Part 10

After Miach Lay landed, he passed through a great stretch of wild country, and, drawing near a large forest, saw rising up a small, slender smoke far in among trees. He made for the place where the smoke was, and there he discovered a large, splendid castle in the depth of the forest, but could find no sign of an entrance.

When Miach Lay had stood outside some time, a young woman looked through the window, hailed him, and said, “You are a stranger, and will find no lodgings in these parts; but if I could at all, I would let you come in here.”

“Open the window if you are able,” said Miach Lay.

The window had hinges, and she opened it in the middle; he stepped backward nine yards, and went in at one bound to the chamber.

“You are welcome,” said she, and soon she had dinner prepared for him. When he had eaten, she inquired who was he, from what place had he come, and what brought him that way.

He told her all that had happened to him from the first; and when he had finished, he said, “I know not where to find my brother.”

“You are not far from him now,” said she; “’tis in this country he is living, and the land he is in bounds our land.”

When they had talked long, she said, “You are tired and need rest, so sleep in this chamber.” She went then to her own place. The following morning his breakfast was ready before him; and after he had eaten, the young woman said, “I suppose you will be thankful if I tell you where to find the castle of the Dark King.”

“I shall, indeed,” said he. Then she gave him full directions how to go. He took his sword then, and sprang out as he had sprung in, in the evening, and went in the direction which she told him to take. About midday he met a man, who hailed him, and asked, “Who are you, and from what country?”

“’Tis not the custom for a man of my country to answer that question till told where he is, and to whom he is speaking.”

“I know who you are and whither you are going. You are going to the castle of the Dark King, and here he is before you; now show your daring.”

They made at each other; and if they did, they made soft ground hard and hard ground soft, they made high places low and low places high, they brought cold spring water through dry, gravelly places, and if any one were to come from the Eastern to the Western World, it is to look at these two he should come.

They were this way till evening, and neither had the better of the other. Miach Lay was equal to the Dark King; but the Dark King, having magic, blew a gust of wind at Miach Lay which knocked him flat on the earth, and left him half dead. Then the Dark King took Miach Lay’s sword, and went away. When he recovered, Miach Lay regretted his sword more than all else, and went back to the castle where he had spent the night before. He was barely able to go in at the window.

“How have you fared this day?” asked the young woman.

He told her of all that had happened.

“Be not grieved; you will meet him another time,” said the young woman.

“What is the use? I have no sword now.”

“If ’tis a sword you need, I will bring you a blade far better than the one which the Dark King took from you.”

After breakfast next morning she brought him her father’s sword, which he grasped in his hand, and shook. Miach Lay bade farewell to the young woman, and sprang out through the window. Knowing the way better this time, he hastened forward, and met the Dark King just where he met him before.

“Did not yesterday tire you?” asked the king.

“No,” said Miach Lay.

“Your journey is useless,” said the king.

“We shall see,” answered Miach Lay, and they made at each other; and terrible as the battle was on the first day, it was more terrible on the second; but when the Dark King thought it time to go home, he blew a gust of wind which threw Miach Lay to the earth, and left him senseless. The Dark King did not take the sword this time.

After the Dark King had gone, another man came the way, who was called Sprisawn Wooden Leg.[2]

“Well, my good man, you are nearly dead,” said the Sprisawn.

“I am,” said Miach Lay, rousing up.

“You are his equal but for the magic. I watched the combat these two days, and you would have overcome him but for his magic; he will finish you to-night if he finds you. He has three magic tricksters who are leaving his house at this moment. They have a spear which the rear man of the three hurls forward, the trickster in front catches the spear in the heel of his foot, and in turn hurls it with all his force forward; those behind rush ahead of the front man, and in turn catch the spear in their heels. No matter how far nor how often the spear is thrown forward, there is always a man there before it to catch it. They are rushing hither a long distance apart.”

The Sprisawn saw the tricksters approach, and told Miach Lay that they were coming. When they came within a spear-cast, one of them hurled the spear at Miach Lay; it went through his heart, passed out through his body, and killed him.

When the Sprisawn saw Miach Lay lying dead, he fell to weeping and wailing; and so loud was his wail that every one heard it throughout the whole kingdom. Red Bow was sleeping yet in the harbor; but so loud was the wail of the mourning Sprisawn that it roused him from the slumber which the Dark King had put on him. He landed at once with his forces, and made on toward the wailing. When they came to the place, and saw Miach Lay lying dead, they themselves began to wail; they asked the Sprisawn then, “Are there any means by which we might raise him to life?”

“There are,” replied the Sprisawn. “The Dark King is rejoicing now in his castle with the King of Mangling, and the Gruagach of Shields. They are drinking each other’s health from a horn, and the Dark King is telling the other two that Miach Lay was the best man that ever stood in front of him; and if he could drink from that horn, he would rise up as well as he ever was.”

“I with my men will go for that horn,” said Red Bow.

“Not you nor all the men like you living on earth could bring that horn from the castle of the Dark King,” replied the Sprisawn. “That castle is surrounded by three walls. Each wall is four feet in thickness and twenty feet high. Each wall has a gate as high and as thick as the wall is itself. How could you pass through those walls? Remain here and watch over this body; I will bring the horn hither myself.”

Off went the Sprisawn, and he had more control over magic than even the Dark King. When he arrived at the castle, he struck the gate with the heel of his wooden foot and it opened before him; the second and third gate opened too, in like manner, when he struck them. In he went to the room where the king and his two friends were drinking. There he found them raising toasts to each other. He was himself invisible. As soon as they rested the horn on the table, he snatched it and made off for the place where Miach Lay was lying dead. Then Red Bow and his men raised up the dead man, and poured down his throat some of the wine or whatever liquor was held in the horn.

After a time Miach Lay opened his eyes, and yawned. They were all so delighted that they raised three shouts of joy.

“Come on with me now,” said the Sprisawn, “to the castle of the Dark King. We will have a trial of strength with him. I will take the Dark King in hand myself. Do you, Miach Lay, take the King of Mangling, and you, Red Bow, take the Gruagach of Shields.”

“This will be very good for us to keep,” said Red Bow, when he saw the virtue of the horn.

“No,” said the Sprisawn; “it is good for the man who owns it, and I will return it.”

The Sprisawn, who could travel as swiftly as his own thought, vanished with the horn, placed it on the table from which he had snatched it, and came back to the others. No one had missed the horn; when they turned to use it, it was there on the table before them, in the chamber of the Dark King. Miach Lay and his friends went on together, and never stopped till they stood in the chamber where the Dark King was sitting with his friends. The gates had remained open since the Sprisawn opened them. When the Dark King saw the dead man alive, standing in his chamber before him, he said, “Never a welcome to you, you miserable creature with the wooden foot. What brought you hither, or how did you come?”

“I have come to you with combat,” said the Sprisawn; “and now do you choose the manner of fighting.”

In the castle were three chambers, in each chamber a cross-beam as high from the floor as a man’s throat; in the middle of each cross-beam was a hole, through this hole passed a chain, at each end of the chain was an iron loop; above the hole and lengthwise with the beam was a sword with a keen edge on it. Each pair of champions was to take one room of the three, and each man of them was to place a loop on his own neck; each then was to pull the other to the hole if he could, and then pull till the sword cut his head off.

The Sprisawn and the Dark King took one room, Miach Lay and the King of Mangling another, Red Bow and the Gruagach of Shields took the third.

The first pair were not long at each other, as the Sprisawn was greatly anxious for the other two, and with the second pull that he gave he had the head off the Dark King. He ran then to see how it fared with Miach Lay. Miach Lay was tired and nearly beaten.

“Come out of that for me,” said the Sprisawn. “What playing is it you have with him?”

“Fully satisfied am I to give this place to you,” said Miach Lay, raising the loop; and the Sprisawn put it quickly on his own neck.

With the first pull the Sprisawn gave he had the head off the King of Mangling. They ran then to Red Bow, whose head was within two feet of the sword.

“Go on out of this,” said the Sprisawn, putting the loop on his own neck. The Gruagach, by reason of having Red Bow so near the beam, was himself at a distance, but at the first pull which the Sprisawn gave he drew the Gruagach within a foot of the beam. Fearing that if he killed the third man there would be no one to give an account of those carried off by the Dark King, the Sprisawn offered the Gruagach his life if he told him where Manus and the other two husbands of the king’s daughter were.

“If I tell you that,” said the Gruagach, “the Dark King will knock the head off me.”

“If you saw the head of the Dark King would you tell me?”

“I would.”

The Sprisawn sent Miach Lay for the head of the Dark King; he brought it.

“Is that his head?” asked the Sprisawn.

“It is,” said the Gruagach.

“Well, tell me now.”

“Were I to tell you,” said the Gruagach, “the King of Mangling would knock the head off me.”

“If you saw his head would you tell me?”

“I would.”

The head of the King of Mangling was brought.

“Is this the head?”

“It is.”

“Well, tell me, or you’ll lose your own head.”

“Near this castle is a lake,” said the Gruagach, “and under its water is an enchanted steel tower, with high walls three feet in thickness; around that tower on the outside a long serpent has wound herself closely from the bottom to the top. This serpent is called the Worm of Nine Eyes. Inside in the tower are the three men.”

“And how can we come at them?” asked the Sprisawn.

“Whoever wants to free them,” said the Gruagach, “must stand on the shore of the lake and shout to the serpent, calling her the Worm of Nine Eyes. Hearing this, the serpent will unwind, and with lashing will drive all the water of the lake in showers through the country and flood the whole land. The basin of the lake will be dry then, and the serpent will rush at the man who uttered the insult and try to devour him. The serpent must be killed, and the champion must run to the tower; if he can break in, he will rescue the three men.”

“Is that all?” asked the Sprisawn.

“It is,” said the Gruagach. “I have no further account of the matter; that is all I know.”

“Then you’ll lose your head, too,” said the Sprisawn; and with one pull of the chain he swept the head off the Gruagach. The three champions went to the lake then. Miach Lay and Red Bow wished to help the Sprisawn, but he forced them to remain behind, saying that they would be swept away by the waters if they went.

The Sprisawn, coming to the bank of the lake, shouted: “Worm of Nine Eyes!” No sooner did the serpent hear the name than she uncoiled from the tower, lashed the lake, and sent the water over the country. When the lake bed was dry the serpent rushed toward the Sprisawn with open mouth. When the Sprisawn saw the serpent he took his sword in both hands and held it crosswise in front of his face, and when the serpent was coming to swallow him so great was the force with which she rushed forward and sucked the air to draw him in, that the Sprisawn split her in two from the mouth to the tail, dividing the back from the belly, and the two pieces fell apart like the two halves of a split log of timber.

Miach Lay and Red Bow came then to the Sprisawn and went to the tower, but if they did, they could not go in.

“Oh,” said the Sprisawn, “if you had all the arms in the world you could not break through that tower.” He went himself to the door then, and striking it slightly with his wooden foot, for fear of killing the men inside by too hard a blow, he burst in the door. The three men inside came out, and Miach Lay embraced his own brother. All were glad, and all started for home, but had not gone far when the other two men began to dispute whose would the king’s daughter be. The first husband said his claim was strongest; the second said his was. The Sprisawn tried to settle the quarrel, but could not. “I would advise you,” said he, “to leave the matter to the first man you meet.”

All agreed to do this.

The Sprisawn now left them and vanished as if he had never been with them. They had not gone far when they met a man. “Well met,” said they; “we are glad to see you.”

“What is the trouble that is on you?” asked the man.

“So and so,” said they, telling him the whole story; “and now you are to be our judge.”

“I will do my best,” said the man, “if each one will be satisfied with my decision.”

“We will,” said they.

“Now let each man tell his story.”

Each man told his story to the end.

“Who rescued you?” asked he.

“Miach Lay and his forces,” said they.

“Had not this man and his forces come, you would have been there till this time?”

“We should,” said the three.

“If so,” said the man, “my decision is that the first and second husband should each be thankful, go to his own people, and get another wife for himself; and that the daughter of the King of Greece belongs to the brother of the man who rescued all three.”

The two princes went away toward their own homes, and the man remained, and who was he when he took his own form again but the Sprisawn. They went then to the castle where the young lady had entertained Miach Lay, and whose castle was it but the Sprisawn’s; the young woman was his daughter. After resting there for some days, the Sprisawn asked Miach Lay would he marry his daughter. Miach Lay was willing and glad, and remained there.

Manus and Red Bow returned to the King of Greece. Manus lived in Greece happily, and so did his children.

The two brothers did well not to marry any woman their father found for them, for they would not have had the grand ladies that they had in the end, and Miach Lay had the dominions of the Dark King, as well as those of the Sprisawn, and they were very rich kingdoms.

THE AMADAN MOR AND THE GRUAGACH OF THE CASTLE OF GOLD.

On a time in Erin the King of Leinster resolved to make war on the King of Munster, and sent him a message to be ready for battle on a day mentioned. They raised flags for combat when the day came, and stood face to face. The forces closed in battle, and were at one another then till the King of Leinster and his men killed all the warriors of the King of Munster and the king himself.

After the King of Munster and all his champions were slain, the King of Leinster thought it better to live in Munster than in his own kingdom, so he took possession of Munster and went to live in the king’s castle.

The wife of the King of Munster fled in haste to a forest, a thing easily done, for all Erin was under forests in that time. The queen had a son in the forest, and after a time she had no clothes for herself or the child. Hair came out on them as on wild beasts of the wilderness. The child was thriving and growing; what of him did not grow in the day grew threefold at night, till at last there was no knowing what size was he.

The queen was seven years without leaving the place around her hut in the forest. In the eighth year she went forth from the forest and saw her husband’s castle and open kingdom, and began to weep and lament. There was a great crowd of people around the castle where she had herself lived in past years. She went to see what was happening. It was a summer of great want, and the king was giving out doles of meal to people daily, and the man who was giving the meal gave her a dole also. He was greatly surprised when he saw her, and in the evening he was telling the king that he had never seen such a sight in his life; she was all covered with hair like a beast of the forest.

“She will come again to-morrow,” said the king; “then do you inquire what sort is she, and where is her place of abode.”

She went next day to the castle; the man in charge gave her meal. After she had gone he followed her, and when he was coming near she sat down at the roadside from shame.

“Fear me not,” said the man. “I wish to know if you are of the dead or the living, and what sort are you.”

“I am a living person, though I may seem like one from the dead.”

“Where do you live?”

“I have no house or home save a small hut in the forest, and I have the look of a beast because I eat fruits and leaves of trees and grass of the earth.”

The man told the king, and the king said, “Tell the woman to-morrow that I will give her a house of some kind to live in.”

The king gave the strange woman a house, and she went to live with her son in it. The son was seven years old at that time, and not able to walk or speak, although he was larger than any giant. His mother had called him Micky, and soon he was known as Micky Mor (Big Micky).

She was there for awhile in the house with her son, and she taking doles of food like any poor person. One fine summer day she was sitting at the doorstep, and she began to weep and lament.

“What is the cause of your crying?” asked the boy, who had never spoken before till that moment.

“God’s help be with us,” said the mother. “It is time for you to get speech. Thank God you are able to talk now.”

“It is never too late, mother.”

“That is right, my child,” said she, “it is better late than never.”

“Tell me, mother, why do you cry in this way and lament?”

“It is no use for me to tell you, my child; three men have just gone back to the strand, and once I was able to give the like of them a good warm dinner.”

“Well, mother, you must go and invite them to dinner this time.”

“What have I to give them to eat, my poor child?”

“If you have nothing to give them but only to be talking till morning, you will have to go and invite them.”

When she was ready he said: “Mother, before you go tie my two hands to the beam that is here in the house above the hearth, that I may not fall in the fire while you are absent.”

Before the mother went out she passed a rope under his arms, tied him to the cross-beam, and put a stool under his feet. He kicked the stool away; he had to pull and drag himself to swing, the fire was catching his feet, the beam was cracking from his weight and the swinging. The sinews of his legs stretched, he got his footing then, and walked to the door.

“Thanks be to God,” said the mother, when she came back. “It is curious how your talk and your walk came to you on the one day.”

“It is nearly always the case that ’tis together talk and walk come to a child; but now it is time for us to be providing something for the friends that are coming to-night.”

He went away then and asked the man who brought turf out of the reeks to the king’s castle to give him as much as would make fire for himself and his mother for the night.

“Go away,” said the man; “I will not give you a sod of turf. Go to the king and get an order; then I will give you turf in plenty.”

“I would not be tiring myself going for an order, but I will have plenty in spite of you.”

Micky took away then a great basket of turf and no thanks to the man.

“Well, mother,” said he, “here is turf enough for you, and make down a good fire.”

He went to the mill and said to the miller: “My mother sent me for flour. There will be three at the house to-night, and what will not be used will be brought to you in the morning.”

“You stump of a fool, why should I give you flour? Go to my master, the king; if he gives an order, I will give you flour in plenty.”

Micky caught the miller. “I will put you,” said he, “in one of the hoppers of the mill unless you make away with yourself out of this.”

The miller ran away in dread that Micky would kill him. Micky laid hold of a strong, weighty chain, and tied a great sack of flour and put it on his back. When the sack was across his back he could not pass through the doorway, and knew not what to do.

“It would be a shame for me to say of the first load I put on my back that I left that same after me.” He stepped backward some paces and made such a rush that he carried out the frame of the door with him.

“Well, mother,” said he, “we have fire and flour enough now, and let you be making loaves for the visitors.”

He went next to the woman in charge of the milk-house. “It is hither my mother sent me for a firkin of butter. There are three strangers above in our house. What will be left of the butter I will bring back in the morning, and all my own help and assistance to you for a week to come.”

“Be out of my milk-house, you stump of a fool,” said the woman. “What assistance can you give to pay for my milk and butter?”

“Let you be out of this, my good woman,” said Micky, “or I will not leave much life in you from this day out.”

She went away in a hurry, and he carried a firkin of butter home on his shoulder.

“Now, mother,” said he, “you have bread, fire, butter, and all things you need. If we had a bit of meat, that would be all that we care for.”

He went away then and never stopped nor stayed till he reached the place where all the king’s fine fat sheep were. He caught up one and brought it home on his shoulder.

Next day the turf-keeper, the miller, the dairywoman, and the shepherd went to complain to the king of what Micky had done.

“It is not luck we asked for the first day we drew him on us,” said the king.

The king started and never stopped nor stayed till he went to his old druid. “Such a man as we have brought on us,” said the king. “Tell me now how to put an end to him.”

“There is,” said the druid, “a black mad hound in a wood beyond the mountain. Tell Micky that you lost that hound one day in the hunt, and to bring her and he will be well paid for his trouble.”

The king sent for Micky, and told him all as the druid advised.

“Will you send any man with me to show me the road?”

“I will,” said the king.

Micky and the man were soon travelling along the road toward the mountain. When Micky thought it too slow the man was walking, he asked, “Have you any walk better than that?”

“Why, then, I have not,” said the man, “and I am tired, and it is because I have such a good walk that I was sent with you.”

Micky took up his guide, put him under his arm, with the man’s head near his own breast, and they began to talk as Micky moved forward. When they came near the wood, the man said, “Put me down, and beware of the hound. Be not rash with her, or she may harm you.”