The Hound of Ulster (20 page)

‘Indeed we have thought and thought, and it is a thing that none of us know,' said Lendabair, and she biting her knuckles like one that is near to her wit's end.

‘I will tell you, for I also have been thinking,' said Conor. ‘You must take him away from here into Glean-na-Bodha, the Deaf Valley. For if all the men of Ireland were to stand
about the rim of that valley, and they letting out their wildest war cries, no one in the valley would hear a sound. Bring him there, and keep him there, until the enchantment be spent and Conall of the Victories comes to be at his shoulder.'

‘I cannot go with them,' Emer said, ‘for with the war host of Maeve rieving through Murthemney, my place is in D
Å«
n Dealgan, that the household be not left leaderless with none to keep the roofs on the byres. But let Lendabair be beside him in my stead; he will listen to her maybe more than to me, for he has never greatly listened to me,' and this she said, not in bitterness, but only as one speaking a true thing.

Then it was agreed, and Cathbad went to Cuchulain, and said, ‘Dear son, you have been pent in this place overlong like a mewed falcon; now today I am holding a feast in my house for the harpers and song-makers and the women of the Red Branch. Let you come with us now, for you have ever loved the music of the harp, and today we will hear such harping as few men hear in their lives.'

‘I am well enough where I am, and in little mood for music,' said Cuchulain, clenching his fists at the sounds of battle in the air.

‘Remember that it is geise to you not to refuse a feast,' said Cathbad.

‘As it was to Fergus Mac Roy, and see what came of it! My grief! What a time is this for me to be feasting and making merry, with all Ulster going up in flames, and the men of Ulster helpless under the Weakness, and the men of Ireland putting scorn and laughter on me, that I have run from them like a frightened hare!'

‘What time is it for you to be breaking your geise?' said Cathbad.

And Emer put her arms about his neck and held him close.
‘Hound, my Hound, I never but once tried until now to hold you back from any venture, whatever the hazard of it. So now do not refuse me this time, my first love, my darling of all the men of the world. Go with Cathbad and Lendabair.'

And Lendabair went to him and took his hands, ‘Ah, come, Cuchulain, the men of Ireland shall not laugh long; only let you wait for Conall of the Victories.'

Long and long they argued with him, until at last he yielded, and took his leave of Emer, and grim and silent mounted into the chariot when Laeg brought it round to the forecourt of the Red Branch House, and went with them wherever they wished.

So they brought him into the valley of Glean-Na-Bodha. And when he realised what place it was, Cuchulain cursed and beat his fists together. ‘Now of all places this is the worst that I could come to, for now indeed the men of Ireland will say that the Hound has run from them with his tail between his legs!'

‘You gave your word to Lendabair,' Laeg said quickly, ‘that you would not go against the men of Ireland without her leave.'

‘If I did so,' said Cuchulain, ‘then it is right for me to hold to my word.'

The chariots were unyoked, and the Grey of Macha and the Black Seinglend were turned loose to graze in the glen. Then they all went in to the house that Cathbad had sent his servants ahead to make ready for them. They set Cuchulain in the chief place at the High Table and began to make a great show of laughter and pleasantness all about him, just as they had done at his coming into the Red Branch Hall. While in their midst Cuchulain sat black browed and taut as an overstrung bow, listening to every sound from beyond their merriment.

He had not long to wait in his listening; for when the Witch
Daughters found him gone from the Red Branch House, they rose high into the air like an upswirl of withered leaves, and on a blast of moaning wind they whirled over the whole of Ulster, searching out every wood and valley until they came at last over Glean-Na-Bodha. And there below them, among other horses and chariots, they saw Black Seinglend and the Grey of Macha grazing, and Laeg leaning on his spear close by. And by that they knew that Cuchulain was somewhere in the valley. And as they eddied downward they saw the timber hall under the eaves of the woods, and heard the laughter and the sound of harp song coming from within.

They took thistle stalks and little fuzz-balls and withered leaves as before, and made of them the appearance of vast war hosts, so that it seemed that all the world beyond the valley was full of swiftly moving men, and everywhere were wild yells and chatterings, the cries of wounded men and the wailing of women and the neighing of horses, and demon laughter and the braying of war horns; and everywhere it seemed was fire and smoke as though all Ulster were burning.

Within Cathbad's feast-hall they heard the dreadful uproar, and men and women began to shout their laughter and to sing to the harp and clap their hands and do all that they could think of to keep the magic outcry from reaching Cuchulain's ears. But the tumult was beyond drowning, and Cuchulain sprang up, crying that he heard the men of Ireland despoiling the whole province.

But Cathbad rose towering over him and caught him by the shoulders and said, ‘Let it pass by. It is only the tumult made by the Witch Daughters, to draw you out of the safety of this place, that they may make an end of you.'

And Cuchulain turned away and dashed his hand against the roof-tree of the hall so that his knuckles bled. And then he sat
down again and held his head in his hands. And the Daughters of Calatin went on for a while and a while, making all the air of the glen to throb with the wild shrieks of their phantom war host. But they understood at last that Cathbad and the woman and the song-makers all together were too strong for them. And then at last Bave, the most hideous of the three, went down to the very door of the feast-hall, and there she put on the likeness of one of Lendabair's women who had not accompanied her, and she beckoned Lendabair out to speak with her.

Lendabair went out to her, thinking that she must have brought some word from Emain Macha, and Bave, finger on lip, bade her and the other women who had come with her to follow where she led. Then she took them a long way down the glen, drawing them on by telling them always that it was a little farther and a little farther, until she judged that they were far enough from the hall; and then she raised a thick mist about them and put on them a spell of straying that would keep them from finding their way back until it was too late; and left them wandering.

Then she made a spell to make herself like Conall's wife and she flew back to the feast-hall and through the door and flung herself at Cuchulain's knees, her eyes haggard and her bright hair wild, crying out to him, ‘Up and out, Cuchulain! D
Å«
n Dealgan is burning and Murthemney destroyed, and all Ulster trampled down by the men of Ireland! And all men will say that it lies at my door, for I held you back! Go now, swiftly, swiftly! Or Conor will be my death!'

‘Truly it is hard to trust in women,' Cuchulain said, ‘for it was indeed yourself said that you would not give me leave for all the riches in the world!' But he sprang up even as he spoke, and flung on his cloak and strode out, shouting to Laeg to yoke the horses and make ready the chariot. And though Cathbad
and the remaining women followed him out, striving by every means in their power to hold him back, they might as well have sought to hold marsh fire or mountain mist between their fingers, for the air was still full of the tumult of battle, and he seemed to see the whole war host of Ireland trampling through Ulster, the roofs of Emain Macha and D
Å«
n Dealgan in a great smoke lit with bursts of red flame, and the corpse of Emer tossed out over D
Å«
n Dealgan ramparts.

Laeg went to do his bidding as slowly as might be, he who had never been heavy-hearted in that task before; and when he shook the bridles towards the horses as he always did to summon them, they started away from him, snorting and tossing their heads and flying round in wary circles, showing the whites of their eyes. And the Grey of Macha in particular would not let him come within halter's length. ‘Truly this is an omen of ill things to come,' said Laeg to himself, and he groaned, and went to Cuchulain. ‘If you would have the Grey of Macha into the yoke this day, you must do the thing yourself. I have never known him unwilling until now, but I swear by the Gods my people swear by, that I cannot so much as set hand on him!'

So Cuchulain strode out with the bridles; but the Grey shied away from him as from Laeg. ‘Brother,' Cuchulain cried, ‘you have never behaved so ill to me before. If you love me, come, for we must go out against the enemies of Ulster, you and I.'

Then the Grey of Macha came at last, his head hanging; and standing there to accept the bridle he let great heavy tears of blood fall on Cuchulain's feet.

SO AT LAST
the chariot was yoked, despite all that the others could say or do, and like a man bound in an evil dream, Cuchulain set out for Murthemney. And all the while he cursed and raved at Laeg for more speed, until they drove like a thundercloud before a gale of wind, and the trees and bushes and grasses bent back and streamed out at their passing, as before a great storm rushing by. And ever in Cuchulain's ears was the tumult of battle, and ever before his eyes the fire and the demon war hosts and the broken body of Emer tossed out over the ramparts of her own D
Å«
n.

Yet when he came to D
Å«
n Dealgan among its apple trees, it was just as it had always been, and Emer came out to him with her pleated crimson mantle about her and the gold ornaments hung in her hair. And she set her hands on the chariot bow, and said, ‘Welcome home, my lord. Let you come down from your chariot now, for the evening meal is waiting.'

‘It must wait on,' Cuchulain said. ‘I go against the war hosts of the Four Provinces—I have seen them gathering—I have seen the smoke of their fires even on the walls of Emain Macha.'

‘That was but the enchantments of the Witch Daughters of Calatin. Give them no heed, and in two more days they will be gone, and Conall of the Victories will be here to drive his war team into battle beside yours.'

‘I cannot wait for Conall of the Victories! I tell you, woman, I see them, I hear them even now-there is not one heart-beat of time to be lost!'

And Emer saw that there was no holding him, for the bonds of witchcraft had him by the soul. ‘At least you can wait while I bring you a cup of wine to slake the way-dust in your throat,' she said, and while he waited, fretting and starting like the horses at the yoke pole, she ran and fetched Greek wine in a cup of age-darkened amber. But when she held it up to him and he stooped to take it, he started back with a cry, for between her hand and his, the cup was brimming with blood.

‘My grief! It is not wonderful that others forsake me when my own wife offers me a drink of blood!'

Then she snatched the cup from him and flung out the blood and filled it again with wine; but that time also, and yet a third time, the wine in the cup turned to blood as he stooped to take it. And the third time he flung the cup against the pillar stone of the house, so that the amber broke into shards like great golden petals and the blood splashed all down the pillar stone. ‘The fault is not yours; my Fate has turned against me and now I know indeed that this time I shall not come home to you from battle. Ach well, I took the Fate on me with my eyes open, on the day that I chose to take the weapons of manhood. I have known how it would be.'

‘Wait!' Emer begged, her hands gripping the sides of the chariot. ‘Only wait, and your Fate will turn again!'

‘Not for all the power and the golden riches in the world!' Cuchulain said, ‘nor for anything you can say, Emer, Falcon-of-my-Heart. Never since the day that he received his weapons has the Hound of Ulster hung back when the war horns sounded, and he'll not change the way of it now, for they do say that a great name outlasts life.'

And he stooped and kissed her once, so that her lips were bruised, and struck her hands from the chariot rim, and cried
to Laeg, ‘Drive on, my brother, for we have lingered too long by the way!'

And the horses sprang forward from the goad and the dust cloud rose between him and Emer, and they drove on south like a storm cloud before the gale.

Presently they came to the river ford, and kneeling beside the shallows was a girl with skin as white as curds and hair that hung about her yellow as broom flowers; and she was washing a pile of bloodstained garments, and keening to herself as she washed, as the women keen for their dead, and as she lifted a crimsoned tunic from the water, Cuchulain saw that it was his own.

‘Do you not see? Will you not heed this last warning and go back?' Laeg said.

‘Whether or not I turn back, it will be all one, for my Fate is on me,' said Cuchulain, and his voice and his eyes were his own again, as though the madness had left him. ‘And what is it to me that the woman of the Lordly Ones washes bloody clouts for me? There shall be others than myself lying in their blood ere I have finished my game of spears with the warriors of Ireland.' And he looked round at his charioteer. ‘But let you turn aside if you have a mind to, for the call is not for you. Go back to Emer and tell her how sore my heart is to leave her, after the many times that I have come back to her in gladness out of strange places and far countries.'

‘She knows without telling of mine,' Laeg said. ‘Your Fate has been mine too long to change the way of it now,' and he steadied the horses down to the water, and as they crossed, the maiden flickered out as a marsh-light flickers out; and where
she had been was nothing but an alder tree trailing its hair in the water.

Later they turned on to the track from Meadhon to Luachair. And beside the track they came upon three hideous ancient women, each blind of the left eye, and the horses shied across the track at sight of them. They had made a fire of sticks and were roasting the carcass of a dog over it on spits of rowan wood; and Cuchulain would have passed them by, for he knew well enough that it was not for his good that they were there. But one of them called to him, ‘Stay awhile, Cuchulain, and eat with us.'