Part 14

“It’s long that you were thinking of asking me,” said he.

“I hope you’ll not refuse me,” said the hag.

“I will not,” replied Cud.

“Give me your hand,” said the hag, “and I’ll help you to walk.”

He took the hag’s hand. There wasn’t a jump that she gave while she had a grip of his hand but he thought she was dragging the arm from him.

“Curses on you for an old hag! Is it little I have gone through that you treat me in this way?”

“I have a cloth about my shoulders. Go into that, and I will carry you,” said the hag.

There wasn’t a joint in the hag’s back that wasn’t three inches long. When she had him on her back there wasn’t a leap that she gave that the joints of her backbone were not going into Cud’s body.

“Hard luck to you for a hag, after all I have gone through to have me killed at last.”

“You have not far to go now,” said she; and after a few leaps she was at the end of her journey. She took him into a grand castle. The best table of food that he had ever set eyes on was left down there before him.

“Sit there, now, son of the King of Urhu; eat and drink.”

“I have never taken food without company,” said Cud, “and I will not take it this time.”

“Will you eat with me?”

“Bad luck to you for a hag, I will not.”

She opened a door and let in twelve pigs, and one pig, the thirteenth, without a head.

“Will you take food with these, son of the King of Urhu?”

“Indeed, then, old hag, bad as you are yourself, I’d rather eat with you than with these, and I’ll not eat with you.”

She put them back, opened another door and let out twelve of the rustiest, foulest, ugliest old hags that man could set eyes on.

“Will you take food with these?” asked she.

“Indeed, then, I will not.”

She hurried them back, opened a door, and brought out twelve beautiful young women.

“Will you take food with these?”

“These are fit to take food with any one,” said Cud.

They sat down and ate with good-will and pleasure. When they had the dinner eaten the hag opened the door, and the twelve went back to their own chamber.

“I’ll get great blame,” said the old hag, “for all the delay I’ve had. I’ll be going now.”

“What trouble is on you that you’ll be blamed for your delay?”

“Those twelve pigs that you saw,” said the hag, “are twelve sons of mine, and the pig without a head is my husband. Those twelve foul, yellow hags that you saw are my twelve daughters. The twelve beautiful women who ate with you are my daughters’ attendants.”

“Why are your twelve sons and your husband pigs, and your twelve daughters yellow old hags?”

“The Awus in that house there beyond has them enchanted and held in subjection. There isn’t a night but I must go with a gold apple to him.”

“I will go with you to-night,” said Cud.

“There is no use in going,” said the hag.

They were talking a long time before she would let him go. She went first, and he followed. She knocked, and they opened the door. Cud was in with her that instant. One Awus rose and put seven bolts and seven locks on the door. Cud rose and put on seven locks and seven bolts more. All began to laugh when they saw Cud doing this. The old chief, who was standing at the hearth, let such a roar out of him that Cud saw the heart inside in his body.

“Why are you laughing?” asked Cud.

“We think you a nice bit of meat to roast on the spit. Rise up,” said he to a small attendant, “and tie that fellow.”

The attendant rose and tried to tie Cud, but soon Cud had him down and tied.

“Bad luck to you, ’tis sorry I am that I ever lost food on the like of you,” said the old chief to the small attendant. “Rise up,” said he to a big attendant, “and tie him.”

The big one rose up, and whatever time the small one lasted, the big one didn’t last half that length. Cud drew strings from his pocket and began tying the Awuses. He caught the old Awus by the shins, dragged him down, and put his knee on him.

“You are the best champion ever I have seen,” said the old Awus. “Give me quarter for my soul; there is never a place where you need it but my help will attend you with bravery. I’ll give you also my sword of light that shines in the dark, my pot of cure that makes the dead alive, and the rod of enchantment to help the pot of cure.”

“Where can I find them?” asked Cud.

“In a hole in the floor under the post of my bed. You cannot get them without help.”

“It cannot be but I can do anything that has been done ever in your house,” said Cud.

With that he went to the bed, and whatever work he had in his life he never found a harder task than to move the post of the bed; but he found the sword of light, the pot of cure, and the rod of enchantment. He came to the Awus with the sword in one hand, and the two other things in the other hand.

“The head off you now if you don’t take this hag and her family from under enchantment. Make men and women of her sons and daughters, a king of her husband, and a queen of herself in this kingdom, while water is running, and grass is growing, and you are to go to them with a gold apple every evening and morning as long as you live or any one lives who comes after you to the end of all ages.”

“I will do that,” said the Awus.

He gave the word, and the hag was as fine a queen as she was before. She and Cud went back to the castle. The twelve pigs were twelve young men, and the thirteenth without a head was the king. She opened the chamber of the twelve yellow hags, and they were as beautiful as ever. All were very grateful to Cud for the good turn he had done them.

“I had one son,” said the queen; “while he was here he gave the old Awus enough to do.”

“Where is he now?” inquired Cud.

“In the Eastern World, in a field seven miles in length, and seven in width, and there isn’t a yard of that field in which a spike is not standing taller than a man. There is not a spike, except one, without a king’s son or a champion on it, impaled through his chin.”

“What name had your son?”

“Gold Boot.”

“I promise to bring Gold Boot here to you, or leave my own head on the spike.”

As early as the day rose Cud was ready, and away he went walking, and very little food had he with him. About midday he was at the enchanted field, in the Eastern World. He was walking till he came to Gold Boot. When he touched the body, the foot gave him a kick that sent him seven acres and seven ridges away, and put three bunches of the blood of his heart out of him.

“I believe what your mother said, that when you were living you were strong, and the strength you have now to be in you.”

“Don’t think we are dead,” said Gold Boot; “we are not. It is how we are enchanted and unable to rise out of this.”

“What put you in it?” asked Cud.

“A man will come out by and by with pipes, making music, and he’ll bring so much sleep on you that he’ll put you on that empty spike, and the field will be full. If you take my advice you will not wait for him.”

“My grief and my sorrow! I will never stir till I see all that is here,” replied Cud.

It wasn’t long he was waiting when the piper came out, and the very first sound that he heard Cud ran and caught the pipes; whatever music the man was making, Cud played seven times better.

When Cud took the pipes, the piper ran crying into the castle where the wizard was.

“What is on you?” asked the wizard.

“A man caught my pipes, and he is a twice better player than what I am.”

“Never mind that, take these with you; these are the pipes that won’t be long in putting sleep on him.”

When Cud heard the first note of these pipes, he struck the old ones against a stone, and ran and caught the new pipes. The piper rushed to the wizard; the old man went out, threw himself on his knees, and begged mercy.

“Never give him mercy,” said Gold Boot, “till he burns the hill that is standing out opposite him.”

“You have no pardon to get till you set that hill there on fire,” answered Cud.

“That is as bad for me as to lose my head,” said the wizard.

“That same is not far from you unless you do what I bid,” replied Cud.

Sooner than lose his head he lighted the hill. When the hill began to burn, all the men except Gold Boot came from under enchantment as sound as ever, and rose off the spikes. Every one was making away, and no one asking who let him out. The hill was on fire except one spot in the middle of it. Gold Boot was not stirring. “Why did you not make him set all the hill on fire?” asked he.

“Why did you not set the whole hill on fire?” demanded Cud of the wizard.

“Is it not all on fire?”

“Do you see the centre is not burning yet?”

“To see that bit on fire,” said the wizard, “is as bad for me as to lose the head itself.”

“That same is not far from you,” said Cud.

“Sooner than lose the head I will light it.”

That moment he lighted the hill, and Cud saw the very woman he saw the first day sleeping in the little boat come toward him from the hill. He forgot that he had seen Gold Boot or the enchanted hag and her sons. The wizard, seeing this, stopped the centre fire, and Gold Boot was left on the spike. Cud and the woman embraced till they smothered each other with kisses and drowned each other with tears. After that they neither stopped nor stayed till they reached his little ship and sailed away on it; they never delayed till they came to where his two brothers and sister-in-law were under the boat. Cud took out the three bodies, put a drop of the cure on each one, and gave each a blow of the rod. They rose up in good health and sound vigor. All entered the ship and sailed toward Urhu.

They had only the sailing of one day before them, when Cud recollected his promise to bring Gold Boot to his mother.

“Take the wife to Fermalye,” said he to his brothers. “I must go for Gold Boot; the king will give you food till I come. If you were to go to our own father he’d think that it is dead I am.”

Cud drew out his knife, cut a slip from a stick; this he threw into the sea. It became a ship, and away he sailed in that ship, and never stopped till he entered the harbor next the enchanted field. When he came to Gold Boot he gave him a drop of cure and a blow of the rod. He rose from the spike, well and strong. The two embraced then, went to the ship, and sailed away. They had not gone far when such a calm came that they cast anchor near shore, and Gold Boot began to get dinner. It wasn’t long he was at it when they saw food at the foot of a tree on the shore.

“Who would be getting trouble with cooking, and such food as that on the shore?” said Gold Boot.

“Don’t mind that food,” replied Cud.

“Whatever I think of I do,” said Gold Boot.

He went to shore with one jump, caught the food, sprang back, and laid it down for himself and Cud. When this was done there was food seven times better on the land again.

“Who would taste of this, and that table over there?” cried Gold Boot.

“Never mind it,” said Cud. “If the man who owns this table was sleeping when you took it, he is not sleeping now.”

“Whatever I think of I must do,” replied Gold Boot.

“If you did that before, I will do it now,” said Cud, and he sprang to land. He looked up in the tree, and there he saw a man ready to take the life from him.

“Grief and sorrow!” said the man. “I thought it was Gold Boot again. Take this table, with welcome, but I hope you’ll invite me to dinner.”

“I will, indeed,” said Cud; “and what name am I to give you?”

“The Wet Mantle Champion.”

Cud took one end of the table and the champion the other. Out they went to the ship with one bound. They sat down then together with Gold Boot at the table. When dinner was over, the wind rose, and they sailed on, never delaying till they came to the castle of Gold Boot’s father, where there was a great welcome before them, and thanks beyond estimate.

“I will give you half my kingdom while I live and all of it when I die,” said the king, “and the choice of my twelve daughters.”

“Many thanks to you,” replied Cud; “the promise of marriage is on me already, but perhaps Wet Mantle is not married or promised.”

“I am not,” said Wet Mantle.

“You must have my chance,” said Cud.

Wet Mantle took Cud’s place, and the king sent for a big dish priest, and a great wooden clerk. They came, and the couple were married. When the three days’ wedding was over, Cud went away alone. While sailing near land he saw a castle by the sea, and as he drew near he wondered more and more. A raven was going in and out at the uppermost window, and each time bringing out something white. Cud landed, walked up from the strand, and went to the top of the castle. He saw a woman there, and the whole room full of white pigeons. She was throwing them one by one from a loft to the raven.

“Why do you throw those to the raven?” asked Cud of the woman.

“The raven is an enchanted brother of mine, who comes to this castle once in seven years. I can see him only while I am throwing him pigeons. I get as many pigeons as possible, to keep him with me while I can.”

“Keep him for a while yet,” said Cud.

He rushed to the ship, took his rod, and ran to the loft where the woman was. “Entice him in further,” said Cud.

Cud struck the raven a blow, and he rose up as fine a champion as ever was seen.

“Your blow on me was good,” said the champion, “and ’tis work you have now before you. Your two brothers are killed and under seven feet of earth in Fermalye. Your wife and her sister are to their knees in foul water and filth in the stable, and are getting two mouthfuls of water, and two of bread in the day till they die.”

Cud did not wait to hear more of the story. Away he went, and never stopped till he came to Fermalye. When he was coming to the castle all the children he met he was throwing at each other, he was so vexed. He took the wife and sister out of the stable, then dug up the brothers and brought them to life with the rod. The five made no delay after that, but went to the ship and sailed to Urhu. When near land he raised white flags on every mast.

“A ship is coming!” cried a messenger, running to the king. “I am thinking it is Cud that is in it.”

“That’s what I will never believe,” said the king, “till he puts his hand into my hand.”

Since Cud left home, the father and mother had never risen from the fireside, but were sitting there always and crying. When the ship was three miles from land, Cud ran from the stern to the stem, sprang to land, ran into the castle, gave one hand to his mother, and the other to his father.

It wasn’t one boat, but boats, that went out to the ship for the brothers and the women. When they came, all spent the night with great pleasure in the castle. Next day the king sent seven score of ships and one ship to sea to bring supplies for the wedding. When the ships came back laden from foreign parts, he sent messengers to invite all the people in the kingdom. They were coming till they blackened the hills and spotted the valleys. I was there myself, and we spent nine nights and nine days in great glee and pleasure.

CAHAL, SON OF KING CONOR, IN ERIN, AND BLOOM OF YOUTH, DAUGHTER OF THE KING OF HATHONY.

There was a king in Hathony long ago who had an old castle by the sea. This king went out walking one day along the clean, smooth strand, and, while walking, the thought rose in him to take a sail near the shore. He stepped into his boat with attendants and men, and was sailing about in enjoyment and pleasure, when a wind came with a mist of enchantment, and drove the boat away through the sea with the king and his men.

They were going before the wind, without a sight of sky or sea; no man in the boat could see the man who sat next to him. They were that way moving in the mist without knowledge of where they were, or where they were going, and the boat never stopped till it sailed into a narrow harbor in a lonely place without house or habitation.

The king left the boat well fastened at the shore, and went his way, walking till he came to a castle, and what castle should it be but the castle of King Conor, in Erin.

King Conor received the King of Hathony with great hospitality and welcome.

When the two had spent some days in company, they became great friends, and made a match between their two children. The King of Hathony had a daughter called Bloom of Youth, who was nine years of age, and King Conor had a son ten years old, named Cahal.

When the King of Hathony wished to go back to his own land, King Conor of Erin gave a ship to him, and the king sailed away with good wishes and with supplies for a day and a year.

Bloom of Youth grew up in such beauty that she had not her equal in Hathony or in other lands, and Cahal, King Conor’s son, became such a hero that no man knew was the like of him in any place.

On a day Cahal said to his father, “Make up some treasure for me and stores for my ship. I must leave home now and be travelling through the world till I know is there a better man than myself in it.”

“It is, indeed, time for you to be going,” said King Conor, “for in three years you are to marry Bloom of Youth, the daughter of the King of Hathony, and you should be making out the place now where her father lives.”

Next morning Cahal took what treasures his father gave him, and provisions, went to his ship and raised sails. Away he went on his voyage, sailing over the sea in one way and another, in this direction and that. He sailed one year and three-quarters of a second year, but found no man to give tale or tidings of the King of Hathony.

Once on a gloomy day he was sailing along through the waves, when a strong north wind rose, and blew with such force that he let his ship go with it.

Three days and nights the ship went before the north wind, and on the fourth day, in the morning, it was thrown in on a rocky coast.

Cahal saved his life and his sword, and went away walking through the country. On the evening of the fifth day he came to an old castle near the seashore, and said to himself, “I will not go in here to ask for lodgings like any poor traveller.” With that he walked up and put a blow on the pole of combat that made the whole castle tremble.

Out rushed the messenger. “What brought you here, and what do you want?” asked he of King Conor’s son.

“I want men to meet me in combat, seven hundred champions on my right hand, seven hundred on my left, seven hundred behind me, and the same number in front of me.”

The man ran in and gave the message to the king.

“Oh,” said the King of Hathony, “that is my son-in-law from Erin;” and out he went.

“Are you the son of King Conor?” asked the king.

“I am,” said Cahal.

“A hundred thousand welcomes to you,” said the king.

“Thankful am I for the welcomes, and glad to receive them,” said Cahal. “I had great trouble in coming; it is not easy to find you.”

“It is not easy to find any man unless you know the road to his house,” said the king.

There was great feasting that night and entertainment for Cahal. Next day the king said, “Your bride, my daughter, is gone these two months. Striker, son of the King of Tricks, came to my castle and stole her away from me.”

“My word for it, he will not keep her unless he is a better man than I am,” said Cahal.

“I am sure of that,” said the king, “and I said so.”

“My own ship was wrecked on your coast, and now you must give me another in place of it,” said Cahal.

“I will,” said the king, “and a good one; but you can do nothing on sea against Striker.”

“I am more used to the sea now than to land, I am so long on it,” answered Cahal.

“If you were born on the water and had lived every day of your life on it, you could do nothing at sea against Striker. There is not a man living who can face him at sea.”

Nothing would satisfy Cahal but to go against Striker by sea; so he took the ship which the king gave and sailed away, sailed week after week till he was within a day’s journey of Striker’s castle. Striker thrust his head up through the top of the castle then, and let a blast out through his mouth that sent Cahal’s ship back twice the distance it had come.

King Conor’s son sailed forward again, and again Striker blew him back as far as he had the first time.

Cahal sailed now to the castle of the King of Hathony.

“I said that you could do nothing against Striker on sea. If you wish to get the upper hand of him I will tell you what to do. Take this bridle and shake it behind the castle; whatever beast comes to you take that one, and ride away against Striker.”

When Cahal shook the bridle, out came the smallest and ugliest beast in the stables, a lean, shaggy mare.

“Oh, then, bad luck to you for coming,” said the king’s son, “and so many fine steeds in the stables.”

“That is the pony my daughter used to ride, that is the best horse in the stables; take her. She is not easy to ride though, for she is full of tricks and enchantment, but if you are the right man she’ll not throw you. She goes on water as well as land, and you will be at your enemy’s castle to-day.”

Cahal mounted, and away went the mare. She crossed one hill at the first leap, three at the second, then twelve hills and valleys at the third leap; went over land and sea, and never stopped till she was in front of Striker’s castle, two hours before sunset.

Cahal sprang from the mare, and struck the pole of combat.

“What do you want?” asked the attendant, running out.

“I want seven hundred champions in combat at my right side, seven hundred at my left, seven hundred behind me, and seven hundred out before my face.”

The attendant went in, and out came the twenty-eight hundred against Cahal.

He went at the champions, and before sunset he had them in three heaps, a heap of their bodies, a heap of their heads, and a heap of their weapons.

Next morning Cahal struck the pole again.

“What do you want this time?” asked the attendant.

“Seven thousand champions against me for every hundred that I had yesterday.”

Out came the champions in thousands. As they were coming Cahal was going through them, and before the day was ended he had them in three heaps without leaving a man, a heap of their heads, a heap of their bodies, and a heap of their weapons.

He struck the pole on the third morning, and before the attendant had time to open his mouth, Cahal shouted, “Send out every man in the place. I may as well spend one day on them all as to be calling for champions occasionally.”

The forces of Striker, son of the King of Tricks, were coming as fast as ever they could make their way through the gates. They were rushing at Cahal like showers of hail on a stormy day, but they could neither kill him nor get the upper hand. They could neither defend themselves nor hurt him, and Cahal never stopped till he had them all in a heap at one side.

Cahal struck the pole on the fourth day.

“What do you want now?” asked the attendant.

“Striker, son of the King of Tricks, in combat before me.”

Out came Striker, and fell upon Cahal. The two fought seven days and six nights without stopping or resting, then Striker called for a truce and got it. He went into his castle, healed himself in his caldron of cure, ate enough, slept, and was as fresh as ever next morning. They spent three days and two nights in combat after that without rest.

Striker called for cessation a second time and got it. On the eleventh morning a goldfinch perched opposite Cahal and said, “Bad luck to you for a foolish young man to be giving your enemy rest, time to eat, drink, and cure himself, and you lying outside at the foot of the wall in hunger and cold. Keep him working till he yields. Give him no rest till you snatch from his breast the pin which he has in the left side of it.”

They were struggling four days and nights without rest or cessation till the fifth morning, when Cahal snatched the pin from the bosom of Striker.

“Oh, spare my life!” cried Striker. “I’ll be your servant in every place, only spare me.”