The High Deeds of Finn MacCool (21 page)

‘It is the sun on that bald head of yours,' said the headman, kindly enough. ‘Finn Mac Cool and his heroes we have heard of, yes, but they have been dead these three hundred years.'

Then the old man was silent a long while, his face bowed into his hands. At last he said, ‘How did they die?'

‘At the Battle of Gavra, not so far from here at all. There is a green mound up there beside the battleground. I was hearing once it was the grave of one of
them, called Osca. A great battle it was, and they do say that there were none but boys and old men left in Erin when the fighting was done.'

‘But Oisĩn did not die then,' another put in. ‘No man knows the death of Oisĩn, but the harpers still sing the songs he made.'

‘But now Priest Patrick has come into Erin, and told us of the one true God, and Christ His Son, and the old days are done with, and we listen to them only as men listen to old tales that are half forgotten.'

The old man seemed half-dazed, like one that has taken a blow between the eyes. Only he cried out once, harshly and near to choking, ‘Strong and without mercy is your new God! And He has much to answer for if He has slain the memory of Finn and Osca!'

Then the people were angry and cried ‘Sacrilege!' and some of them picked up the small surface stones of the field to throw at the old man. But the headman bade them let him be until Priest Patrick had seen him and told them what they should do.

So they took him to the old fortress of Drum Derg, where Patrick had at that time made his living place.

And Patrick listened to their account of how he had come to them, and how, with the sun in their eyes they had mistaken him for a young man and asked his aid in moving the great stone from their tilled land, and of what had happened after.

And Patrick was kind to the huge half-blind old beggar, and gave him a place for sleeping and a place for sitting by the fire, among his own Christian brotherhood.

And often the priest of the new God, and the old man who had been Oisĩn would talk together. And Oisĩn
told wonderful stories – almost all the stories that are in this book and many more beside – of Finn and the Fianna and the High and Far-off Days, which Patrick bade one of his scribes to write down on pages of fair white sheepskin, lest they should be forgotten.

As time went by, Patrick came to believe that the old man was indeed Oisĩn the son of Finn Mac Cool, and one day he said to him, ‘It is upward of three hundred years since Finn and Osca and the flower of the Fianna died at Gavra. Tell me then, how is it that you have lived so long beyond your day and the days of your companions?'

So Oisĩn told him this last story: the story of how he had ridden hunting with the Fianna one summer morning among the lakes of Killarney, and how the Princess Niamh of the Golden Hair had come out of the West, and asked him to return to Tyr-na-nOg with her. And how he had taken leave of Finn and Osca and the rest, and mounted behind her on her white horse, and how they had headed westward again until they came to the sea, and headed westward still, leaving the companions of the Fianna behind them on the shore.

And when he reached that point in his story, Oisĩn buried his face in his hands and seemed to forget.

Then, to rouse him, and because he was a man of curiosity and interest in all things, Patrick said, ‘Success and benediction! Tell me what happened after that.'

And Oisĩn raised his head again, and staring with half-blind eyes into the heart of the fire, as though he saw there all things happening again, he went on with his story.

‘The white horse galloped across the waves as lightly as he had done across the green hills of Erin, and the wind overtook the waves, and we overtook the wind, and presently we passed into a golden haze through which there loomed half-seen islands with cities on their heights and palaces among leafy gardens. Once a fallow doe fled past us, chased by a milk-white hound with one blood-red ear; and once a maiden fled by on a bay horse, and she carrying a golden apple in her hand, and close behind her in hot pursuit, a young man on a white steed, a purple and crimson cloak flying from his shoulders, and a great sword naked in his hand.

‘But the sky began to darken overhead, and the wind rose and began to blow in great gusts that roused the waves to fury and sent the spindrift flying like white birds over our heads, and the lightning leapt between the dark sky and darker sea, while the thunder boomed and crashed all about us. Yet still the white horse sped on, unafraid, as lightly and sweetly as over the summer seas that we had traversed before. And presently the wind died and the darkness rolled away and sunshine touched the racing seas with gold. And
ahead of us, under the spreading lake of blue sky, lay the fairest land that ever I had seen. Green plains and distant hills were all bathed in a honey-wash of sunlight that flashed and sparkled from the lakes and streams that met every turn of the eye, and changed to gold the white walls of the beautiful palace which stood close beside the shore. Flowers were everywhere, and butterflies like dancing flames upon the air, and as soon as I saw it, I knew that this could be no place but Tyr-na-nOg, the Land of Youth.

‘The white horse skimmed the waves towards the shore, and on the white sand we dismounted, and Niamh turned to me, most sweetly holding out her hands, and said, “This is my own land. Everything I promised, you shall find here, and above all and before all, the love of Niamh of the Golden Hair.”

‘Then there came towards us from the palace a troop of warriors, heroes and champions all, holding their shields reversed in token to me that they came in peace. And after them a gay and beautiful company led by the King of the land himself, in a robe of yellow silk, a golden crown blazing like the midsummer sun upon his head. And behind him came the Queen, most fair to see, and with a hundred maidens clustered all about her.

‘They kissed their daughter joyfully and tenderly, and the King took my hand in his saying, “A hundred thousand welcomes, brave OisÄ©n.” Then turning with me to face all the host, he said, “This is OisÄ©n, from the far-off land of Erin, he who is to be husband of Niamh of the Golden Hair. Bid him welcome, as I do.”

‘Then all the hosts, nobles and warriors and maidens alike bade me welcome. And all together, Niamh and
myself walking hand in hand in their midst, we went up to the palace, where a great feast was prepared.

‘For ten days and nights we feasted, while the harpers made music sweeter than any heard in the world of men. I, Oisĩn, say that, I who was a harper among harpers of the world of men, in my time – and little birds as brightly coloured as flowers flew and fluttered about the banquet-house. And on the tenth day, Niamh and I were wed.

‘I lived in the Land of Youth three years – I thought it was three years – and I was happy as never man was happy before. But as the third year drew to a close, I began to think more and more of my father and my son, and of all the companions of my youth. Sometimes as we rode hunting, I would fancy that I heard the Fian hunting horn echoing through the woods, and think I recognized the deep baying of Brain and Skolawn among the belling of the milk-white Danann hounds. I began to fall into waking dreams, thinking how they would be hunting the woods of Slieve Bloom, of how the heroes would be telling old stories about the fire, in Almu of the White Walls, until it came to this – that Niamh asked me if I no longer loved her. I told her that she was the very life of my heart, and that I was happy as ever I had been in the Land of Youth, but the restlessness was on me, and I longed to see my father and my friends once more.

‘Then Niamh kissed me and clung to me, and tried to turn my thoughts elsewhere. But still I half-heard the Fian hunting horn echoing through my dreams at night, and at last I begged leave of her and of the King her father, to visit my own land once more.

‘The King gave me leave, though unwillingly, and Niamh said, “It's not that I can be holding you while your heart draws you back to Erin, so I give you my leave also, though there's a shadow on my mind, and I fear that I shall never see you again.”

‘I said, “That is a foolish fear, for there's nothing that could keep me long from you. Only give me the white steed, for he knows the way and will bring me back safely to your side.”

‘Then she said, “I will give you the white steed, for indeed he knows the way. But listen now, and keep my words in your mind. Never once dismount from his back all the while you are in the world of men, for if you do, you can never come back to me. If once your feet touch the green grass of Erin, the way back to Tyr-na-nOg will be closed to you for ever.”

‘I promised that I would never dismount from the white steed, but remember always her words. And seeing her grief, which even my most faithful promise seemed not to touch, I was within a feather-weight of yielding to her and remaining always in Tyr-na-nOg; but the white horse stood ready, and the hunger was still on me, to see my father and my own land.

‘So I mounted, and the horse set off at a gallop towards the shore. So again we sped across the sea, and the wind overtook the waves and we overtook the wind, and the shores of the Land of Youth sank into the golden mist behind us.

‘Again it drifted all about us, that golden mist, and in the mist the towers and cities of the sea arose once more. And again the maiden with the golden apple in her hand fled past us on her bay horse, and the young horseman riding hard behind, his purple cloak
streaming from his shoulders and his sword naked in his hand. And again the fallow doe fled by, hunted by the milk-white hound with one ear red as blood.

‘So we came at last to the green shores of Erin.

‘Gladly, once we were on land, I turned the horse's head towards Almu of the White Walls and rode on. And as I rode, I looked about me, seeking for familiar scenes and faces, and listening always for the sound of the Fian hunting horn. But all things seemed strangely altered, and nowhere did I hear or see any sign of my companions, and the folk who were tilling the ground were small and puny, so that they did not seem any more like countrymen of mine.

‘I came at last through the woods to the open country around the Hill of Almu, and the hill was still there but overgrown with bushes and brambles, and on its broad flat crest, where the white walls of my father's dun had used to rise with its byres and barns and armourers' shops, the women's court and the guest quarters, and Finn's mighty mead-hall rising in the midst of all, were nothing but grassy hummocks grown over with elder and blackthorn and the arched sprays of the brambles, and the heather washing over all.

‘Then horror fell upon me – though indeed I believed then that the dun was still there, but hidden from me by some enchantment of the Danann folk. And I flung wide my arms and shouted the names of Finn my father and Osca, and after them, the names of all the old brotherhood, Keelta, and Conan and Dering and the rest. Even Dearmid's name I shouted in that dreadful time. But no one answered, nothing moved save a thrush fluttering among the elder
bushes. Then I thought that perhaps the hounds might hear me when men could not, and I shouted to Bran and Skolawn and strained my ears for an answering bark. But no sound came, save the hushing of a little wind through the hilltop grasses.

‘So with the horror thick upon me, I wheeled the white horse and rode away from Almu, to search all Erin until I found my friends again, or some way out of the enchantment that held me captive. But everywhere I rode, I met only little puny people who gazed at me in wonder out of the faces of strangers, and in every household of the Fianna the brambles grew and the birds were at their nesting. So at last I came to the Glen of the Thrushes, where often I had hunted with Finn, and saw before me tilled land where I remembered only forest.

‘And at the head of the tilled land a knot of these small and puny strangers were striving to shift a great stone that was in the way of ploughing. I rode close, and they asked me for my help. And that was an easy thing to give, so I stooped in the saddle and set my hand under the stone and sent it rolling down the hillside. But with the strain of the heave my saddle girth broke, and I was flung to the ground, and my feet were on the green grass of Erin.

‘Priest Patrick, the rest of my story they have told you!'

Rosemary Sutcliff was born in 1920 in West Clanden, Surrey.

With over 40 books to her credit, Rosemary Sutcliff is now universally considered one of the finest writers of historical novels for children. Her first novel,
The Queen Elizabeth Story
was published in 1950. In 1972 her book
Tristan and Iseult
was runner-up for the Carnegie Medal. In 1974 she was highly commended for the Hans Christian Andersen Award and in 1978 her book,
Song for a Dark Queen
was commended for the Other Award.

THE HIGH DEEDS OF FINN MACCOOL
AN RHCP DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 446 40467 6

Published in Great Britain by RHCP Digital,
an imprint of Random House Children's Publishers UK
A Random House Group Company