The Hound of Ulster (21 page)

‘I will not then, for I have no time for eating just now,' Cuchulain called back.

‘If we had a great feast to offer, you would stay. It does not become the great and powerful to despise the small and humble folk!'

Then Cuchulain, for the sake of courtesy, bade Laeg to draw rein, and stepped down from the chariot, and took the shoulder of the dog from one of the old women and ate it, well though he knew that his geise forbade him to eat the flesh of a hound because of the hound of Cullen who had given him his name; for he thought, ‘It is all one. My Fate is on me no matter what I do or do not do.' But he took care to take the meat with the left hand, and as he did so, that hand was stricken so that the goodness went out of it.

Then he sprang back into the chariot and bade Laeg drive on—on—on, and they thundered on down the track of Meadhon-Luachair that passes hard beneath Slieve Fuad through the Gap of the North. And it was in his mind how he had driven that way seven years before.

Now Erc Son of Cairbre had driven ahead with the scouting chariots along the wooded skirts of Slieve Fuad, and saw him coming in a great cloud of dust that was shot through with red gold like a dust cloud at sunset by the Hero light that played about his head; his spear crimson-bladed in his hand, and the great black Crow of Battles flapping above him. ‘Cuchulain is upon us!' he shouted to the men about him, and wheeled his horse and was away back to the war host coming up behind. ‘Cuchulain comes in a cloud of fire! The magic has drawn him forth at last, but he comes like no spellbound victim to the knife! So now let us be ready to receive him worthily!'

So they formed their foot warriors into a shield-hedge with their lime-washed bucklers, and raised the war shout; and the heads of their spears were as the leaves of a summer forest, and on either side and behind the gaps in the foot ranks the chariots were ranged.

And when Cuchulain saw the hosts of Ireland standing waiting like a weaponed forest all across the plain of Murthemney, from Slieve Fuad into the foot-slopes of Slieve Cuillen, he cried to Laeg to make the pace yet swifter; and as they drove furiously down upon them, he plied the Champion's Thunder Feat against them until their dead were scattered thick and far as sands on the shore, as hailstones when a thunderstorm has passed, as buttercups in a summer meadow.

Then one of the bards who were with the war host sprang into the horses' track, crying, ‘Cuchulain, Hound of Ulster, your spear to me!' For the three Witch Daughters had foretold that Cuchulain's great throw-spear should be the death of three kings that day, and no kings were there save those of Munster and Leinster and Connacht.

Among all men it was a point of honour to refuse nothing that a bard might demand. ‘Yet I have greater need of it
myself than you can have, this day,' Cuchulain shouted back.

‘I will put a bad name on you if you refuse me, and it shall last for ever on all men's tongues.'

‘There was never a bad name put on me yet, for the refusing of a gift,' Cuchulain cried. ‘Take it, then, oh Song-Maker of Lugy's court!' and he flung the great spear at him with such force that it passed clear through him and killed nine men beyond.

Then Lugy himself stooped and caught up the spear and hurled it back at Cuchulain. But the horses were plunging, and instead it caught Laeg the King of Charioteers, so that he fell back with a great wound under his breast-bone. ‘I am hard hit,' Laeg said. ‘And what will you do for a charioteer, Cuchulain, my dear lord?'

‘I will be my own charioteer,' Cuchulain said, crouching over him to draw out the spear; and Laeg helped him with his own hand, and on the bright wave of blood that came with it, the life broke out from him; and Cuchulain kissed him and laid him down on the chariot floor. Then he bound the reins round his own waist that he might have his hands free, and rushed on through the war host of Ireland.

And as he hurled along, another bard called to Cuchulain for his spear.

‘There is but my spear against the Four Provinces of Ireland,' Cuchulain cried. ‘I have sorer need of it than you, this day!'

‘Have you forgotten that once a great king tore out his own eye because his bard asked it of him? I will put a name of reproach on all Ulster for your refusal!'

‘Ulster was never yet put to shame for me.' And Cuchulain threw the great spear at the man with such strength that it
passed through his head and through the heads of nine men behind him, and Cuchulain thundered on as before.

Then it was Erc Son of Cairbre Niafer, who caught up the reeking spear and hurled it back, but his aim was wilder even than Lugy's, and ploughed deep into the flank of the Grey of Macha, the King of all the Horses of Ireland, dealing him a wound that must be his death before many days were out.

Cuchulain outed his dagger and slashed the reins from his waist, and sprang forward upon the yoke pole to draw out the spear and cut through the trace that held the Grey to the chariot.

‘The Gods be kind to you, my brother. May there be many mares in the plains of Tir-Nan-Og,' he said, and the great horse wheeled and plunged off through the battle, away and away leaving his blood trail behind him, to cool his mortal hurts in the Grey Lough under Slieve Fuad.

Then with the Black Seinglend dragging the chariot askew like a wounded bird, Cuchulain plunged on once more through the war host. And a third time one of the royal bards cried out to him for his spear.

‘My honour does not bid me to bestow more than one gift in one day, and I have already given two,' returned Cuchulain.

‘I will put a bad name upon you if you refuse me!'

‘I have paid the ransom for my name,' Cuchulain said.

‘Then I will call down reproach upon all Ulster!'

‘I have paid my due for the honour of Ulster.'

‘Then I will call it down upon your kindred and all you love!'

And at that, Cuchulain cried out, thinking of Emer, and of the dark hard King and ancient gentle Cathbad, and of Conall of the Victories even now thundering to his aid. ‘That is another matter. No man should leave shame behind him with
those he loves. Take the gift in kindness, then,' and he flung the great spear with such force that it passed through the bard's rib-cage and slew nine men behind him.

‘You do your kindnesses ungently, Hound of Ulster,' said the bard as he fell.

Then Lugy got the spear again, and hurled it back, and it struck its third king; it struck Cuchulain who was King of all the Heroes of Ireland, full in the lower part of the breast, so that he knew he had got his death wound even as his bowels fell out from him upon the cushions of the chariot. And in the same instant the Black Seinglend reared up and swung half round on his haunches; the chariot heeled over with a splintering crash and the breaststrap broke. And the great midnight-coloured horse, maddened by the tumult and the smell of blood behind him and the splintered chariot at his heels, broke away with half the harness hanging about his neck, and galloped neighing and savaging as he went, through the heart of the enemy war host. And behind him his lord was left asprawl in the ruins of the chariot.

Then as the kings and chieftains crowded about him, Cuchulain forced himself up to his knees, and his voice came harsh in his throat and the darkness made webs before his eyes. ‘I am in your hands now; give me leave to go down to the loughside yonder for the wish is on me to drink.'

And the kings and princes looked at each other; and at last Erc Mac Cairbre said, ‘So be it, then. Go down to the lough shore and drink your fill, but return into our hands afterwards.'

Cuchulain laughed, and never was there laughter with less of mirth in it. ‘If I come not back, you will know where I am. I give you leave to come down and fetch what is left of me.'

Then he gathered his bowels into his breast and bound his cloak tightly about himself; and gathering the little strength
that was left in him, he staggered to his feet and went down to the lough side. And there among the whispering brown-flowered rushes he drank and washed himself, and then turned back again to die. He had not strength left to drag himself back to his enemies, but he knew that they would come after him soon enough.

There was a tall pillar stone beside the lough, and he got to it, and slung his girdle over it and knotted it about his breast, that he might meet death in his standing up and not in his lying down. And his blood ran down into the lough, and an otter came up through the shallows and lapped it.

Then the war hosts of the enemy came and gathered round, all along the shores of the lough, but none of them dared go near him for the Hero light was still on his forehead, and by that they knew that there was still a spark of life in him.

Then the Grey of Macha came back at a wounded gallop to defend his lord so long as the life lingered in him, and the Grey made three charges against the men of Ireland, and he killed fifty men with his teeth that sunset time, and thirty with each hoof, so that there is a saying yet: ‘It is not sharper work than this, was done by the Grey of Macha, the time of Cuchulain's dying.'

Then a great black gore-crow flapped down and settled upon Cuchulain's shoulder, and by that they knew that he was dead. And Lugy Son of Curoi came and lifted Cuchulain's long dark hair sideways from his neck and struck off his head, while all the men of Ireland shouted in heavy triumph. Now Cuchulain's naked sword fell from his hand, and in its falling, lopped off Lugy's right hand, so that his yell mingled with the war host's shouting. They hacked off Cuchulain's right hand in satisfaction, while the Hero light faded from about his severed head, leaving it pale as the ashes of a long-dead fire.

Then all the warriors of Ireland called on Maeve to bring away the head with her to Cruachan, since it was she that had gathered the war host and made her use of the Daughters of Clan Calatin. But Maeve drew back the hem of her mantle from the blood, she who had never minded blood before, and looked down at the head with dreadful eyes. ‘I will not bring it to Cruachan, I will not have it near me! Lugy struck it off, and paid for it with a hand. Let him carry it away with him!'

And so Lugy and his men set off that same night, heading for the Life River, and they carried Cuchulain's head and his sword hand with them.

BY NOW THE
men of Ulster were all but healed of the Great Weakness, for this time it had fallen less heavily than usual, and maybe the magic of the Witch Daughters abroad in the land had fought with the older spell and thinned its power. And the Ulster war host was already gathering to fly at the throat of its enemies. And Conall of the Victories was out ahead of them, when he met the Grey of Macha with the lifeblood dripping from his flank.

Then Conall knew that his foster brother was dead, for the horse would never have left him else; and he swore to keep the promise that they had made each other as boys, that if either were killed before the other, the one left would avenge him. But first he must find Cuchulain's body. That was not hard to do, for the Grey of Macha, now that he had found Conall, had no thought but to get him back to his lord. And even had that not been the way of it, there was the blood trail to follow, as easily as a paved road.

So they pressed on together, the Grey galloping beside
Conall's Dewy Red, until at last they came to the lough shore below Slieve Fuad, and saw Cuchulain's headless body still bound to the pillar stone. Then the Grey of Macha went and laid his head on Cuchulain's breast.

And reining in the chariot team, Conall saw the hand of Lugy, Curoi's son, lying on the grass by Cuchulain's feet, and knew it by the thumb ring on it.

‘There is another whose journey is finished,' said Conall to his own heart, ‘and I know whose hand struck the last blow.' And looking again towards where the great silver horse stood with his head on his lord's still breast, he said, ‘They will do well enough together until I come again,' and he wheeled the chariot and pricked the team from a stand to a gallop, and thundered away on the track of the Munster men (for the tracks of the separate war hosts left the camp by separate ways) until he came to the river Lifé; and on the way he met one of the herdsmen of D
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n Dealgan among the hills, and bade him go back and tell his mistress what had befallen.