Part 23

He came in the evening to a place like that in which he had been the night previous, and thought to himself, I will stay here to-night. He spread his cloth, and had food for a king or a champion. He was not long eating, when there came opposite him out a hawk, and asked, “Have you crumbs or burned crusts to give me for my little children?”

“Oh,” said Blaiman, “come and eat your fill, and take away what you are able to carry.”

The hawk ate his fill. “My love to you forever,” said the hawk; “this is not how I was treated by the thief who was here three nights ago. When I asked him for food, he flung a log of wood at me, and almost broke my wing.”

“Give me your company a part of the night; I am lonely,” said Blaiman.

The hawk remained with him, and later on added, “The lady who went with the thief was doleful and careworn; she ate nothing, but shed tears all the time.” When going, and Blaiman had given him all the food he could carry, the hawk said, “If ever you need my assistance, you have only to call for the Hawk of Cold Cliff, and I will be with you.”

The hawk went away, very thankful; and Blaiman was glad that he had tidings again of his wife. Not much of next day overtook him asleep. He rose, ate his breakfast, and hastened forward. He was in such courage that he passed a mountain at a leap, a valley at a step, and a broad untilled field at a hop. He journeyed all day till he came to a break in the mountain; there he stopped, and was not long eating from his cloth, when an otter came down through the glen, stood before him, and asked, “Will you give me crumbs or burned crusts for my little children?”

Blaiman gave him plenty to eat, and all he could carry home. “My love to you forever,” said the otter. “When you need aid, call on the Otter of Frothy Pool, and I will be with you. You are not like the thief who was here three nights ago, having your wife with him. She was melting all night with tears, and neither ate nor drank. You will reach the castle of Hung Up Naked to-morrow at midday. It whirls around like a millstone, continually, and no one can enter but himself; for the castle is enchanted.”

The otter went home. Blaiman reached the castle at midday, and knew the place well, from the words of the otter. He stood looking at the castle; and when the window at which his wife was sitting came before him, she saw him, and, opening the window, made a sign with her hand, and told him to go. She thought that no one could get the upper hand of Hung Up Naked; for the report had gone through the world that no man could kill him.

“I will not go,” said Blaiman. “I will not leave you where you are; and now keep the window open.”

He stepped back some paces, and went in with one bound through the window, when it came around the second time.

While Hung Up Naked was tied to the tree, the tributes of his kingdom remained uncollected; and when he had the woman he wanted safe in his castle, he went to collect the tributes. She had laid an injunction on him to leave her in freedom for a day and a year. She knew when he would be returning; and when that time was near she hid Blaiman.

“Good, good!” cried Hung Up Naked, when he came. “I smell on this little sod of truth that a man from Erin is here.”

“How could a man from Erin be here?” asked Blaiman’s wife. “The only person from Erin in this place is a robin. I threw a fork at him. There is a drop of blood on the fork now; that is what you smell on the little sod.”

“That may be,” said Hung Up Naked.

Blaiman and the wife were planning to destroy Hung Up Naked; but no one had knowledge how to kill him. At last they made a plan to come at the knowledge.

“It is a wonder,” said the woman to Hung Up Naked, “that a great man like yourself should go travelling alone; my father always takes guards with him.”

“I need no guards; no one can kill me.”

“How is that?”

“Oh, my life is in that block of wood there.”

“If it is there, ’tis in a strange place; and it is little trouble you take for it. You should put it in some secure spot in the castle.”

“The place is good enough,” said he.

When Hung Up Naked went off next day, the wife told Blaiman all she had heard.

“His life is not there,” answered Blaiman; “try him again to-night.”

She searched the whole castle, and what silk or satin or jewels she found, she dressed with them the block of wood. When Hung Up Naked came home in the evening, and saw the block so richly decked, he laughed heartily.

“Why do you laugh?” asked the woman.

“Out of pity for you. It is not there that my life is at all.”

On hearing these words, she fainted, was stiff and cold for some time, till he began to fear she was dead.

“What is the matter?” asked Hung Up Naked.

“I did not think you would make sport of me. You know that I love you, and why did you deceive me?”

Hung Up Naked was wonderfully glad. He took her to the window, and, pointing to a large tree growing opposite, asked, “Do you see that tree?”

“I do.”

“Do you see that axe under my bed-post?” He showed the axe. “I cannot be killed till a champion with one blow of that axe splits the tree from the top to the roots of it. Out of the tree a ram will rush forth, and nothing on earth can come up with the ram but the Hound of Tranamee. If the ram is caught, he will drop a duck; the duck will fly out on the sea, and nothing on earth can catch that duck but the Hawk of Cold Cliff. If the duck is caught, she will drop an egg into the sea, and nothing on earth can find that egg but the Otter of Frothy Pool. If the egg is found, the champion must strike with one cast of it this dark spot here under my left breast, and strike me through the heart. If the tree were touched, I should feel it, wherever I might be.”

He went away next morning. Blaiman took the axe, and with one blow split the tree from top to roots; out rushed the ram. Blaiman rushed after him through the fields. Blaiman hunted the ram till he was dropping from weariness. Only then did he think of the hound, and cry, “Where are you now, Little Hound of Tranamee?”

“I am here,” said the hound; “but I could not come till you called me.”

The hound seized the ram in one moment; but, if he did, out sprang a duck, and away she flew over the sea. Blaiman called for the Hawk of Cold Cliff. The hawk caught the duck; the duck dropped an egg. He called the Otter of Frothy Pool; the otter brought the egg in his mouth. Blaiman took the egg, and ran to the castle, which was whirling no longer; the enchantment left the place when the tree was split. He opened the door, and stood inside, but was not long there when he saw Hung Up Naked coming in haste. When the tree was split, he felt it, and hurried home. When nearing the castle, his breast open and bare, and he sweating and sweltering, Blaiman aimed at the black spot, and killed Hung Up Naked.

They were all very glad then. The hawk, hound, and otter were delighted; they were three sons of the king of that kingdom which Hung Up Naked had seized; they received their own forms again, and all rejoiced.

Blaiman did not stay long. He left the three brothers in their own castle and kingdom. “If ever you need my assistance,” said Blaiman to the brothers, “send for me at my father-in-law’s.” On his return, he spent a night at each place where he had stopped in going.

When the king saw his daughter and Blaiman, he almost dropped dead from joy. They all spent some days very happily. Blaiman now thought of his uncles; and for three days servants were drawing every choice thing to his vessel. His wife went also to the ship. When all was ready, Blaiman remembered a present that he had set aside for his mother, and hurried back to the castle, leaving his wife on the ship with his uncles. The uncles sailed at once for Erin. When Blaiman came back with the present, he found neither wife, ship, nor uncles before him. He ran away like one mad, would not return to his father-in-law, but went wild in the woods, and began to live like the beasts of the wilderness. One time he came out on an edge of the forest, which was on a headland running into the sea, and saw a vessel near land; he was coming that time to his senses, and signalled. The captain saw him, and said, “That must be a wild beast of some kind; hair is growing all over his body. Will some of you go to see what is there? If a man, bring him on board.”

Five men rowed to land, and hailed Blaiman. He answered, “I am from Erin, and I am perishing here from hunger and cold.” They took him on board. The captain treated him kindly, had his hair cut, and gave him good clothing. Where should the captain be sailing to but the very same port of his grandfather’s kingdom from which Blaiman had sailed. There was a high tide when the ship neared, and they never stopped till she was in at the quay. Blaiman went on shore, walked to the chief street, and stood with his back to a house. Soon he saw men and horses carrying and drawing many kinds of provisions, and all going one way.

“Why are these people all going one way?” inquired Blaiman of a man in the crowd.

“You must be a stranger,” answered the man, “since you do not know that they are going to the castle. The king’s elder son will be married this evening. The bride is the only daughter of the King of the kingdom of the White Strand; they brought her to this place twelve months ago.”

“I am a stranger,” said Blaiman, “and have only come now from sea.”

“All are invited to the wedding, high and low, rich and poor.”

“I will go as well as another,” said Blaiman; and he went toward the castle. He met a sturdy old beggar in a long gray coat. “Will you sell me the coat?” inquired Blaiman.

“Take your joke to some other man,” answered the beggar.

“I am not joking,” said Blaiman. “I’ll buy your coat.”

The beggar asked more for the coat than he thought would be given by any one.

“Here is your money,” said Blaiman.

The beggar gave up the coat, and started to go in another direction.

“Come back here,” said Blaiman. “I will do you more good, and I need your company.”

They went toward the castle together. There was a broad space in front of the kitchen filled with poor people, for the greater part beggars, and these were all fighting for places. When Blaiman came, he commanded the crowd to be quiet, and threatened. He soon controlled all, and was himself neither eating nor drinking, but seeing justice done those who were eating and drinking. The servants, astonished that the great, threatening beggar was neither eating nor drinking, gave a great cup of wine to him. He took a good draught of the wine, but left still a fair share in the cup. In this he dropped the ring that he got from his wife in her own father’s castle, and said to a servant, “Put this cup in the hand of the bride, and say, ‘’Tis the big beggar that sends back this much of his wine, and asks you to drink to your own health.’”

She was astonished, and, taking the cup to the window, saw a ring at the bottom. She took the ring, knew it, and ran out wild with delight through the people. All thought ’twas enchantment the beggar had used; but she embraced him and kissed him. The servants surrounded the beggar to seize him. The king’s daughter ordered them off, and brought him into the castle; and Blaiman locked the doors. The bride then put a girdle around the queen’s waist, and this was a girdle of truth. If any one having it on did not tell the truth, the girdle would shrink and tighten, and squeeze the life out of that person.

“Tell me now,” said the bride, “who your elder son’s father is.”

“Who is he,” said the queen, “but the king?”

The girdle grew tighter and tighter till the queen screamed, “The coachman.”

“Who is the second son’s father?”

“The butler.”

“Who is your daughter’s father?”

“The king.”

“I knew,” said the bride, “that there was no kingly blood in the veins of the two, from the way that they treated my husband.” She told them all present how the two had taken her away, and left her husband behind. When Blaiman’s mother saw her son, she dropped almost dead from delight.

The king now commanded his subjects to bring poles and branches and all dry wood, and put down a great fire. The heads and heels of the queen’s two sons were tied together, and they were flung in and burned to ashes.

Blaiman remained awhile with his grandfather, and then took his wife back to her father’s kingdom, where they lived many years.

FIN MACCOOL AND THE DAUGHTER OF THE KING OF THE WHITE NATION.

One day Fin MacCool and the Fenians of Erin set out on a hunt from the Castle of Rahonain, and never stopped till they came near Brandon Creek, and started a hornless deer in a field called Parcnagri.

Over hills and through valleys they chased the deer till they came to Aun na Vian (the river of the Fenians). The deer sprang from one side of this river toward the other, but before reaching the bank was taken on a spear by Dyeermud.

When the hunt was over, Fin and the Fenians went back to the place where the deer had been started at Parcnagri, for they always returned to the spot where they roused the first game, and there they feasted.

The feast was nearly ready when Fin saw a boat sailing in toward the harbor of Ard na Conye (Smerwick Harbor), and no one on board but a woman.

“’Tis a wonder to me,” said Fin, “that one woman should manage a boat under sail on the sea. I have a great wish to know who that woman is.”

“’Tis not long I would be in bringing you tidings,” said Dyeermud.

Fin laughed; for Dyeermud was fond of the women. “I would not refuse you permission to go, but that I myself will go, and be here before our feast is ready.”

Fin went down from Parcnagri, and stood at the strand of Ard na Conye. Though great was his speed, the woman was there before him, and her boat anchored safely four miles from shore.

Fin saluted the woman with friendly greeting; and she returned the salute in like manner.

“Will you tell me, kind man, where I am now?” asked the woman.

“In the harbor of Ard na Conye.”

“Thanks to you for that answer,” said the woman. “Can you tell where is Fin MacCool’s dwelling-place?”

“Wherever Fin MacCool’s dwelling-place is, I am that man myself.”

“Thanks to you a second time,” said the woman; “and would you play a game of chess for a sentence?”

“I would,” replied Fin, “if I had my own board and chessmen.”

“I will give you as good as your own,” said the woman.

“I have never refused, and never asked another to play,” said Fin. “I will play with you.”

They sat down, and Fin won the first game.

“What is your sentence, Fin MacCool?” asked the woman.

“I put you under bonds of heavy enchantment,” said Fin, “not to eat twice at the one table, nor to sleep two nights in the one bed, till you bring a white steed with red bridle and saddle to me, and the same to each man of the Fenians of Erin.”

“You are very severe, O Fin,” said the woman. “I beg you to soften the sentence.”

“No,” answered Fin, “you must give what is asked; I will not soften the sentence.”

“Look behind,” said the woman.

Fin turned, and saw a white steed for himself, and the like for each man of the Fenians of Erin, all with red bridles and saddles.

“Play a second game, now,” said the woman.

They played, and she won.

“Hasten, kind woman,” said Fin, “and tell me the sentence.”

“Too soon for you to hear it,” said she.

“The sooner I hear it, the better,” said Fin.

“I put you, O Fin, under bonds of heavy enchantment to be my husband till a shovel puts seven of its fulls of earth on your head.”

“Soften the sentence, good woman,” said Fin; “for this cannot be.”

“The gad may tighten on my throat if I do,” said the woman; “for you did not soften your sentence on me.”

“Do you stop here,” said Fin to the woman, “till I give my men the steeds, tell them how I am, and return. But where are the steeds?”

“If I was bound by sentence to bring you the steeds, I was not bound to keep them.”

Fin went his way to Parcnagri, where the Fenians were waiting, and though dinner was ready, no man tasted it from that day to this.

Fin posted his men on watch at various harbors, left Dyeermud on Beann Dyeermud (Dyeermud’s peak), just above the harbor of Ard na Conye, and went to the woman. She took his hand; they sprang together, and came down in the woman’s boat, which was four miles from land.

The woman weighed anchor, raised sails, and never stopped ploughing the weighty sea till she came to the White Nation in the Eastern World, where her father was king. She entered the harbor, cast anchor, and landed.

“When you were at home,” said the woman to Fin, “you were Chief of the Fenians of Erin, and held in great honor; I will not that men in this kingdom belittle you, and I am the king’s only daughter. From the place where we are standing to my father’s castle there is a narrow and a short path. I’ll hasten forward on that. There is another way, a broad and long one; do you choose that. I fear that for you there will not be suitable seat and a place in the castle, unless I am there to prepare it before you.”

Fin went the long way, and the woman took the short path. It was many a day since the woman had seen her own father. For twenty-one years she had travelled the world, learning witchcraft and every enchantment. She hurried, and was soon at the door of the castle. Great was the welcome before her, and loud was the joy of her father. Servants came running, one after another, with food, and one thing better than the other.

“Father,” said she, “I will taste neither food nor drink till you tell me the one thing to please your mind most.”

“My child,” said the king, “you have but small chance of coming at that. The one thing on earth to delight my mind most is the head of Fin MacCool of Erin. If there was a poor man of my name, he would not be myself if I had that head.”

“Many a year do I know your desire, my father; and it was not for me to come back after twenty-one years without bringing Fin’s head. You have it now, without losing one drop of your blood or a single night’s rest. Fin is coming hither over the broad road; and do you put men out over against him with music to meet him, and when he comes between your two storehouses, let the men dash him against one corner and the other, and give every reason worse than another to bring him to death.”

The king obeyed his daughter, and sent out guards and musicians.

Fin, going over the broad road, saw men coming with music, and said to himself, “Great is my joy, or may be my sorrow, for I fear that my life will be ended in trouble.”

The men received Fin with shouts, and, running up, pushed him from side to side till he was bruised and bleeding; then they brought him into the castle.

Glad was the king, and far was the laugh heard that he let out of himself at sight of Fin MacCool.

The king gave command then to bind the captive, putting seven knots of cord on every joint of his body, to throw him into a deep vault, and give him one ounce of black bread with a pint of cold water each day.

Fin was put in the vault, and a very old little woman brought his daily allowance of food.

On his eighth day in prison, Fin said to the old little woman, “Go now to the king, and say that I have a petition. I ask not my head, as I would not get it; but say that my right arm is rotting. I ask to be free in the garden for one hour; let him send with me men, if he chooses.”

The old woman told the request; and the king said, “I will grant that with willingness; for it will not take his head from me.”

Thirty armed men were sent, and Fin was set free in the garden. While walking, he asked the chief of the thirty, “Have you musical instruments?”

“We have not,” said the chief; “we forgot them. If they were here, we would give music; for I pity you, Fin MacCool.”

“When I was at home,” said Fin, “having the care and charge over men, we had music; and, if it please you, I will play some of the music of Erin.”

“I would be more than glad if you would do that,” said the chief.

The Fenians of Erin had a horn called the borabu; and when one of them went wandering he took the borabu with him, as Fin had done this time. It was the only instrument on which he could play. Fin blew the horn, and the sound of it came to Beann Dyeermud from the Eastern World. Dyeermud himself was in deep sleep at the moment; but the sound entered his right ear and came out through the left. The spring that he made then took him across seven ridges of land before he was firm on his feet. Dyeermud, wiping his eyes, said, “Great is the trouble that is on you, Fin; for the sound of the borabu has never yet entered my right ear unless you were in peril.”

Then, going at a spring to Cuas a Wudig, he found the remains of an old currachan, and, drawing out a chisel, knife, and axe, made a fine boat of the old one. With one kick of his right foot, he sent the boat seven leagues from land, and, following with a bound, dropped into it. He hoisted sails, not knowing whither to go, north, south, east, or west, but held on his way, and ploughed the mighty ocean before him, till, as good luck would have it, he reached the same harbor to which the woman had come with Fin MacCool.

Dyeermud saw the boat which had brought them, and said, laughing heartily, “I have tidings of Fin; he’s in this kingdom in some place, for this is the boat that brought him from Erin.”

Dyeermud cast anchor, and, landing, drew his sword; and a man seeing his look at that moment would have wished to be twenty miles distant. On he went, walking, till he had passed through a broad tract of country. On the high-road, he saw men, women, and children all going one way, and none any other. High and low, they were hurrying and hastening; the man behind outstripping the man in front.

Dyeermud sat on a ditch to rest, and soon a wayfarer halted in front of him. “Where are these people all hastening?” asked Dyeermud.

“From what country or place are you,” asked the man, “not to know whither all these people are going?”

“Surely I am not of this place or your country,” said Dyeermud; “and I care not to know whither you or these people are going, since you cannot give a civil answer to an honest question.”

“Be patient, good man,” said the wayfarer “From what country or place are you?”

“From Erin,” said Dyeermud.

“I suppose, then, you have known Fin MacCool, or have heard of him?”

“I have, indeed,” said Dyeermud.

“If you take my advice,” said the wayfaring man, “you’ll go out on the same road by which you came in, or else not acknowledge Fin MacCool of Erin, for that man will be hanged this day before the king’s castle; the gallows is ready and built for him. When the life is gone out of him, his head will be struck off, and left as a plaything to please the king’s mind forever. The body is to be dragged between four wild horses; and the same will be done to you, if you acknowledge Fin MacCool of Erin.”

“I thank you for your answer,” said Dyeermud; “and only because I don’t like to lay a weighty hand on you, you would never again give advice like that to a man of the Fenians of Erin. But show me the way to the castle.”

“If you were on the top of that mountain,” said the wayfarer, pointing northward, “you would see the king’s castle.”