The King of Ireland's Son, Illustrated Edition (Yesterday's Classics) (19 page)

Flann told her that one of them had returned.

"Bid him come see me," said Flame-of-Wine. Then she saw the girdle in his hands.

"What is it you have?" said she.

"Something that went with the other treasures—a girdle."

"Will you not let me have it, Flann?" She took the girdle in her hands. "Tell me, youth," she said, "how you got all these treasures?"

"I will have to give seven years' service for them," Flann said.

"Seven years," said she, "but you will remember—will you not—that I loved you for bringing them to me?"

"Will you remember me until I come back from my seven years' service?"

"Oh, yes," said Flame-of-Wine, and she put the girdle around her waist as she spoke.

"Someone said to me," said Flann, "that I should ask the maiden who loved me for seven drops of her heart's blood."

The girdle was now round Flame-of-Wine's waist. She laughed with mockery. "Seven drops of heart's blood," said she. "I would not give this fellow seven eggs out of my robin's nest. I tell him I love him for bringing me the three treasures for a King's daughter. I tell him that, but I should be ashamed of myself if I thought I could have any love for such a fellow."

Flame-of-Wine laughed with mockery.

"Do you tell me the truth now," said Flann.

"The truth, the truth," said she, "of course I tell you the truth. Oh, and there are other truths. I shall be ashamed forever if I tell them. Oh, oh. They are rising to my tongue, and every time I press them back this girdle tightens and tightens until I think it will kill me."

"Farewell, then, Flame-of-Wine."

"Take off the girdle, take off the girdle! What truths are in my mind! I shall speak them and I shall be ashamed. But I shall die in pain if I hold them back. Loosen the girdle, loosen the girdle! Take the rose you gave me and loosen the girdle." She let the rose fall on the ground.

"I will loosen the girdle for you," said Flann.

"But loosen it now. How I have to strive to keep truths back, and oh, what pain I am in! Take the Comb of Magnificence, and loosen the girdle." She threw the comb down on the ground.

He took up the Rose of Sweet Smells and the Comb of Magnificence and he took the girdle off her waist. "Oh, what a terrible thing I put round my waist," said Flame-of-Wine. "Take it away, Flann, take it away. But give me back the Rose of Sweet Smells and the Comb of Magnificence,—give them back to me and I shall love you always."

"You cannot love me. And why should I give seven years in service for your sake? I will leave these treasures back in Mogue's pack."

"Oh, you are a peddler, a peddler. Go from me," said Flame-of-Wine. "And do not be in the Town of the Red Castle to-morrow, or I shall have my father's hunting dogs set upon you." She turned away angrily and went into the Castle.

Flann went back to Mogue's tent and left the Rose of Sweet Smells, the Comb of Magnificence and the Girdle of Truth upon Mogue's pack. He sat in the corner and cried bitterly. Then the King of Ireland's Son came and told him that his sword was bright once more—that the stains that had blemished its blade had been cleared away by the Gobaun Saor who had also shown him the way to the Land of the Mist. He put his arm about Flann and told him that he was starting now to rescue his love Fedelma from the Castle of the King of the Land of Mist.

T
HE
King of Ireland's Son came to the place where the river that he followed takes the name of the River of the Broken Towers. It is called by that name because the men of the old days tried to build towers across its course. The towers were built a little way across the river that at this place was tremendously wide.

"The Glashan will carry you across the River of the Broken Towers to the shore of the Land of Mist," the Gobaun Saor had said to the King of Ireland's Son. And now he was at the River of the Broken Towers but the Glashan-creature was not to be seen.

Then he saw the Glashan. He was leaning his back against one of the Towers and smoking a short pipe. The water of the river was up to his knees. He was covered with hair and had a big head with horse's ears. And the Glashan twitched his horse's ears as he smoked in great contentment.

"Glashan, come here," said the King of Ireland's Son.

But the Glashan gave him no heed at all.

"I want you to carry me across the River of the Broken Towers," shouted the King of Ireland's Son.

The Glashan went on smoking and twisting his ears. And the King of Ireland's Son might have known that the whole clan of the Gruagachs and Glashans are fond of their own ease and will do nothing if they can help it. He twitched his ears more sharply when the King's Son threw a pebble at him. Then after about three hours he came slowly across the river. From his big knees down he had horse's feet.

"Take me on your big shoulders, Glashan," said the King of Ireland's Son, "and carry me across to the shore of the Land of Mist."

"Not carrying any more across," said the Glashan.

The King of Ireland's Son drew the Sword of Light and flashed it.

"Oh, if you have that, you'll have to be carried across," said the Glashan. "But wait until I rest myself."

"What did you do that you should rest?" said the King of Ireland's Son. "Take me on your shoulders and start off."

"Musha," said the Glashan, "aren't you very anxious to lose your life?"

"Take me on your shoulders."

"Well, come then. You're not the first living dead man I carried across." The Glashan put his pipe into his ear. The King of Ireland's Son mounted his shoulders and laid hold of his thick mane. Then the Glashan put his horse's legs into the water and started to cross the River of the Broken Towers.

Then the Glashan started to cross the River of the Broken Towers

"The Land of Mist has a King," said the Glashan, when they were in the middle of the river.

"That, Glashan, I know," said the King of Ireland's Son.

"All right," said the Glashan.

Then said he when they were three-quarters of the way across, "Maybe you don't know that the King of the Land of Mist will kill you?"

"Maybe 'tis I who will kill him," said the King of Ireland's Son.

"You'd be a hardy little fellow if you did that," said the Glashan. "But you won't do it."

T
HEY
went on. The water was up to the Glashan's waist but that gave him no trouble. So broad was the river that they were traveling across it all day. The Glashan threw the King's Son in once when he stooped to pick up an eel.

Said the King of Ireland's Son, "What way is the Castle of the King of the Land of Mist guarded, Glashan?"

"It has seven gates," said the Glashan.

"And how are the gates guarded?"

"I'm tired," said the Glashan, "and I can't talk."

"Tell me, or I'll twist the horse's ears off your head."

"Well, the first gate is guarded by a plover only. It sits on the third pinnacle over the gate, and when anyone comes near it rises up and flies round the Castle crying until its sharp cries put the other guards on the watch."

"And what other guards are there?"

"Oh, I'm tired, and I can talk no more."

The King of Ireland's Son twisted his horse's ears, and then the Glashan said—

"The second gate is guarded by five spear-men."

"And how is the third gate guarded?"

"The third gate is guarded by seven swordsmen."

"And how is the fourth gate guarded?"

"The fourth gate is guarded by the King of the Land of Mist himself."

"And the fifth gate?"

"The fifth gate is guarded by the King of the Land of Mist himself."

"And the sixth gate?"

"The sixth gate is guarded by the King of the Land of Mist."

"And how is the seventh gate guarded?"

"The seventh gate is guarded by a Hag."

"By a Hag only?"

"By a Hag with poisoned nails. But I'm tired now, and I'll talk no more to you. If I could strike a light now I'd smoke a pipe."

Still they went on, and just at the screech of the day they came to the other shore of the River of the Broken Towers. The King of Ireland's Son sprang from the shoulders of the Glashan and went into the mist.

H
E
came to where turrets and pinnacles appeared above the mist. He climbed the rock upon which the Castle was built. He came to the first gate, and as he did the plover that was on the third pinnacle above rose up and flew round the Castle with sharp cries.

He raised a fragment of the ground-rock and flung it against the gate. He burst it open. He dashed in then and through the first courtyard of the Castle.

As he went towards the second gate it was flung open, and the five spear-men ran upon him. But they had not counted on what was to face them—the Sword of Light in the hands of the King of Ireland's Son.

Its stroke cut the spear heads from the spear-holds, and its quick glancing dazzled the eyes of the spear-men. On each and every one of them it inflicted the wound of death. He dashed through the second gate and into the third courtyard.

But as he did the third gate was flung open and seven swordsmen came forth. They made themselves like a half circle and came towards the King of Ireland's Son. He dazzled their eyes with a wide sweep of his sword. He darted it swiftly at each of them and on the seven swordsmen too he inflicted wounds of death.

He went through the third courtyard and towards the fourth gate. As he did it opened slowly and a single champion came forth. He closed the gate behind him and stood with a long gray sword in his hand. This was the King of the Land of Mist. His shoulders were where a tall man's head would be. His face was like a stone, and his eyes had never looked except with scorn upon a foe.

When his enemy began his attack the King of Ireland's Son had power to do nothing else but guard himself from that weighty sword. He had the Sword of Light for a guard and well did that bright, swift blade guard him. The two fought across the courtyard making hard places soft and soft places hard with their trampling. They fought from when it was early to when it was noon, and they fought from when it was noon until it was long afternoon. And not a single wound did the King of Ireland's Son inflict upon the King of the Land of Mist, and not a single wound did the King of the Land of Mist inflict upon him.

But the King of Ireland's Son was growing faint and weary. His eyes were worn with watching the strokes and thrusts of the sword that was battling against him. His arms could hardly bear up his own sword. His heart became a stream of blood that would have gushed from his breast.

And then, as he was about to fall down with his head under the sword of the King of the Land of Mist a name rose above all his thoughts—"Fedelma." If he sank down and the sword of the King of the Land of Mist fell on him, never would she be saved. The will became strong again in the King of Ireland's Son. His heart became a steady beating thing. The weight that was upon his arms passed away. Strongly he held the sword in his hand and he began to attack the King of the Land of Mist.