Wars of the Irish Kings (5 page)

Then he asked the sorcerer, whose name was Mathgen, what power he wielded. He answered that he would shake the mountains of Ireland beneath the Fomoire so that their summits would fall to the ground. And it would seem to them that the twelve chief mountains of the land of Ireland would be fighting on behalf of the Túatha Dé Danann: Slieve League, and Denda Ulad, and the Mourne Mountains, and Brí Erigi and Slieve Bloom and Slieve Snaght, Slemish and Blaíslíab and Nephin Mountain and Slíab Maccu Belgodon and the Curlieu hills and Croagh Patrick.

Then he asked the cupbearer what power he wielded. He answered that he would bring the twelve chief lochs or Ireland into the presence of the Fomoire and they would not find water in them, however thirsty they were. These are the lochs: Lough Derg, Lough Luimnig, Lough Corrib, Lough Ree, Lough Mask, Strangford Lough, Belfast Lough, Lough Neagh, Lough Foyle, Lough Gara, Loughrea, Márloch. They would proceed to the twelve chief rivers of Ireland—the Bush, the Boyne, the Bann, the Blackwater, the Lee, the Shannon, the Moy, the Sligo, the Erne, the Finn, the Liffey, the Suir—and they would all be hidden from the Fomoire so they would not find a drop in them. But drink will be provided for the men of Ireland even if they remain in battle for seven years.

Then Figol mac Mámois, their druid, said, “Three showers of fire will be rained upon the faces of the Fomorian host, and I will take out of them two-thirds of their courage and their skill at arms and their strength, and I will bind their urine in their own bodies and in the bodies of their horses. Every breath that the men of Ireland will exhale will increase their courage and skill at arms and strength. Even if they remain in battle for seven
years, they will not be weary at all.

The Dagda said, “The power which you boast, I will wield it all myself.”

“You are the Dagda [‘the Good God’]!” said everyone; and “Dagda” stuck to him from that time on.

Then they disbanded the council to meet that day three years later ….

The men of Ireland came together the day before All Hallows. Their number was six times thirty hundred, that is, each third consisted of twice thirty hundred.

Then Lug sent the Dagda to spy on the Fomoire and to delay them until the men of Ireland came to the battle.

Then the Dagda went to the Fomorian camp and asked them for a truce of battle. This was granted to him as he asked. The Fomoire made porridge for him to mock him, because his love of porridge was great. They filled for him the king’s cauldron, which was five fists deep, and poured four score gallons of new milk and the same quantity of meal and fat into it. They put goats and sheep and swine into it, and boiled them all together with the porridge. Then they poured it into a hole in the ground, and Indech said to him that he would be killed unless he consumed it all; he should eat his fill so that he might not satirize the Fomoire.

Then the Dagda took his ladle, and it was big enough for a man and a woman to lie in the middle of it. These were the bits that were in it: halves of salted swine and a quarter of lard.

Then the Dagda said, “This is good food if its broth is equal to its taste.” But when he would put the full ladle into his mouth he said, “Its poor bits do not spoil it,’ says the wise old man.”

Then at the end he scraped his bent finger over the bottom of the hole among mould and gravel. He fell asleep then after eating his porridge. His belly was as big as a house cauldron, and the Fomoire laughed at it.

Then he went away from them to Tráigh Eabha. It was not easy for the warrior to move along on account of the size of his belly. His appearance was unsightly: he had a cape to the hollow of his elbows, and a gray-brown tunic around him as far as the swelling of his rump. He trailed behind him a wheeled fork which was the work of eight men to move, and its track was enough for the boundary ditch of a province. It is called “The Track of the Dagda’s Club” for that reason. His long penis was uncovered. He had on two shoes of horsehide with the hair outside ….

The Fomoire advanced until their tenths were in Scétne. The men of Ireland were in Mag Aurfolaig. At this point these two hosts were threatening battle.

“Do the men of Ireland undertake to give battle to us?” said Bres mac
Elathan to Indech mac Dé Domnann.

“I will give the same,” said Indech, “so that their bones will be small if they do not pay their tribute.”

In order to protect him, the men of Ireland had agreed to keep Lug from the battle …. They feared an early death for the warrior because of the great number of his arts. For that reason they did not let him go to the battle.

Then the men of rank among the Túatha Dé were assembled around Lug. He asked his smith, Goibniu, what power he wielded for them.

“Not hard to say,” he said. “Even if the men of Ireland continue the battle for seven years, for every spear that separates from its shaft or sword that will break in battle, I will provide a new weapon in its place. No spearpoint which my hand forges will make a missing cast. No skin which it pierces will taste life afterward. Dolb, the Fomorian smith, cannot do that. I am now concerned with my preparation for the battle of Mag Tured.

“And you, Dían Cécht,” said Lug, “what power do you wield?”

“Not hard to say,” he said. “Any man who will be wounded there, unless his head is cut off, or the membrane of his brain or his spinal cord is severed, I will make him perfectly whole in the battle on the next day.”

“And you, Crédne,” Lug said to his brazier, “what is your power in the battle?”

“Not hard to answer,” said Crédne. “I will supply them all with rivets for their spears and hilts for their swords and bosses and rims for their shields.”

“And you, Luchta,” Lug said to his carpenter, “what power would you attain in the battle?”

“Not hard to answer,” said Luchta. “I will supply them all with whatever shields and spearshafts they need.

“And you, Ogma,” said Lug to his champion, “what is your power in the battle?”

“Not hard to say,” he said. “Being a match for the king and holding my own against twenty-seven of his friends, while winning a third of the battle for the men of Ireland.”

“And you, Morrígan,” said Lug, “what power?”

“Not hard to say,” she said. “I have stood fast; I shall pursue what was watched; I will be able to kill; I will be able to destroy those who might be subdued.”

“And you, sorcerers,” said Lug, “what power?”

“Not hard to say,” said the sorcerers. “Their white soles will be visible after they have been overthrown by our craft, so that they can easily
be killed; and we will take two-thirds of their strength from them, and prevent them from urinating.”

“And you, cupbearers,” said Lug, “what power?”

“Not hard to say,” said the cupbearers. “We will bring a great thirst upon them, and they will not find drink to quench it.”

“And you, druids,” said Lug, “what power?”

“Not hard to say,” said the druids. “We will bring showers of fire upon the faces of the Fomoire so that they cannot look up, and the warriors contending with them can use their force to kill them.”

“And you, Coirpre mac Étaine,” said Lug to his poet, “what can you do in the battle?”

“Not hard to say,” said Coirpre. “I will satirize them and shame them so that through the spell of my art they will offer no resistance to warriors.”

“And you, Be Chuille and Díanann,” said Lug to his two witches, “what can you do in the battle?”

“Not hard to say,” they said. “We will enchant the trees and the stones and the sods of the earth so that they will be a host under arms against them; and they will scatter in flight terrified and trembling.”

“And you, Dagda,” said Lug, “what power can you wield against the Fomorian host in the battle?”

“Not hard to say,” said the Dagda. “I will fight for the men of Ireland with mutual smiting and destruction and wizardry. Their bones under my club will soon be as many as hailstones under the feet of herds of horses, where the double enemy meets on the battlefield of Mag Tured.”

Then in this way Lug addressed each of them in turn concerning their arts, strengthening them and addressing them in such a way that every man had the courage of a king or great lord ….

Now when the time came for the great battle, the Fomoire marched out of their encampment and formed themselves into strong indestructible battalions. There was not a chief nor a skilled warrior among them without armor against his skin, a helmet on his head, a broad … spear in his right hand, a heavy sharp sword on his belt, a strong shield on his shoulder. To attack the Fomorian host that day was “striking a head against a cliff,” was “a hand in a serpent’s nest,” was “a face brought close to fire.”

These were the kings and leaders who were encouraging the Fomorian host: Balor son of Dot son of Net, Bres mac Elathan, Tuire Tortbuillech mac Lobois, Goll and Irgoll, Loscennlomm mac Lommglúinigh, Indech mac Dé Domnann, king of the Fomoire, Ochtríallach mac Indich, Omna and Bagna, Elatha mac Delbaíth.

On the other side, the Túatha Dé Danann arose and left his nine companions
guarding Lug, and went to join the battle. But when the battle ensued, Lug escaped from the guard set over him, as a chariot-fighter, and it was he who was in front of the battalion of the Túatha Dé. Then a keen and cruel battle was fought between the race of the Fomoire and the men of Ireland.

Lug was urging the men of Ireland to fight the battle fiercely so they should not be in bondage any longer, because it was better for them to find death while protecting their fatherland than to be in bondage and under tribute as they had been. Then Lug chanted the spell which follows, going around the men of Ireland on one foot and with one eye closed ….

The hosts gave a great shout as they went into battle. Then they came together, and each of them began to strike the other.

Many beautiful men fell there in the stall of death. Great was the slaughter and the grave-lying which took place there. Pride and shame were there side by side. There was anger and indignation. Abundant was the stream of blood over the white skin of young warriors mangled by the hands of bold men while rushing into danger for shame. Harsh was the noise made by the multitude of warriors and champions protecting their swords and shields and bodies while others were striking them with spears and swords. Harsh too the tumult all over the battlefield—the shouting of the warriors and the clashing of bright shields, the swish of swords and ivory-hilted blades, the clatter and rattling of the quivers, the hum and whirr of spears and javelins, the crashing strokes of weapons.

As they hacked at each other their fingertips and their feet almost met; and because of the slipperiness of the blood under the warriors’ feet, they kept falling down, and their heads were cut off them as they sat. A gory, wound-inflicting, sharp, bloody battle was upheaved, and spearshafts were reddened in the hands of foes.

Then Núadu Silverhand and Macha the daughter of Ernmas fell at the hands of Balor grandson of Net. Casmáel fell at the hands of Ochtríallach son of Indech. Lug and Balor of the piercing eye met in the battle. The latter had a destructive eye which was never opened except on a battlefield. Four men would raise the lid of the eye by a polished ring in its lid. The host which looked at that eye, even if they were many thousands in number, would offer no resistance to warriors. It had that poisonous power for this reason: once his father’s druids were brewing magic. He came and looked over the window, and the fumes of the concoction affected the eye and the venomous power of the brew settled in it. Then he and Lug met ….

“Lift up me eyelid, lad,” said Balor, “so I may see the talkative fellow who is conversing with me.”

The lid was raised from Balor’s eye. Then Lug cast a sling stone at him
which carried the eye through his head, and it was his own host that looked at it. He fell on top of the Fomorian host so that twenty-seven of them died under his side; and the crown of his head struck against the breast of Indech mac Dé Domnann so that a gush of blood spouted over his lips ….

Then the Morrígan the daughter of Ernmas came, and she was strengthening the Túatha Dé to fight the battle resolutely and fiercely. She then chanted the following poem:

“Kings arise to the battle! …”

Immediately afterwards the battle broke, and the Fomoire were driven to the sea. The champion Ogma son of Elatha and Indech mac Dé Domnann fell together in single combat ….

“A question: what is the number of the slain?” Lug said to Loch.

“I do not know the number of peasants and rabble. As to the number of Fomorian lords and nobles and champions and over-kings, I do know: 3 + 3 × 20 + 50 × 100 men + 20 × 100 + 3 × 50 + 9 × 5 + 4 × 20 × 1000 + 8 + 8 × 20 + 7 + 4 × 20 + 6 + 4 × 20 + 5 + 8 × 20 + 2 + 40, including the grandson of Net with 90 men. That is the number of the slain of the Fomorian over-kings and high nobles who fell in the battle.

“But regarding the number of peasants and common people and rabble and people of every art who came in company with the great host—for every warrior and every high noble and every over-king of the Fomoire came to the battle with his personal followers, so that all fell there, both their free men and their unfree servants—I count only a few of the over-kings’ servants. This then is the number of those I counted as I watched: 7 + 7 × 20 × 20 × 100 × 100 + 90 including Sab Úanchennach son of Coirpre Colc, the son of a servant of Indech mac Dé Domnann (that is, the son of a servant of the Fomorian king).

“As for the men who fought in pairs and the spearmen, warriors who did not reach the heart of the battle who also fell there—until the stars of heaven can be counted, and the sands of the sea, and flakes of snow, and dew on a lawn, and hailstones, and grass beneath the feet of horses, and the horses of the son of Lir in a sea storm—they will not be counted at all.”

Immediately afterward they found an opportunity to kill Bres mac Elathan. He said, “It is better to spare me than to kill me.”

“What then will follow from that?” said Lug.

“The cows of Ireland will always be in milk,” said Bres, “if I am spared.”

“I will tell that to our wise men,” said Lug.