seas.\n\nLu, son of Kian, was also of the Dedannans, but he was of the older\nand rarer branch, and he and his claimed that the Fairy Host, of\nwhich they formed the chief ornament, rose or fell by their support.\nAmong the splendid company were the sons of Manannan, son of Lir, the\nlord of the sea, and other chieftains and brave knights. Yet, as they\napproached, it was Lu of the Long Hand who held all eyes. Upon his head\nwas a golden helmet, wherefrom gleamed two great shining stones--the\neyes of strange gods they seemed to the people. His body was covered\nwith shining armour that was no other than the famous coat of armour of\nManannan, through which no weapon might pierce; and by his side hung\nthe terrible sword, the \u201cAnswerer,\u201d which had but one answer for every\none against whom it was raised--death. The horse, too, that Lu rode was\nthe far-famed stallion of Manannan, so swift that the March wind could\nnot overtake him, nor could water, air, or land offer any obstacles to\nhis progress.\n\nA great shout welcomed these champions of the Fairy Host as they\ndrew near, but this shout came from the assemblage outside of Tara;\nand neither the king nor his lords rose at their approach. The\nFomorians scowled and stood apart, and then scornfully resumed their\ntax-gathering.\n\nWhen they had finished their task the Fomorians rose and together\napproached the place where the king sat high among his people.\n\nAs they drew near, Nuadh of the Silver Hand and all his lords rose and\nmade humble obeisance.\n\nAt this, Lu the Ildanna frowned, and when Lu of the Long Hand frowned\nhis company knew that evil was like to come.\n\n\u201cTell me, O King,\u201d he said haughtily: \u201cwhy do you make obeisance to\nthese rude, ungainly folk, and did none to us when we approached, to us\nwho are of the old Dedannan race?\u201d\n\nThereupon Nuadh of the Silver Hand spake the bitterness of truth, and\nhow it was that in order to save the land from devastation, and his\npeople from rapine and outrage, he submitted to the Fomorian yoke. And\nfor the same reason he had not ventured to pay homage to Lu and the\nFairy Host, for the Fomorians would have taken this as an insult to\nBalor of the Evil Eye, and some great evil would have ensued.\n\nLu smiled scornfully.\n\n\u201cAnd at the worst, O Nuadh of the Silver Hand, there is a disastrous\nend and death. What then? Is not death the sure end of all men, and is\nnot disaster the lot of many a hero as well as of many a slave?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is so, Ildanna.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen why evade that shadow, and all because of fear of these dark\npirates out of the north. Is not honour better than safety, and is not\nshame a worse death than to be slain?\u201d\n\n\u201cEven so, Ildanna. Nevertheless, I wish to avoid vain bloodshed. There\ncan be but one end. Why should I ruin my people?\u201d\n\n\u201cRuin is not a sure thing, O King: but if it were, better ruin than\ndishonour.\u201d\n\n\u201cDost thou speak as a lord of high birth, or as one of the common\npeople?\u201d\n\n\u201cI speak as the son of Kian the Noble.\u201d\n\n\u201cEven so; but for each noble in my kingdom there are a thousand\nDedannans of no rank. I am their king. I speak for them.\u201d\n\nFor a time thereafter Lu sat brooding. His silence was worse than his\nscornful words. Nuadh the King saw what was in his mind, and dreaded\nthat he would go forth in his wrath. Thrice he half rose as though to\nlay hands upon Lu to restrain him, and thrice he sat back uncertain\nwhat to do.\n\nThen suddenly Lu rose, and in the eyes of all men drew slowly from its\nsheath his great white sword. At sight of the \u201cAnswerer,\u201d there was\na shiver among the Dedannans, so great was the terrible fame of this\nsword, but still more because the drawing of it there and then by Lu of\nthe Long Hand meant that the flame was in his blood.\n\n\u201cBeware!\u201d cried the king.\n\nBut Lu laughed a grim laugh. Then, lifting the \u201cAnswerer\u201d on high,\nand knitting his brows into a heavy frown, he sprang in among the\nFomorians.\n\nIt was like the leap of lightning among wild cattle, that. Hither\nand thither the \u201cAnswerer\u201d flashed, and at each blow a Fomorian head\nwhirled to the ground; yea, as a sharp prow will divide the wave-crest\nfrom the wave, so the great sword severed the head from the shoulders\nof each Fomorian, shoring through helmet or thick fell of hair as\nthrough water.\n\nIt was not till a whirlwind of swords flashed and circled around Lu\nthat those about him woke from their stupor. Then with a loud shout the\nsons of Manannan and others of the Fairy Host leaped forward and joined\nin the fray.\n\nThe Fomorians fought with fury, being wrought to madness by the thought\nthat they were as chaff before these newcomers, in the face of the\nwhole Dedannan nation--for so great was their scorn of the people they\nheld in bondage that death at their hands seemed doubly accursed.\n\nBut before Lu of the Long Hand and his Fairy Host there was no\nwithstaying. By tens and scores the Fomorians fell, as swaying grain\nbefore the reaper. Everywhere, flashing like a meteor, the white gleam\nof the Answerer rose and fell, the pulse of death.\n\nAt last only nine of the Fomorian pirates survived, and these clustered\nupon a low rising, and fought desperately to the end. Suddenly the\ntides of battle ceased, and this was because of the voice of Lu Ildanna.\n\nHe looked scornfully at the remnant of the proud Fomorians. These were\nnow sullenly at bay, foreseeing death only, and not unwillingly now\nthat the despised Dedannans had brought them to so sore a pass.\n\n\u201cLet these dogs go!\u201d exclaimed Lu.\n\nAt the bitter words, the emissaries of King Balor of Lochlin gripped\ntheir swords anew, and ground their teeth in impotent rage. More they\ncould not do, for even in their brief breathing space they saw that\nthey were beset by a hedge of spears.\n\n\u201cLet these dogs go!\u201d Lu said again. Then, addressing them, he added:\n\n\u201cLook ye, ye carrion wolves, we spare your lives only that ye may fare\nback to your dens in the north, and tell that unkingly king, Balor of\nthe Evil Eye, that which we have done unto your company. And say this\nalso, that if he come hither, we shall do unto him and his, that which\nwe have done unto these dead men who were once your fellows.\u201d With that\nthe nine Fomorians departed, scowling fiercely and below their breath\nmuttering imprecations and menaces.\n\nThat night the beacons of joy flared out across valley and plain, from\nthe hill of Tara, and great were the rejoicings throughout the land.\nOnly Nuadh of the Silver Hand dreamed uneasily for that and many other\nnights; knowing well that Balor of the Evil Eye would not let pass\nthe slight which had been put upon him. And after all, it was but a\nhandful of the Fomorian host which had been slain on the Plains of\nTara. Nevertheless, the king hoped that he might be spared the wrath of\nBalor, for none of the Dedannans whom he ruled had taken part in the\nfray, but only those who were of the company of Lu of the Long Hand.\n\nBitter, indeed, was the wrath of Balor, when he heard what had been\ndone to his Fomorian emissaries.\n\n\u201cThe Dedannans shall soon be but a memory,\u201d he exclaimed; \u201ctheir kings\nand nobles shall utterly perish, and of all their race none shall\nsurvive save those who shall be slaves for ever to my people. Their\nvery land, that green Eri they are so fain of, shall be no more than an\nunregarded province of Lochlin.\u201d\n\nThereafter, Balor sent word throughout all Lochlin, from the Cape of\nthe Midnight Sun to the Narrow Seas,[9] and bade all the peoples who\nowned him king to assemble speedily for war; and in every haven he bade\nthe sea-galleys to be got ready.\n\nThis took many weeks, and thereafter was the slow waiting for the\ncoming of spring. But at last all was ready, and then Bras, the son\nof Balor, led forth the mightiest host which had ever sailed from the\nshores of Lochlin.\n\nThis vast concourse of galleys sailed northward before favouring winds,\nand then westward along the storm-swept coasts of Alba, and at last\nsouthward again by the Hebrid Isles. Thence, with fresh provisions and\nreplenished water-barrels, they sailed towards and round the northern\nheadlands of Eri, and like a great flock of sea-vultures settled upon\nthe coasts of Connaught.\n\nWith laughter and fierce disdain the Fomorians spread far and wide,\nand at once began to despoil the country, and lay waste the tilled\nlands. In the ears of all rang the arrogant parting words of Balor of\nthe Evil Eye: \u201cAnd when at the last ye have cut off for me the head of\nthat man Lu, called the Ildanna, then put a mighty cable around this\ntroublesome Isle of Erin, and tow it back with your ships, and lay it\nalongside the north coasts of our Lochlin.\u201d\n\nBut meanwhile all the realms of the Tuatha-De-Danann were smitten with\nfear. None dared await the dreaded Fomorians, and everywhere were\nflying hordes of men and women and children, chariots, horses, and\ncattle.\n\nThe king of Connaught in that day was Bove Derg, son of the Dagda,\nhe who afterwards became the last Dedannan king. Straightway he sent\nword to Lu Ildanna, begging him to raise a host and succour the men of\nConnaught, as otherwise not a man would be left to stay the advance of\nthe Fomorians.\n\nLu of the Long Hand was sorrowful that by his action he had brought\nthis curse upon the lands of Erin, yet he knew that it was better than\nthe old shame. By the Sun and Moon and Wind he swore that he would do\nall he could to raise a host, and himself give battle to Bras and his\nFomorians.\n\nWith all speed he hasted to Dunree, and was glad indeed when he saw the\nHill of Tara rise from the plain. For of a surety he held that Nuadh\nof the Silver Hand would join with the princes of Erin and fight the\ninvader.\n\nThat surety was in vain. Nuadh refused to go into battle.\n\n\u201cWhen Bras leads his Fomorians towards the Hill of Tara,\u201d he said,\n\u201cthat will be time for me to raise the banner against him.\u201d\n\n\u201cListen, Nuadh of the Silver Hand, art thou not High King?\u201d exclaimed\nLu.\n\n\u201cEven so, Ildanna.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd is not thy first duty to lead the princes of Erin against the\ninvader? If we are all as one, we can laugh at Balor of the Evil Eye\nand all the host he sends against us. If we are divided we shall surely\nfall.\u201d\n\nBut for all the pleadings of Lu Ildanna, Nuadh refused to take the\nfield. He had one answer to all pleas.\n\n\u201cBras and his Fomorian host do no more than lay waste the lands of\nConnaught. Let then the king of Connaught see to his own. I have sent\nfriendly messages to Balor, and in order to keep the peace have offered\nalliance and even to pay tribute again. But till war is declared\nagainst me I will do nothing.\u201d\n\nFurious against Nuadh of the Silver Hand, Lu Ildanna rode away.\n\n\u201cDust upon thy home,\u201d he muttered, \u201cwere it not for the ruin upon all\nErin. Nevertheless, I have but one thing to do.\u201d\n\nLu had not ridden far, when his heart rejoiced because of three strong\nwarriors he saw approaching.\n\nThese were his father, Kian, and the two brothers of his father, Ald\nand Art. In that day the seven fairest champions in the northlands of\nErin were Lu himself, Kian and his two brothers, and Brian, Ur, and\nUrba, the sons of Turenn. Each of these was a host in himself, both\nbecause of his own valour and for the great influence that each had\nupon the clansmen of the north.\n\nIn a brief while Lu told all, and begged the aid of these three chiefs\nfor Bove Derg, and not for Bove Derg only, but for the honour and\nsafety of Erin.\n\nKian and Ald and Art were wroth with the high king.\n\n\u201cThe first duty of a king is kinglihood,\u201d said Kian.\n\n\u201cAnd without deathless courage a king is dead,\u201d said Ald.\n\n\u201cAnd without sleepless eyes a king is a sluggard,\u201d said Art.\n\n\u201cA king should be to all men what each man would fain be to himself,\u201d\nsaid Lu. \u201cMy father Kian says well: the first duty of a king is\nkinglihood. But since Nuadh of the Silver Hand is fain to rest at ease\nin his dun, under the safe shadow of Tara, so let him rest. We are men,\nand must act.\u201d\n\nTherewith all took counsel, and while Lu rode westward, to raise\nall whom he could to succour the men of Connaught, Ald and Art rode\nsouthward.\n\n\u201cI shall go north,\u201d said Kian.\n\n\u201cWhy so?\u201d asked Lu, knowing that it would be best for his father to go\neastward.\n\n\u201cThe wind bloweth that way,\u201d answered Kian lightly. But truly enough\nnone knew that in that answer and in that riding northward, was the\nbeginning of the long and dreadful tragedy of which, for generations\nthereafter, the bards sang as The Fate of the Sons of Turenn.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAt this point Peterkin rose from where he kneeled beside Eilidh, and\nwent over to Ian Mor and took his hand and looked long at him.\n\n\u201cThese words I have heard you say again and again, Ian--_Ma tha sin an\nDan_, if it be Destiny--what do they mean?\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot tell you, Peterkin; for to me they mean everything.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut must Kian come to sorrow because he followed the way of the wind?\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot tell you, Peterkin. But of this you may be sure, that no\nman needs to do this or that thing because of the way of the wind or\nanything else. Only, behind all doings of men there is a wind that\nblows. That is the wind of Destiny. That is what I meant when I said\nthat Kian, choosing lightly to go the way of the wind, and by his own\nchoice, yet went the way of Fate.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd is Fate a man?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave you ever seen it?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo.\u201d\n\n\u201cHas any one ever seen it?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo.\u201d\n\nPeterkin laughed below his breath.\n\n\u201cIvor Maclean the boatman, told me that \u2018an Dan\u2019 was only a shadow\nbefore and behind, and that none need trouble about a shadow.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what do _you_ think, Peterkin?\u201d\n\n\u201cI think that \u2018an Dan\u2019 is only a shadow before and behind; and I laugh\nto see my shadow, but I do not fear it. It is only a shadow.\u201d\n\n\u201cPeterkin is right, Ian,\u201d said Eilidh, in a low voice. \u201cAnd do you\nremember what was said long ago about wisdom coming out of the mouths\nof little children?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d Ian answered slowly and gravely, \u201cPeterkin is right.\u201d\n\nBut Peterkin only laughed merrily, as suddenly he sprang up.\n\n\u201cSee,\u201d he exclaimed, \u201cmy shadow has leapt from beside me, till now it\nis fading along the wall. When I laughed it leapt away.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWell, resumed Ian Mor, Kian was not many miles forth upon the great\npastures to the north of Tara, when he saw three lordly men riding\ntowards him.\n\nThey were still a great way off, but Kian the Noble was noted far\nand wide for his keen sight, and he knew who the mailed and shining\nones were. They were Dedannans, but they were of a clan at bitter feud\nwith his own; and his heart quailed as he saw that in that lonely\nplace he would have to meet face to face with Brian, Ur, and Urba, the\nsons of Turenn. Far better would it have been for him to ride forward\nfearlessly, and call upon the sons of Turenn to put all enmity aside\nin the face of the bitter danger to Erin because of Bras and his\nFomorians. But a man born under a dark star must soon or late ride into\nthe shadow of that star.\n\nSo when Kian had realized that the foes of him and his house were fast\napproaching, he cast about for some way to delude the sons of Turenn.\nAlready they had seen the stranger, though they had not recognised him.\n\nIn common with all the lords of the Dedannans, Kian carried with him\na magic wand. With this he could at any time transform himself into\nsome living creature. And so it happened that, while he was still\npondering, he caught sight of a vast herd of swine feeding upon the\nthistle-pastures to the left; and no sooner had he done so than he took\nhis wand and changed himself into a boar. His horse, too, he changed;\nand then both, grazing often, joined the great herd, and were soon at\none with it.\n\nKian laughed to himself at how he had outwitted the sons of Turenn,\nbut oversoon did he laugh. After all he was sorrowful; for it was not\nseemly for a man to change himself into a pig, lest death or some\ndisaster came upon him in that guise: for, according as a man\u2019s doom\ncame to him, so would he have to bear it.\n\nMeanwhile the three sons of Turenn rode across the plain. Fair to see\nwere they, these three comely lords: Brian, the eldest and strongest;\nUr, the tallest and fairest; and Urba the swift. They had seen Kian\nriding slowly towards them, but had not thought more than that he was\nan emissary from Dunree, where Nuadh of the Silver Hand was. When,\nhowever, they missed him suddenly, Brian frowned and drew rein.\n\n\u201cTell me, my brothers,\u201d he exclaimed, \u201cwhere is he whom a brief while\nago we saw riding toward us?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is no longer to be seen,\u201d Urba answered. \u201cYet there is no\nhiding-place that we wot of. If he were lying on the grass, we should\ndescry him and his horse from where we now are.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey are not on the grass,\u201d said Ur; \u201cfor I could see a slim greyhound\nwere it lying there.\u201d\n\nBrian pondered awhile. Then he spoke again.\n\n\u201cAs ye know well, war is all about us now, and it befits us to be wary.\nIt is clear that the man we saw was no friend to us, or why has he\nhidden himself? But I think I know his secret: with a magic wand he has\nturned himself into a pig, and is now among that great herd of swine\nthat we see yonder.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen he has escaped us, Brian?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so, Ur. I too have my magic wand with me; with it I shall now turn\nmy two brothers into swift hounds. Ye shall then speed in among these\nswine and see if ye can root out this man, who is surely an enemy.\u201d\n\nAnd with that Brian took his wand, and changed his brothers into\nhounds; and they raced away with the speed of the wind, while he rode\nswiftly towards a belt of forest which skirted the plain to the rear of\nthe herd.\n\nWhen the baying of the hounds was heard, a panic seized upon the\nswine. Like a great swaying mass of seaweed in the trough of the waves,\nthe herd swung to and fro; ever becoming more and more densely packed,\nand squealing and grunting in terror and bewilderment as the two gaunt\nhounds sprang against their heaving masses or dashed to and fro in\ntheir midst.\n\nAt the east they were so driven in upon themselves, that they became\nas one solid mass, close-wedged. Among these dense hundreds it seemed\nimpossible for Ur and Urba to find the enchanted man; but while they\nwere still running to and fro in their eager quest, Brian saw a pig\nleap from the rear of the herd and run swiftly towards the belt of\nforest.\n\nBrian put his horse upon the wind, as the saying is; and it was a race\nthen between the mounted man and the enchanted boar: but just as the\nfirst undergrowth was nigh Brian came up with the fleeing animal, and\ndrove his hunting-spear in betwixt its shoulders.\n\nWith a terrible scream the flying boar rolled over; then, with a wild\nhuman crying and speech, begged for pity.\n\n\u201cOh, son of Turenn,\u201d it cried, \u201chave pity upon me! Sure it is an evil\ndeed to slay me thus, well knowing who I am!\u201d\n\n\u201cI know that thy voice is the voice of a man,\u201d answered Brian, \u201cbut I\nknow not who thou art. I am Brian, eldest of the sons of Turenn. Tell\nme thy name.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe who implores thy mercy, O Brian of the Oak Shaft, is Kian, the\nfather of thy comrade in years and arms, Lu of the Long Hand.\u201d\n\nBy this time Ur and Urba were beside the victor and the victim, and now\nresumed their human shape. When they heard the pleadings of Kian they\ninterceded for him, notwithstanding the deadly feud between the clans\nof Turenn and Kian. But Brian would not listen to their counsel, not\neven when Ur pleaded that great evil might come out of the slaying of\nKian, nor when Urba urged that this was not the day and the hour for\nsuch a deed, when Erin needed every man to fight against the Fomorians.\nAnd, of a truth, that has ever been the sad way of the Gael, who will\nthink of the private wrong first, than of the general weal, and so will\nfall as a single tree will fall where a forest would be steadfast.\n\nWhen Kian saw that his fate was come upon him, and heard Brian swear by\na sacred oath that he would not spare him though he returned thrice to\nlife, or seven times changed his form, he made one last supplication.\n\n\u201cAt the least, as ye are honourable men, save me this dishonour. Let\nme not die as a pig, but as a man. I have dropped my magic wand;\ntherefore, O Brian, I pray of thee to take thine, and with it restore\nme to mine own form.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat shall be done,\u201d said the chief, adding scornfully, \u201cfor sure it\nis an easier thing for me to kill a man than a pig.\u201d\n\nBut no sooner was Kian a man again than he laughed mockingly.\n\n\u201cWhy do you laugh thus?\u201d asked Ur.\n\n\u201cI laugh because I have outwitted ye at the last, ye sons of Turenn.\nWhat is death to me who have a dust of grey hairs over my once black\nlocks, or is death indeed a thing at any time to fear overmuch? Ill as\nit would befit me to die as a pig, still more ill would it be because\nof that which follows death.\u201d\n\n\u201cSpeak,\u201d said Ur, though in his heart both he and his brothers knew\nwhat Kian was about to say.\n\n\u201cI have outwitted ye, as I have said; for if as a pig I had been slain\nby Brian of the Oak Shaft, then ye would have had no other eric to pay\nfor me than the eric of a pig, but now ye shall have to pay the eric\nof a man, and upon that the eric of a father of grown sons, and upon\nthat the fatherhood eric of each son, and upon that the eric of a great\nlord, and upon that the eric of the broken honour of my son Lu of the\nLong Hand. And I tell ye this, that never has there been, nor ever will\nbe, so great an eric as that which ye shall have to pay for this deed\nof thine, so that in the years to come men shall speak of the eric of\nthe sons of Turenn as the most difficult and the worst that was ever\npaid in Erin.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat may be,\u201d said Brian sullenly, \u201cbut we shall slay thee here, in\nthis waste place, and none shall know when death came to thee, or where\nthou liest, and for all that thy son Lu is Lu the Ildanna, he shall\nseek in vain to know where the worms make merry upon thee.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn the shadow of death I see clearly, and I see that death will not\nput his silence upon me till Lu has learned the evil deed that has been\ndone.\u201d\n\n\u201cSpare him,\u201d urged Urba, \u201cfor of a surety he is already sore wounded,\nand he did no more than seek to escape us. It would be well, Brian, not\nto have this man\u2019s blood upon us.\u201d\n\n\u201cSpare him,\u201d pleaded Ur, \u201cfor innocent blood is an ill thing to spill.\nThis man did not come upon us with lifted spear or sword, but, seeing\nthat we were three and he one only, sought to escape. It is not a\nknightly deed to take the life of a stricken man, and of one who asks\nfor mercy.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe will slay him,\u201d said Brian sullenly.\n\n\u201cRemember this,\u201d pleaded Ur, \u201cthat if we slay him, Urba and I must pay\nthe penalty along with thee, and that it is a hard thing upon us who\nwould fain spare this man.\u201d\n\nBrian laughed.\n\n\u201cIf ye and Urba fear the eric, ye may go hence at once. I will do my\nown slaying. But ye forget that the sons of Turenn are under _geas_ to\nhave no quarrel that is not the quarrel of each, and to fight no fight\nwherein each doth not front it in the same hour and place.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe do not forget,\u201d answered Ur and Urba; and each added: \u201cDo as thou\nwilt, Brian, our elder brother.\u201d\n\nSo Brian turned to where Kian lay upon the stony thistle-strewn grass.\n\n\u201cHast thou aught more to say?\u201d\n\n\u201cThis only, that no eric ever paid shall be counted as near unto that\nwhich ye shall have to pay, and that the weapons wherewith ye slay me\nshall cry out to Lu my son, and tell him what ye three have done unto\nme.\u201d\n\nAgain Brian laughed.\n\n\u201cThou who fled before us as a pig shalt die as a trapped beast. We\nshall not give thee the honour of death by the clean sword or the deft\nspear.\u201d\n\nWith that he stooped and raised on high a huge angular slab of stone,\ngrey below, and mossed and lichened above, and, swaying with the\nweight, hurled it down upon the head of Kian. Then Ur and Urba lifted\nother great stones, and did likewise, because of their bond. And this\nwas how death came to Kian the Noble.\n\nWhen the old chief lay still and white at last, the three sons of\nTurenn made haste to hide his body from sight; so they dug a great hole\nin the sandy grass, and buried the slain man.\n\nThere was a strange trembling in the earth that day, a trembling felt\nthroughout Erin from sea to sea, and men marvelled and feared.\n\nBut none so much marvelled as Brian and Ur and Urba, for when they had\nburied the bruised body of Kian they saw with horror that the shaking\nearth threw it back again. Nevertheless, once more they buried it, and\ndeeper, and put heavy stones upon the trodden sods. Then, to their\nstill greater horror and amaze, the earth again trembled and again\nthrew back the murdered dead.\n\nAt that Ur and Urba wished to ride away at once from the accursed\nplace, but Brian would not.\n\n\u201cFate is made by men, as well as that Fate rules men,\u201d he said. \u201cI\nshall not rest content till the earth holds at last the body of Kian,\nson of Kian the White.\u201d\n\nYet it was not until the seventh time that the earth trembled no more,\nand held within it, beneath a cairn of boulders, the slain body of Kian\nthe Noble.\n\nThereafter the three sons of Turenn rode swiftly away, and that night\nwere among the host which had been assembled by Lu of the Long Hand.\n\nOn the morrow, on the vast plains of Moytura, the great and terrible\nBattle of the Kites was fought. It was so called because after a day\nof dreadful slaughter the kites and hawks assembled in multitudes, and\nwere satiated with the feast of the dead. In that battle the fiercest\nstrife was on the part of four heroes: Lu the Ildanna, and the three\nsons of Turenn. For hours the swaying and whirling of spears, the rush\nof javelins, the flashing of swords, the trampling of horses and crash\nof war-chariots, made the plain of Moytura a place of savage din and\nfury. For long it seemed as though the great might and numbers of the\nFomorians would give the day to Bras, son of Balor of the Evil Eye; but\nso great was the prowess of the Dedannan host, that the Fomorians were\nmowed down as ripe grain.\n\nIn the wane of the afternoon, Bras and Lu met at last. The tides of\nwar ceased, for all men wished to see the battle-meeting of these two\nchampions.\n\nBut already Bras had seen that the day had gone against the glory of\nLochlin, and he knew that an hour hence his great army would be utterly\nrouted, and that all who did not straightway escape to the shores of\nConnaught and gain the Fomorian galleys would be tracked and cut down\nlike flying wolves.\n\nSo he lowered his great spear, and threw his shield upon the ground,\nand thereafter asked Lu to stay the tides of battle, and agreed that\nthe day should be accounted as a final victory to the men of Erin.\nAnd the son of the king of Lochlin further agreed, that if Lu and the\nleaders of the Dedannans would do this, he would give a solemn bond\nto withdraw all the Fomorians from Erin, to cancel for ever the bond\nput upon the Tuatha-De-Danann by Balor of the Evil Eye, and never to\nreturn again in enmity, neither he nor any Fomorian of the north nor\nsouthlander of lower Lochlin.\n\nAnd thus it was that the great battle of Moytura, the Battle of the\nKites, came to an end. A year thereafter the grass was not yet green,\nand the plain was covered with the white bones of the innumerous dead.\n\nWhen all was over, and Bras and his defeated army were hasting towards\nthe distant Connaught shores, Lu threw from him his blood-stained\narmour and the weapons he was almost too weary to bear. All day he\nhad fought, as only the mightiest heroes fight, and many strong and\nvalorous men had marvelled at his dauntless courage and at the prowess\nthat failed not for one moment.\n\nGlad was Lu of the Long Hand to see Ald and Art, but when he asked how\nhis father had fared in the battle, and heard that he had not been\nthere, and had been seen of no man that day, he knew that Kian the\nNoble was no longer alive.\n\n\u201cFor,\u201d he said, \u201cif my father were alive he would have been with me\nthis day, or, if peradventure that were not possible, would have sent\nme a sign. Howsoever this may be, something within me tells that my\nfather is no longer among the living. And now, ye who hear me, listen,\nfor by the Sun and the Moon and the Wind I swear that I shall not slake\nthis bitter thirst of mine, nor rest this over-weary head, until I have\nfound how and where and when an evil fate came upon my father, whom I\nloved as I have loved and love none other.\u201d\n\nThat night Lu Ildanna, with a hundred chosen men, rode swiftly to Tara,\nbut there found no word of Kian.\n\nOn the morrow he set forth at dawn, alone; for in a dream it had come\nto him that his father lay moaning beneath the thistle-strewn grass\non the stony plain of Moy Murhenna. And there, in truth, Lu came upon\nthe end of his quest; for as he rode slowly and sadly across the plain,\nwhereon he could not discern a living being save a vast herd of swine,\nhe heard, as one may hear in a shell, a plaintive sighing.\n\n\u201cWhat is that sighing?\u201d he cried. \u201cIs it the death-sigh of thee, Kian\nmy father?\u201d\n\nThere was no answer save the strange sighing, that was not of the\nwind or any moving thing, but seemed now to come from above, now from\naround, now from beneath. But at the third asking, a voice answered,\nthin and feeble:\n\n\u201cIt is the death-sighing of me, Kian thy father, O Lu my son.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd who put death upon thee, thou who liest there in the darkness of\nthe shadow of death?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe three sons of Turenn slew me here in this waste place. And because\nthat they slew me in no fair strife, and because that they finished\ntheir slaying by crushing me with great stones till there was not left\nof me one bone alive, I cry to thee, O Lu my son, whom men now call Lu\nthe Ildanna, because of thy craft and wisdom, to see that a greater\neric be exacted for me than has ever yet been exacted in Erin for any\nslain man. And in the end see that thou sparest not, for otherwise\nthere shall be a greater bloodshed still; and ill it befits us, who are\nnoble, that we should bring a tide of blood over Erin, for no worthier\ncause than the wiping out of that which lies between the clan of Kian\nand the clan of Turenn.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs thou sayest, O Kian my father, so shall it be, and even unto the\nend. And this I swear by the Sun and by the Moon and by the Wind.\u201d\n\nNevertheless, Lu showed no grief till he saw his father\u2019s bruised body\nbefore him, and then he bewailed bitterly that he had not been nigh\nwhen the sons of Turenn drove Kian the Noble to his fate; and bitterly\nhe lamented that one of the noble Dedannan race should be slain by\nDedannans; and bitterly he swore that an eric should be exacted such as\nnever before had been heard of in Erin, and that in the end, even were\nit fulfilled, he should not spare, because of what Kian had foreseen.\n\nAt noon Lu returned from Tara, whither he had gone after he had viewed\nthe speechless dead body of his father, with ten chosen men whom he had\nbound to silence.\n\nSo once more Kian the Noble was placed in his grave, but now standing,\nas befits a hero. And above the grave they raised a cairn, and midway\nin this cairn was a great slab of smooth stone, whereon Lu Ildanna\ngraved in Ogam the name and ancestry and great fame of Kian, son of\nKian, son of Kian the Thunder-Smith.\n\nBut when that night Lu entered Tara again, the whole of the king\u2019s\ntown was lit with torches, and resounded with joyous shouts and cries\nbecause of the great victory of the Dedannans over the Fomorians; nor\nwas any name so often named as that of Lu Lamfada, Lu the Long-Handed.\n\nWhen Lu entered the palace of the king, he was received with a mighty\nshout of welcome, and Nuadh of the Silver Hand himself came to greet\nhim, with fair loving words of praise and gratitude. Right glad was the\nking to see Lu come to him thus, for he had feared that the Ildanna\nbore him a bitter grudge because of his having refused his aid to drive\nforth Bras and his Fomorians. Therefore it was that he paid honour\nto Lu Ildanna above all other men, and led him to a seat at his right\nhand, placing him above the whole assemblage of princes and great lords.\n\nBut Lu neither smiled nor made any sign of pleasure. His eyes wandered\nround the concourse of the Dedannan chivalry. Suddenly his gaze became\nintent and fixed, for upon three golden-studded seats of honour he\nbeheld the three sons of Turenn.\n\nThe high king of Erin was about to speak to his chiefs on the great\nmatter of rejoicing and counsel which had brought them all together,\nwhen Lu arose. All stared in amaze, for only some unforeseen emergency\ncould justify a noble speaking before the high king had said what he\nhad to say.\n\n\u201cO King of Erin,\u201d said Lu slowly, and in a low voice, yet so clear and\ncold and vibrant that it was heard of every man in that vast concourse:\n\u201cO King of Erin, order the chain of silence to be brought hither, and\nlet its soft, delicate music be shaken from it, for I have that to say\nthat must be heard of all men, and not in their ears only but in their\nhearts and in their minds.\u201d\n\nTherewith the Chain of Silence was brought, and was shaken slowly and\ndelicately by the young druid whose charge it was. The sweet low sound\nrose into the air like fragrance, and passed through all the halls in\nTara, and filled the ears of every man, and the mind of each, and the\nsoul of each. There was not a sound in all that place, not a whisper,\nnot a sigh.\n\nIn that great silence Lu moved forward till he stood beside the king\nand faced the whole assemblage.\n\n\u201cChiefs and warriors of the Tuatha-De-Danann, I have that to ask ye to\nwhich I need an answer this day. Tell me this: What would ye do unto\none who wittingly, and not in battle but shamefully, slew your father,\nand he innocent, even such a man, say, as Kian the Noble?\u201d\n\nThere was no whisper of answer. All sat there amazed, marvelling at the\nstrange question. But at last Nuadh the King spoke.\n\n\u201cWhat meaning lives in thy words, Ildanna? For we know that thy father\nKian is not slain, for he was not in the Great Battle.\u201d\n\n\u201cNevertheless he is slain, and here in this royal place my eyes behold\nthem who slew him.\u201d\n\nWhen Lu of the Long Hand had spoken these words, every man looked from\nneighbour to neighbour in amaze. But all waited for the king to speak.\n\n\u201cWhat sayest thou, Nuadh of the Silver Hand, Ardree of Erin?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have this to say, that if a man wittingly, and without the just\ncause of war, slew my father, and he innocent, I would not be content\nwith exacting death, but would rather lop him limb from limb daily till\nhe died.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what say ye, chiefs and nobles of the Dedannan race?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe say as the Ardree says,\u201d cried one and all, save the three who sat\non golden-knobbed seats near the high king, though these too bowed\ntheir heads in acquiescence.\n\n\u201cAnd what say ye, ye sons of Turenn?\u201d\n\nAt this all turned and looked upon Brian and Ur and Urba, who sat pale\nand stern. Brian answered for himself and his brothers.\n\n\u201cWe say as the high king says.\u201d\n\n\u201cNuadh of the Silver Hand, Ardree of Erin, and all ye chieftains and\nchiefs and nobles of the Dedannan race, I call ye to witness that this\nman who has spoken slew my father, and that he and his brothers are\njointly guilty of that foul deed.\u201d\n\nFor more than the furthest singing of an arrow, there was silence.\nNeither the king nor any man spoke, but all looked to the sons of\nTurenn to say Yea or Nay. But Brian and Ur and Urba sat in a frozen\nstillness, and moved neither their hands nor their lips, and stared\nonly with unwavering eyes upon the white accusing face of the son of\nthe murdered Kian.\n\nThen Lu spoke again.\n\n\u201cBehold the men who slew my father. And now, O king, I say not whether\nthere were good cause for this slaying: all men know that there was a\nfeud between the clans of Kian and Turenn. Nor do I wish to bring evil\ninto this house and town of thine. Because one man is dead, there is no\nneed that others must die who have nought to do with his death. I have\ncome in peace: I would go in peace. But this only I say: I go not hence\ntill I have won from the sons of Turenn the vow of my eric.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is right and wise,\u201d answered the king, \u201cand for myself I would\nbe well content if, being guilty, I could evade death by paying any\neric whatsoever.\u201d\n\nAt this Brian rose.\n\n\u201cLu, son of Kian, has spoken inadvisedly, O king. He has accused us of\na crime, he knowing nothing of when or how that deed was done, and in\nwhat circumstances, and how made inevitable. Nor, again, have we ever\nadmitted that we are guilty of this deed of murder.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is enough. Kian, father of Lu Ildanna, came to his death through ye\nthree sons of Turenn. Whatsoever eric Lu may exact, that eric ye shall\nhave to pay. Otherwise the lives that ye hold so dear, being your own,\nwill no longer have the shelter of this royal place; and as no man\u2019s\nhand can be raised to aid thee, ye shall be at the mercy of Lu of the\nLong Hand, and of whomsoever he may bring against thee.\u201d\n\nFor a brief while Brian talked low with his brothers; then he turned\nand addressed Nuadh the king and Lu Lamfada.\n\n\u201cWe are for peace, not strife. We say not we are guilty, but we will\npay the eric that Lu, son of Kian, may demand, save only that it be\nnot against the life of Turenn our father.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is well said,\u201d exclaimed Nuadh of the Silver Hand.\n\n\u201cI accept the troth,\u201d said Lu, \u201cand now call upon all here to witness\nthat the sons of Turenn have made a solemn pledge.\u201d\n\nThere were few there who did not wonder what the eric would be, for all\nknew that Lu was a stern man, and would not rest till he had done his\nutmost to make the sons of Turenn expiate their deed.\n\nGreat was their amazement, therefore, when Lu gave forth the eric that\nhe demanded.\n\n\u201cThe eric I demand is this,\u201d he said: \u201cthat ye bring me three apples, a\ncertain skin, a spear, two horses and a chariot, seven swine, a hound,\nand a roasting spit. And further, that ye shout three shouts upon a\nhill. Yet, if ye will,\u201d Lu added scornfully, \u201cI shall remit a portion\nof this eric if ye find it too heavy for ye.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is neither heavy nor great,\u201d answered Brian, \u201cif there be no hidden\nevil behind. For by the Sun and Wind I swear that I would not count\ntoo heavy an eric, three hundreds of thousands of apples, or thrice a\nhundred skins, or many score horses and chariots, spears and hounds, or\na shouting a hundred times upon a hundred hills.\u201d\n\n\u201cNevertheless, I do not account it small,\u201d answered Lu gravely. \u201cBut\ngive me now security that ye shall fulfil this eric to the uttermost.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe give ourselves as security.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so,\u201d exclaimed Lu scornfully. \u201cI will not have the security of\nthyselves.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I call upon Bove Derg, son of the Dagda, and upon Nuadh of the\nSilver Hand, Ardree of Erin, and upon the score I shall name of the\nforemost chiefs of the Dedannan race, to be our pledge and warranty.\u201d\n\nAnd after Brian had named the score, all they, and Nuadh the king, and\nBove Derg, the son of the Dagda, gave the pledge, so that thenceforth\nthe sons of Turenn were under solemn _geas_ to fulfil the eric, or die\nin the effort to fulfil that eric, or otherwise bring dishonour upon\nall these noble and great lords, each of whom moreover would be bound\nto seek the lives of Brian and Ur and Urba.\n\n\u201cAnd now tell us if that is all, O Lu Ildanna, for much I misdoubt me\nif thou hast no evil thought for us behind thy fair-seeming words.\u201d\n\nThereat all leaned forward and listened eagerly, for each man knew that\nLu was not vainly called the Ildanna, for there was no one in all Erin\nwho had so much knowledge, or whose craft was so greatly to be feared.\nWhen he had uttered the eric that he demanded, all were at first\namazed. Then some had thought that he was under _geas_ never to exact\na great eric, but always the smallest that he might make; but most\nwere troubled, for behind these slight exactions they knew that he had\narrowy intentions.\n\n\u201cYes, ye sons of Turenn,\u201d Lu Lamfada began slowly, \u201cI shall tell ye now\nwhat my eric is. I do not think ye shall find it over easy.\u201d\n\nBrian and Ur and Urba rose, but all the host otherwise remained seated.\nThe three sons of Turenn leaned upon their spears, and tall and goodly\nwarriors they seemed, and worthy of their great fame as three of the\nseven chief champions of Erin.\n\n\u201cFirst, then, there is this. The skin I demand of ye is one that\nbelongs to the king of Greece in the far eastern lands. It is the\nskin of healing. No man need die of wounds who has that skin; and cold\nwater, too, it will make into wine. I do not think ye will come easily\nby that skin.\n\n\u201cSecond, there is this. The spear I demand of ye is the spear called\nAradvar, the dreadful spear of Pisarr, Prince of Persia, whose point is\nfor ever kept cooling in a cauldron of water, so terrible is its fiery\nthirst, and that thirst for blood. I do not think ye will find the\nspear of Pisarr easy to obtain.\n\n\u201cThird, there is this. The chariot and two horses that I demand of ye\nbelong to Dobar, the king of Sicily. They heed neither the rough ways\nof the land nor the rough ways of the sea, but travel equally and at\nthe will of him who drives. I do not think ye will find it easy to\nobtain that chariot and its two horses.\n\n\u201cFurther, there is this. Far to the south there is a great lord, Asol\nof the Golden Pillars. It is he who owns the seven swine I ask of ye.\nYe may slay the seven and yet all will remain. They know not death,\nthough ye may slay them and feed upon them. There is no death upon\nthem. I do not think ye will find it easy to obtain these swine.\n\n\u201cFifth, there is this. In a further land still, that is called Irrua,\nthere is a great and terrible hound named Falinnish. So fierce is he\nthat whatever beast comes within sight of him falls in helpless fear. I\ndo not think ye will find that hound very easy to obtain, or bring with\nye from far-off Irrua.\n\n\u201cSixth, there is this. In the remote seas is an isle called Fiancarya.\nIt is there that the sea-women dwell. In caverns beneath the waves they\nroast their food. It is their roasting spit I ask of ye. I do not think\nye will find it easy to obtain that thing.\n\n\u201cSeventh, there is this. The three apples I ask of ye are of gold,\nand are in an ancient garden in Isberna. That ancient close is well\nguarded, O Sons of Turenn, so that ye may not find it easy even to see\nthe wind-waved summits of the trees. I do not think ye will bring back\nthese apples.[10]\n\n\u201cAnd lastly, there is this. In the remotest north of remote Lochlin\nthere is a hill called Mekween. It is so called from a man of that\nname who lives there. He is a great and powerful man, and none others\nequal him save only his two sons. So terrible are they that no man dare\nventure into that wild place where they live, save in amity. It was\nwith them that my father learned his great craft with the sword; and so\ngreat will their wrath be that ye have slain him, that even were I to\nforgive ye, they would not. Moreover, Mekween and his sons are under\n_geas_ not to allow a shout to be shouted upon that hill. I do not\nthink ye will find it easy to pass the sons of Mekween, nor to shout\nthree shouts upon that hill.\u201d\n\nWith that, Lu the Ildanna bowed before the king, and sat upon his\ngolden chair again.\n\nAll men looked with sorrow upon the sons of Turenn. Any of the seven\n_geasan_ of this eric that Lu put upon them was more than enough\nfor any hero: how then would they survive till the last, or, having\nsurvived, how would they bring back with them these things, and how\nescape the wrath of Mekween and his sons?\n\nNevertheless, the sons of Turenn were now under bond, and they had no\nchoice but to do what they could to fulfil their eric.\n\nWith sad hearts they left the great beauty and wonder of Tara, and with\nsadder hearts still reached their own land. Here with sorrow they bade\nfarewell to Turenn their father and to dark-eyed Enya their sister,\nwhom they loved so passing well, and to all their kindred and folk.\nThereafter they set forth on their long and ever more and more perilous\nquest.\n\nIt would have been easy for the sons of Turenn to have passed over into\nAlba, and sought service with the king of that country; or to have gone\namong the Kymri in the inland highlands beyond the isle where Manannan\nhad his home: or southward to Lyonesse or into Armorica. But honour\nis a better thing than ease, and it would ill have befit heroes such\nas Brian and Ur and Urba to have evaded their solemn troth. A bitter\nwrong they had done, because of the hereditary feud betwixt the clans\nof Turenn and Kian: but now there was one thing only to do, and that\nto fulfil the eric put upon them by Lu, son of Kian. Moreover, Nuadh\nthe Ardree and Bove Derg, son of the Dagda, and a score of the noblest\nlords in Erin were their warranty that they would do this thing.\n\nSo, one day of the days, they set forth from Erin: and sad indeed were\nthey when across the foam they took their last look at Dun Turenn and\nat the dear familiar hill of Ben Edar.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFor that night Peterkin heard no more of the story of the Fate of the\nSons of Turenn; but all the next evening, and the next again, he sat\nentranced by the strange moving tale of how Brian and Ur and Urba one\nby one fulfilled the hard and perilous conditions of their eric, and\nthis until the sixth was done.\n\nBut here, now, this tale cannot be told in full. To tell it aright\nwould need a volume not less than this is.\n\nIt must suffice that after innumerable hardships, after fierce cold\nand fiercer heat, after hunger and thirst and daily perils by land\nor sea, and strange and frightful encounters, and hazardous fights\nwith monsters and wild men and kings and princes, the sons of Turenn\nfound themselves sailing towards the remote north of Lochlin, having\naccomplished the six seeming impossible conditions.\n\nThat nigh-impossible task, indeed, had been made possible by the magic\nboat of Manannan, called the Sweeper of the Waves, which they had won\nfrom Lu by unlooked-for wile. For before they had left Tara they had\nplayed a game of chess with Lu Ildanna, well knowing that Lu was under\n_geas_ never to refuse to play at chess when asked by any Dedannan, or\nto pay the hazard that was decided upon, whatsoever it might be. There\nwas no player in all Erin to surpass Ur, though few knew this, for he\nwas little given to talk, and still less of his own doings.\n\nFirst Urba had offered to play with Lu, and the hazard of that play\nwas to be the life of Lu Ildanna. \u201cI will play that hazard,\u201d he said,\n\u201cif thou wilt pay the like penalty if thou dost lose.\u201d But when\nUrba refused, he could play no more, because he had declined the\ncounter-hazard.\n\nThen Brian had offered to play, and the hazard of that play was to be\nDaurya, the beautiful daughter of a great lord, whom Lu loved. \u201cI will\nplay that hazard,\u201d he said, \u201cif, in return, thou wilt pledge me Enya of\nthe Dark Eyes, thy sister.\u201d But when Brian refused this hazard, he too\ncould play no more with Lu until Lu asked him.\n\nThen Ur played, and the hazard of that play was the \u201cSweeper of the\nWaves,\u201d Manannan\u2019s magic boat. \u201cI will play that hazard,\u201d Lu said, \u201cif\nin return thou wilt sail in it, and affront Manannan to his face.\u201d To\nthat Ur agreed, and they played, and Ur won.\n\nThis magic boat would sail swiftly and safely in any sea whether calm\nor tempest-wrought, and at a word would make for any coast or haven;\nmore like a great bird it was, or some creature of the air and sea.\n\n\u201cWhite shall be thy foamy track,\u201d cried Lu as they sailed away; \u201cbut\nred everywhere shall be the wake behind ye.\u201d\n\nAnd so it was. For death and the bitterness of the sword were ever in\ntheir way and in their wake. Nevertheless, they unceasingly rejoiced in\ntheir possession of the Sweeper of the Waves, and when their eric-quest\ntook them into far eastern lands beyond the reach of great rivers, they\nhid their precious vessel, or bade it lie till it heard their summoning\nvoice.\n\nAnd so at the last it happened that the sons of Turenn won the three\ngolden apples out of the guarded close in Isberna; and by craft and\ndaring carried away from Sicily the famous chariot and two steeds\nwhich had no peer in all the world; and from Asol of the Golden\nPillars, who gave them in ransom for his life, they took the seven\ndeathless swine; and from its cauldron in the heart of a hostile city\nthey snatched the terrible spear of Pisarr; and the far-famed skin of\nhealing they brought away from the palace of Toosh, king of Greece,\nwhose head they left idly rolling upon his marble floor; and in far\nIrrua they put captivity upon the terrible hound Falinnish; and in the\nwild seas of Fiancarya they dared the sea-women in their caverns under\nthe waves, and took from them the roasting spit that Lu had demanded.\n\nAll this they did, and much else in the doing of these wonders. And now\nnothing remained but to shout three shouts upon the hill of Mekween;\nand to this end they sailed blithely and swiftly towards the far north\nof Lochlin.\n\nBut meanwhile, in far-away Erin, Lu Ildanna became aware, by his\nsubtle magic and knowledge, that the sons of Turenn had one by one\naccomplished all but the last of the bitter tasks of the eric he\nhad set upon them. He had not deemed this fulfilment possible, but\nwhile greatly he marvelled that courage and endurance could so bring\nimpossible things to pass, he dreaded lest the sons of Turenn should\nprevail in the last task also. For if they came back to Erin with\nall that great eric fulfilled, then would there be a blood-shedding\nterrible indeed.\n\nMoreover, Lu Ildanna, who saw far ahead of the things of the moment,\nwas even now preparing for that second great battle upon the Plain of\nMoytura which he knew would come again; and a battle mightier and more\ndesperate than the last, or than ever was seen in Erin before. Great\nwarrior as he was, and lordly as was the war-host of the Dedannans, he\nfeared this final battle unless he had at least half of the eric he had\nset upon the sons of Turenn--and, above all, the Spear of Pisarr, the\nSkin of Healing, and the War-chariot of the Sicilian king. Therefore he\nlonged for the return of his foes, the sons of Turenn; yet feared that\nthey should come back having accomplished all.\n\nSo on a day of the days he made a deep and potent spell, and sent this\nspell forth to work its noiseless and invisible way across land and sea\nand under the flaming sun and the white glister of the stars, till it\nshould find the Sweeper of the Waves.\n\nSo forth that subtle spell went, and when it reached at last the\nSweeper of the Waves it crawled stealthily into the great boat, and\nwound itself about the weary bodies of Brian and Ur and Urba, and moved\ninto their brains, filled as they were with dreams of Erin and of home.\n\nThe spell was the spell of oblivion, but they knew it not.\n\nAnd so it chanced that they could no longer understand why it was they\nsailed northward, nor had they any memory of the last obligation of the\neric, and thought neither of Mekween and his sons, nor of the doom put\nupon them by Lu, nor of the vanity of all their long quest and brave\nendurance if they returned with the eric unfulfilled in the least part.\n\nIt was with joy that they set their prow for green Erin; and with joy\nthat they saw again its green grassy hills above its white shores; and\nwith joy that they recognised Ben Edar and Dun Turenn; and with joy\nthat they kissed once more Turenn their father and Enya of the Dark\nEyes, their sister, and knew themselves back at last from all their\nweary wandering and endless peril and strife.\n\nGreat was the marvelling at what they brought back, and the oldest\ndruids admitted that never in the history of Erin had so great a wonder\nbeen done.\n\nAlas! theirs was but a brief joy.\n\nLu Ildanna said nothing till he had put away all the treasures of that\neric. Then he said gravely:\n\n\u201cAll is accomplished save one thing. Have ye shouted three shouts upon\nthe hill of Mekween?\u201d\n\nAnd as he spoke he broke the spell, so that suddenly Brian and Ur and\nUrba remembered, and with shame and grief had to say that this last\nthing they had not done.\n\nIn vain did Turenn supplicate for his sons, in vain even was the\npleading of the king. Lu had but one answer. \u201cAll else is as nought if\nthey have not done this thing--to shout three shouts upon the hill of\nMekween.\u201d\n\nSo once more the sore-tried heroes set forth, but with dim\npresentiments of woe; for now they had neither the Skin of Healing nor\nthe Sweeper of the Waves, for these had been taken away by Lu, and he\nwould not give them again.\n\nNevertheless, they reached their goal. A great and terrible fight\nwas theirs with Mekween and his sons Conn and Corc and Ae--the most\nterrible fight, the old bards say, which was ever fought between six\nmen--for at the beginning the sons of Turenn slew Mekween.\n\nAt dusk on that disastrous day six gashed and mutilated men lay in the\nswoon of death. Out of that swoon, three men never waked, and these\nwere Conn and Corc and Ae: and two had not strength to move even when\nthey waked, and these were Ur and Urba; and Brian alone staggered to\nhis feet, and stared through a mist of blood.\n\nWhen at last the eldest of the sons of Turenn looked upon his brothers,\nand saw their glassy eyes staring idly at the sunrise, he feared that\nthey too were dead. Then he saw that the pulse of life still flickered.\nWeak as he was, he took first Ur upon his shoulders, and bore him up\nthe rocky slope to the ridge of the hill of Mekween; and then returned\nand bore Urba thither also.\n\nThen it was that three thin, faint shouts went forth upon the hill,\nso thin and faint that the browsing stags on the uplands did not lift\ntheir heads.\n\nThus was it that the Great Eric was fulfilled.\n\nBut, alas! the piteous tale of their return. None could tell aright\nthat woe-stricken, death-weary voyage of three dying men, upborne by\none hope only--that they might free their name and clan from the eric\nput upon them, and lay their accusing deaths at the feet of Lu Ildanna.\n\nYet hardly might they do even this. For as they drew nigh the coasts of\nErin once more, Ur and Urba spoke to Brian and supplicated him to raise\ntheir heads, so that, before they died, they might see again the green\nhills of their beloved Banba, and high Ben Edar, and their home Dun\nTurenn.\n\nBut to this Brian made answer:\n\n\u201cDear brothers, too great is my weakness, for I am now even as ye are.\nLo! through my gaping wounds one of these birds that skim above us\nmight fly, and be not snared within me.\u201d\n\nAfter that, they spake no word till the galley grided against the sands\nof Erin.\n\nSoon all in Dun Turenn and in all the lands of Edar knew that Brian,\nUr, and Urba were come again; but sorrowful were they indeed to see,\ninstead of the three proud heroes, only three wasted men like unto\nshadows. Neither Ur nor Urba could speak, but Brian\u2019s voice could rise\nto a thin whisper.\n\nWith halting breath he bade his father hasten to Tara, and tell Lu\nLamfada that now all the eric was paid at last; and then beseech him,\nby his honour and fair name, and for the glory of the old Dedannan\nfaith, and by the invocation of the Sun and Moon and Wind, to lend to\nthe three perishing sons of Turenn, the Skin of Healing, so that their\nlives might not flicker out as the flame of spent torches.\n\nBut, alas! Lu would not yield to that prayer, not even when the grey\nhairs of Turenn were at his feet. Then once more Brian besought his\nfather; and now it was that he bade his father put him upon a litter,\nand bear him gently, because of his open wounds, and lay him at the\nfeet of Lu.\n\nAnd when he was there, Brian said this thing:\n\n\u201cBehold, O Lu Ildanna, son of Kian, we have fulfilled the heaviest eric\never exacted of any man since the world was made. And now we ask this\none thing alone: one hour only of the Healing Skin that we ourselves\nbrought unto thee. Yet not for myself I ask this, if thou desirest my\nlife, since it was I who slew thy father, but for my brothers Ur and\nUrba. And if not for them--though they are guiltless of this ill, and\nare with me in this dire plight because they would not forsake me,\nbut made my fortune their fortune--then for the sake of the old hero\nTurenn, who was comrade in arms with thy father Kian when both were\nyouths. And by the Sun, and by the Moon, and by the Wind, and by thine\nhonour, I cry to thee to be merciful, and to do this thing.\u201d\n\nBut Lu smiled a bitter, evil smile. Half that smile was from the cruel\nrevengefulness in his breast, and half because he feared that if Brian\nand Ur and Urba lived, there would be an end of the Dedannan race, for\nthe fierce internecine wars which would be in Erin.\n\n\u201cI would not give thee the Skin, Brian, though all thy race, nay, not\nthough every man and woman in the eastlands were to perish with thee.\nGo hence, and in the shadow of death remember the eric unto death of\nLu the Long-Handed.\u201d\n\nSo Brian went forth upon his litter, with the death-sweat already upon\nhim.\n\nThat night a long and bitter lamentation went up from Dun Turenn, and\nthe Beacons of Death flared upon Ben Edar. For, at the setting of the\nsun, Brian and Ur and Urba breathed out their souls into the light, and\nthese moved swift to Flathinnis, the holy island where are gathered all\nthe souls of heroes.\n\nYet on their way to join the innumerous deathless dead, they halted\nonce, for they heard a thin voice crying upon the wind. It was the\nvoice of Turenn their father.\n\nIn one great grave before the mighty dun, the four were buried, erect,\nand sword in hand. And on a slab midway in the vast cairn of stones\nthat was erected thereon, was writ in branching Ogam the names and\nglory of Turenn and his three sons. For three days the people wept.\nThen, as the wont was, Enya of the Dark Eyes decreed the funeral games.\n\nAnd so these heroes died, and with them went the third part of the\nperishing glory of the Tuatha-De-Danann.\n\nFor in the end, that which is to be, is. There is no gainsaying the\nslow, sure word of Fate. And, too, there is this thing to be said. The\nwind in the grass outlasts the branching Ogam graven in granite, and\nthe granite cenotaph itself, and the powdered dust of that granite.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n  Darthool and the\n  Sons of Usna\n\n\n\n\n            \u201cthe story this\n    Of her, the morning star of loveliness,\n    Unhappy Helen of a western land.\u201d\n\n          _\u201cDeirdr\u00ea.\u201d Trs. by Dr. Douglas Hyde._\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: A great raven, glossy black, and burnished in the sun\nrays.\n\n  _To face p. 177._]\n]\n\n\n\n\n  Darthool and the\n  Sons of Usna\n\n\nThe story I will tell you now, Peterkin, is more beautiful, though not\nso old.\n\nIn all the regions of the Gael throughout Scotland, and in every isle,\nfrom Arran and Islay in the south, to Iona in the west, and Tiree in\nmid-sea, and the Outer Hebrides, there is no story of the old far-off\ndays so well known as that of Darthool.\n\nShe it is who in Ireland is called Deirthr\u00ea or Deirdr\u00ea; and in Ireland\nto this day there is not a cowherd who has not heard of Deirdr\u00ea.\n\nHer beauty filled the old world of the Gael with a sweet, wonderful,\nand abiding rumour. The name of Deirdr\u00ea has been as a lamp to a\nthousand poets. In a land of heroes and brave and beautiful women,\nhow shall one name survive? Yet to this day and for ever, men will\nremember Deirdr\u00ea, the torch of men\u2019s thoughts, and Grainne whom Diarmid\nloved and died for, and Maev who ruled mightily, and Fand whose white\nfeet trod faery dew, and many another. For beauty is the most excellent\nsweet thing in all the world, and though of it a few perish, and a\nmyriad die from knowing nothing of it, beneath it the nations of men\nmove forward as their one imperishable star. Therefore he who adds\nto the beauty of the world is of the sons of God. He who destroys or\ndebases beauty is of the darkness, and shall have darkness for his\nreward.\n\nThe day will come, Peterkin, when you will find a rare and haunting\nmusic in these names. They will bring you a lost music, a lost world,\nand imperishable beauty. You will dwell with them, till you love\nDeirdr\u00ea as did the sons of Usna, and would die for her, or live to\nsee her starry eyes; till you look longingly upon the Grainne of your\ndreams, and cry as Diarmid did, when he asked her, as death menaced\nthem, if even yet she would go back, and she answered that she would\nnot: \u201cThen go forward, O Grainne!\u201d\n\nMany poets and shennachies have related this tale. I have heard it\ngiven now this way, and now that; sometimes with new names and scenes,\nsometimes with other beginnings and endings; but at heart it is ever\nthe same. Nor does it matter whether the father of Deirdr\u00ea be Felim,\nthe warrior bard of the Ultonians, or Malcolm the Harper, or any other,\nor whether the fair and sweet beauty of the world be called Deirdr\u00ea or\nDarthool. But as here in our own land she is called Darthool, that I\nwill call her.\n\nI will tell the story as it is told in the old chronicles, and to\nthis day, and if I add aught to it, that shall only be what I myself\nheard when I was young, and had from the lips of an old woman, Barabal\nMac-Aodh, who was my nurse. She came out of Tiree or Coll, I forget\nwhich.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWell, in the ancient dim days when Emania was the capital of the\nUltonians, the fair and wonderful capital of the kingdom of Ulster,\nand before Maev, the queen of the south, had buried the chivalry of\nthe north in dust and blood, there came into the realm of Concobar the\nUltonian king, whom some call Conor and some Connachar, three of the\nnoblest and fairest of the youths of the world. These are they who\nthen bore, and in all the years since have borne, the name of the Sons\nof Usna, who was himself, some say, a feudal king, in Alba.[11]\n\nIt is because of these three heroes that this story I am relating is\noften called the story of the Sons of Usna. But first, I have that to\ntell you which precedes the time when Nathos,[12] and Ailne, and Ardan,\nstood in the house of Concobar the high king.\n\nThis Concobar was a great prince. He was known as Concobar MacNessa,\nfor though he was the son of Fatna the Wise, son of Ross the Red, son\nof Rory, Nessa his mother was a famous queen, and had indeed by her\nbeauty and her wiles brought Concobar to the overlordship of Uladh[13]\nwhen he was yet a youth.\n\nIn many of the tales of the old far-off days, you will hear the rumour\nof the splendour and wonder of the city of Emania. In Concobar\u2019s\ntime it was called Emain Macha, for it had been built by a great and\nbeautiful queen--Macha Mongruay, Macha of the Ruddy Hair. A thousand\ntimes have poets chanted of Emain Macha, and in the ancient days the\nbards loved to sing also of Macha herself. Here is an old far-off lay:\n\n    \u201cO \u2019tis a good house, and a palace fair, the dun of Macha,\n    And happy with a great household is Macha there;\n    Druids she had, and bards, minstrels, harpers, knights,\n    Hosts of servants she had, and wonders beautiful and rare,\n    But nought so wonderful and sweet as her face, queenly fair,\n                O Macha of the Ruddy Hair!\n\n    The colour of her great dun is the shining whiteness of lime,\n    And within it are floors strewn with green rushes and couches white,\n    Soft wondrous silks and blue gold-claspt mantles and furs\n    Are there, and jewelled golden cups for revelry by night:\n    Thy grianan of gold and glass is filled with sunshine-light,\n                O Macha, queen by day, queen by night!\n\n    Beyond the green portals, and the brown and red thatch of wings\n    Striped orderly, the wings of innumerous stricken birds,\n    A wide shining floor reaches from wall to wall, wondrously carven\n    Out of a sheet of silver, whereon are graven swords\n    Intricately ablaze; mistress of many hoards\n                Art thou, Macha of few words!\n\n    Fair indeed is thy couch, but fairer still is thy throne,\n    A chair it is, all of a blaze of wonderful yellow gold:\n    There thou sittest, and watchest the women going to and fro,\n    Each in garments fair and with long locks twisted fold in fold:\n    With the joy that is in thy house men would not grow old,\n                O Macha, proud, austere, cold.\n\n    Of a surety there is much joy to be had of thee and thine,\n    There in the song-sweet sunlit bowers in that place:\n    Wounded men might sink in sleep and be well content\n    So to sleep, and to dream perchance, and know no other grace\n    Than to wake and look betimes on thy proud queenly face,\n                O Macha of the Proud Face!\n\n    And if there be any here who wish to know more of this wonder,\n    Go, you will find all as I have shown, as I have said:\n    From beneath its portico thatched with wings of birds blue and\n        yellow\n    Reaches a green lawn, where a fount is fed\n    From crystal and gems: of crystal and gold each bed\n                In the house of Macha of the Ruddy Head.\n\n    In that great house where Macha the queen has her pleasaunce\n    There is everything in the whole world that a man might desire.\n    God is my witness that if I say little it is for this,\n    That I am grown faint with wonder, and can no more admire,\n    But say this only, that I live and die in the fire\n                Of thine eyes, O Macha, my desire,\n                With thine eyes of fire!\u201d[14]\n\nIt was in this wonderful forefront of Ulster that Concobar reigned.\nThe fame of Emain Macha was throughout Gaeldom; and there was no man\nor woman who, as the days went by, did not hear of the greatness of\nConcobar.\n\nOn a day of the days, the king went with his chief lords on a visit to\nthe dun of Felim, a warrior and harper whom he loved. There was to be\ngreat feasting, and all men were glad. Felim himself rejoiced, though\nhe would fain have had the king come to him a few days later, for his\nwife was heavy with child, and looked for her hour that very day or the\nnext.\n\nIn the midmost of the feast, Concobar saw that Cathba, an aged Druid\nwho had accompanied him, was staring into the other world that is about\nus.\n\n\u201cSpeak, Cathba,\u201d he said. \u201cThere is no man in all Erin who has wisdom\nlike unto thine. What is it that thou seest, with the inner sight that\nI perceive well is now upon thee?\u201d\n\n\u201cOld as I am with the heavy burden of years and sorrow, O Concobar,\ndid I not beg that I might come with thee to this festival at the dun\nof Felim? And that was not because I wearied to hear strange harping\nand singing, good and fine and better than our own as this harping is\nhere, in the house of Felim; for I am old and weary, and care more to\nlisten to the wind in the grass, or to the sighing upon the hill, than\nto any music of war or love.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen what was it that was in thy mind, Cathba?\u201d\n\n\u201cThis, O king. I saw a shadow arise whenever I thought of our Ultonian\nrealm, and I felt within me the burden of a new prophecy. Nevertheless,\nI was moved by naught till I entered the dun of Felim, and now I know.\u201d\n\n\u201cSpeak,\u201d said the king; while all there listened with awe as well as\neagerness, for Cathba was the wisest of the Druids, and knew many\nmysteries, and what he had foretold had ever come to pass. Slowly, the\nwhite-haired Druid looked around the faces of all seated there. Then he\nlooked at the king. Then he looked at Felim.\n\n\u201cTo thee, O Felim, shall be born this night a sting, a sword, a\nbattering-ram, and a flame.\u201d\n\nFelim the Harper stared with intent gaze, but said nothing. Of what\navail to say aught against the decrees of the gods?\n\n\u201cThis night shall that which I have said be born unto thee, O Felim.\nThe sting will sting to madness him who is king of the Ultonians; the\nsword will sever from Uladh the chief of her glories, the proud Red\nBranch for which Concobar and all his chivalry shall perish; the ram\nshall batter down the proud splendour of Emain Macha; the flame shall\npass from dun to dun, from forest to forest, from hill to hill, from\nthe isles of Ara on the west to the shores of the sea-stream of the\nMoyle on the north, and to those of the sea of Manannan in the east.\u201d\n\nStill Felim answered nothing. Then the king spoke:\n\n\u201cThy words come in dust, like wind-whirled autumn leaves. We have not\nthy further sight, Cathba, and understand thee not.\u201d\n\nThen once more Cathba spake out of the dream that was upon him:\n\n\u201cTwo stars I see shining in a web of dusk; and, in the shadow of that\ndusk, a low tower of ivory and white pearls I see, and a strange\ncrimson fruit; and through all and over all I hear the low, sweet\nvibration of the strings of a harp, a harp such as the Dedannan folk\nplay upon in the moonshine in lonely places, but sweeter still, sweeter\nand more wonderful.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs this thy second vision one and the same with thy first, O Cathba?\u201d\nasked the king.\n\n\u201cEven so. For the shining stars are her eyes, and the web of dusk is\nthe flower-fragrant maze of her hair, that low tower of ivory is her\nfair, white, wonderful neck, and her white teeth are these pearls, and\nthat strange crimson fruit is no other than her smiling mouth--a little\nsmiling mouth with life and death upon it because of its laughter and\ngrave stillness. As for that harp-playing, it is her voice I hear--a\nvoice more soft and sweet and tender than the love-music of Angus Ogue\nhimself. O shining eyes, O strange crimson fruit that is a little\nsmiling mouth, O sweet voice that is more excellent to hear than the\nwild music of the Hidden People of the hills--it is of ye, of ye that I\nspeak, and of thee, O tender, delicate fawn, in all thy loveliness.\u201d\n\nNone spake, but all stared at the Druid. For dream was upon them at\nthese words, and each man imagined his desire, and was wrought by it,\nand was rapt in strange longing.\n\nIt was Concobar who broke the silence.\n\n\u201cOf whomsoever thou speakest, Cathba, she is surely of the divine folk.\nThat exceeding loveliness is for the joy or the sorrow of the world.\u201d\n\nOnly Felim the Harper was troubled, for now he knew well that the\nancient Druid spoke of the unborn child with whom even then his wife\nwas in travail. But no sooner had Concobar ceased than Cathba rose,\nwith his great dark eyes aflame beneath his white eye-brows. His voice\nwas loud and terrible.\n\n\u201cBehold, I see this thing; behold the vision of Cathba the Druid, who\nis old and nigh unto death. And what is before mine eyes is a sea, a\nsea of flowing crimson, a sea of blood. Foaming it rises, and wells\nforth, and overflows, and drowns great straths and valleys, and laves\nthe flanks of high hills, and from the summits of mountains pours down\nupon the lands of the Gael in a thundering flood, blood-red to the\nblood-red sea.\u201d\n\nBut now the spell of silence was broken. All leaped to their feet, and\nmany put their hands upon their swords. There was not one who did not\nfear the prophesying of Cathba the wise Druid. That deluge of blood,\nwas it not a terror, a great ruin to avert?\n\n\u201cIf this child that the wife of Felim the Harper is to bear this\nnight be a blood-bringer so terrible,\u201d they cried, \u201clet us slay her\nat birth. For surely it is better to kill a child than to destroy a\nnation.\u201d\n\nSo spake they out of their ignorance that they thought wisdom. For they\ndid not know that there is no thought, no power, no spell, no craft,\nwherewith to turn aside the feet of Destiny. What has to be, will be,\nand no man living can say or do aught that is of avail against the\ninevitable tides of Fate.\n\nFor the first time since Cathba had prophesied, Felim uttered word.\n\n\u201cListen, my kinsmen and fellow-knights of the Red Branch. A sore pity\nis it for my wife Elva to bear a daughter that shall be a sting to\nsting the king to madness, and a sword to sever the Red Branch from\nUladh, our fair heritage, and a ram to break down the walls of Emania,\nand a flame to consume the land from shore to shore. And as for that\nsea of blood, let it not be upon my head. For I, the father of the\nchild of Elva, that Cathba says is to be a woman-child and of a beauty\nwonderful to see, say unto ye: That which ye would fain do, do. If it\nseems good unto ye, O Concobar, and ye of the Red Branch, let this\nchild perish, so that the doom foretold by Cathba may be averted.\u201d\n\nAt that all were glad save Concobar. Two men was he, this king: a man\nwho recked little of aught save his desire, and a man who had wisdom.\nOut of his wisdom he knew that Felim and the Red Branch lords spoke\nmadness, for if it was ordained that the child of Elva should bring\ndoom, that doom would surely come. Out of his longing he loved the\nbeauty of which Cathba had spoken, and desired it against the years to\ncome, and for the solace of his years when he had loved much and at the\nlast was fain only of that which was the crown of life. So he spoke to\nthose before him, and prevailed with them. Not vainly was he called\nConcobar of the Honeymouth.\n\n\u201cI will speak first to thee, Felim, son of Dall, my bard. It is not\ngood to put death upon the fruit of one\u2019s loins. Thine own child should\nnot see death through thee. But even were it so, it is not meet for me\nor for any one to bring the shame and pain of death to the house of a\nfriend. Therefore, do not speak of putting silence and darkness upon\nthe child of Elva.\u201d\n\nHaving spoken thus, the king turned to the lords of the Red Branch. As\nthe wont was, at the royal festivals there were five and three score\nover three hundred of the Red Branch there and then.[15]\n\n\u201cAnd to ye, Ultonians, I say this thing also. Do not bring blood into\nthe hospitable home of Felim; that would be a stain upon him, upon\nye yourselves, and upon me the king. But this is my counsel. Let the\nchild live. There is no good in idle blood, and if ye stain yourselves\nwith it, there shall be greater loss and sorrow to follow. Ye are all\ngrown men, and not boys who do not know our laws. Ye know the Law of\nthe Eric. Well, I will free ye of all doom, for upon my head be it.\nTo myself I will take this fair child, and upon me, and not upon the\nUltonians, nor upon the Red Branch, nor upon any other whomsoever save\nConcobar MacNessa, the high king, be the penalty, if penalty there be.\u201d\n\nAt that a son of a king arose.\n\n\u201cThat is well, O Concobar. But what of Cathba\u2019s prophecy? We do not\nwish to see the sting that shall sting thee to madness, and if the\nchild live shall we not see that sting?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf that I have thought, that I have foreseen, Congal, son of Rossa of\nthe Lakes. For I shall send the child into a lonely place, and there\nin a solitary rath shall she dwell and grow in years, and no man shall\nlook upon her save I myself, and that only in the fulness of time. She\nshall be solitary and apart as the Crane of Innisbea, that has dwelt\nupon its isle since the world was made, and is seen of none.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell us once more, Concobar MacNessa; dost thou take this child, and\nthe doom of this child unto thee, and to thee alone?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have sworn. She shall grow in years, and be wife to me when the time\nis come. And if sorrow come with her, that sorrow shall be my sorrow.\nNot upon Uladh be it, but upon me. I have spoken.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd as for thee, Felim?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt would be better to slay the child than to drown the land in blood.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd as for thee, Cathba?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is but one law: that which has to come, cometh.\u201d But while they\nwere thus debating, the loud chanting voices of women were heard,\nand soon a messenger came, crying loudly that a child had been born\nto Elva, wife of Felim, and that it was a woman-child, and exceeding\ncomely, and strong, and white as milk.\n\nOnce more Cathba the Druid spoke.\n\n\u201cShe shall be called Darthool,[16] this woman whose beauty shall be a\nflame, and whose eyes shall be as stars.\u201d\n\nAnd so it was. The child was spared, and that night Elva slept in\npeace, and for many nights.\n\nWhen the days of the feasting were over, Concobar left the dun of\nFelim, and returned with all his company to Emania. With him he took\nthe little child Darthool, and Elva came with him for a month and a day.\n\nThe month and the day soon passed, and then Elva went back to her own\nplace. It was the will of the high king and of Felim, her husband;\nnevertheless, she sorrowed to part with her little child, who, even as\na breast-babe, had eyes of so great a beauty that it was a joy to look\ninto them.\n\nBefore the year was over--for, according to what Cathba the wise Druid\nsaid, the child must either be slain or hidden away before the first\nyear of her life were past--Concobar sent Darthool with the nursing\nwoman to whom he entrusted her, to a small _lios_, or fort, deep in the\nheart of the royal forest. A ban was upon that forest that none might\nhunt or even stray there without the king\u2019s will; and now that ban was\nmade absolute, and it was known that death would be the portion of any\nman who went under these branches. None was to enter that woodland save\nConcobar, or whosoever might be of his chosen company, or whom the king\nmight thither lead.\n\nConcobar himself saw that food and milk was sent in plenty to the lios,\nand once in every seven days he went thither himself. As year after\nyear passed the secret of the hiding-place of Darthool went out of\nmen\u2019s minds, and none knew of the lios save the king, and the sister\nof the nursing woman, who was his own foster-child and under _geas_ or\nbond to him. This woman was named Lavarcam (_Leabharcham_), and was\nfair to see, and whom Concobar held to be discreet and trustworthy\nbeyond any other of his own people. She was of the royal household,\nand of the women trained as chroniclers and relaters.[17]\n\nThe little starry-eyed babe grew to a child, and from a child to a fawn\nof a girl, fair to see, and from a young girl to a maid, of a beauty so\ngreat that Concobar knew when she came to full womanhood she would be\nindeed as Cathba the Druid had prophesied.\n\nDarthool saw no one but her nurse, and the tutor whom the king had sent\nto teach her all that could be taught, and not only in learning, but in\ncourtesy and nobility; and Lavarcam, who alone went to and fro. From\nthe time that Darthool passed out of her first girlhood the king saw\nlittle of her, but twice in each year--at the Festival of the Sun in\nthe time of the greening, and at the Festival of end Summer at the fall\nof the leaf; and this because of a warning that had been given him by\nCathba the ancient Druid.\n\nHow can the beauty of so fair and sweet a woman be revealed? Her\nloveliness was even as Cathba had foretold. It was a surpassing\nloveliness, and the three women who saw her often marvelled at it,\nand wondered no more that Darthool should be kept apart, for of a\nsurety she would be a torch to put flame into the hearts of men, and\nto set great duns and raths and towered capitals and warring nations\nablaze. The poets have sung of her, and no man has sung but out of\nhis deep desire. Her great sad eyes, so full of dream, were blue as\nare the hill-tarns at noon, and often dusky as they when passing\nclouds put purple into their depths; and like a golden web her hair\nwas, sprayed out with shining light, wonderful, glorious; and her\nrowan-red lips were indeed that strange crimson fruit which Cathba\nhad foreseen--rowan-red against the cream-white softness of her skin.\nCream-white her body was, and her neck like a tower of ivory; slim and\ngraceful was she as a fawn, and fleet of foot as the wild roes on the\nhills, and when she moved in the sunlight or the shadow she was so\nbeautiful that tears came at times to the eyes of the women in that\nlonely place. Yet even more wonderful was her voice--low and sweet and\nwith music in it, like the whisper of the wind among the reeds, or the\nripple of green leaves, or the murmuring of a brook.\n\nBut now and from this time forth Concobar did not see her. For a year\nand a day after she attained womanhood, Cathba had warned the king it\nwould mean death to him if he saw her. Nevertheless, he often heard of\nDarthool from Lavarcam, who in her going to and fro had ever one thing\nto say--that never had there been any woman so beautiful.\n\nThe rumour of this great loveliness spread from lip to lip. Yet no man\nventured to seek out the hidden place where Darthool dwelled, for to\nall it was known that Concobar kept her there against the time when he\nwould make her his queen, and all feared the long arm and the heavy\nhand of Concobar Mac Nessa. None might even question the king.\n\nIt was in this year that the shadows of the feet of Fate came into that\nplace.\n\nOne day when Lavarcam told the king that Darthool grew fairer and\nfairer, so that even the wild creatures of the forest rejoiced in her,\nhe all but yielded to his desire. Nevertheless, fearing the prophetic\nvoice, he refrained, but cried: \u201cWhen the snow time has passed, and the\nfirst greening is over, and the wild rose runs like a flame throughout\nthe land, then will I go to Darthool.\u201d\n\nBut before the greening was lost in the tides of summer, and before\nthe wild rose had begun to run like a windy flame throughout the land,\nConcobar had learned that Destiny waits on no man.\n\nOne dawn the first snows came over the hills of the north and fell upon\nthe forest. At the rising of the sun they ceased, but every branch was\na white plume, and every glade was smooth and white as was the breast\nof Darthool herself. There was no wind in the deep blue sky, but the\nair was sharp and sweet because of the frost. For joy Darthool clapped\nher hands, as she stood upon the wall of the lios.\n\nThen, glancing downward, she beheld the woman who was her attendant\nstanding beside a calf that had been slain for the provisioning of\nthose within the fort. The red blood streamed over the snow, and was as\nthe crimson cloak of an Ultonian chief there, till the red grew mottled\nas it sank through the frozen whiteness.\n\nDarthool\u2019s eyes ever saddened at the sight of blood, but after a brief\nwhile she knew that there was no harm in that shedding, and that no\nomen of further bloodspilling lay therein. While she was still looking\nthereon, a great raven, glossy black and burnished in the sun rays,\ncame gliding swift across the snow, and alit by the slain calf, and\ndrank of the warm bright blood.\n\nOf a sudden Darthool laughed low. It was a sweet shy laugh, and\nLavarcam, who had come to her side, asked her why there was such\nsweet low laughter upon her. Mayhap she knew; mayhap she guessed that\nDarthool dreamed dreams of love, because her womanhood was now come,\nand because of the old heroic tales she took so great a pleasure in,\nand because of the vision that every woman has in her heart.\n\n\u201cI was thinking, Lavarcam,\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cAnd what was that thought, Darthool?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was this: that if there be anywhere a youth whose skin is white as\nthat whiteness there, and whose locks are as dark and glossy as the\nplumage of that raven, and in whose cheek is a crimson as red as that\nblood that is upon the snow, then of a surety him could I love, and\nthat gladly.\u201d\n\nFor a moment Lavarcam said nought; then the power of Destiny moved her.\n\n\u201cThere is one man who is more beautiful than all others I have ever\nseen. He is young, and his hair is dark and glossy as that raven\u2019s\nwing, and in his cheek the ruddy flame is as that crimson blood, and\nhis skin is as white as any sunlit whiteness, or as thine own breast,\nDarthool.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what will be the name of that man, Lavarcam, and whence is he and\nwhere, and what is his decree?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is called Nathos, and is the son of Usna, who is a great lord in\nAlba. But he is now in Emania, among the company of the king; and with\nhim are his brothers, both fair to see, and princes among men because\nof their beauty and valour, yet neither so surpassing all men as\nNathos. They are called Ailne and Ardan.\u201d[18]\n\nThat was a fatal saying of Lavarcam, for it sank into the mind of\nDarthool as moonlight into dark water.\n\nDay by day thereafter she thought of nothing but of meeting this proud\nson of beauty; night by night she dreamed of Nathos and of his love.\n\nAt the last, Lavarcam was filled with fear, for she saw that her words\nhad awakened the flaming lion that lies hid in the heart. And truly it\nwas not long till Darthool spoke to her of her longing and deep desire,\nand how that without Nathos she did not care to live.\n\nFor a time Lavarcam smiled; but when she saw that the king\u2019s beautiful\nward was ever growing more and more wrought, her heart smote her.\n\nOne day, as she was returning from Emain Macha, she met a swineherd,\nclad roughly in the fell of a deer, and with him were two men, rude,\ndishevelled hillmen, bondagers to the Ultonians.\n\nThese, notwithstanding the law of Concobar, she took with her into the\nforest, and bade them await at a well that was there, until they heard\nthe cry of a jay and the bark of a hill-fox, when they were to move\nslowly on their way, but to speak to no one whom they might meet, and\nabove all to be silent after they left the shadow of the wood.\n\nHaving done this, she entered the lios, and asked Darthool to come\nforth with her into the woods.\n\nWhen they drew near to the well, Lavarcam moved aside to look for some\nrare herb, as she said. Soon the cry of the jay and the bark of the\nhill-fox were in the air.\n\n\u201cThat is a strange thing,\u201d Darthool said to her, when she was by her\nside again; \u201cfor that cry of the jay was the cry it gives in April, at\nthe nesting time, and the bark of that hill-fox was the bark it gives\nin the season of the rut, many months agone.\u201d\n\n\u201cHush,\u201d said Lavarcam, \u201cand look.\u201d\n\nThey stood still, as they saw the swineherd and the two hillmen rise\nfrom near the well, and move slowly across the glade.\n\n\u201cWho are these, Lavarcam?\u201d asked Darthool, with wonder in her eyes.\n\n\u201cThese are men, daughter of Felim.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey are younger than those I have seen from the outskirts of the\nforest, but they are wild in dress and mien, and are not of high\ndegree, and my eyes have no pleasure in looking upon them.\u201d\n\n\u201cNevertheless,\u201d answered Lavarcam, \u201cthese are the three sons of\nUsna--Nathos and Ailne and Ardan.\u201d\n\nFor a brief while Darthool looked upon them. Then she spoke.\n\n\u201cThe truth flew past thy lips, Lavarcam. Yonder man whom ye name Nathos\nhas neither raven hair nor white skin, nor the comely red in his face;\nand the two others are like the slaves I saw that day I beheld the\nfoster-brothers of Concobar driving back from battle, in a chariot\ndragged by wild rough men in bondage. I remember the day, for it was\nthen that thou bade me know that death was the portion of any man who\nsought me. That, too, I fear was no true word. Howsoever, as to these\nmen, they may go. And yet---- wait.\u201d\n\nAnd with that Darthool moved swiftly forward, and, coming upon the\nthree men by a by-path through the fern, confronted them.\n\nThey stood amazed at her exceeding great beauty. Nothing like it was in\nthe whole world; so, little wonder that these boors stood as though the\nface of death was bare to them; for beauty is strange and terrible to\nmost men, and they are prone to stand in dread of it.\n\nNone spake. Darthool looked at each, a slow smile of mocking in her\nlips, a blue flame of scorn in her eyes.\n\n\u201cAre ye the sons of Usna?\u201d\n\nThey made no answer, but stared unwaveringly upon her, as do the dull\ncattle in the fields.\n\n\u201cWhat brave courtesy!\u201d she cried, mocking with her sweet voice, \u201chow\nswift in courtesy! Tell me, Nathos, son of Usna, is it the wont of thy\npeople in Alba to stand by agape when a woman speaks? Who is Usna, or\nwhat? If he is a king, is he overlord of swineherds? If it is a place,\nis it the rough bogs of the hills where sword-clad men do not go, but\nonly a poor folk clad rudely in skins?\u201d\n\nStill they answered nothing.\n\n\u201cWere ye whipt into silence when ye were young, ye that stand there\nwordless as dogs? If indeed ye be the sons of Usna, then truly Concobar\nMacNessa must be in sore want of men at Emain Macha!\u201d\n\nAt that the swineherd could no longer hold to his bond.\n\n\u201cBy thy great exceeding beauty I know that thou art no other than\nDarthool, whom the king hides in this place. But do not mock us, who\nwould rather worship thee. We are no nobles, but a swineherd, and two\nhillmen who are bondagers to Cairbre of the Three Duns.\u201d\n\nAt that Darthool laughed gently.\n\n\u201cThat I knew full well, swineherd, for all that I dwell here apart and\nsee none of my kind, save Maev my nurse and Aeifa my tutor and Lavarcam\nthe friend of the king. Those I have seen otherwise have been beheld a\ngreat way off, from where I laid hid in the woods. But now, wilt thou\ndo one thing for me?\u201d\n\n\u201cI will give thee my life.\u201d\n\nDarthool smiled into the man\u2019s eyes, and what was only the swineherd\ndied, and a strong heroic soul arose in him.\n\n\u201cI would fain see Nathos, the eldest of the sons of Usna.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is against the law of Concobar: and long is the arm and heavy the\nhand of Concobar MacNessa the high king. But what is death to me, since\nthou willest me to do this thing for thee, Darthool of the beautiful\neyes? Nay, I swear this thing: that rather would I die by torture, and\nplease thee, than live out my life and refuse thee of what thou art\nfain. For thy beauty is upon me like the light of the moon at the full\non the dark moorland. I am thine.\u201d\n\nDarthool looked at the man. Suddenly she stooped and kissed him on the\nwind-furrowed brow. Great fortune was his, and he was well repaid for\nhis death by blunt spear-shafts, when Concobar knew all. For what is\ndeath, when a man has reached beyond the limit of his desire?\n\n\u201cThen go this night to Nathos, and tell him that I, Darthool, dream of\nhim by day and by night, and that if he is in anywise fain of me, let\nhim come to me to-morrow, an hour before the setting of the sun, at\nthis well.\u201d\n\nWith that she turned and walked slowly back to where Lavarcam awaited\nher. As they moved homeward through the wood, Lavarcam saw that the\ndream in the eyes of Darthool had deepened. It was in vain then, or\nlater, that she sought to know what the fair, beautiful girl had said\nto the swineherd. She feared, however, that Darthool no longer trusted\nher because of the lie that she had told, and that mayhap the girl had\nplotted somewhat with the swineherd.\n\nAll the morrow Lavarcam watched Darthool closely, but she seemed rapt\nin vision, and cared neither to chase the fawns, nor to fish, nor even\nto wander idly through the woods. No speech would she have with any\none, and said only that she wished to lie under the boughs of the\ngreat oak in front of the lios, and sleep.\n\n\u201cHow can that be, when there is snow upon the ground?\u201d Lavarcam asked.\n\n\u201cIs there snow upon the ground?\u201d answered Darthool dreamily. \u201cThen I\nwill lie upon my deerskins, and Aeifa can play to me and sing me songs\ntill dusk.\u201d\n\nHearing that, Lavarcam was glad, for now she could leave the lios with\na mind at rest.\n\nSo, in the wane of the day, she passed through the forest and came out\nupon the great plain in front of Emain Macha, and went to seek the king\nto take counsel with him.\n\nNevertheless, Lavarcam was sore wrought by Darthool, and would fain\nhave given her her heart\u2019s desire. Piteous indeed had her plaints been.\nWith tears and reproaches and sweet beseechings nigh intolerable,\nDarthool had begged her to bring Nathos to her, if for once only, so\nthat she might at least see him, and know what her heart\u2019s desire was\nlike. Moreover, was it not a bitter thing for her to be kept there in\nthat lonely place, and neither to see nor converse with her own kind,\nand to be kept away from all the joys of youth, and to pass from spring\nto summer, and from summer to autumn, and from autumn to winter, yea\nand from year to year, and be exiled there, to hear no young voices, no\nyoung laughter? When she pleaded thus, Lavarcam was sorrowful indeed,\nfor she had the heart of a woman, and knew the beauty and the wonder\nand the mystery of love.\n\nThinking of these things, her heart smote her as she fared towards\nEmain Macha, and at the last she decided to say no word to the king as\nto what she feared Darthool may have told the swineherd. Furthermore,\nshe muttered, what was death to her who had known all that life had to\ngive her? At the worst, Concobar could put death upon her. Had she not\nlived and known love, and now was weary?\n\nWhen she drew nigh to Emain Macha she saw three ravens and three\nhoodie-crows and three kites arise from some carrion hidden in the long\ngrass that waved there.\n\nWhen she came upon it, she saw that it was the body of the swineherd,\nloose with the gaping wounds of blunt spear-shafts. In thus-wise she\nknew that Concobar had in some way heard of what the man had done.\n\nYet she had no fear from that. The swineherd was still now. Neither\nking nor raven, neither man nor hoodie-crow, neither spear-shaft nor\nkite could now hurt him. It was better to be alive than to be dead, but\nit was well to be dead.\n\nSo Lavarcam turned, and went over to the camp in Emain Macha where\nthe sons of Usna were. There she saw Nathos, and told him privily\nthat Darthool longed to see him, and that the forest was open to the\nstealthy flight of the owl as well as to the soaring hawk.\n\nNathos was indeed fair to see, and looking upon him Lavarcam knew in\nher heart that Darthool would love him, and he her. He listened, and\nshe saw his eyes deepen, and a flush come and go upon his face. For\nsure there was a beating swift of his pulse in that hour.\n\nNevertheless, he could not come straightway, for Concobar knew that\nthe swineherd had spoken to him of Darthool, and it was for this, and\nhaving seen and spoken with the girl, that the king had put the man to\ndeath--though for that, added Nathos, little did the swineherd care,\nfor he died laughing and mocking, and, when he lay still, there was a\nsmile upon his face.\n\n\u201cAnd that was because Darthool had looked into his eyes, Nathos, son of\nUsna.\u201d\n\n\u201cTruly, he died well. I know a prince among men who also would die\ngladly if Darthool would look into his eyes with love.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen come soon and hunt the deer in the solitudes to the north of\nthe forest: and there, amid the woods, or in some glen, or on the\nhill-slopes, surely thou shalt meet with Darthool--and yet none know of\nit.\u201d\n\nSo Lavarcam and Nathos made a bond between them, and parted.\n\nThereafter days passed. On the morrow of the seventh day Darthool was\nwandering among the glades and thickets of the uplands far away from\nthe lios, rejoicing in her new freedom and hoping that one day her eyes\nmight look upon Nathos. She was dreaming her dream, when she started at\na strange sound, the like of which she had never heard.\n\nThat far-off baying of hounds she knew, for oftentimes of old Concobar\nhad ridden to the forest with his deerhounds: but that strange, wild,\nblazoning sound---- Was it the voice of the flying creature the hounds\npursued?\n\nThen the thought came to her that it was the hunting horn she had often\nheard of in the songs and war-ballads which Lavarcam and Aeifa were\nwont to sing to her.\n\nBut after that blast the horn no more tore the silence of the deep\nwoods, and the hounds were still: for Nathos had left the chase of\nthe deer and was now moving listless through the green glooms of the\nforest. Night and day since Lavarcam and the swineherd had told him\nof Darthool he had dreamed of the beautiful daughter of Felim the\nHarper. Remembering the last chant of Cathba the Druid, he recalled how\nDarthool had been named the Beauty of the World, and because he was\nhimself a poet and a dreamer the vision had become part of his life,\nso that neither by night nor by day was there any hour wherein he did\nnot see in his mind the tall, white-robed figure of Darthool, and the\nbeauty of her eyes, and her face as the sweet wild face of a dream.\n\nAnd so dreaming he stood at the edge of a glade, his swift eyes\nwatching a fawn dispart a thicket that was close by. Yet it was no fawn\nas he thought: but rather was it as though a sudden flood of sunshine\nburst forth in that place. For a woman came from the thicket more\nbeautiful than any dream he had ever dreamed. She was clad in a saffron\nrobe over white that was like the shining of the sun on foam of the\nsea, and this was claspt with great bands of yellow gold, and over her\nshoulders was the golden rippling flood of her hair, the sprays of\nwhich lightened into delicate fire, and made a mist before him, in the\nwhich he could see her eyes like two blue pools wherein purple shadows\ndreamed.\n\nSo exceeding great was her beauty that Nathos did not think of her as\nDarthool or as any mortal woman, but rather as a daughter of the elder\ngods, or of that bright divine race of the Tuatha-De-Danann, whose\nbeauty surpassed that of human beings as the beauty of the primrose\nbank that of the brown sod. He looked upon her amazed, and in a silent\nworship. If she were indeed of the Dedannan folk, she might disappear\nat any moment as a shadow goes, that now is here asleep upon the grass\nand in the twinkling of an eye is among the things of oblivion.\n\nAt last speech rose to his lips.\n\n\u201cO fair and wonderful one, whom I see well art of the old sacred race\nof the Tuatha-De-Danann, may I have word with thee? It may well be\nthat thou art no other than the wife of Midir himself, she who lives\nin a fair shining grianan in the hollow of a hill, and lives upon the\nbeauty and fragrance of flowers.\u201d Darthool looked at him, and her heart\nbeat. He was in truth fair to see: fairer even than him whom she had\nimaged in her dreams, or him of whom Lavarcam had spoken.\n\n\u201cSpeak. What wouldst thou?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am faring idly through this lonely land, and I know not where I am.\nYonder, in the valley behind the oak-glade, is a high-walled rath. Is\nit a place of the Shee, and so forbidden? or who dwells there, and\nshall a spear or welcome greet me if I enter?\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed, thou mayst enter there, and a welcome awaits thee, O Nathos,\nson of Usna.\u201d\n\n\u201cThou knowest my name, O fair one; then, indeed, thou art of the old\nwondrous race, who know swifter than our thought, and whose sight is\nfurther and deeper than our sight.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am no queen, Nathos, nor am I of the Tuatha-De-Danann, but am a\nwoman as other women are. If I am beautiful in thine eyes, of that I\nam right glad, for thou art fairer to me than any man I have seen or\ndreamed of, and my pulse leaps when thine eyes look into mine. I am\nDarthool, the daughter of Felim the Harper; yet am I no better than a\nslave, for here am I bound to stay, and see no one save Lavarcam and\nmy two women, and here I shall die for loneliness and longing.\u201d\n\nNathos heard her sweet low voice with delight, and it was with joy at\nhis heart he knew she was no strange Dedannan but a woman of his own\nrace, and that she was Darthool. Love rose suddenly within him like a\nflame: a red flame was it that was in his heart, and a white flame in\nhis mind, and out of these two flames is wrought the love of love and\nthe passion of passion and the dream of dreams.\n\n\u201cArt thou, indeed, Darthool?\u201d he whispered; \u201cart thou that Darthool\nof whom I have dreamed? Strange is the strangeness of this meeting, O\nwhite daughter of Felim. For so great is thy beauty that I was fain to\nbelieve I saw before me one of the queens of the Tuatha-De-Danann. But\nis this thing true, that against thine own will Concobar the high king\nkeeps thee here like a trapped bird among these woods?\u201d\n\n\u201cTrue it is, and more: for it is not even by Concobar\u2019s will that I\nroam the woodlands. He was fain that I should never leave the rath save\nwith Lavarcam, and that I should spend most of my days within the stone\nwalls of the dreary lios where he has doomed me to dwell.\u201d\n\n\u201cDarthool, my heart is filled with a rising tide. That tide is love.\nThou hast not seen the sea: but there, when the tide flows, there is\nnothing, there is no one, in all the world, which can say it nay. So\nis my love for thee, that now rises; and, once thine, will be thine\nevermore. Yet I would not put this upon thee; and if thy words and\nlooks come out of thy frank, sweet courtesy and open maidenly heart,\nand mean no more than that thou carest for me as a brother, it is thy\nbrother I will be, Darthool, to serve thee and succour thee and love\nthee evermore, and in that way only.\u201d\n\nFor a brief while she looked at him. Then the noon-blue of her eyes\ndeepened, and a flush drifted through her face and waned into the\ndeeper red of her parted lips.\n\n\u201cNathos,\u201d she said in a low voice, which trembled as a reed in the\nwind, \u201cI, too, love. It is thee I love. If it be wrong for me, a\nmaiden, to speak thus, forgive me, for I have grown wilding here, and\nam more akin to the fawns of the forest than to women kind of mine\nown age or estate. But I love thee, Nathos: as of old, in the far-off\nDedannan days, Dectura the queen loved the Green Harper, and went\nforth with him and was seen no more of her own people.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf thou indeed wilt have it so, Darthool, be thou my Dectura, and let\nme be thy Green Harper. For beyond the reach of life or death is the\ngreatness of the love I feel for thee, even now in this first hour of\nour meeting.\u201d\n\n\u201cThy words are in my heart, Nathos; and because that this is so, I\nnow put _geas_ upon thee. Let thy sword be as my sword, and be thou\nto me as brother and friend and the holder of my leal love; and to\nthis end, lo! I throw this yellow thistle against thy cheek, to raise\na mark of shame there if thou dost not fulfil the bond, and there to\nbe seen of all men as a sign and witness of thy disgrace; yea, even\nthus I put _geas_ upon thee, to succour me in my ill fate, to take me\nunto thyself, to give thyself unto me, and to let us go forth together\nheedless of Fate.\u201d\n\nNathos looked at her with proud eyes.\n\n\u201cOf a surety, Darthool, there is no hero of the Red Branch who hath a\ncourage greater than thine, even though it may be that thou speakest\nthe more freely from knowing little of what may befall.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat can befall save death, and dost thou fear death, son of Usna?\u201d\n\nNathos smiled out of grave eyes.\n\n\u201cIf I feared death, Darthool, I would not now be speaking with thee\nhere. It is swift silence upon any who in this forbidden land speaks\nwith the daughter of Felim the Harper. Concobar MacNessa has the ears\nof a hare and the eyes of a hawk and the swoop of an eagle. Dost thou\nremember the swineherd to whom thou gavest word privily? Well, that\nnight he lay in the grass tended only by the raven and the wolf, for he\nwas done to death with blunt spear-shafts.\u201d\n\n\u201cFor that I have deep grief,\u201d said Darthool, with tears drifting like a\nrainy mist athwart the blue of her eyes.\n\n\u201cNevertheless, he died with a smile, Darthool. Thou hadst looked into\nhis eyes and kissed him. Even so, and for less now, would I too die.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat thou shalt not do, Nathos;\u201d and even as she spoke Darthool moved\nforward and put her honeysweet lips against the mouth of Nathos, and\nmade his blood leap, and a flame come into his eyes, and a trembling\ncome into his limbs.\n\nThen, as though with that kiss she had become as a wild rose, she stood\nswaying lightly, her fair face delicately aflame. Nathos put his arms\nabout her, and kissed her on the brow and on the lips.\n\n\u201cThat kiss on the brow is for service,\u201d he said, \u201cbecause from this\nhour thou art my queen; and that kiss on the lips is for love, for from\nthis hour I shall love no woman save thee thyself, but shall be thine\nand thine only in life or death.\u201d\n\nNevertheless, though Nathos accepted the _geas_ put upon him by\nDarthool, he was troubled at the thought of the anger of Concobar\nthe high king. It would be a swift and bitter death for him, and for\nDarthool too it might be death or worse.\n\nThe thought in his mind swam into his eyes, and Darthool saw it. She\nshrank from him, and stood hesitating and as though about to flee at\nhis first word of doubt. When he looked at her again his last fear went.\n\n\u201cFair wonderful one, thou art as a fawn there in the fern where thou\nstandest; Darthool, do not doubt the truth of my words. I am thine to\nlove and to serve, and am under _geas_ to thee. But my thought was\nthis: if we two go hence and are waylaid, it will be death, and if we\ngo hence and are not waylaid forthwith, it will still be death; for\nlong is the arm, and heavy the hand, and tireless the quest of Concobar\nMacNessa. And this, too: that if we cross the Moyle and go to Alba, it\nmay still be death; yea, though for a year or for a brood of years we\nelude the undying wrath and vengeance of the king.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe will forget when once the bird is flown. Neither the bird nor the\nwind leaves any track, so let our flight be as that of the bird and our\nway be as that of the wind.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe king forgetteth not. If so be that we might escape him many years,\nhe will yet have his will of us in the end; and this though thou\nwert old, Darthool, and wert no longer his desire, and though I were\noutlawed and broken and no more in his sight than a wolf of the hills,\ngood to slay if come upon, but not worthy of chase.\u201d\n\n\u201cConcobar is not a king in Alba?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen let us go to thine own land. He can do no more than send\nemissaries after us, and with these thou canst deal swiftly, Nathos.\u201d\n\nAt that, Nathos lightly laughed.\n\n\u201cTruly, I am seeing Concobar as a man sees his own shadow in the water.\nHe is a great king in Uladh, but he is no more in Alba than any hero\nof the Red Branch. Come, Darthool; across the Moyle are the pine-green\nshores of Alba. It is a fair, beautiful land. The sea-lochs reach far\namong pine-clad hills, and green pastures are on the slopes of the\ngreat mountains and around the shadowy, inland waters. The forests\nare full of deer and wild birds, the rivers and lochs of fish, the\npastures of cattle and sheep and swift brown mares. Thou shalt have\nmilk to drink, and the red flesh of the salmon, and the brown flesh\nof the deer, and the white flesh of the badger. Thou shalt lack for\nnothing, who art my queen; and thou shalt have love till the sun grows\na lordlier fire and the stars leap in their slow dance from dusk to\ndawn.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will come,\u201d Darthool whispered, with glad eyes.\n\n\u201cOnly thou must not delay. Thy coming must be now. Thou must not even\nenter the rath again. Otherwise it is never the waters of the Moyle\nthat we shall see, but only the red flame in the eyes of Concobar.\u201d\n\nEven while Nathos spoke his eyes grew hard, and his hands slipped to\nthe javelin he had by his side. While Darthool watched him in amaze,\nhe swung the iron-pointed shaft at a place where a bent bracken hung\nlistless in the air.\n\n\u201cIs it a wolf?\u201d cried Darthool, in sudden affright.\n\n\u201cIt is worse than a wolf,\u201d answered Nathos; \u201cfor if thou wilt go to\nthat place thou wilt see either a slain man, or the form of a man, in\nthe grass beneath the bracken.\u201d\n\nSwiftly Darthool ran to the spot wherein the javelin had swung singing.\nThere was no one there, but, where the javelin still quivered slightly,\nshe saw the still warm shape of a crouching man, and discerned, by the\nbending of the bracken, what course he must have twisted away.\n\nNathos followed and stood beside her. As he stooped to pluck the\njavelin from the ground, he descried a wooden-hilted knife.\n\n\u201cIt is as I thought,\u201d he said gravely. \u201cConcobar has set a spy upon me.\nNo Ultonian carries a knife such as this. It belongs to the hillmen of\nthe north-west, of whom a few years agone we made slaves. Mayhap one\nof these men who were with the swineherd has been told to follow me\nsecretly wheresoever I go.\u201d\n\nDarthool turned and looked at Nathos with eyes filled with a new fear,\nbecause of her love of him.\n\nHe took her hand in his.\n\n\u201cThere is yet time, Darthool. Wilt thou go back to the rath, and stay\nthere till Concobar wills thee to be his wife?\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot go back.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen come, O Darthool.\u201d\n\nAnd with that the twain turned and moved swiftly northward through the\nforest, by the way Nathos had already passed.\n\n\u201cBy dawn we may reach the dun where my two brothers now are, and for\nthat day and that night we may rest in safety,\u201d whispered Nathos, as\nDarthool turned and looked for the last time upon the place where she\nhad lived all these years.\n\n\u201cBut thereafter, O love that I have won, the wind must be in our hair\nand the dead leaves be upon the soles of our feet, for there can be\nno resting for us till we are away from this land: no, and not for us\nonly, but also for Ailne and Ardan. Concobar will not rest content\nwith bitter wrath, and, if he cannot track the stag, will slay the\nfawns.\u201d\n\nSoon thereafter they drew near the place where Nathos had left his\nhounds and his huntsmen. Bidding Darthool hide among the bracken and\nundergrowth, he went forward alone and told the men to go back to the\ndun of the sons of Usna, but not till the third day, and by circuitous\nways. Thus he hoped that he might the longer elude Concobar, whose\nemissaries would follow the track of his hounds.\n\nThereafter Nathos and Darthool fared swiftly hand in hand through the\nsombre ways of the forest. While it was still light they emerged upon\na great moor, which they crossed, and then ascended the gorges of the\nhills. There the night fell, as though a wind-drifted darkness suddenly\nsuspended and then swiftly enshrouded everything. They dreaded to rest,\nand yet so deep was the darkness that they could fare no farther.\n\nBut while they were still whispering the one to the other, Darthool\ndescried a soft, silver shining, like a dewy gossamer. It was the\nlittle group of seven stars that we call the Pleiades.\n\n\u201cSee,\u201d she whispered, \u201cAn Grioglachan! When they shine, others will\nsoon be seen.\u201d And so it was.\n\nAll through the night the fugitives hastened onward by the light of the\nstars, ever keeping close to each other, for the mountain solitudes\nwere full of dreadful noises, and in the black tarns among the peaty\nmoss they could hear the moaning of the kelpie, or on the shores of the\nhill-lochs the shrill neighing of the water-horses, terrible creatures\nof the darkness.\n\nFor the last hour of the dark they rested a brief while, lying close\nhid among the bracken, in a sheltered place on a rocky mountain slope.\nDarthool heeded little now the weariness and fears of that perilous\nfaring by night, for she was with Nathos; and Nathos now was glad,\nand no longer cared whether death was sure or not. He fell asleep\nthere under the morning stars, among the winter-brown bracken, with\nDarthool\u2019s head upon his breast; and his last thought was, that if the\nswineherd had died smiling because Darthool\u2019s eyes had looked into his,\nhow well might he too die content if his hour came suddenly upon him.\n\nThe dawn wavered among the hills, but still they slept.\n\nA wolf tracking a wounded doe howled, and the howling wailed from\ncorrie to corrie. Darthool stirred, but slept again. An eagle screamed\nas it rose and wheeled against the broadening light, but its wild voice\nwas drowned in silence. Then came the first sun-rays rippling, dancing,\nleaping, from amid the crested heights and peaks to the eastward, and\nNathos awoke.\n\nFor some moments he lay breathless with wonder. Darthool, in all\nher radiant beauty, was by his side, her golden hair ablaze in the\nsunlight, and her fair face like a flower amid the bracken. It was too\ngreat a wonder. Then he knew that Concobar\u2019s hounds might any hour now\nbe upon them, and so he put his dream away from him, and stooped and\nkissed Darthool upon the lips. With a cry she woke, and put her arms\nabout him. Hard it was for him to add to her weariness; but she rose\nat once, and seemed, indeed, in his eyes, as fresh as any fawn of the\nhill-side. She went to a little tarn close by and drank of the cool,\nsweet water.\n\nAs she drank Nathos looked at her, and again wondered if she were not\none of the divine race of old, the mysterious Tuatha-De-Danann, whom,\nages before, the Milesians had driven to the hills and remote places.\nSo fair was she that his heart ached. Then a swift pulse of joy leaped\nwithin him, and he was glad with a great gladness.\n\nThereafter they sped swiftly onward, and now Nathos exulted, for he\nrecognised the peaks and the trend of the valleys. Within an hour from\nthe rising of the sun he saw the grey walls of the dun of the sons of\nUsna.\n\nHis long cry--that of the heron thrice repeated--brought Ailne and\nArdan forth. Darthool looked at them wondering, for they, too, were\ntaller and nobler than other men, and only less beautiful in her eyes\nthan Nathos himself.\n\nBut if she wondered, much more did they marvel at what they saw. Never\nhad they beheld any woman so beautiful, and their first thought was\nthat of Nathos, that Darthool was of the fair divine race who were now\nso seldom seen of men.\n\nBut when Nathos had told them all, and that she who was now his bride\nwas no other than that Darthool whom Concobar the high king had set\naside to become his queen, they were filled with sorrow. Well they knew\nthat Concobar MacNessa would not lightly relinquish the fair maid whom\nhe had so long secreted in the forest-lios, and that blood would flow\nbecause of this thing.\n\n\u201cMoreover,\u201d said Ailne, \u201chast thou forgotten the prophecy? There is\nthe saying of Cathba the Druid, of which we have all heard: that from\nthe daughter of Felim the Harper would come sorrow to the king, and\nseverance of the Red Branch from the lost kingdom of Uladh, and rivers\nof blood.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat may be, Ailne, my brother,\u201d Nathos answered; \u201cbut I ask none to\ngo with me into this doom, if that doom indeed must be, though mayhap\nthe dark hour of it is passed. For Darthool and I shall now fare\nforward, with some of our following, and with horses and food, and\nhaply we may reach the coast and find our great galley in the Creek\nof the Willows, where we secreted it, and so gain the shores of Alba\nbefore Concobar can overtake us.\u201d\n\nBut while Ailne pondered, Ardan spoke.\n\n\u201cThat shall not be, Nathos. Listen! By the Sun and the Wind I swear\nthat where thou goest I will go, and that I will never desert thee nor\nDarthool, who is now our sister. If the doom must come, let it come.\nWhat is death, that it should put a paleness into the face of love? Are\nwe not close-kin, children of one mother, and is not Darthool thy wife\nnow and our sister, and are we not henceforth as one? Speak, Ailne, is\nit not so?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is so. Ardan has spoken for me. But I say nothing, for I feel upon\nus the shadow of that doom of which, as we have heard, Cathba the Druid\nspoke.\u201d\n\nBut here Darthool moved forward.\n\n\u201cListen, Nathos, and ye, Ailne and Ardan, my brothers: it is not for me\nto bring sorrow upon the king and upon the Red Branch and upon Uladh,\nand still less upon ye, my brothers, and upon thee, Nathos. Therefore,\nlet me now go back to the lios, and tell Lavarcam, who will tell the\nking, that I have no will to stray, and that I will abide in that place\ntill I die, or till Concobar dare put his face against Fate and take me\nthence.\u201d\n\nAt that Nathos smiled only. There was no word to say; in his eyes was\nall his answer to Darthool.\n\nBut Ardan answered for himself and Ailne:\n\n\u201cThough the stars fall, beautiful daughter of Felim, who art now\nDarthool, our sister, we shall not leave thee, nor suffer thee to go\nfrom us save by thine own free will, and that in no fear for what may\nbefall us. Nathos and Ailne and Ardan are the three sons of Usna, upon\nwhom long ago _geas_ was set, that each would abide by each until\ndeath.\u201d\n\nThereupon all kissed each other, and took the deep vow of fealty. The\nsons of Usna knew well that it would be a madness to withstand Concobar\nin their dun, strong as it was; for in time he would take the place,\nas dogs hunt out the badger from its lair, and at the best would still\nstarve them into surrender or death.\n\nSo with all speed they summoned those of their following who were under\nthe sword-bond, and put together food and raiment, and then mounted and\nrode swiftly away.\n\nAs they passed the highest ridge to the eastward that night they looked\nback. A red light flared in a valley far to the west. It was their\ndun, a torch amid the darkness. A single column of flame rose above\nit, and wavered to and fro. And by that sign they knew that the long\narm and the heavy hand of Concobar MacNessa had already reached out\ntowards them. Three times fifty men went with them, and so swift was\ntheir flight and so sure their way that before long they came to the\ncoast-lands. There, in the Creek of the Willows, the long black galley\nwas found; and swiftly all embarked.\n\nIt was with glad eyes that Darthool and the sons of Usna saw the\ndancing waves of the sea, and felt its free breath break upon them.\nFrom three great tiers, fifty score men to each, the vassals thrust\nout their long oars, and with their blades threshed the waters into a\nyeast of foam. In the dazzle of the sea Darthool rejoiced, and made the\nhearts of all there to swell because of an exceeding sweet song she\nsang.\n\nNathos and Ailne and Ardan sat beside her, and could scarce take from\nher face their dreaming eyes.\n\nTowards noon the wind shifted, and slid out of the north towards the\nwest. Then the great sail was hoisted, and bellied out to the steady\nbreeze, and the oars were shipped. The black galley now flew along\nthe waters like a cormorant. Darthool laughed with joy at this new\nbeautiful world of the sea, and never tired of trailing her hands in\nthe swift lapsing wave, or in the send of the following billow.\n\nIn the afternoon they came close to the shores of Alba, and made\nnorthward, past many isles and through narrow straits and fjords. In\none and all Darthool took pleasure, and was glad indeed that the land\nof Nathos was so beautiful.\n\nAt sundown they reached the eastern shores of the great island of Mull,\nand there the wind failed them, so the galley was put into a bay that\nis now the bay of Aros.\n\nThere the sons of Usna debated long as to what course to follow. Nathos\nand Ailne thought it best to move inland, and to gain the protection of\nthe high king of Alba; but Darthool feared this because of a dream she\nhad thrice dreamed, wherein she saw a strange king and a strange folk\nlaughing over the slain body of Nathos, while she stood by crowned but\na captive. As for Ardan, he said only that the sons of Usna should go\nto where their father\u2019s dun had been, before the last king of Alba had\ndestroyed it.\n\nThat night a galley came to them from the long island of Lismore. In\nit were a score of men, commanded by a lord of Appin, named Fergus of\nthe Three Duns. With him was a stranger, clad in a rich robe of fur, so\nclaspt across the throat with gold that the hood he wore fell about and\ncovered his face. While Fergus spake with the sons of Usna, and told\nthem how they had been seen by men of his in a swift war-galley, off\nthe south coast of Mull, and urged them also to go inland to meet the\nking, the stranger looked steadfastly upon Darthool.\n\nWhen at last he had to speak to the brothers he addressed them\ncourteously, but in a Gaelic strange to their ears. He bade them come\nwith him to his high-walled dun, a brief way inland: to come alone, as\nhis guests, and to bring Darthool with them.\n\n\u201cIt is not well to go to a man\u2019s dun, and not be knowing that man\u2019s\nname,\u201d said Nathos courteously.\n\nThe stranger hesitated, and looked at Fergus.\n\n\u201cThey call me Angus Mudartach,\u201d he said. But at that Darthool asked him\nto let her look upon his face.\n\n\u201cFor it is not meet,\u201d she added, \u201cthat we should go to a man\u2019s dun and\nnot have seen his face.\u201d\n\nAngus of Moidart drew back his hood.\n\nDarthool\u2019s lips grew pale. Then she smiled.\n\n\u201cLet us rest here for to-night, Angus Mudartach,\u201d she said, \u201cand, if\nthou wilt come again on the morrow after to-morrow, thou canst take us\nwith thee to thy great dun. But meanwhile we have travelled far and\nswiftly, and would fain rest: and, as thou seest, the skies are clear,\nand we want for nothing.\u201d\n\nOnce more Angus pleaded to the sons of Usna.\n\n\u201cYe are brave men, and can laugh at weariness or danger. But if the\nisland be swept by a great storm to-night, or if the followers of\nConcobar, king of the northlands of Erin, come upon ye, or if other\nmisadventure befall, shall ye wantonly expose this fair young princess?\nNay, rather, let her come with me, and she shall not only be safe in my\ngreat rath of Dunchraig, but there my wife and her maidens shall make\nmuch of her, and give her white robes and golden torques and garments\nof delicate furs. This maid whom ye call Darthool is too young to be\nthrown thus idly before the feet of the evil powers who are for ever\nclamouring for death.\u201d\n\nBut, at a sign from Darthool, Nathos refused; saying, with gracious\nwords and courteous mien, that it would rejoice them all to visit Angus\nMudartach later, but not then.\n\nSo Angus of Moidart turned, frowning, and went back to his galley with\nFergus of the Three Duns. And as he went he asked mutteringly how many\nmen the sons of Usna had with them. When he learned that there were\nthrice fifty, and that Fergus had but a score and ten men with him, he\nsaid no more.\n\nWhen the strangers had gone, Nathos turned to Darthool and asked why\nshe had not shown more graciousness to one who was surely a great lord\namong the Alban Gaels, and why she would not go with him.\n\n\u201cBecause, Nathos, that man who called himself Angus Mudartach is no\nother than the King of Alba. He it is whom I saw in my dreams, laughing\nover your slain body, and beside whom I stood crowned and yet a\ncaptive. And by that token I warn ye of this thing: that the Alban king\ndesireth me, and would fain slay ye all, or deliver ye into the hands\nof Concobar MacNessa.\u201d\n\nNathos stood brooding, but Ardan stepped forward.\n\n\u201cDarthool is right. And wise she was, too, to bid this Angus of Moidart\ncome on the morrow after to-morrow. Nevertheless, I know well by\nhearsay of his vassal, Fergus of the Three Duns, and that the man is\ncalled Fergus the Wily. He will not wait, but at dawn will be about us,\nwith thrice fifty and thrice fifty again.\u201d\n\n\u201cArdan has spoken well,\u201d added Nathos. \u201cThere is but one thing to be\ndone. Weary we are, but we must go hence at once.\u201d\n\nAnd so it was. The dusk was heavy upon sea and land that night, and a\nsea-mist came up and obscured the skies, so that not a star was visible.\n\nSoundlessly they launched the great galley again, and once more set\nsail. The night-wind was from the south-east, whereat they rejoiced,\nfor thus there was no need of the oars, and so no betraying thresh\nwould be heard.\n\nWhen they were well north of Lismore they put out the long oars and\nswung the galley northwards. It was with relief that the sons of Usna\npassed the Appin lands, and before dawn rowed into a great sea-loch.\n\nThere, however, they learned that the King of Alba, he who had called\nhimself Angus Mudartach, was in the westlands only for a brief while,\nand would have to haste to Dunedin straightway, as runners had come\nwith tidings of a great rising. He had no rath of Dunchraig, and no dun\nthere; and so in truth the sons of Usna knew that the king had lied to\nthem, and that Darthool was right. As for Fergus of the Three Duns, he\nwas no longer a great lord, but had been despoiled, and at the most\ncould summon two score and ten men.\n\nSo the sons of Usna greatly rejoiced, for now they could go to their\nown land in safety, which lay beyond the region held by Fergus of the\nDuns.\n\nFor seven days they stayed by the shores of that sea-loch, under the\nshadow of mighty mountains. Ardan, with a scanty following, went\nthrough the hill-passes, and returned saying that the King of Alba had\ngone to his own country and that all the great lords of the region had\ndeparted with him, including Fergus.\n\nSo on the eighth day the galley sailed a short way southward once more,\nand entered into the Bay of Selma. There, on a rocky eminence, were\nthe walls of their great dun, which Usna their father had built among\nthe ruins of the chief stronghold of the Cruithne, the ancient people\nof Alba.[19]\n\nIt was with joy that the sons of Usna saw once more the house of their\nchildhood, and with still greater joy that they found the people of the\nneighbouring glens and straths still loyal to them. Their father Usna\nhad ever been at war with the King of Alba, and after many battles (the\nbards sang of the beauty of Usna\u2019s wife as the torch that lit those\nwars) he had conquered all this region. But at his death, by treachery\nthe king had overcome the stronghold and destroyed it.\n\nBut now again the sons of Usna had their home in their own eyrie. They\nknew not how long they might abide there in peace, for either the King\nof Alba, or Fergus of the Duns as his leader of men, would come again\nwhen once peace in the eastlands was secured.\n\nThere Nathos wished to dwell alone with Darthool and a few followers,\nbut Ailne and Ardan once more refused to leave him then or ever. But\nglad were the thrice fifty vassals to return to their own land, and\nwithout regret the sons of Usna saw them set sail for Erin. They were\nmen who cared little for aught save strife, and when not wielding sword\nor spear were haughty and bitter with all other men save those of the\nRed Branch, and so were only a danger and a weariness in that place.\n\nThroughout that winter they lived there in peace, hunting and fishing.\nSo great was the love of each for Darthool that every day was full of\npeace and content wherein they saw her. Nathos moved in a dream, and\nknew the extreme of joy. At night, before the fire, Darthool sang to\nthem old-world airs of a sweet plaintive music, so sweet and plaintive\nthat men said she must be no other than Fionula, she of the children of\nLir who were turned into wild swans, and lived a thousand years in the\nold, old days.\n\nBut when spring came again--a spring so fair and sweet that it was as\nthough May had come hand in hand with February--a rumour reached them\nthat the King of Alba, though he could not penetrate the highlands of\nthe west, intended, with the help of Fergus of the Duns and other\nchieftains, to proceed once more against the Dun of Usna. Moreover, he\nhad sworn to raze it to the ground, and to slay Nathos, and to take\nDarthool to be his wife.\n\nNathos laughed at this, for he knew well that the King of Alba would\nnever take him alive, nor yet Darthool. But after long colloquy with\nAilne and Ardan, all decided to set forth and pass northward to the\nland whence their mother had come, a land of endless mountains and\nnarrow lochs, beautiful beyond any other, grander than any Darthool had\nseen, and remote beyond the reach of any Alban king.\n\nSo thither they set forth, and took with them in their great galley\ntwo score and ten men of their own clan. After long sailing up narrow\nlochs, the sons of Usna reached the mountain land whence their mother\nhad come. Her father was dead, but the great dun he had built upon the\nsummit of one of the hills overlooking the Black Loch had been left\nunharmed, and was tenanted only by wandering shepherds. Here Nathos and\nDarthool made their home, and in that beautiful land and in the glory\nof spring, knew the full joy and richness of life.[20]\n\nFor a brief while all the people of the mountain lands round about\ngave in their adherence to Nathos, so that he became as a king in that\nregion. So great was the fear in which the three sons of Usna were\nheld, and so strong were they in their mountain home, that none dared\nto approach them with the flaming brand.\n\nThus three years passed, and in all the wide reaches of the world\nthere was no man so happy as Nathos and no woman so happy as Darthool;\nand after these there were none so happy as Ailne and Ardan, who were\nwell content to live so that they might be near the beautiful wife of\nNathos, their sister, Darthool, fairest of all women in the world.\n\nThe King of Alba, whom they had feared, was now dead, and the king who\nreigned in his place was well disposed towards the sons of Usna and\nsought their alliance. So this was done, and the name and fame of the\nthree brothers spread throughout the land; while from the wild west to\nthe populous east the poets sang of the beauty of Darthool.\n\nIn the summer months they abode at the high fort of Darthool, for so\nthey named it, on the heights above the Black Loch, or Loch Ness as\nwe now call it; and from the first frosts till the cuckoo\u2019s song had\nceased they lived at Dunuisneachan, their father\u2019s ancient stronghold\nby the shores of Loch Etive. Thence often they wandered far afoot, or\nsailed southward and eastward among the sea-lochs and narrow kyles.\nThey hunted in Glenorchy and fished under the mountain-shadows on Loch\nAwe; or followed the deer through the woods of Glenlaidhe. When it was\npleasant to be upon the waters, they sailed down the long fjord of Loch\nFyne, and rested awhile at the Haven of the Foray, and watched the\ncoming and going of the rainbows on the rocky headlands which guard\nthat place; then they would cross to the Cowal, and enter the narrow\nKyles of Bute, where on the little isle we call the Burnt Island they\nbuilt a vitrified fort. Thence they followed past the Hills of Ruel\nto Glendaruay (Glendaruel), and so to the head of Loch Striven and\nup Glenmassan, and thence down by the sweet inland waters of Loch\nEck, and waterward again by the bay we now call the Holy Loch. Thence\nup the long, narrow fjord of Loch Long they sailed, till among the\nmountains they crossed the short pass to Loch Lomond, and perhaps met\nthe soldiery of the King of Alba at the inland lakes, or came upon the\ngreat fort of Dumbarton on the Clyde; or they may have crossed the\nhill to the Gareloch, and so returned westward once more by the blue\nfrith of Clyde, past the precipitous isle of Arran, and so up Loch Fyne\nagain; or seaward by the Mull of Cantire, and thence northward past the\nisles to their own place, and could once more watch the salmon leaping\nthrough the Falls of Lora or chase the deer on the hills of Etive.\n\nBut during all this time Concobar, the high king of the Ultonians,\nnursed his bitter thoughts. He had heard of the great fame and\nhappiness of the sons of Usna, and more than ever he yearned after\nDarthool, his wrath at his loss being the greater because that all the\nold prophecies about the beautiful daughter of Felim were unfulfilled.\n\nOne day the high king made a great festival in Emain Macha, and never\nin Erin was seen one more royal and magnificent. The princes and\nnobles from all the regions in the sway of Concobar were there, and all\nthe musicians, singers, and poets in Uladh.\n\nIn the midst of the festival Concobar asked those present at his board\nif now, in the height of the glory of the Red Branch, they wanted for\nanything; but they answered as with one voice that they were content.\n\n\u201cAnd that is what I am not,\u201d he answered.\n\n\u201cAnd wherefore, O king and lord?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause that the three greatest of ye are absent from us. I speak\nof the three Torches of the Valour of the Gael: Nathos and Ailne and\nArdan, the sons of Usna, the son of Congal Claringnech. For now I the\nking say this: that it is not fitting these three heroes, the pride of\nour chivalry, should be in exile, and this only because of a woman. By\nthe Sun and Wind, there is no woman alive who is worthy to be the cause\nof this. Far better were it that the sons of Usna were once more in\nour midst. Even now they hold half the lands of Alba under the shadow\nof their sword. Truly they are heroes, and if dark days come upon us,\nas the soothsayers foretell, then indeed we shall be in sore need of\nthem.\u201d\n\nAll there were rejoiced at that. There was not one who had not lamented\nthe fierce anger of Concobar, and who was not fain to have the sons\nof Usna again among the chivalry of the Red Branch. Only fear had not\nallowed them to speak, for the high king had slain a man who had said\nthat Nathos was too great a lord to be exiled.\n\n\u201cAnd since ye are so glad at this thing,\u201d Concobar added, \u201cand would\nfain have these heroes among us, to be the chief pride, glory and\ndefence of Uladh against all other kingdoms and provinces of Erin, I\nsay to ye: Go and bring hence again from Alba the three sons of Usna.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is well,\u201d their spokesman answered; \u201cbut who is to prevail with\nNathos and his brothers? We are willing to go, but we cannot bring\nNathos against his will. Moreover, is he not under _geas_ not to put\nfoot again in Erin?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so. I know that Nathos is under _geas_ not to return to Erin\nunless it be in the company of Fergus, the son of Lossa the Red, or\nConall Cernach, or Cuchulain. And look you, each of these is now here,\nso that I shall well know who most loves me.\u201d\n\nSo, when the feast was over, Concobar first drew Conall Cernach aside.\n\n\u201cTell me, O warrior lord,\u201d he said, \u201cwhat wouldst thou say or do if I\nshould send thee for the sons of Usna, and that at my secret command\nthey should be slain privily--a thing, nevertheless, Conall, which I do\nnot purpose to do.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat could not be done, O king and lord, without a bitter and wrongful\nbloodshedding, for I could not do otherwise than put death upon each\nand all of the Ultonians who might be with me on that day.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat may be so, Conall Cernach. So now, go.\u201d\n\nThereafter the king sent for Cuchulain. The young champion came to him\nfearlessly, for the whole heart of the warrior prince was noble and\ncourageous.\n\nConcobar asked him the same question as he had asked Conall Cernach.\n\n\u201cWhat would I do, O lord and king?\u201d answered Cuchulain with proud\ndisdain. \u201cThis thing I would do, and my troth to it: that if thou\nthrough me brought about the death of the sons of Usna, thou mightst\nflee eastward to Innia Iarrtharaigh[21] itself, and yet not be safe\nfrom perishing by my hand because of thy deed.\u201d\n\nConcobar smiled grimly.\n\n\u201cI knew well, Cuchulain, that ye bore me no love,\u201d he said; and bade\nthe hero begone.\n\nThereafter the king sent for Fergus, the son of Rossa, and to him he\nput the same question as to Conall Cernach and to Cuchulain.\n\n\u201cThis much I say,\u201d said Fergus, \u201cthat never would I raise hand or\nweapon against thee: nevertheless, there is not one Ultonian who might\nfare forth on that errand who would not get the shortness of life and\nsorrow of death from me.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is thou, Fergus, son of Rossa, who dost truly love thy king. It is\nto thee I entrust this thing, who shalt be greater in Erin than any son\nof Usna. Go forth on the morrow, and remember thy name of old--Fergus\nHoneymouth. Of a surety Nathos, with Darthool, and Ailne and Ardan,\nshall come from Alba with thee. When thou art again in Erin, go at\nonce to the house of Borrach, the son of Cainte; and when thou art\nthere stay, because of one of thy _geasa_ never to refuse a feast, and\nbeforehand I shall warn Borrach of this thing. Then send forward at\nonce, and without covenant, and without protection, to Emain Macha, the\nthree sons of Usna.\u201d\n\nSo on the morrow Fergus went forth, taking none with him save his two\nsons, Illann the Fair, and Buine of the Red Locks, and a man Cullen to\nsteer the sea-barge wherewith he would set sail.\n\nIt was a fair voyage, and soon the black barge of Fergus sailed past\nthe isles and headlands of Alba, and came to Loch Etive and the Bay of\nSelma, where the great fort of Dun Usneachain lay black against the\nivy-clad heights beyond.\n\nThis was in the first heats of summer, and Nathos and Darthool, with\nAilne and Ardan, had left the fort and were among the rocky declivities\nof the woodland near the sea. There they had three hunting booths: one\nfor Nathos and Darthool, one for Ailne and Ardan, and one wherein to\nhave their eating and drinking. In front of one of these booths Nathos\nand Darthool sat, on that day of the days, playing on the _Cemrcaem_\n(the chessboard), the very chessboard which had belonged to Concobar,\nbut which the king had left in the dun of Ailne and Ardan when hunting\nnear by, on the day before that on which they fled with Nathos. It\nwas all of ivory, and the chessmen were of wrought gold and in the\nlikeness of strange kings and priests and fantastic animals wrought in\nimmemorial years in the Orient.\n\nAnd while they were playing a great shout was heard, coming upon them\nfrom a branch-hid hollow of the sea.\n\n\u201cThat is the voice of a man of Erin,\u201d said Nathos, holding in the air a\ngolden knight.\n\n\u201cNot so,\u201d answered Darthool; \u201cit is the voice of a Gael of Alba.\u201d Yet\nwell she knew that Nathos had guessed aright, and that even now were\nthe footsteps of fate drawing close. For none can prevail against\ndestiny.\n\nOnce more a loud cry was heard, and a voice called upon Nathos and the\nsons of Usna.\n\n\u201cOf a surety, that is the voice of a man of Erin,\u201d said Nathos eagerly,\nfor his heart was fain to see an Ultonian again, and to hear of the Red\nBranch and of the fate of Uladh, and as to whether Concobar reigned\nstill.\n\n\u201cIndeed, it is not so,\u201d answered Darthool, and turning the great glory\nand beauty of her eyes upon Nathos she bade him play on. Then a third\ncry, nearer and clearer, was heard; and now all knew that it was the\nvoice of a man of Erin.\n\n\u201cAnd if there be no cloud upon me,\u201d said Nathos, \u201cthat is the voice of\nno other than Fergus, the son of Rossa the Red, whom I knew well of\nold, and for whom my heart is fain. Ardan, do ye go down at once to the\nhaven, and bid Fergus welcome, and all who may be with him. It is a\ngood day this for us, when once more we may hear the voices of the Red\nBranch.\u201d\n\nWhile Ardan went to the haven, Darthool told Nathos she had known from\nthe first that the newcomer was a man out of Erin, and moreover, that\nhe came from Concobar, and that his coming boded no good.\n\n\u201cAnd how will you be knowing the one and the other, Darthool?\u201d\n\n\u201cFrom a dream that I had: to wit, that three birds flew hither from\nEmain Macha, and brought with them three sips of rare honey, and then\nthat they left us with that honey but took away instead three sips of\nour blood.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me, my queen, what is the reading you put upon that dream?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat Fergus comes to us with the honey-words of peace, but that behind\nthem lies the shedding of blood, and that blood ours.\u201d\n\nMeanwhile Ardan welcomed Fergus, and brought him and his companions\nto where Nathos sat playing with Darthool upon the ivory and gold\nchessboard of Concobar the king. As the fair-smiling Ultonian drew\nnear, he smiled a grimmer smile behind his beard, to see Nathos there\nwith the two chiefest treasures of the king\u2019s heart--the woman he\nwished to make his queen, and the chessboard that had come to him from\nsome great king\u2019s palace in the dim remote Indies of which the poets\nsang.\n\nGreat was the rejoicing, and Nathos and his brothers and Darthool\nembraced Fergus and his sons, and eagerly questioned them for tidings.\n\n\u201cThe best tidings I have,\u201d Fergus answered, \u201cis that I have come to ye\nwith messages of loving peace from Concobar, whose heart is smitten\nby your long absence, and who would fain see in Erin again the three\nnoblest lords in his or any other realm. Moreover, he has sent me to\nyou with covenants and guarantees of loving good faith. He has pledged\nhis kingly word, and I, too, have pledged mine, and ye know well, ye\nsons of Usna, that Fergus MacRossa Rua is not a man of light word.\nSo come back to Erin with me, Nathos and Ailne and Ardan, and I pray\nof thee, come thou too, Darthool, wife of Nathos. Great shall be the\nwelcome given to ye all, and sure it is a good thing to end a feud, and\nto put an unwaking sleep upon the sword and the spear.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is a good word,\u201d said Nathos, who was well pleased; but a sob was\nin the heart of Darthool, and her lips quivered as she spoke.\n\n\u201cSurely,\u201d she said, \u201cConcobar MacNessa forgets. The sons of Usna are no\ntributaries. Nathos is overlord now of a country greater in extent than\nall the province of Uladh over which Concobar is king. It ill befits a\nking of an isle to go as a forgiven guest to the lord of a rock.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is true,\u201d said Fergus quickly, \u201cDarthool has justice for what\nshe says. But there is truth in what I say also, and it is a truth\nwhich the sons of Usna know, and will act by, that a man longs to see\nthe land which is his own land or the land of his adoption. And were\nnot Nathos and Ailne and Ardan among us as children and as boys and as\nyouths, and are they not heroes of the Red Branch? Surely, it is a good\nthing for a man to see his own land each day, and to rejoice therein?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe have two lands,\u201d interrupted Ardan, \u201cwe who are of both Alba and\nErin. Nevertheless, it would ill befit us not to look upon ourselves\nof the Red Branch first and foremost. So if Nathos is ready to go with\nthee, so also are Ailne and I myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am ready,\u201d said Nathos, though he kept his eyes away from those of\nDarthool.\n\n\u201cAnd ye know that my guaranty is sure?\u201d added Fergus.\n\n\u201cIt is sure,\u201d said Nathos.\n\nThat night all were full of joyous pleasure, save only Darthool, who\nin her heart knew that the shadowy feet of Fate were all about them,\nand that she at least and perhaps none other there would ever again see\nAlba.\n\nOn the morrow all set sail. As they left the beautiful shores, than\nwhich for sure there are none more beautiful in all the realms of the\nGael, Darthool took her harp and sat back among the deerskins in the\nstern of the galley and sang:\n\n    \u201c_Ionmhuin tir, an tir ud shoir--\n     Alba go na h\u2019-iongantaibh;\n     Nocha ttiocfainn aiste ale,\n     Muna ttagainn le Naoise_,\u201d\n\nand for eight other verses in the old ancient Gaelic that has lived in\nher lament till this day:[22]\n\n  Dear is this land to me, dear is this land:\n  O Alba of the lochs!\n  Sure I would not be sailing sad from thy foam-white sand\n  Were I not sailing with Nathos for the Irish strand.\n  Dear is the Forest Fort and high Dunfin,\n  And Dun Sween, and Innis Drayno--\n  Often with Nathos have I striven to win\n  To the wooded heights of these--and now we go\n  Far hence, and to me it is a parting of woe.\n\n  O woods of Coona, I can hear the singing\n  Of the west wind among the branches green\n  And the leaping and laughing of cool waters springing,\n  And my heart aches for all that has been,\n  For all that has been, my Home, all that has been!\n\n  Fain would I be once more in the woods of Glen Cain,\n  Fain would I sleep on the fern in that place:\n  Of the fish, venison, and white badger\u2019s flesh I am fain\n  That plentifully we had there, or wherever our trail\n  Carried us, yea, I am fain of that place.\n\n  Glenmassan! O Glenmassan!\n  High the sorrel there, and the sweet fragrant grasses:\n  It would be well if I were listening now to where\n  In Glenmassan the sun shines and the cool west wind passes,\n  Glenmassan of the grasses!\n\n  Loch Etive, O fair Loch Etive, that was my first home,\n  I think of thee now when on the grey-green sea--\n  And beneath the mist in my eyes and the flying foam\n  I look back wearily,\n  I look back wearily to thee!\n\n  Glen Orchy, O Glen Orchy, fair sweet glen,\n  Was ever I more happy than in thy shade?\n  Was not Nathos there the happiest of men?\n  O may thy beauty never fade,\n  Most fair and sweet and beautiful glade.\n\n  Glen of the Roes, Glen of the Roes,\n  In thee I have dreamed to the full my happy dream:\n  O that where the shallow bickering Ruel flows,\n  I might hear again, o\u2019er its flashing gleam,\n  The cuckoos calling by the murmuring stream.\n\n  Ah, well I remember the Isle of the Thorn\n  In dark and beautiful Loch Awe afar:\n  Ah, from these I am now like a flower uptorn,\n  Who shall soon be more lost than a falling star,\n  And am now as a blown flame in the front of war!\n\nNathos was sad when he heard this lament from the mouth of Darthool,\nand Ailne and Ardan looked at each other and whispered that it was\nthe beginning of the end. Nevertheless, they did not fear to confront\nthe days to come, for whatsoever the decrees of Fate may be a brave\nman does not draw back, but goes forward upon the way set before him.\nBut Nathos was in a dream, and so heeded little, content too to chide\nDarthool because that she laid so much stress on vain imaginings.\n\nThe voyage was a swift and good one, and even Darthool\u2019s heart beat the\nquicker when once more she stood on the soil of Erin, her own land. In\nthree days thereafter they came within sight of the Dun of Borrach, and\nFergus MacRossa was glad, for soon he would be able to see Concobar the\nking, and tell him how great was his success.\n\nIt is a strange thing that a man such as Fergus Honeymouth could be so\nblind. Yet had he ever believed in the kinglihood of Concobar, and it\nwas not till he reached the house of the son of Cainte that he knew in\ntruth how the high king meant to play him false, and mayhap to deal\ntreacherously with the sons of Usna. For after Borrach had greeted them\nall with affection and heartsome pleasure, he told them that word had\ncome from Concobar that they were to press forward without delay, so\ngreat was the king\u2019s longing to see them again, and so deep was his\nlove for three of the noblest of the knights of the Red Branch. \u201cBut\nupon thee, Fergus MacRossa, I have a feast made ready, a festival of\nweeks, and thou knowest it is _geas_ upon thee not to refuse any feast\nmade for thee: and so as thou wouldst avoid putting shame upon me and\ndeep disgrace upon thyself, thou must abide here with me.\u201d\n\nAt that, Fergus flushed a deep red,[23] and was filled with anger. Yet\ncould he not refuse, for his _geas_ was sacred: and no man of that age\ndared break that bond.\n\nSo he turned to those with him, and asked what was now to be done.\n\n\u201cLet this be done,\u201d said Darthool: \u201ceither forsake the sons of Usna, or\nkeep to thy feast-bond.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy feast-bond I must keep, Darthool, yet will I not forsake the sons\nof Usna. My guaranty is known for sure: but over and above that I will\nsend with them, and with thee, my two sons, Illann the Fair and Buine\nthe Fiery, as further warranty.\u201d\n\nBut at these words Nathos turned away with a scornful smile.\n\n\u201cIt is not at thee or thy feast-bond I smile, O Fergus,\u201d he said, \u201cbut\nat thy protection, good though thy sons be. For, by the Sun and Wind,\nI have never yet had need of any man to protect me, and go now, as\never before, confident in my own valour and might: and this I say not\nboastingly, but openly, so that Concobar and all Uladh may know it.\u201d\n\nThereafter Darthool and the sons of Usna left the house of Borrach,\nand fared southward, with Illann the Fair and Buine in their company.\nAs for Fergus, he cursed his bond, but nevertheless assured himself,\nfor, as he said over and over, if the whole five provinces of Erin\nwere assembled on one spot, they would not be able to break the solemn\npledge of his guaranty.\n\nBut on the way Darthool urged advice upon Nathos and his brothers.\n\n\u201cLet us go,\u201d she said, \u201cto the isle of Cullen, between Erin and Alba,\nand there await the day when Fergus will fulfil his bond. In that way\nhe shall still keep the obligation of his _geas_, and yet we shall\nescape the evil that I know well awaiteth us.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat we cannot do,\u201d answered the sons of Usna, \u201cfor we are in honour\nbound now to the king. Moreover, we have the guaranty of Fergus\nMacRossa.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was an ill day when we came here trusting to that word,\u201d Darthool\nreplied: but said no more then.\n\nAt dusk they reached the White Cairn on Sliav-Fuad, and it was not till\nafter they had left the watch-tower behind them that Nathos saw that\nDarthool was no longer of their company. So he retraced his way, and\ncame upon her sleeping a deep sleep, though she awoke suddenly as he\ndrew near.\n\n\u201cIs sleep so heavy upon thee, fair queen?\u201d he asked, when he saw her\nstartled eyes and pale face.\n\n\u201cI was weary, Nathos. Yet it is not weariness that has done this, but a\ndream. I dreamed a terrifying and dreadful thing. I saw thee and Ailne\nand Ardan and Illann the Fair, but on not one of these was the head\nremaining, but only on Buine the Fiery.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what will be the meaning of that, Darthool?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat Buine will leave ye ere death comes, and that a bloody death will\nbe upon each. Nathos, I pray of thee that thou wilt go straightway to\nDun Delgan, where the great and noble lord Cuchulain is, and abide with\nhim for a while. There we shall be safe. Listen, I pray thee: I see\nthine own shadow creeping up thee, and a dark cloud overhead, and a\ncloud of clotted blood it is by the same token.\u201d\n\n\u201cFair woman, there is some guile upon thy delicate thin lips. Why\nshouldst thou see evil everywhere? Be assured that neither I nor Ailne\nnor Ardan will turn aside from our quest of Concobar the king.\u201d\n\nDarthool sighed, and remembered some old wisdom she had heard from\nLavarcam: that if misfortune will not come to a man swiftly, he will\nseek it and take it by the great boar-fangs and compel it to come\nagainst him.\n\nBut on the morrow, as they came within sight of Emain Macha, once more\nshe gave counsel.\n\n\u201cYe know well, Nathos and Ailne and Ardan, that in Emain Macha are\nthree fair great houses of the king: that in one he himself is, with\nthe nobles of Uladh who are his own following, and that in another are\nthe wayfarers of the Red Branch, and that in a third are the women. Now\nI warn ye of this thing: that if Concobar welcome us into his own house\nand among the nobles of Uladh, all will be well: but that if he send\nus to the house of the Red Branch, that will mean a disastrous end to\nthee and to me.\u201d\n\nThey said nothing to that, and when they came late into Emain Macha\nthey knocked at the gates of Concobar\u2019s house.\n\nThe messengers told the king that the sons of Usna, and Darthool, and\nthe two sons of Fergus MacRossa, were without: whereupon he asked of\nthose about him in what state of provision and comfort was the house\nof the Red Branch, and on hearing that there was abundance of food\nand drink and comfort, he bade the messengers return and conduct the\nnewcomers to that place.\n\nWhen that message was given, Darthool again gave counsel: but Illann\nthe Fair was wroth thereat, and the others yielded. As for Nathos, he\nsaid only:\n\n\u201cGreat is thy love, Darthool, queen of women: but great also is thy\nfearfulness.\u201d\n\nAt that Darthool smiled gravely, but said no more. Only in her heart\nshe remembered what Lavarcam, in bitter irony, had told her once, that\nwhen a man foresaw evil and fore-fended it he was wise and strong in\nhis courage, but that if a woman did the same she was timorous and\nwhim-borne.\n\nIn the house of the Red Branch the strangers were rendered all honour.\nGenerous and pleasant foods and bitter cheering drinks were supplied to\nthem, so that the whole company was joyful and merry, save the sons of\nUsna, and Darthool, who were weary with their journeying.[24]\n\nThus after they had eaten and drunken, Nathos and Darthool lay down\nupon high couches of white and dappled fawn-skins, and played upon the\ngold and ivory chessboard.\n\nIt was at this time that a secret messenger came from Concobar to tell\nhim if Darthool were as beautiful as when she fled from Erin. This\nmessenger was no other than Lavarcam. The woman embraced Darthool\ntenderly, and kissed the hands and brow of Nathos. Then, looking upon\nthem through her tears, she said:\n\n\u201cOf a surety it is not well for ye twain to be playing thus upon the\nsecond dearest thing in all the world to Concobar, Darthool being the\ndearest, and ye having taken both from him, Nathos, and now ye twain\nbeing in his house and in his power. And this I tell you now, that I am\nsent hither by Concobar to see if Darthool has her form and beauty as\nit was of old. Thy beauty then was a flame before his eyes, Darthool,\nand now it will be as a torch at his heart.\u201d\n\nSuddenly Darthool thrust the chessboard from her.\n\n\u201cI have the sight upon me,\u201d she said in a strange voice with a sob in\nit.\n\n\u201cAnd what is that sight, my queen?\u201d asked Nathos.\n\n\u201cI see three torches quenched this night. And these three torches\nare the three Torches of Valour among the Gael, and their names are\nthe names of the sons of Usna. And more bitter still is this sorrow,\nbecause that the Red Branch shall ultimately perish through it, and\nUladh itself be overthrown, and blood fall this way and that as the\nwhirled rains of winter.\u201d\n\nThen taking the small harp by her side, she struck the strings and sang:\n\n\n    A bitter, bitter deed shall be done in Emain to-night,\n    And for ages men will speak of the fratricidal fight;\n      And because of the evil done, and the troth unsaid,\n    Emain of dust and ashes shall cover Emain the White.\n\n    Of a surety a bitter thing it is thus to be led\n    Into the Red Branch house, there to be rested and fed,\n      And then to be feasted with blood and drunken with flame,\n    And left on the threshold of peace silent and cold and dead.\n\n    The three best, fairest, and noblest of any name,\n    Are they all to be slain because of a woman\u2019s fame?\n      Alas! it were better far there were dust upon my head,\n    And that I, and I only, bore the heavy crown of shame.\n\n\nAt that Nathos was silent awhile. He knew now that Darthool was right.\nHe looked at his brothers: Ailne frowned against the floor, Ardan\nstared at the door, with a proud and perilous smile. He looked at\nIllann the Fair and at Buine the Fiery: Buine drank heavily from a horn\nof ale, with sidelong eyes, Illann muttered between his set teeth.\n\n\u201cThis only I will say, Darthool,\u201d Nathos uttered at last, \u201cthat it were\nbetter to die for thee, because of thy deathless beauty, than to live\nfor aught else. As for what else may betide, what has to be will be.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will go now,\u201d said Lavarcam, \u201cfor Concobar awaits me. But, sons of\nUsna and sons of Fergus, see ye that the doors and windows be closed,\nand if Concobar come against ye treacherously may ye win victory, and\nthat with life to ye all.\u201d\n\nWith that Lavarcam left. Swiftly she sought Concobar, and told the\nking that it was for joy she knew now that the three heroes, the sons\nof Usna, had come back to Erin to dwell in fellowship with the Ardree\nand the Red Branch, but that it was for sorrow she had to tell that\nDarthool the Beautiful was no longer fair and comely in form and face,\nbut had lost her exceeding loveliness, and was now no more than any\nother woman.\n\nAt first Concobar laughed at that; then as his jealousy waned he\nthought with sorrow of the loss of so great beauty; and then again his\nspirit was perturbed. So he sent yet another messenger on the same\nerrand.\n\nThis was a man named Treandhorn. Before Concobar sent him to the house\nof the Red Branch he said:\n\n\u201cTreandhorn, who was it that slew thy father and thy brother?\u201d\n\n\u201cThou knowest, O King, that it was Nathos, son of Usna, who slew them.\u201d\n\nConcobar smiled. \u201cNow,\u201d he said, \u201cgo and do my behest.\u201d\n\nWhen Treandhorn reached the house, he found all the doors and windows\nclosed and barred. Then fear seized him, for he knew that the sons of\nUsna were on guard, and would have wrath upon them.\n\nNevertheless, still more did he fear to go back to Concobar with nought\nto tell him.\n\nSo the man, descrying a narrow window at one side, climbed to it\nfrom an unyoked chariot that was near, and looked in. He saw Nathos\nand Darthool talking each to each in low voices, where they lay upon\nthe white and dappled fawn-skins, with the gold and ivory chessboard\nbetween them. He smiled grimly, when he saw how great and noble and\nkingly Nathos seemed, and how more wonderful and beautiful than ever\nwere the wonder and beauty of the eyes and face and form of Darthool.\n\nIt was the last time he smiled. At that moment Nathos glanced upward.\nSwift as thought he lifted a spiked and barbed chessman and hurled it\nat the man\u2019s eye. Treandhorn fell backward, but rose at once and fled,\nwith his right eye torn and blind for evermore.\n\nWhen he came to the king and told his tale, and how Nathos was like\na king indeed, and Darthool more beautiful by far than she had been\nof old, Concobar sprang to his feet. A red light came into his eyes,\nand he threw back his head and laughed; and at that laughing every\nman there knew that his madness was come upon him, and that the\nblood-thirst was already sweating upon many swords.\n\n\u201cUltonians,\u201d he cried, \u201cwill ye do the will of your king?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat will we!\u201d they answered with a great shout.\n\n\u201cThen come ye, and all your followers and vassals, and surround the\nhouse of the Red Branch, and set it in a forest of red flames, and if\nany run from out thereof put them to the sword.\u201d As all ran swiftly\nfrom the king\u2019s fort, a high terrible voice was heard. It was that of\nthe dying Cathba the ancient Druid, and what he cried thrice was: \u201cThe\nRed Branch perisheth! Uladh passeth! Uladh passeth!\u201d\n\nBut none heard him or paid heed, save only Lavarcam, who in that bitter\ncrying knew well that the end was come.\n\nIn a brief while thrice three hundred men surrounded the fort of the\nRed Branch, and set red flames about it; and thrice three hundred more\nmade haste to join them.\n\nThere was a mighty onset at the first led by Buine the Fiery, who slew\nmany, and quenched the fires, and threw the Ultonians into confusion.\n\n\u201cWho is the hero who has done this?\u201d cried Concobar.\n\n\u201cIt is I, Buine Borbruay, the son of Fergus MacRossa.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will give thee great bribes, Buine, if thou wilt forsake these\nrobbers of my wife that was to be.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat are thy bribes?\u201d\n\n\u201cI will give thee a cantred of land at thine own choice, and I will\nmake thee my chosen comrade, and thou shalt be as next to the king.\u201d\n\nThen Buine the Faithless laughed and said: \u201cBetter the honours of a\nking than the thanks of dead men,\u201d and with that, for all the pledged\nguaranty of Fergus and the troth of his own word, he went over unto\nConcobar.\n\nBut when Illann the Fair heard of this he was wroth. He saw the bitter\nsmile on the lips of Darthool, and he swore that he would not desert\nthose upon whom lay the protection of his father\u2019s guaranty.\n\nMeanwhile Ardan lay, dreaming with a proud smile against the fire; and,\nupon the deerskins near the couch of Darthool, Ailne and Nathos played\nat chess, for little did they care to heed the treacherous valour of\nthe Ultonians. They knew, too, that their hour was come; and being\nkingly, gave no thought to that little thing.\n\nBut Illann called the troops together and fared forth, and made so\ndeadly an onslaught that he slew three hundred of Concobar\u2019s men. Then\nhe quenched the fires, and went back to the fort and to where Ailne and\nArdan were playing together.\n\n\u201cIs that rain that is making a noise without?\u201d said Ailne to Nathos.\n\n\u201cNo; it is a humming of gnats,\u201d answered Nathos. \u201cLet us play on.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy fate is heavy upon me, Nathos and Ailne,\u201d said Illann the Fair. \u201cI\nhave done well by thee, but I feel the heavy hand of fate is against\nme, and who can withstand fate?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo one,\u201d Nathos answered later, when he had thought upon his play. At\nthat Illann the Fair drank a drink,[25] and went out again. The fires\nhad been quenched, and there was a deep darkness. So he bade each man\ntake a torch, and then all set furiously again upon the Ultonians.\n\nIt was then that Concobar bethought him of his son Fiacha the Fair, who\nwas born on the same night as Illann the Fair. There was life to the\nlife, or death to the death, in that.\n\nSo he called Fiacha, and bade him strive with Illann, and gave him the\nthree famous weapons of the royalty of Uladh--the moaning Orchaoin, and\nthe terrible Corrthach, and the Notched-Bow.\n\nBut for all his enchanted weapons Fiacha did not prevail, and after a\ngreat and wonderful fight, which was girt about by a strange sighing,\nthe sighing being the breath of the pulses of the watching host, Illann\ndrove him to the ground where he crouched behind the shelter of his\nshield. Easily then he might have slain him but for this:--\n\nThe moaning Orchaoin made so great and terrible a voice that it was\nheard afar off. The Three Ceaseless Waves of Erin heard it, and roared\nresponsive, so that all the coasts shook with their thunder: the Wave\nof Toth (_Tuaithe_), the Wave of Clidna (_Cliodhna_), and the Wave of\nRudhraya (_Rudhraighe_). There was a great dun on these coasts, named\nDun Tobairce, and there Conall Cernach the son of Amergin lived: and\nwhen he heard the roaring of the Three Waves of Erin, he knew that\nConcobar was in dire distress.\n\nAnd that moaning of Orchaoin brought Conall Cernach on his magic steed\nthat could fly through the night. He had with him his great sword \u201cBlue\nBlade,\u201d and when he came to the place of the strife he moved swiftly\nup behind Illann the Fair, and plunged \u201cBlue Blade\u201d into the back, and\nthrough the heart, and out at the breast of the hero.\n\nBut when Conall Cernach heard from Illann\u2019s own lips what he had done,\nhe was filled with wrath and grief.\n\n\u201cThy faithless summons shall avail nought,\u201d he cried into the torchlit\ndarkness where Concobar was; and with that he took his sword, and\nsevered from its body the head of Fiacha the son of Concobar, and\ntossed it towards the king. Then, turning his back upon the host, he\ndeparted as he had come.\n\nWith the death of Illann the Fair, the Ultonians once more took heart.\nThey surrounded the Red Branch fort, and again set red flames leaping\nagainst it.\n\nThen Ardan came forth: laughing lightly, and with a proud joy.\n\nThe Ultonians saw then what it was to perish as mown grass. And when he\nhad slain five times fifty, his arms grew weary.\n\n\u201cHow many did Illann the Fair slay in that onslaught of his?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cThrice five score,\u201d he was told.\n\nSo Ardan slew two score and ten more, and then another score, for it\ndid not befit so great a hero to slay less than an Ultonian champion,\nnoble as Illann the Fair was.\n\nWhen he was tired, he went into the fort, and told Ailne that there was\nstill fresh carrion enough for a wild-hawk to glut its thirst with.\n\nSo Ailne rose from the chessboard and drank a drink, and went out, and\ndid among the Ultonians even as Ardan had done, although he slew a\nscore more, for he was older than Ardan, and so it did not befit him to\nput the stiffness and the silence upon fewer men.\n\nTwo-thirds of the night were now gone, yet Concobar did not withstay\nhis wrath. For now the whole host of the Ultonians was gathered\ntogether, and he thought to have victory at the last.\n\nBut at their great shouting and the higher leaping of the flames Nathos\nrose. He kissed Darthool, then he drank a drink, and went out against\nthe Ultonians.\n\nIn that hour thrice three hundred men grew cold and stiff.\n\nThen he slew five score more.\n\n\u201cGo to Concobar,\u201d he said to a man, \u201cand tell him that he has lost a\nthousand men over and above the hundreds slain by Illann the Fair and\nAilne and Ardan. And now let him come to me himself.\u201d\n\nBut when Concobar heard that, he sent a messenger to Lavarcam to ask if\nCathba the Druid were yet dead; and when he heard that he was not, he\nbade that the old man should be brought to him on a litter.\n\nWhen Cathba was brought, he asked if the king meant death to the sons.\n\n\u201cI swear I mean no death,\u201d said Concobar; \u201cbut only honourably to\nsubdue them and to obtain Darthool. And so I pray of thee to put an\nenchantment upon them, otherwise they will slay every Ultonian in the\nland.\u201d\n\nSo Cathba raised himself, and put an enchantment between the sons of\nUsna and the host of the Ultonians. That enchantment was a hedge of\nspears, taller than the tallest spear-reach, and more thickset than\nthorns on a bramble-bush.\n\nBut Nathos and Ailne and Ardan put their shields about Darthool, and\ncame forth from the blazing house, and cleft a way through the hedge of\nspears, and, laughing loud, garnered a red harvest among the swaying\ncorn of the Ultonian host.\n\nThen there was a strange roaring heard, and a vast and terrible flood\ncame pouring from the hills. The Ultonians fled to the high ground, but\nDarthool and the sons of Usna were cut off by the rushing waters.\n\nSoon the flood rose to their waists, but then it ceased rising.\n\n\u201cThe wind will soon blow,\u201d whispered Darthool, \u201cand then the flood will\nrise, and we shall be drowned.\u201d\n\nNathos answered nothing, but raised her in his arms, and kissed her\nthrice upon the lips. Then he put her upon his left shoulder, where she\nsat with her white arms round his neck.\n\nThere was a smile in the blue eyes of Nathos.\n\nThe flood now subsided, but the sons of Usna could not move, for their\nfeet were in a morass. On a dry spit of land close to them a man\nwalked. This man was Maine of the Red Hand, a man of Lochlin,[26] in\nthe train of Concobar.\n\nConcobar had bidden some hero go forth and slay the sons of Usna. But\nnone would stir. A deep shame burned in all. But Maine\u2019s father and two\nbrothers had been slain by Nathos, and he said he would do likewise\nunto the sons of Usna.\n\nWhen he drew near, Ardan spoke.\n\n\u201cSlay me first,\u201d he said, \u201cfor I am the youngest of the sons of Usna:\nand it may be that with my death the tides of fortune may flow again.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat cannot be,\u201d said Nathos. \u201cHere is the sword which Manannan,\nthe son of Lir, gave me, and that cannot leave any remains of blow\nor stroke. Let this man Maine take it, and strike at us at one and\nthe same time, so that not one of us may have the shame and sorrow of\nseeing the other beheaded.\u201d\n\nAnd so it was. But while the man reached for the sword, Darthool sprang\nfrom the shoulder of Nathos, and strove to kill Maine of the Red Hand.\nWith a blow he reeled her aside, and then whirled the great sword of\nManannan on high.\n\nThere was a flash in the air, and then the heads of the three fairest\nand noblest heroes of Alba fell. There was a long and terrible silence,\ntill suddenly the whole host of Uladh broke into lamentation. Only\nConcobar stood leaning on his sword, and stared at the stillness that\nwas now fallen upon the House of Usna.\n\nBut already afar off Darthool had descried the champion Cuchulain, and\nshe fled towards him.\n\n\u201cThou shalt be safe with me, beautiful one,\u201d he said. \u201cTell me what\nthou wantest me to do.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not wish to live, but I wish to live yet a brief hour, and not to\nbe taken in shameful life before the eyes of Concobar.\u201d So the twain\nreturned to where the dead lay. Darthool fell upon her knees, and\nspread out the glory of her hair, and put her lips to the blood-wet\nlips of Nathos.\n\nThen she rose, and looking upon the silent Ultonians, chanted this\nchant:\n\n    Is it honour that ye love, brave and chivalrous Ultonians?\n    Or is the word of a base king better than noble truth?\n    Of a surety ye must be glad, who have basely slain honour\n    In slaying the three noblest and best of your brotherhood.\n\n    Ardan the Proud, where now lies his yellow hair?\n    Ailne the Comely, where now stare his sightless eyes?\n    Nathos, the king of men, where now is his might, his glory?\n    Where are the sons of Usna whom ye swore to honour?\n\n    Let now my beauty that set all this warring aflame,\n    Let now my beauty be quenched as a torch that is spent--\n    For here shall I quench it, here, where my loved one lies,\n    A torch shall it be for him still through the darkness of death.\n\nAnd with that Darthool stooped, and lifted the head of Nathos, and\ncleaned it of blood and foam, and the sweats of death, and kissed the\neyes and the lips, and put her love upon the dear face, and her sorrow\nupon it, and her grief upon it, and put it to her white breast, and to\nher lips again, and gave it again her grief and her love.\n\nThen at the bidding of Cuchulain three graves were digged. In each\ngrave a son of Usna was placed, and as each stood there his head was\nplaced upon his shoulders.\n\nBut the grave of Nathos was made wider. Darthool stood therein and\nheld his hands in hers, and put her lips often to his lips, and often\nwhispered to him.\n\nOne other death there was in that hour, and in that place.\n\nCathba the Druid died there: and again he cried: \u201cThe Red Branch\nperisheth! Uladh passeth! Uladh passeth!\u201d\n\nAnd so it was. On the morrow Emain Macha fell before a great host, and\nwas thenceforth a place of ruin and wind-eddied dust. The Red Branch\nbecame as scattered leaves, and were no more. And Uladh was given over\nto blood and rapine, and Concobar died in a madness of grief, and\nthroughout Erin for many years the tides of death rose and fell.\n\nBut the sons of Usna slept, and the world dreams still of the beauty of\nDarthool.\n\n\n\n\nNotes\n\n\nI\n\nIN my renderings of the three famous ancient Gaelic tales, collectively\nknown as \u201cThe Three Sorrows of Story-Telling\u201d (_Tri Thruaighe na\nSc\u00e9alaigheachta_), I have followed Professor Eugene O\u2019Curry (_In\nAtlantis_, _Manners and Customs_, and _MS. Materials_); Dr. Douglas\nHyde (_The Three Sorrows of Story-Telling_, translated into English\nverse); Dr. Joyce (_Old Celtic Romances_); Dr. Cameron (_Reliqui\u00e6\nCeltic\u00e6_); Alexander Carmichael (_Trs. Gael. Socy. of Inverness_); Dr.\nAngus Smith (_Loch Etive and the Sons of Uisnach_).\n\nThese tales have often been retold in prose and verse; and particular\nintention should be made of the metrical versions of Dr. Douglas Hyde,\nDr. Robert Joyce (_Deirdre_), and, I believe, of Dr. John Todhunter.\n\nIn \u201cThe Children of Lir\u201d I have closely followed the version of the\noriginal, as translated by Dr. P. W. Joyce (_Old Celtic Romances_),\nand in \u201cThe Sons of Usna\u201d the literal prose rendering by Dr. Cameron\nand the metrical translation of Dr. Douglas Hyde. These two stories\nare told more completely than that of \u201cThe Sons of Turenn,\u201d which in\nthe original extends to great length, as there the narrative of the\nworld-wide quest of the Sons of Turenn is given with great detail.\n\nNaturally in these retold ancient tales I have often followed the\nScoto-Gaelic variants, both because of familiarity and by preference,\nand this particularly in the tale of \u201cDarthool and the Sons of Usna.\u201d\n\nMuch the most ancient of the \u201cThree Sorrows\u201d is the tale of the Sons\nof Turenn. Professor O\u2019Curry\u2019s version in _Atlantis_ is the basis\nof all other modern renderings. The period of this tale belongs to\nmythological times. \u201cThe Children of Lir\u201d may be taken as a connecting\nlink between the mythological and prehistoric and Christian periods.\nThe tale of \u201cDeirdre,\u201d or \u201cDarthool,\u201d is by far the best known in\nGaelic Scotland, and is still the favourite ancient tale throughout all\nGaeldom.\n\nThe reader who wishes further information should consult in particular\nProfessor Eugene O\u2019Curry; Dr. Cameron, in _Reliqui\u00e6 Celtic\u00e6_; Dr.\nJoyce, in _Old Celtic Romances_; and Dr. Douglas Hyde, in his\ndelightful and deservedly popular little volume.\n\n\nII\n\nThe quatrains and other metrical pieces interpolated here, and those\nin the text of the first and third of these tales, are generally free\nrenderings of the originals. Occasionally they are almost literal.\nBut, both in the matter of selection and rejection, I have taken\ncertain slight advisable liberties with the original versions. It\nmay be as well to add, although already explained in the footnote at\npage 122, that the \u201cSong to Macha\u201d is here adapted from another poem\nknown as \u201cCrede\u2019s Lament\u201d (_vide Silva Godelica_, Professor Sullivan\u2019s\ntranslation, etc.).\n\n\nIII\n\n\u201cDarthool and the Sons of Usna.\u201d Readers familiar only with the Irish\nversions of this beautiful old tale should also consult the important\nvariants given by Dr. Cameron and Mr. Alexander Carmichael. Dr. Angus\nSmith also gives a good digest, and readers interested in the Scottish\nwayfarings of Darthool and Nathos will find the details given there\nmore or less specifically.\n\n\nIV\n\nIn the story of \u201cThe Sons of Turenn\u201d it is possible that some injustice\nhas been done to the character of Lugh, the foremost personage in it,\nbest known in all the Gaelic chronicles as Lu-Lamfada--Lugh of the Long\nHand. In this version he is represented uniformly as sternly cruel; but\nit must be borne in mind that his inveterate hostility to the Sons of\nTurenn was not due to insatiable revenge alone, but to his belief (as\nprophesied by his father) that any clemency in the fulfilment of the\ngreat eric demanded would result in terrible disaster to Erin itself.\nThroughout this ancient tale, indeed, we recognise Lu-Lamfada as an\nimpersonation of Destiny or Nemesis. It may at the same time be added\nthat in the story of \u201cDarthool\u201d Fergus is shown more obviously culpable\nthan the old chronicles indicate, where he appears rather as a too\ninnocent and trustful tool of King Concobar.\n\n\nV\n\nA few notes as to the less familiar of the Gaelic names introduced in\nthe foregoing pages may aptly be given here, and the more conveniently\nin alphabetical order.\n\nA\u00c9. Pronounced as rhyming to day: equivalent to Hugh.\n\nAILNE. The older forms are _Ailna_ and _Ainl\u00e9_. The latter (pronounced\nAnl\u0103) is probably the right name. It is said to signify beauty.\n\nALBA. The Gaelic for Scotland. The genitive of this word is Alban,\nwhence the familiar English word for Scotland, Albyn.\n\nBANBA. This was one of the three ancient names of Ireland--Banba, Fola,\nand Eir\u00e9--the names of three famous queens of antiquity. It is from the\nlast that Ireland derives its best known Gaelic name.\n\nBOVE DERG (_Bodbh Dearg_). This semi-mythical king was one of the old\nDedannan race, and stands, as it were, midway between the elder gods\nand the historic heroes. His name in Ireland is commonly pronounced\nBove-d\u2019Yarrag; and in Scotland as Bove Derg.\n\nCONOR (_Connachar_). The oldest form of this famous Gaelic name, so\ncommon in Ireland, is Concubair, or Concobar. Dr. Hyde says that\nConcubair is properly pronounced Cunnhoor, but doubtless Concobar is\ncloser to the ancient usage.\n\nCUCHULAIN. The oldest form of the name of this great Gaelic hero\nis Cuchulaind. The name is pronounced Coo-hoolin, whether spelled\naccording to any of the Irish-Gaelic variants or as to the Scottish\nCuthullin--but sometimes, as in Skye, Coolin. It is not the real name\nof the hero in question. The word signifies the hound of Culainn, and\ninnumerable references to Cuchulain are found throughout early Irish\nliterature simply as The Hound. He was a native prince of Ulster,\nand lord of the district of Muirthemne, lying between and including\nthe present towns of Dundalk and Drogheda, now called the County of\nLouth, where his chief residence was named Dun Delga (Dundalk). This\ncelebrated hero, the champion of the knights of the great order of\nGaelic chivalry, known as the Red Branch, was the son of Soalte, or\nSualtam, and of Decter\u00e9, sister of the celebrated Irish king, Concobar\nmac Nessa (a contemporary of Christ). His name was Setanta, but he\nwas commonly known as Cu-Culainn, the Hound of Culaan, who was his\ninstructor and war-smith to King Concobar. The most famous of the\nKnights of the Red Branch at this time were the heroes known as Fergus\nmac R\u00f3igh, Conall Cearnach, Fergus mac Leit\u00e9, Curoi mac Dair\u00e9, and\nCuchulain mac Soalte.\n\nDAGDA, or THE DAGDA. This is a purely mythical personage, and is one of\nthe ancient Gaelic divinities, among whom he occupies a place somewhat\nakin to that of Jupiter in the Latin Pantheon.\n\nDEDANNAN. Pronounced Day-Donnan. This is the colloquial form of the\nTuatha-De-Danann; that is, the elder semi-divine inhabitants of\nIreland, mostly mythical, and in some cases euhemerised. They became\nthe Hidden People, or People of the Hills, of ancient Gaelic legend,\nand later the Fairies of popular tradition, though now the drift\nof poetic thought is towards a restoration of the Tuatha-De-Danann\nto their old spiritual significance and empery. The term signifies\nthe Divine Progeny of Ana, a mysterious and perhaps supreme ancient\ngoddess. The Dedannans were also called The Deena-Shee (Daoine-Sidhe),\nor Fairy Folk; the Aes-She, or People of the Hills; the Marcra-Shee, or\nFairy Cavalcade; and the Sloo-She (Sluagh-Sidhe), or Fairy Host.\n\nDUN. This word is properly pronounced Doon, though in Gaelic Scotland\ngenerally Dun. It signifies a fortress or great fortified dwelling or\nencampment, and should not be confused with Rath, which is more what\nwe would call the homestead, hamlet, village, or township, according\nto circumstances; or, with Lis, or Lios, a smaller fort probably\ncorresponding to what we call a keep.\n\nEILIDH. The name Eilidh is pronounced Eily (_Isle-ih_), and is said to\nbe the Gaelic equivalent of Helen.\n\nEMANIA. This is simply the Latinized form of _Emhain_, or _Emain_, the\ncapital of North Ireland in the ancient days. The name is variously\npronounced as Emain, Avvin, and Yew-an or Yow-an.\n\nERIC. Originally eiric, pronounced ay-ric. Signifies literally a fine\nor blood-money, and is perhaps best rendered in English by the word\nransom.\n\nFELIM. This name is more familiar as Phelim. The modern Gaelic is\nPhelimy, and the older, Pedlimid.\n\nGEASA. Pronounced Gassa. It is the plural of _geis_ (often written\n_geas_), and signifies oath-bound injunctions or undertakings. In the\nold days for a man to be under _geasa_ meant that he was solemnly bound\nto do such and such a thing, or, as it might be, to refrain; and the\nbond once taken could not be broken without loss of honour.\n\nILDANNA. The old Irish word is best represented by Il-danach, that is,\nthe Master of Craft, or Master of the Many Arts, and is a name which is\nspecifically given to Lugh Lamfada, Lugh the Long-Handed.\n\nILLANN. This frequent name of Illann, or Illan, is identical with\nUllin, so familiar in Scotland through the famous poem of \u201cLord Ullin\u2019s\nDaughter.\u201d\n\nLIR. Pronounced sometimes Lirr, but generally Lear.\n\nLOCHLANN. A general name for the whole of Scandinavia, including, of\ncourse, Denmark, and not, as sometimes stated, of Norway only.\n\nLUGH. This name is pronounced Lu, or Loo, and I have so given it in the\ntext.\n\nMANANNAN. Pronounced Mon-on-awn. He is the Neptune of Gaelic mythology,\nbut holds a more mysterious and more potent position in the Gaelic\nPantheon than his classical congener.\n\nMAEV. The name of this most famous queen of antiquity is variously\nspelt. The original is Meadb, or Medbh, and is properly pronounced Mave\n(rhyming with wave).\n\nMURHEMNE. The original of this is Magh Muirteimne, pronounced\nMoy-mwir-hev-na. It is the plain from the Boyne to near Carlingford.\n\nMOYLE. This is the commonest pronunciation of the old Gaelic Maol,\nthough the word is best known in Scotland as Mull (from the Mull of\nCantyre). It is applied to the sea between Cantyre and Ulster.\n\nMEKWEEN. The original of this difficult name is Miodcaoin. I do not\nknow what it means.\n\nNATHOS. Originally Naisi; later Naoise; and commonly pronounced Neesh\u0103.\n\nNUADH. Pronounced Noo-\u0103.\n\nOGAM, or OGHAM. The ancient Cryptic method of writing, like the\nNorthern Runes, chiefly graven on funeral stones or monuments. The word\nis sometimes pronounced _Oo-am_, or _oom_, but Ogam is probably right\naccording to ancient usage.\n\nSHEE FINNAHA. The old Gaelic is Fhionncaid, and is properly pronounced\nSheeh-Inn\u0103chee.\n\nTAILKENN, or TAILCINN. This name for St. Patrick signifies Adze-Head\n(probably from his monkish tonsure).\n\nTURENN. The old form is Tuireann, and is pronounced Tirran or Toorenn.\n\nULAD, or ULADH. The old name of Ulster, of which Ultonia is the\nLatinized form. Ulad is properly pronounced Ulla.\n\nUR. This name is pronounced _oo-ar_ (Gaelic, Uar). The name in its old\nform is Iuchar, as that of his brother is Iucharba, which I have given\nas Urba. It is probable, however, that Ur is the modern equivalent of\nIucharba, and Yukar, or Yooch-ar (which I have given as Urba), of the\nthird of the Sons of Turenn. There is great confusion and diversity in\nthese old names.\n\n\nButler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London.\n\n\n\n\nBy FIONA MACLEOD\n\nGreen Fire\n\n_Crown 8vo. 6s._\n\n\u201cA brilliant romance of Celtic life, partly in an old chateau in\nBrittany, partly in an island in the Hebrides.\u201d--_St. James\u2019 Gazette._\n\n\u201cBesides William Morris, now gone, there are few in whose hands the\npure threads have been so skilfully and delicately woven as they have\nin Fiona Macleod\u2019s.\u201d--_Pall Mall Gazette._\n\n\u201cThe fuller revelation that was looked for from Miss Macleod\u2019s earlier\nworks has been amply fulfilled in this volume.\u201d--_Western Mail._\n\n\u201cThe descriptive passages vibrate with colour and sound, at once\ndelicate and vivid.\u201d--_Daily News._\n\n\u201cFiona Macleod carries us away at once from the modern realism into the\nrealms of romance and mysticism. She is essentially the bard of the\nCelt.\u201d--_The Gentlewoman._\n\n\u201cThis clever exponent of Celtic legend and story is at her best in\n\u2018Green Fire.\u2019\u201d--_Literary World._\n\n\u201cOnce again has this clever author enchanted us.\u201d--_Publishers\u2019\nCircular._\n\n\u201cA gifted writer of Celtic romance.\u201d--_Morning Post._\n\n\u201cThe two scenes we have noted prove her to be a writer of rare\nability.\u201d--_New Saturday Review._\n\n\u201cThe style of this book is sustained throughout at a very high\nlevel.\u201d--_Daily Telegraph._\n\n\u201cShe stands quite alone in her particular realm of fancy, and hardly\nless so in her method of giving it words.\u201d--_Saturday Review._\n\n\u201cFull of poetry, passion, and beautiful descriptions.\u201d--_The Guardian._\n\n\u201cThe book possesses a weird fascination of its own: its pages are\nilluminated ever and anon by brilliant flashes of genius.\u201d--_The Lady._\n\n\u201cMiss Macleod has rarely poured herself out more fully in profuse\nstrains of rhythmic prose than in this Celtic tale.\u201d--_Athen\u00e6um._\n\n  ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO\n  2, WHITEHALL GARDENS, WESTMINSTER, S.W.\n\n\nSongs for Little People\n\n  By NORMAN GALE\n  Profusely Illustrated by HELEN STRATTON\n  _Large Crown 8vo, 6s._\n\n\u201cA delightful book.\u201d--_Scotsman._\n\n\u201cWe cannot imagine anything more appropriate as a gift-book for\nchildren.\u201d--_Glasgow Daily Mail._\n\n\u201cThis book, in truth, is one of the most tasteful things of its\nkind.\u201d--_Whitehall Review._\n\n\u201cMr. Norman Gale is to be congratulated.\u201d--_Black and White._\n\n\u201cA delightful book in every way.\u201d--_Academy._\n\n\nTales from Hans Anderson\n\n  With Forty Illustrations by HELEN STRATTON\n  _Imperial 16mo, 2s. 6d.; gilt extra, 3s. 6d._\n\n\u201cVery acceptable to all young people.\u201d--_Gentlewoman._\n\n\u201cWe congratulate Miss Stratton.... Excellent work.\u201d--_Pall Mall\nGazette._\n\n\nThe Kitchen Maid\n\nOR\n\nSomeone we know very well\n\n  A Play for children in Two Acts.\n  By MARY F. GUILLEMARD\n  With Illustrations by BERNARD PARTRIDGE, E. M. HALE,\n  MARGERY MAY and HELEN STRATTON\n  _Foolscap Quarto, 3s. 6d._\n\n\u201cThe old story presented with a freshness which gives it a new charm\naltogether.\u201d--_Pall Mall Gazette._\n\n\u201cWith a proper regard for the tastes and intelligences of\nchildren.\u201d--_The Scotsman._\n\n\u201cVery effectively illustrated by Bernard Partridge and others.\u201d--_The\nRecord._\n\n\nCONSTABLE\u2019S LIBRARY OF\n\nHistorical Novels and Romances\n\n  EDITED BY G. LAURENCE GOMME\n  _Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d., cloth extra._\n  After a Design by A. A. 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NESBIT.\n  _Crown 8vo, cloth gilt._\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] In Gaelic, the name of Lir\u2019s daughter is _Fionnghuala_, and is\nvariously given in English as Fionula, Fionnuola, Finoola, and Finola.\n\n[2] Now Loch Derravaragh, in West Meath.\n\n[3] That is, between the north-east of Ireland (the Giant\u2019s Causeway)\nand the south-west of the Scottish Highlands (the Mull of Cantire).\n\n[4] The Tailcen: a name given by the early Irish to St. Patrick.\n\n[5] Coineag, Gaelic for \u201crabbit.\u201d The common English equivalent, Bunny,\nis a Gaelic derivative, from _Bun_, a stump or tail.\n\n[6] St. Patrick. (Druidic name.)\n\n[7] With the advent of St. Kemoc, the story comes within historical\ntimes. Lairgnen and Finghin were kings of Connaught and Munster, who\nflourished in the seventh century A.D.\n\n[8] It was the wont among the early Celtic peoples to bury their dead\nerect, particularly in the case of kings, and great warriors, and sons\nand daughters of kings.\n\n[9] _i.e._, from the north of Norway to the coasts of Denmark.\n\n[10] Probably Isberna is Hispania (Spain), and the apples the golden\napples of the Hesperides.\n\n[11] _Alba._ That is, Gaelic Scotland, and in particular Argyll.\n\n[12] _Naois_ in the old Irish Gaelic.\n\n[13] Ulster.\n\n[14] This song, adapted to Macha, is founded upon a portion of the poem\nby Coel O\u2019Neamhain, in honour of a beautiful queen named Crede, as\ntranslated by Professor Sullivan and others.\n\n[15] Given as in the Gaelic: _ciugear agus tri fichead agus tri chead_.\nLarge numbers are in Gaelic invariably built up thus (instead of, for\nexample, as here, four hundred and sixty). In an old Irish-Gaelic\nversion the particular number here is given as \u201cfive and three score\nabove six hundred and one thousand\u201d (_i.e._, 1,760).\n\n[16] In old Irish Gaelic, _Derdriu_, then _Deirdr\u00ea_, sometimes\n_Darethra_. In Scotland, _Dearduil_ (pronounced Dart\u2019weel, Darth-uil,\nor \u201cDarthool,\u201d whence Macpherson\u2019s \u201cDarthula,\u201d who rather loosely says\nthe name is _Dart\u2019huile_, a woman of beautiful eyes). The oldest name\nis said to signify alarm.\n\n[17] The Gaelic original is _Beanchaointeach (Banchainte) Conchubhar\nfein_, etc., and means literally Concobar\u2019s Conversation-woman, which\nperhaps might be rendered as \u201cgossip.\u201d\n\n[18] I have adopted here, as more euphonious, the name given to the\neldest of the sons of Usna (Uisneach) by Macpherson in \u201cDarthula.\u201d The\nold spelling is _Naoise_. _Ainnle_ (Ailne, Ailthos) means \u201cbeautiful,\u201d\nand _Ardan_, \u201cpride.\u201d\n\n[19] The Cruithne, or Picts, had their chief stronghold at Beregonium,\noverlooking the Bay of Selma, not far from the mouth of Loch Etive,\nbelow the Falls of Lora, in West Argyll.\n\n[20] To this day, the Highlander of Western Argyll and of\nInverness-shire is familiar with the Fort of the Sons of Usna, above\none of the lochs which constitute what is now known as the Caledonian\nCanal.\n\n[21] Western India.\n\n[22] This is a free paraphrase of the original as given by Dr. Cameron\nin the _Reliqui\u00e6 Celtic\u00e6_. The original consists of nine short\nquatrains. In the second, the names mentioned are Dun Fiodha, Dun\nFionn, Innis Droighin, and Dun Suibhne. In the following quatrains the\nold and modern names are practically identical. The modern Glendaruel\nwas formerly Glendaruay (Gleann da Ruadh), the Glen of the Two Roes, or\nGlennaruay (Gleann na Ruadh), the Glen of the Roes. Innis Droighin is\nagain alluded to in the last verse. It is now called Innis Draighneach,\nmeaning the Island of Thorns, and is situate in Loch Awe.\n\n[23] Literally \u201cO d\u2019chuala Feargus sin, do rinneadh rothnuall corcra\ndhe O bhonn go bathas.\u201d (When Fergus heard this, he became a crimson\nmass from the foot-sole to the face.)\n\n[24] This sentence is literal after the old Gaelic as translated by Dr.\nCameron. Apropos of the mention of the chessboard in the next sentence\n(as once before), it may be added that the ancient Celtic kings and\nlords had a passion for chess.\n\n[25] _Agus d\u2019ibh deoch, agus tainigh amach aris_, etc., \u201cand he drank a\ndrink,\u201d etc.\n\n[26] Scandinavia.\n\n\n\n\nTRANSCRIBER NOTES:\n\nThere are a number of blank pages in the original text of this book.\nTo conserve space, especially for handheld devices, blank pages have\nbeen left out of this ebook.\n\nThis book contains Scoto-Gaelic variants. To retain the intended flavor\nof the book, spelling and punctuation in dialect text have not been\naltered.\n\nSpelling of non-dialect wording in the text was made consistent when\na predominant preference was found in this book; if no predominant\npreference was found, or if there is only one occurrence of the word,\nspelling was not changed, unless noted below.\n\nSingle, oddly spelled words that could not be confirmed as\ntypographical errors were left unchanged. On page 159, \u201cslao\u201d was\nconsidered to be a typographical error and changed to \u201cslay\u201d, which\nfits the context.\n\nOriginal punctuation has been retained.\n\nVariations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved\nwith the following exception: Page 247 -- chess-board was changed to\nchessboard. All seven other occurrences of the word chessboard that\nwere not end-of-line hyphens did not have a hyphen.\n\nThe name \u201cAe\u201d is used twice and \u201cA\u00e9\u201d used once within the text. The\nname \u201cTaillken\u201d was used once in the text and \u201cTaillkenn\u201d used twice.\nNo change was made in either because it could not be confirmed that they\nwere typographical errors.","title":"The Laughter of Peterkin: A retelling of old tales of the Celtic Wonderworld","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":57190}