Celtic Fairy Tales (3 page)

"Oh! Guleesh, isn't that a nice turn you did us, and we so kind to
you? What good have we now out of our journey to France. Never mind
yet, you clown, but you'll pay us another time for this. Believe us,
you'll repent it."

"He'll have no good to get out of the young girl," said the little
man that was talking to him in the palace before that, and as he
said the word he moved over to her and struck her a slap on the side
of the head. "Now," says he, "she'll be without talk any more; now,
Guleesh, what good will she be to you when she'll be dumb? It's time
for us to go—but you'll remember us, Guleesh!"

When he said that he stretched out his two hands, and before Guleesh
was able to give an answer, he and the rest of them were gone into
the rath out of his sight, and he saw them no more.

He turned to the young woman and said to her: "Thanks be to God,
they're gone. Would you not sooner stay with me than with them?" She
gave him no answer. "There's trouble and grief on her yet," said
Guleesh in his own mind, and he spoke to her again: "I am afraid
that you must spend this night in my father's house, lady, and if
there is anything that I can do for you, tell me, and I'll be your
servant."

The beautiful girl remained silent, but there were tears in her
eyes, and her face was white and red after each other.

"Lady," said Guleesh, "tell me what you would like me to do now. I
never belonged at all to that lot of sheehogues who carried you away
with them. I am the son of an honest farmer, and I went with them
without knowing it. If I'll be able to send you back to your father
I'll do it, and I pray you make any use of me now that you may
wish."

He looked into her face, and he saw the mouth moving as if she was
going to speak, but there came no word from it.

"It cannot be," said Guleesh, "that you are dumb. Did I not hear you
speaking to the king's son in the palace to-night? Or has that devil
made you really dumb, when he struck his nasty hand on your jaw?"

The girl raised her white smooth hand, and laid her finger on her
tongue, to show him that she had lost her voice and power of speech,
and the tears ran out of her two eyes like streams, and Guleesh's
own eyes were not dry, for as rough as he was on the outside he had
a soft heart, and could not stand the sight of the young girl, and
she in that unhappy plight.

He began thinking with himself what he ought to do, and he did not
like to bring her home with himself to his father's house, for he
knew well that they would not believe him, that he had been in
France and brought back with him the king of France's daughter, and
he was afraid they might make a mock of the young lady or insult
her.

As he was doubting what he ought to do, and hesitating, he chanced
to remember the priest. "Glory be to God," said he, "I know now what
I'll do; I'll bring her to the priest's house, and he won't refuse
me to keep the lady and care for her." He turned to the lady again
and told her that he was loth to take her to his father's house, but
that there was an excellent priest very friendly to himself, who
would take good care of her, if she wished to remain in his house;
but that if there was any other place she would rather go, he said
he would bring her to it.

She bent her head, to show him she was obliged, and gave him to
understand that she was ready to follow him any place he was going.
"We will go to the priest's house, then," said he; "he is under an
obligation to me, and will do anything I ask him."

They went together accordingly to the priest's house, and the sun
was just rising when they came to the door. Guleesh beat it hard,
and as early as it was the priest was up, and opened the door
himself. He wondered when he saw Guleesh and the girl, for he was
certain that it was coming wanting to be married they were.

"Guleesh, Guleesh, isn't it the nice boy you are that you can't wait
till ten o'clock or till twelve, but that you must be coming to me
at this hour, looking for marriage, you and your sweetheart? You
ought to know that I can't marry you at such a time, or, at all
events, can't marry you lawfully. But ubbubboo!" said he, suddenly,
as he looked again at the young girl, "in the name of God, who have
you here? Who is she, or how did you get her?"

"Father," said Guleesh, "you can marry me, or anybody else, if you
wish; but it's not looking for marriage I came to you now, but to
ask you, if you please, to give a lodging in your house to this
young lady."

The priest looked at him as though he had ten heads on him; but
without putting any other question to him, he desired him to come
in, himself and the maiden, and when they came in, he shut the door,
brought them into the parlour, and put them sitting.

"Now, Guleesh," said he, "tell me truly who is this young lady, and
whether you're out of your senses really, or are only making a joke
of me."

"I'm not telling a word of lie, nor making a joke of you," said
Guleesh; "but it was from the palace of the king of France I carried
off this lady, and she is the daughter of the king of France."

He began his story then, and told the whole to the priest, and the
priest was so much surprised that he could not help calling out at
times, or clapping his hands together.

When Guleesh said from what he saw he thought the girl was not
satisfied with the marriage that was going to take place in the
palace before he and the sheehogues broke it up, there came a red
blush into the girl's cheek, and he was more certain than ever that
she had sooner be as she was—badly as she was—than be the married
wife of the man she hated. When Guleesh said that he would be very
thankful to the priest if he would keep her in his own house, the
kind man said he would do that as long as Guleesh pleased, but that
he did not know what they ought to do with her, because they had no
means of sending her back to her father again.

Guleesh answered that he was uneasy about the same thing, and that
he saw nothing to do but to keep quiet until they should find some
opportunity of doing something better. They made it up then between
themselves that the priest should let on that it was his brother's
daughter he had, who was come on a visit to him from another county,
and that he should tell everybody that she was dumb, and do his best
to keep every one away from her. They told the young girl what it
was they intended to do, and she showed by her eyes that she was
obliged to them.

Guleesh went home then, and when his people asked him where he had
been, he said that he had been asleep at the foot of the ditch, and
had passed the night there.

There was great wonderment on the priest's neighbours at the girl
who came so suddenly to his house without any one knowing where she
was from, or what business she had there. Some of the people said
that everything was not as it ought to be, and others, that Guleesh
was not like the same man that was in it before, and that it was a
great story, how he was drawing every day to the priest's house, and
that the priest had a wish and a respect for him, a thing they could
not clear up at all.

That was true for them, indeed, for it was seldom the day went by
but Guleesh would go to the priest's house, and have a talk with
him, and as often as he would come he used to hope to find the young
lady well again, and with leave to speak; but, alas! she remained
dumb and silent, without relief or cure. Since she had no other
means of talking, she carried on a sort of conversation between
herself and himself, by moving her hand and fingers, winking her
eyes, opening and shutting her mouth, laughing or smiling, and a
thousand other signs, so that it was not long until they understood
each other very well. Guleesh was always thinking how he should send
her back to her father; but there was no one to go with her, and he
himself did not know what road to go, for he had never been out of
his own country before the night he brought her away with him. Nor
had the priest any better knowledge than he; but when Guleesh asked
him, he wrote three or four letters to the king of France, and gave
them to buyers and sellers of wares, who used to be going from place
to place across the sea; but they all went astray, and never a one
came to the king's hand.

This was the way they were for many months, and Guleesh was falling
deeper and deeper in love with her every day, and it was plain to
himself and the priest that she liked him. The boy feared greatly at
last, lest the king should really hear where his daughter was, and
take her back from himself, and he besought the priest to write no
more, but to leave the matter to God.

So they passed the time for a year, until there came a day when
Guleesh was lying by himself, on the grass, on the last day of the
last month in autumn, and he was thinking over again in his own mind
of everything that happened to him from the day that he went with
the sheehogues across the sea. He remembered then, suddenly, that it
was one November night that he was standing at the gable of the
house, when the whirlwind came, and the sheehogues in it, and he
said to himself: "We have November night again to-day, and I'll
stand in the same place I was last year, until I see if the good
people come again. Perhaps I might see or hear something that would
be useful to me, and might bring back her talk again to Mary"—that
was the name himself and the priest called the king's daughter, for
neither of them knew her right name. He told his intention to the
priest, and the priest gave him his blessing.

Guleesh accordingly went to the old rath when the night was
darkening, and he stood with his bent elbow leaning on a grey old
flag, waiting till the middle of the night should come. The moon
rose slowly; and it was like a knob of fire behind him; and there
was a white fog which was raised up over the fields of grass and all
damp places, through the coolness of the night after a great heat in
the day. The night was calm as is a lake when there is not a breath
of wind to move a wave on it, and there was no sound to be heard but
the
cronawn
of the insects that would go by from time to
time, or the hoarse sudden scream of the wild-geese, as they passed
from lake to lake, half a mile up in the air over his head; or the
sharp whistle of the golden and green plover, rising and lying,
lying and rising, as they do on a calm night. There were a thousand
thousand bright stars shining over his head, and there was a little
frost out, which left the grass under his foot white and crisp.

He stood there for an hour, for two hours, for three hours, and the
frost increased greatly, so that he heard the breaking of the
traneens
under his foot as often as he moved. He was thinking,
in his own mind, at last, that the sheehogues would not come that
night, and that it was as good for him to return back again, when
he heard a sound far away from him, coming towards him, and he
recognised what it was at the first moment. The sound increased,
and at first it was like the beating of waves on a stony shore, and
then it was like the falling of a great waterfall, and at last it was like
a loud storm in the tops of the trees, and then the whirlwind burst
into the rath of one rout, and the sheehogues were in it.

It all went by him so suddenly that he lost his breath with it, but
he came to himself on the spot, and put an ear on himself, listening
to what they would say.

Scarcely had they gathered into the rath till they all began
shouting, and screaming, and talking amongst themselves; and then
each one of them cried out: "My horse, and bridle, and saddle! My
horse, and bridle, and saddle!" and Guleesh took courage, and called
out as loudly as any of them: "My horse, and bridle, and saddle! My
horse, and bridle, and saddle!" But before the word was well out of
his mouth, another man cried out: "Ora! Guleesh, my boy, are you
here with us again? How are you getting on with your woman? There's
no use in your calling for your horse to-night. I'll go bail you
won't play such a trick on us again. It was a good trick you played
on us last year?"

"It was," said another man; "he won't do it again."

"Isn't he a prime lad, the same lad! to take a woman with him that
never said as much to him as, 'How do you do?' since this time last
year!" says the third man.

"Perhaps be likes to be looking at her," said another voice.

"And if the
omadawn
only knew that there's an herb growing up
by his own door, and if he were to boil it and give it to her, she'd
be well," said another voice.

"That's true for you."

"He is an omadawn."

"Don't bother your head with him; we'll be going."

"We'll leave the
bodach
as he is."

And with that they rose up into the air, and out with them with one
roolya-boolya
the way they came; and they left poor Guleesh
standing where they found him, and the two eyes going out of his
head, looking after them and wondering.

He did not stand long till he returned back, and he thinking in his
own mind on all he saw and heard, and wondering whether there was
really an herb at his own door that would bring back the talk to the
king's daughter. "It can't be," says he to himself, "that they would
tell it to me, if there was any virtue in it; but perhaps the
sheehogue didn't observe himself when he let the word slip out of
his mouth. I'll search well as soon as the sun rises, whether
there's any plant growing beside the house except thistles and
dockings."

He went home, and as tired as he was he did not sleep a wink until
the sun rose on the morrow. He got up then, and it was the first
thing he did to go out and search well through the grass round about
the house, trying could he get any herb that he did not recognise.
And, indeed, he was not long searching till he observed a large
strange herb that was growing up just by the gable of the house.