The High Deeds of Finn MacCool (18 page)

Finn broke the silence at last, bending his head before her in all courtesy. ‘Beautiful Princess – for surely it is a princess you are – will you tell me your name and where you come from?'

And she answered in a voice as sweet as the chiming of small crystal bells, ‘Finn Mac Cool, Captain of the Fianna of Erin, my country lies far off in the wester sea. I am the daugher of the King of Tyr-na-nOg, and I am called Niamh of the Golden Hair.'

‘And what is it that brings you to the land of Erin, so far from your home?'

‘My love for your son, Oisĩn,' said the maiden. ‘So often and so often have I heard of his grace and goodliness, his gentleness and valour, that my heart learned to love him, and for his sake I have refused all the chiefs and princes who have come seeking me in marriage; and for his sake now, I have come on this far journey from Tyr-na-nOg.'

Then turning to where Oisĩn stood close by, holding out her hands, she said, ‘Come with me to Tyr-na-nOg, the Land of the Ever Young. The trees of my land bear fruit and blossom and green leaves together all the year round, and sorrow and pain and age are unknown. You shall have a hundred silken robes each
differently worked with gold, and a hundred swift-pacing steeds, and a hundred slender keen-scenting hounds. You shall have herds of cattle without number, and flocks of sheep with fleeces of gold; a coat of mail, you shall have, that no weapon ever pierced and a sword that never missed its mark. A hundred warriors shall follow you at your call, a hundred harpers delight you with sweet music. And I will be your true and ever-loving wife, if you will come with me to Tyr-na-nOg.'

Oisĩn drew near and took her hands, and stood looking up at her out of those strange dark eyes of his that he had from his mother. ‘Keep all these things you promise me, save only for the last. If you will be my true and loving wife, I will come with you, further than to Tyr-na-nOg.'

The Fianna looked to each other and back again to Oisĩn. They protested in anger and grief, and Finn went forward and set his huge warrior's hand on his son's shoulder and turned him so that he must look at him and away from Niamh of the Golden Hair. ‘Oisĩn my son, do not go! If you wish for a wife, are there not women fair enough in Erin?'

‘She is my choice, before all the women of all the Worlds,' said Oisĩn.

And Finn saw that the Fairy blood that was in him from his mother was stronger now than the blood of mortal men, and that because of it, he would go where Niamh called.

‘Then go,' he said, ‘for nothing that I can say, nor the voice of your son, nor the music of your hounds can hold you, that I know. And oh, Oisĩn, my heart is heavy, for I shall never see you again.'

‘I shall come back,' said Oisĩn, ‘surely I shall come back before long, and I shall come back often.' And he flung his arms about his father's shoulders and strained him close, then went from one to another of his friends, taking his leave of them all. Only Dearmid O'Dyna was not there for his leave-taking. Lastly he bade farewell to Osca his son, while all the while the maiden sat her white horse, waiting.

Then he mounted behind her, and she shook the bridle and the white horse broke forward into a gallop as swift as the west wind and as smooth as silk, his four golden shoes seeming scarcely to bend the grasses beneath his hooves, until he reached the seashore. And his golden shoes left no mark on the white sand. And when he came to the edge of the waves, he neighed three times, and shook his head so that his mane flew
like spray. Then he sprang forward, skimming over the waves with the speed of a homing swallow. And the distance closed in behind him and the two on his back, so that those who watched from the green land saw them no more.

Now this, that I have told you, is not yet the story of Oisĩn but only the beginning of the story; for the end of it belongs to a later time.

The end of it is the end of all this long and strange and tangled tale of Finn Mac Cool and the Fianna of Erin.

The years went by and the years went by, and in Dearmid's house in Kesh-Carron, Grania said to Dearmid one day, ‘Seeing the greatness of our household and the size of our herds and the number of our folk, is it fitting that we should live so cut off from the world? Is it fitting, especially, that the greatest man in all Erin, after the High King, my father, Finn Mac Cool the Captain of his Fianna, has never eaten salt nor drunk wine beneath our roof?'

‘You should be knowing the answer to that,' said Dearmid. ‘There is cold-peace between Finn and me, but no man could say that there was friendship. That is why we live far off and to ourselves, and why he has not set foot across our threshold.'

But Grania protested. ‘Surely after all these years the old quarrel is dead and over. Now, let us bid him to a great feast, and try to win his full friendship back to us.'

And much against his will, Dearmid yielded, as he always yielded to her wishes in the end.

So they prepared a great feast, and when all was ready they sent to invite Finn Mac Cool with the chiefs and champions of the Fianna.

And Finn came, and with him his household and companions and their horses and dogs. And they spent
many days under the roof of Dearmid O'Dyna, hunting and feasting.

Only one quarry they never hunted, and that was the wild boar, for Dearmid was under geise never to hunt boar.

The reason for that geise was a strange one indeed, and this was the way of it.

It had been told before, how Dearmid was reared at Brugh-Na-Boyna, as foster-son to Angus Ōg. Well, now, Angus had a steward, and Dearmid's mother, who had not always been faithful to her own lord, his father, had borne this steward a son. And when Dearmid's father sent him to Brugh-Na-Boyna for fostering, the steward's son was fostered with him, so that he migth have a companion and not be lonely. This boy, of course, was his half-brother as well as his foster-kin, because both had the same mother, though one was the son of the chieftain Donn O'Dyna, and the other the son of Angus Ōg's steward.

One day Donn came with a few others of the Fianna to visit Angus Ōg and see how his son was doing. That evening as they sat at supper, a fight broke out among the hounds in the hall, and the women and children scattered, squealing, while the men waded in to stop the fight. In the confusion the steward's son chanced to run for shelter between Donn's knees. Hatred flashed up in Donn, remembering who was the boy's mother, and he shut his knees so fiercely that he killed the child on the spot. Then he threw the little body under the feet of the hounds, no one seeing what had happened.

When the fighting hounds were parted, the boy's
body was discovered, and the steward snatched it up, crying with grief and fury that the hounds had slain his son. But among the hunting party was Finn Mac Cool himself (he was young then, and newly come to be Captain of the Fianna) and he bade the steward to look for the child's injuries, and when they looked, there was no scratch nor tooth mark to be found on him, only the bruises on his crushed sides. Then the steward guessed what had happened, and demanded that the boy Dearmid should be placed between
his
knees, to do with as he would.

Angus Ōg was red-angry at this, and Donn would have struck off the steward's head, if Finn had not come between them.

The steward said nothing more, but left the hall and returned carrying in his hand a hazel wand. With this he struck the body of his son, and instantly in place of the dead child, there sprang up a huge wild boar. A black boar without ears or tail!

Then, holding out the hazel wand, he chanted over the great beast this spell:

And as he spoke the last words, the boar rushed through the open door to the hall, and disappeared into the night.

And in the silent and horror-stricken hall, Angus took up the remaining child on his knees, and laid on him the most solemn geise that he should never hunt wild boar, both because of the kinship between him and the black boar, and because so, and only so, was there a hope that he might escape the doom laid on him by the steward in vengeance for his own son.

So it was that during the days that Finn and his companions spent as Dearmid's guests, there was hunting of wolf and badger and red deer, but never of wild boar.

And then one night, long after all men were in bed and asleep, Dearmid roused to hear the distant yelping of a hound on a hot scent, and he started up on one elbow, listening, with a strange sense of dread. But his sudden movement roused Grania, and she started up also, and flung her arms round him, and asked what was amiss.

‘I heard a hound baying on the scent,' Dearmid said, ‘and surely that is a strange thing to be hearing at midnight!'

‘May all things guard you from harm!' said Grania quickly, and made the sign with her fingers to turn aside ill luck. ‘It was one of the courtyard dogs hunting in his sleep. Now lie down again.'

Dearmid lay down and slept. But again he was roused by the belling of a hound, and started up and reached for his cloak to go and look to the matter. But again, Grania held him back. ‘If it was not one of our
dogs, then at this hour it can only have been a hound of the Fairy Kind; and it is not good to see the milk-white hounds at their hunting. Lie down again, dear love.'

And Dearmid lay down again and slept deep and long; but with the first grey glimmer of daylight stealing in through the open door, the voice of the hound roused him a third time.

And a third time Grania would have held him back, but he stood up, despite her clinging, and reached for his cloak and flung it round him, laughing. ‘See, the daylight is growing, and the white hounds of the Danann do not hunt once the sun is above the hills. This is some lost hound, hunting on his own account, and I will go and bring him in.'

Grania had a dark dread on her, and she not knowing why, and she said, ‘If you will go, then take with you the Ga-Derg, your great spear that Angus gave you, for the hairs rise on the back of my neck and I smell danger.'

But Dearmid still laughed. ‘How can there be danger in the trail-music of a single hound? The Ga-Derg is a war spear. I will take the Ga-boi, my light spear, if that will make you happy. And my good hound Mac-an-Choill shall go with me.'

And whistling Mac-an-Choill to heel, he started out in the direction from which he had heard the baying of the strange hound. And as he went, he heard the hound again, and others with him now, and knew that this was no stray after all, but the hunting of a whole pack. He pressed on, the sounds of the hunt seeming sometimes nearer and sometimes further away, until he came to Ben Bulben, and climbed its steep grassy
sides, and on the round crest of Ben Bulben he found Finn, quite alone.

Dearmid was angry that men were hunting his hills without his leave, and he gave Finn no very courteous greeting, but, still panting from his climb, demanded to know who it was that had unleashed the hounds.

‘Some of our men took the hounds out at midnight, being restless and hot-headed from drinking wine,' Finn said. ‘One of the hounds found the scent of a wild boar. Indeed I would have stopped the chase if I had but been here in time, for I know this trail they follow, the trail of the Wild Boar of Ben Bulben, and to go after that one is a far worse danger to the hunter than to the hunted. Many good men and hounds have died on his tushes before today.' Suddenly as he spoke, his eyes widened and he pointed into the distance behind Dearmid. ‘And see, the thing happens again – the Boar has broken cover and our men are running from him! It is
he
that is hunting
them
!'

And turning to look where the old Fian captain pointed, Dearmid saw that what he said was true.

For a few moments they watched in horror, then Finn cried out, ‘He is heading uphill – making towards this very spot! It is in my mind that the sooner we are out of his way, the better!'

‘I will not move aside for a hunted boar!' Dearmid said, and his hand tightened on his spear.

‘This is no mortal boar, and it is not
he
that is the hunted one! Remember also that you are under the geise never to hunt wild pig!'

And now it seemed that a madness seized upon Dearmid; but in truth it was the old doom working within him. And he shouted in defiance, ‘Neither for
fear of this boar, nor for any other wild beast, nor for the keeping of my geise unbroken, will I leave this place like a scared hound with my tail between my legs!'

So Finn went his way with a strange mingling of feelings within him, so that he wanted at one and the same time to fling his spear at the sky and laugh until his heart burst within his breast, and to lie with his face on the ground and howl like a dog over a dead master, for all the sorrows that ever had happened since the world began.