Celtic Fairy Tales (15 page)

"The middle one," said he, "I'll blow away; the other two I'll
leave."

"Thou canst not do it," said one and all.

But the lank grey beggarman put a finger on either outside straw
and, whiff, away he blew the middle one.

"'Tis a good trick," said O'Donnell; and he paid him his five pieces
of silver.

"For half the money," said one of the chief's lads, "I'll do the
same trick."

"Take him at his word, O'Donnell."

The lad put the three straws on his hand, and a finger on either
outside straw and he blew; and what happened but that the fist was
blown away with the straw.

"Thou art sore, and thou wilt be sorer," said O'Donnell.

"Six more pieces, O'Donnell, and I'll do another trick for thee,"
said the lank grey beggarman.

"Six shalt thou have."

"Seest thou my two ears! One I'll move but not t'other."

"'Tis easy to see them, they're big enough, but thou canst never
move one ear and not the two together."

The lank grey beggarman put his hand to his ear, and he gave it a
pull.

O'Donnell laughed and paid him the six pieces.

"Call that a trick," said the fistless lad, "any one can do that,"
and so saying, he put up his hand, pulled his ear, and what happened
was that he pulled away ear and head.

"Sore thou art; and sorer thou'lt be," said O'Donnell.

"Well, O'Donnell," said the lank grey beggarman, "strange are the
tricks I've shown thee, but I'll show thee a stranger one yet for
the same money."

"Thou hast my word for it," said O'Donnell.

With that the lank grey beggarman took a bag from under his armpit,
and from out the bag a ball of silk, and he unwound the ball and he
flung it slantwise up into the clear blue heavens, and it became a
ladder; then he took a hare and placed it upon the thread, and up it
ran; again he took out a red-eared hound, and it swiftly ran up
after the hare.

"Now," said the lank grey beggarman; "has any one a mind to run
after the dog and on the course?"

"I will," said a lad of O'Donnell's.

"Up with you then," said the juggler; "but I warn you if you let my
hare be killed I'll cut off your head when you come down."

The lad ran up the thread and all three soon disappeared. After
looking up for a long time, the lank grey beggarman said: "I'm
afraid the hound is eating the hare, and that our friend has fallen
asleep."

Saying this he began to wind the thread, and down came the lad fast
asleep; and down came the red-eared hound and in his mouth the last
morsel of the hare.

He struck the lad a stroke with the edge of his sword, and so cast
his head off. As for the hound, if he used it no worse, he used it
no better.

"It's little I'm pleased, and sore I'm angered," said O'Donnell,
"that a hound and a lad should be killed at my court."

"Five pieces of silver twice over for each of them," said the
juggler, "and their heads shall be on them as before."

"Thou shalt get that," said O'Donnell.

Five pieces, and again five were paid him, and lo! the lad had his
head and the hound his. And though they lived to the uttermost end
of time, the hound would never touch a hare again, and the lad took
good care to keep his eyes open.

Scarcely had the lank grey beggarman done this when he vanished from
out their sight, and no one present could say if he had flown
through the air or if the earth had swallowed him up.

He moved as wave tumbling o'er wave
As whirlwind following whirlwind,
As a furious wintry blast,
So swiftly, sprucely, cheerily,
Right proudly,
And no stop made
Until he came
To the court of Leinster's King,
He gave a cheery light leap
O'er top of turret,
Of court and city
Of Leinster's King.

Heavy was the flesh and weary the spirit of Leinster's king. 'Twas
the hour he was wont to hear a story, but send he might right and
left, not a jot of tidings about the story-teller could he get.

"Go to the door," said he to his doorkeeper, "and see if a soul is
in sight who may tell me something about my story-teller."

The doorkeeper went, and what he saw was a lank grey beggarman, half
his sword bared behind his haunch, his two old shoes full of cold
road-a-wayish water sousing about him, the tips of his two ears out
through his old hat, his two shoulders out through his scant
tattered cloak, and in his hand a three-stringed harp.

"What canst thou do?" said the doorkeeper.

"I can play," said the lank grey beggarman.

"Never fear," added he to the story-teller, "thou shalt see all, and
not a man shall see thee."

When the king heard a harper was outside, he bade him in.

"It is I that have the best harpers in the five-fifths of Ireland,"
said he, and he signed them to play. They did so, and if they
played, the lank grey beggarman listened.

"Heardst thou ever the like?" said the king.

"Did you ever, O king, hear a cat purring over a bowl of broth, or
the buzzing of beetles in the twilight, or a shrill tongued old
woman scolding your head off?"

"That I have often," said the king.

"More melodious to me," said the lank grey beggarman, "were the
worst of these sounds than the sweetest harping of thy harpers."

When the harpers heard this, they drew their swords and rushed at
him, but instead of striking him, their blows fell on each other,
and soon not a man but was cracking his neighbour's skull and
getting his own cracked in turn.

When the king saw this, he thought it hard the harpers weren't
content with murdering their music, but must needs murder each
other.

"Hang the fellow who began it all," said he; "and if I can't have a
story, let me have peace."

Up came the guards, seized the lank grey beggarman, marched him to
the gallows and hanged him high and dry. Back they marched to the
hall, and who should they see but the lank grey beggarman seated on
a bench with his mouth to a flagon of ale.

"Never welcome you in," cried the captain of the guard, "didn't we
hang you this minute, and what brings you here?"

"Is it me myself, you mean?"

"Who else?" said the captain.

"May your hand turn into a pig's foot with you when you think of
tying the rope; why should you speak of hanging me?"

Back they scurried to the gallows, and there hung the king's
favourite brother.

Back they hurried to the king who had fallen fast asleep.

"Please your Majesty," said the captain, "we hanged that strolling
vagabond, but here he is back again as well as ever."

"Hang him again," said the king, and off he went to sleep once more.

They did as they were told, but what happened was that they found
the king's chief harper hanging where the lank grey beggarman should
have been.

The captain of the guard was sorely puzzled.

"Are you wishful to hang me a third time?" said the lank grey
beggarman.

"Go where you will," said the captain, "and as fast as you please if
you'll only go far enough. It's trouble enough you've given us
already."

"Now you're reasonable," said the beggarman; "and since you've given
up trying to hang a stranger because he finds fault with your music,
I don't mind telling you that if you go back to the gallows you'll
find your friends sitting on the sward none the worse for what has
happened."

As he said these words he vanished; and the story-teller found
himself on the spot where they first met, and where his wife still
was with the carriage and horses.

"Now," said the lank grey beggarman, "I'll torment you no longer.
There's your carriage and your horses, and your money and your wife;
do what you please with them."

"For my carriage and my houses and my hounds," said the story-
teller, "I thank you; but my wife and my money you may keep."

"No," said the other. "I want neither, and as for your wife, don't
think ill of her for what she did, she couldn't help it."

"Not help it! Not help kicking me into the mouth of my own hounds!
Not help casting me off for the sake of a beggarly old—"

"I'm not as beggarly or as old as ye think. I am Angus of the Bruff;
many a good turn you've done me with the King of Leinster. This
morning my magic told me the difficulty you were in, and I made up
my mind to get you out of it. As for your wife there, the power that
changed your body changed her mind. Forget and forgive as man and
wife should do, and now you have a story for the King of Leinster
when he calls for one;" and with that he disappeared.

It's true enough he now had a story fit for a king. From first to
last he told all that had befallen him; so long and loud laughed the
king that he couldn't go to sleep at all. And he told the story-
teller never to trouble for fresh stories, but every night as long
as be lived he listened again and he laughed afresh at the tale of
the lank grey beggarman.

There was once a poor old fisherman, and one year he was not getting
much fish. On a day of days, while he was fishing, there rose a sea-
maiden at the side of his boat, and she asked him, "Are you getting
much fish?" The old man answered and said, "Not I." "What reward
would you give me for sending plenty of fish to you?" "Ach!" said
the old man, "I have not much to spare." "Will you give me the first
son you have?" said she. "I would give ye that, were I to have a
son," said he. "Then go home, and remember me when your son is
twenty years of age, and you yourself will get plenty of fish after
this." Everything happened as the sea-maiden said, and he himself
got plenty of fish; but when the end of the twenty years was
nearing, the old man was growing more and more sorrowful and heavy
hearted, while he counted each day as it came.

He had rest neither day nor night. The son asked his father one day,
"Is any one troubling you?" The old man said, "Some one is, but
that's nought to do with you nor any one else." The lad said, "I
must know what it is." His father told him at last how the matter
was with him and the sea-maiden. "Let not that put you in any
trouble," said the son; "I will not oppose you." "You shall not; you
shall not go, my son, though I never get fish any more." "If you
will not let me go with you, go to the smithy, and let the smith
make me a great strong sword, and I will go seek my fortune."

His father went to the smithy, and the smith made a doughty sword
for him. His father came home with the sword. The lad grasped it and
gave it a shake or two, and it flew into a hundred splinters. He
asked his father to go to the smithy and get him another sword in
which there should be twice as much weight; and so his father did,
and so likewise it happened to the next sword—it broke in two
halves. Back went the old man to the smithy; and the smith made a
great sword, its like he never made before. "There's thy sword for
thee," said the smith, "and the fist must be good that plays this
blade." The old man gave the sword to his son; he gave it a shake or
two. "This will do," said he; "it's high time now to travel on my
way."

On the next morning he put a saddle on a black horse that his father
had, and he took the world for his pillow. When he went on a bit, he
fell in with the carcass of a sheep beside the road. And there were
a great black dog, a falcon, and an otter, and they were quarrelling
over the spoil. So they asked him to divide it for them. He came
down off the horse, and he divided the carcass amongst the three.
Three shares to the dog, two shares to the otter, and a share to the
falcon. "For this," said the dog, "if swiftness of foot or sharpness
of tooth will give thee aid, mind me, and I will be at thy side."
Said the otter, "If the swimming of foot on the ground of a pool
will loose thee, mind me, and I will be at thy side." Said the
falcon, "If hardship comes on thee, where swiftness of wing or crook
of a claw will do good, mind me, and I will be at thy side."

On this he went onward till he reached a king's house, and he took
service to be a herd, and his wages were to be according to the milk
of the cattle. He went away with the cattle, and the grazing was but
bare. In the evening when he took them home they had not much milk,
the place was so bare, and his meat and drink was but spare that
night.

On the next day he went on further with them; and at last he came to
a place exceedingly grassy, in a green glen, of which he never saw
the like.

But about the time when he should drive the cattle homewards, who
should he see coming but a great giant with his sword in his hand?
"HI! HO!! HOGARACH!!!" says the giant. "Those cattle are mine; they
are on my land, and a dead man art thou." "I say not that," says the
herd; "there is no knowing, but that may be easier to say than to
do."

He drew the great clean-sweeping sword, and he neared the giant. The
herd drew back his sword, and the head was off the giant in a
twinkling. He leaped on the black horse, and he went to look for the
giant's house. In went the herd, and that's the place where there
was money in plenty, and dresses of each kind in the wardrobe with
gold and silver, and each thing finer than the other. At the mouth
of night he took himself to the king's house, but he took not a
thing from the giant's house. And when the cattle were milked this
night there
was
milk. He got good feeding this night, meat
and drink without stint, and the king was hugely pleased that he had
caught such a herd. He went on for a time in this way, but at last
the glen grew bare of grass, and the grazing was not so good.

So he thought he would go a little further forward in on the giant's
land; and he sees a great park of grass. He returned for the cattle,
and he put them into the park.

They were but a short time grazing in the park when a great wild
giant came full of rage and madness. "HI! HAW!! HOGARAICH!!!" said
the giant. "It is a drink of thy blood that will quench my thirst
this night." "There is no knowing," said the herd, "but that's
easier to say than to do." And at each other went the men.
There
was shaking of blades! At length and at last it seemed
as if the giant would get the victory over the herd. Then he called
on the dog, and with one spring the black dog caught the giant by
the neck, and swiftly the herd struck off his head.