Book: Irish Fairy Tales

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Goll spoke to him across the table enthusiastically.

"There is nothing wanting to this banquet, O Chief," said he.

And Fionn smiled back into that eye which seemed a well of
tenderness and friendship.

"Nothing is wanting," he replied, "but a well-shaped poem." A
crier stood up then, holding in one hand a length of coarse iron
links and in the other a chain of delicate, antique silver. He
shook the iron chain so that the servants and followers of the
household should be silent, and he shook the silver one so that
the nobles and poets should hearken also.

Fergus, called True-Lips, the poet of the Fianna-Finn, then sang
of Fionn and his ancestors and their deeds. When he had finished
Fionn and Oisi'n and Oscar and mac Lugac of the Terrible Hand
gave him rare and costly presents, so that every person wondered
at their munificence, and even the poet, accustomed to the
liberality of kings and princes, was astonished at his gifts.

Fergus then turned to the side of Goll mac Morna, and he sang of
the Forts, the Destructions, the Raids, and the Wooings of
clann-Morna; and as the poems succeeded each other, Goll grew
more and more jovial and contented. When the songs were finished
Goll turned in his seat.

"Where is my runner?" he cried.

He had a woman runner, a marvel for swiftness and trust. She
stepped forward.

"I am here, royal captain."

"Have you collected my tribute from Denmark?"

"It is here."

And, with help, she laid beside him the load of three men of
doubly refined gold. Out of this treasure, and from the treasure
of rings and bracelets and torques that were with him, Goll mac
Morna paid Fergus for his songs, and, much as Fionn had given,
Goll gave twice as much.

But, as the banquet proceeded, Goll gave, whether it was to
harpers or prophets or jugglers, more than any one else gave, so
that Fionn became displeased, and as the banquet proceeded he
grew stern and silent.



CHAPTER II

[This version of the death of Uail is not correct. Also Cnocha is
not in Lochlann but in Ireland.]


The wonderful gift-giving of Goll continued, and an uneasiness
and embarrassment began to creep through the great banqueting
hall.

Gentlemen looked at each other questioningly, and then spoke
again on indifferent matters, but only with half of their minds.
The singers, the harpers, and jugglers submitted to that
constraint, so that every person felt awkward and no one knew
what should be done or what would happen, and from that doubt
dulness came, with silence following on its heels.

There is nothing more terrible than silence. Shame grows in that
blank, or anger gathers there, and we must choose which of these
is to be our master.

That choice lay before Fionn, who never knew shame.

"Goll," said he, "how long have you been taking tribute from the
people of Lochlann?"

"A long time now," said Goll.

And he looked into an eye that was stern and unfriendly.

"I thought that my rent was the only one those people had to
pay," Fionn continued.

"Your memory is at fault," said Goll.

"Let it be so," said Fionn. "How did your tribute arise?"

"Long ago, Fionn, in the days when your father forced war on me."

"Ah!" said Fionn.

"When he raised the High King against me and banished me from
Ireland."

"Continue," said Fionn, and he held Goll's eye under the great
beetle of his brow.

"I went into Britain," said Goll, "and your father followed me
there. I went into White Lochlann (Norway) and took it. Your
father banished me thence also."

"I know it," said Fionn.

"I went into the land of the Saxons and your father chased me out
of that land. And then, in Lochlann, at the battle of Cnocha your
father and I met at last, foot to foot, eye to eye, and there,
Fionn!"

"And there, Goll?"

"And there I killed your father."

Fionn sat rigid and unmoving, his face stony and terrible as the
face of a monument carved on the side of a cliff.

"Tell all your tale," said he.

"At that battle I beat the Lochlannachs. I penetrated to the hold
of the Danish king, and I took out of his dungeon the men who had
lain there for a year and were awaiting their deaths. I liberated
fifteen prisoners, and one of them was Fionn."

"It is true," said Fionn.

Goll's anger fled at the word.

"Do not be jealous of me, dear heart, for if I had twice the
tribute I would give it to you and to Ireland."

But at the word jealous the Chief's anger revived.

"It is an impertinence," he cried, "to boast at this table that
you killed my father."

"By my hand," Goll replied, "if Fionn were to treat me as his
father did I would treat Fionn the way I treated Fionn's father."

Fionn closed his eyes and beat away the anger that was rising
within him. He smiled grimly.

"If I were so minded, I would not let that last word go with you,
Goll, for I have here an hundred men for every man of yours."

Goll laughed aloud.

"So had your father," he said.

Fionn's brother, Cairell Whiteskin, broke into the conversation
with a harsh laugh.

"How many of Fionn's household has the wonderful Goll put down?"
he cried.

But Goll's brother, bald Cona'n the Swearer, turned a savage eye
on Cairell.

"By my weapons," said he, "there were never less than an
hundred-and-one men with Goll, and the least of them could have
put you down easily enough."

"Ah?' cried Cairell. "And are you one of the hundred-and-one, old
scaldhead?"

"One indeed, my thick-witted, thin-livered Cairell, and I
undertake to prove on your hide that what my brother said was
true and that what your brother said was false."

"You undertake that," growled Cairell, and on the word he loosed
a furious buffet at Con'an, which Cona'n returned with a fist so
big that every part of Cairell's face was hit with the one blow.
The two then fell into grips, and went lurching and punching
about the great hall. Two of Oscar's sons could not bear to see
their uncle being worsted, and they leaped at Cona'n, and two of
Goll's sons rushed at them. Then Oscar himself leaped up, and
with a hammer in either hand he went battering into the melee.

"I thank the gods," said Cona'n, "for the chance of killing
yourself, Oscar."

These two encountered then, and Oscar knocked a groan of distress
out of Cona'n. He looked appealingly at his brother Art og mac
Morna, and that powerful champion flew to his aid and wounded
Oscar. Oisi'n, Oscar's father, could not abide that; he dashed in
and quelled Art Og. Then Rough Hair mac Morna wounded Oisin and
was himself tumbled by mac Lugac, who was again wounded by Gara
mac Morna.

The banqueting hall was in tumult. In every part of it men were
giving and taking blows. Here two champions with their arms round
each other's necks were stamping round and round in a slow, sad
dance. Here were two crouching against each other, looking for a
soft place to hit. Yonder a big-shouldered person lifted another
man in his arms and threw him at a small group that charged him.
In a retired corner a gentleman stood in a thoughtful attitude
while he tried to pull out a tooth that had been knocked loose.

"You can't fight," he mumbled, "with a loose shoe or a loose
tooth."

"Hurry up with that tooth," the man in front of him grum-bled,
"for I want to knock out another one."

Pressed against the wall was a bevy of ladies, some of whom were
screaming and some laughing and all of whom were calling on the
men to go back to their seats.

Only two people remained seated in the hall.

Goll sat twisted round watching the progress of the brawl
critically, and Fionn, sitting opposite, watched Goll.

Just then Faelan, another of Fionn's sons, stormed the hall with
three hundred of the Fianna, and by this force all Goll's people
were put out of doors, where the fight continued.

Goll looked then calmly on Fionn.

"Your people are using their weapons," said he.

"Are they?" Fionn inquired as calmly, and as though addressing
the air.

"In the matter of weapons--!" said Goll.

And the hard-fighting pillar of battle turned to where his arms
hung on the wall behind him. He took his solid, well-balanced
sword in his fist, over his left arm his ample, bossy shield,
and, with another side-look at Fionn, he left the hall and
charged irresistibly into the fray.

Fionn then arose. He took his accoutrements from the wall also
and strode out. Then he raised the triumphant Fenian shout and
went into the combat.

That was no place for a sick person to be. It was not the corner
which a slender-fingered woman would choose to do up her hair;
nor was it the spot an ancient man would select to think quietly
in, for the tumult of sword on sword, of axe on shield, the roar
of the contending parties, the crying of wounded men, and the
screaming of frightened women destroyed peace, and over all was
the rallying cry of Goll mac Morna and the great shout of Fionn.

Then Fergus True-Lips gathered about him all the poets of the
Fianna, and they surrounded the combatants. They began to chant
and intone long, heavy rhymes and incantations, until the
rhythmic beating of their voices covered even the noise of war,
so that the men stopped hacking and hewing, and let their weapons
drop from their hands. These were picked up by the poets and a
reconciliation was effected between the two parties.

But Fionn affirmed that he would make no peace with clann-Morna
until the matter had been judged by the king, Cormac mac Art, and
by his daughter Ailve, and by his son Cairbre of Ana Life' and by
Fintan the chief poet. Goll agreed that the affair should be
submitted to that court, and a day was appointed, a fortnight
from that date, to meet at Tara of the Kings for judgement. Then
the hall was cleansed and the banquet recommenced.

Of Fionn's people eleven hundred of men and women were dead,
while of Goll's people eleven men and fifty women were dead. But
it was through fright the women died, for not one of them had a
wound or a bruise or a mark.



CHAPTER III

AT the end of a fortnight Fionn and Goll and the chief men of the
Fianna attended at Tara. The king, his son and daughter, with
Flahri, Feehal, and Fintan mac Bocna sat in the place of
judgement, and Cormac called on the witnesses for evidence.

Fionn stood up, but the moment he did so Goll mac Morna arose
also.

"I object to Fionn giving evidence," said he.

"Why so?" the king asked.

"Because in any matter that concerned me Fionn would turn a lie
into truth and the truth into a lie."

"I do not think that is so," said Fionn.

"You see, he has already commenced it," cried Goll.

"If you object to the testimony of the chief person present, in
what way are we to obtain evidence?" the king demanded.

"I," said Goll, "will trust to the evidence of Fergus True-Lips.
He is Fionn's poet, and will tell no lie against his master; he
is a poet, and will tell no lie against any one."

"I agree to that," said Fionn.

"I require, nevertheless," Goll continued, "that Fergus should
swear before the Court, by his gods, that he will do justice
between us."

Fergus was accordingly sworn, and gave his evidence. He stated
that Fionn's brother Cairell struck Cona'n mac Morna, that Goll's
two sons came to help Cona'n, that Oscar went to help Cairell,
and with that Fionn's people and the clann-Morna rose at each
other, and what had started as a brawl ended as a battle with
eleven hundred of Fionn's people and sixty-one of Goll's people
dead.

"I marvel," said the king in a discontented voice, "that,
considering the numbers against them, the losses of clann-Morna
should be so small."

Fionn blushed when he heard that.

Fergus replied:

"Goll mac Morna covered his people with his shield. All that
slaughter was done by him."

"The press was too great," Fionn grumbled. "I could not get at
him in time or---"

"Or what?" said Goll with a great laugh.

Fionn shook his head sternly and said no more.

"What is your judgement?" Cormac demanded of his fellow-judges.

Flahri pronounced first.

"I give damages to clann-Morna."

"Why?" said Cormac.

"Because they were attacked first."

Cormac looked at him stubbornly.

"I do not agree with your judgement," he said.

"What is there faulty in it?" Flahri asked.

"You have not considered," the king replied, "that a soldier owes
obedience to his captain, and that, given the time and the place,
Fionn was the captain and Goll was only a simple soldier."

Flahri considered the king's suggestion.

"That," he said, "would hold good for the white-striking or blows
of fists, but not for the red-striking or sword-strokes."

"What is your judgement?" the king asked Feehal. Feehal then
pronounced:

"I hold that clann-Morna were attacked first, and that they are
to be free from payment of damages."

"And as regards Fionn?" said Cormac.

"I hold that on account of his great losses Fionn is to be exempt
from payment of damages, and that his losses are to be considered
as damages."

"I agree in that judgement," said Fintan.

The king and his son also agreed, and the decision was imparted
to the Fianna.

"One must abide by a judgement," said Fionn.

"Do you abide by it?" Goll demanded.

"I do," said Fionn.

Goll and Fionn then kissed each other, and thus peace was made.
For, notwithstanding the endless bicker of these two heroes, they
loved each other well.


Yet, now that the years have gone by, I think the fault lay with
Goll and not with Fionn, and that the judgement given did not
consider everything. For at that table Goll should not have given
greater gifts than his master and host did. And it was not right
of Goll to take by force the position of greatest gift-giver of
the Fianna, for there was never in the world one greater at
giving gifts, or giving battle, or making poems than Fionn was.

That side of the affair was not brought before the Court. But
perhaps it was suppressed out of delicacy for Fionn, for if Goll
could be accused of ostentation, Fionn was open to the uglier
charge of jealousy. It was, nevertheless, Goll's forward and
impish temper which commenced the brawl, and the verdict of time
must be to exonerate Fionn and to let the blame go where it is
merited.

There is, however, this to be added and remembered, that whenever
Fionn was in a tight corner it was Goll that plucked him out of
it; and, later on, when time did his worst on them all and the
Fianna were sent to hell as unbelievers, it was Goll mac Morna
who assaulted hell, with a chain in his great fist and three iron
balls swinging from it, and it was he who attacked the hosts of
great devils and brought Fionn and the Fianna-Finn out with him.




THE CARL OF THE DRAB COAT



CHAPTER I

One day something happened to Fionn, the son of Uail; that is, he
departed from the world of men, and was set wandering in great
distress of mind through Faery. He had days and nights there and
adventures there, and was able to bring back the memory of these.

That, by itself, is wonderful, for there are few people who
remember that they have been to Faery or aught of all that
happened to them in that state.

In truth we do not go to Faery, we become Faery, and in the
beating of a pulse we may live for a year or a thousand years.
But when we return the memory is quickly clouded, and we seem to
have had a dream or seen a vision, although we have verily been
in Faery.

It was wonderful, then, that Fionn should have remembered all
that happened to him in that wide-spun moment, but in this tale
there is yet more to marvel at; for not only did Fionn go to
Faery, but the great army which he had marshalled to Ben Edair
[The Hill of Howth] were translated also, and neither he nor they
were aware that they had departed from the world until they came
back to it.

Fourteen battles, seven of the reserve and seven of the regular
Fianna, had been taken by the Chief on a great march and
manoeuvre. When they reached Ben Edair it was decided to pitch
camp so that the troops might rest in view of the warlike plan
which Fionn had imagined for the morrow. The camp was chosen, and
each squadron and company of the host were lodged into an
appropriate place, so there was no overcrowding and no halt or
interruption of the march; for where a company halted that was
its place of rest, and in that place it hindered no other
company, and was at its own ease.

When this was accomplished the leaders of battalions gathered on
a level, grassy plateau overlooking the sea, where a consultation
began as to the next day's manoeuvres, and during this discussion
they looked often on the wide water that lay wrinkling and
twinkling below them.

A roomy ship under great press of sall was bearing on Ben Edair
from the east.

Now and again, in a lull of the discussion, a champion would look
and remark on the hurrying vessel; and it may have been during
one of these moments that the adventure happened to Fionn and the
Fianna.

"I wonder where that ship comes from?" said Cona'n idly.

But no person could surmise anything about it beyond that it was
a vessel well equipped for war.

As the ship drew by the shore the watchers observed a tall man
swing from the side by means of his spear shafts, and in a little
while this gentleman was announced to Fionn, and was brought into
his presence.

A sturdy, bellicose, forthright personage he was indeed. He was
equipped in a wonderful solidity of armour, with a hard, carven
helmet on his head, a splendid red-bossed shield swinging on his
shoulder, a wide-grooved, straight sword clashing along his
thigh. On his shoulders under the shield he carried a splendid
scarlet mantle; over his breast was a great brooch of burnt gold,
and in his fist he gripped a pair of thick-shafted, unburnished
spears.

Fionn and the champions looked on this gentleman, and they
admired exceedingly his bearing and equipment.

"Of what blood are you, young gentleman?" Fionn demanded, "and
from which of the four corners of the world do you come?"

"My name is Cael of the Iron," the stranger answered, "and I am
son to the King of Thessaly."

"What errand has brought you here?"

"I do not go on errands," the man replied sternly, "but on the
affairs that please me."

"Be it so. What is the pleasing affair which brings you to this
land?"

"Since I left my own country I have not gone from a land or an
island until it paid tribute to me and acknowledged my lordship."

"And you have come to this realm "cried Fionn, doubting his ears.

"For tribute and sovereignty," growled that other, and he struck
the haft of his spear violently on the ground.

"By my hand," said Cona'n, "we have never heard of a warrior,
however great, but his peer was found in Ireland, and the funeral
songs of all such have been chanted by the women of this land."

"By my hand and word," said the harsh stranger, "your talk makes
me think of a small boy or of an idiot."

"Take heed, sir," said Fionn, "for the champions and great
dragons of the Gael are standing by you, and around us there are
fourteen battles of the Fianna of Ireland."

"If all the Fianna who have died in the last seven years were
added to all that are now here," the stranger asserted, "I would
treat all of these and those grievously, and would curtail their
limbs and their lives."

"It is no small boast," Cona'n murmured, staring at him.

"It is no boast at all," said Cael, "and, to show my quality and
standing, I will propose a deed to you."

"Give out your deed," Fionn commanded.

"Thus," said Cael with cold savagery. "If you can find a man
among your fourteen battalions who can outrun or outwrestle or
outfight me, I will take myself off to my own country, and will
trouble you no more."

And so harshly did he speak, and with such a belligerent eye did
he stare, that dismay began to seize on the champions, and even
Fionn felt that his breath had halted.

"It is spoken like a hero," he admitted after a moment, "and if
you cannot be matched on those terms it will not be from a dearth
of applicants."

"In running alone," Fionn continued thoughtfully, "we have a
notable champion, Caelte mac Rona'n."

"This son of Rona'n will not long be notable," the stranger
asserted.

"He can outstrip the red deer," said Cona'n.

"He can outrun the wind," cried Fionn.

"He will not be asked to outrun the red deer or the wind," the
stranger sneered. "He will be asked to outrun me," he thundered.
"Produce this runner, and we shall discover if he keeps as great
heart in his feet as he has made you think."

"He is not with us," Cona'n lamented.

"These notable warriors are never with us when the call is made,"
said the grim stranger.

"By my hand," cried Fionn, "he shall be here in no great time,
for I will fetch him myself."

"Be it so," said Cael. "And during my absence," Fionn continued,
"I leave this as a compact, that you make friends with the Fianna
here present, and that you observe all the conditions and
ceremonies of friendship."

Cael agreed to that.

"I will not hurt any of these people until you return," he said.

Fionn then set out towards Tara of the Kings, for he thought
Caelte mac Romin would surely be there; "and if he is not there,"
said the champion to himself, "then I shall find him at Cesh
Corran of the Fianna."



CHAPTER II

He had not gone a great distance from Ben Edair when he came to
an intricate, gloomy wood, where the trees grew so thickly and
the undergrowth was such a sprout and tangle that one could
scarcely pass through it. He remembered that a path had once been
hacked through the wood, and he sought for this. It was a deeply
scooped, hollow way, and it ran or wriggled through the entire
length of the wood.

Into this gloomy drain Fionn descended and made progress, but
when he had penetrated deeply in the dank forest he heard a sound
of thumping and squelching footsteps, and he saw coming towards
him a horrible, evil-visaged being; a wild, monstrous,
yellow-skinned, big-boned giant, dressed in nothing but an
ill-made, mud-plastered, drab-coloured coat, which swaggled and
clapped against the calves of his big bare legs. On his stamping
feet there were great brogues of boots that were shaped like, but
were bigger than, a boat, and each time he put a foot down it
squashed and squirted a barrelful of mud from the sunk road.

Fionn had never seen the like of this vast person, and he stood
gazing on him, lost in a stare of astonishment.

The great man saluted him.

"All alone, Fionn?' he cried. "How does it happen that not one
Fenian of the Fianna is at the side of his captain?" At this
inquiry Fionn got back his wits.

"That is too long a story and it is too intricate and pressing to
be told, also I have no time to spare now."

"Yet tell it now," the monstrous man insisted.

Fionn, thus pressed, told of the coming of Cael of the Iron, of
the challenge the latter had issued, and that he, Fionn, was off
to Tara of the Kings to find Caelte mac Rona'n.

"I know that foreigner well," the big man commented.

"Is he the champion he makes himself out to be?" Fionn inquired.

"He can do twice as much as he said he would do," the monster
replied.

"He won't outrun Caelte mac Rona'n," Fionn asserted. The big man
jeered.

"Say that he won't outrun a hedgehog, dear heart. This Cael will
end the course by the time your Caelte begins to think of
starting."

"Then," said Fionn, "I no longer know where to turn, or how to
protect the honour of Ireland."

"I know how to do these things," the other man commented with a
slow nod of the head.

"If you do," Fionn pleaded, "tell it to me upon your honour."

"I will do that," the man replied.

"Do not look any further for the rusty-kneed, slow-trotting son
of Rona'n," he continued, "but ask me to run your race, and, by
this hand, I will be first at the post."

At this the Chief began to laugh.

"My good friend, you have work enough to carry the two tons of
mud that are plastered on each of your coat-tails, to say nothing
of your weighty boots."

"By my hand," the man cried, "there is no person in Ireland but
myself can win that race. I claim a chance."

Fionn agreed then. "Be it so," said he. "And now, tell me your
name?"

"I am known as the Carl of the Drab Coat."

"All names are names," Fionn responded, "and that also is a
name."

They returned then to Ben Edair.



CHAPTER III

When they came among the host the men of Ireland gathered about
the vast stranger; and there were some who hid their faces in
their mantles so that they should not be seen to laugh, and there
were some who rolled along the ground in merriment, and there
were others who could only hold their mouths open and crook their
knees and hang their arms and stare dumbfoundedly upon the
stranger, as though they were utterly dazed.

Cael of the Iron came also on the scene, and he examined the
stranger with close and particular attention.

"What in the name of the devil is this thing?" he asked of Fionn.

"Dear heart," said Fionn, "this is the champion I am putting
against you in the race."

Cael of the Iron grew purple in the face, and he almost swallowed
his tongue through wrath.

"Until the end of eternity," he roared, "and until the very last
moment of doom I will not move one foot in a race with this
greasy, big-hoofed, ill-assembled resemblance of a beggarman."

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