Part 3

_Fintain._ Lead me to it. [_He mutters while the fool is leading him._] That is what the High King Concobar has on his shield. The High King will be coming. They have brought out his chair. [_He begins feeling the back of the other chair._] And there is a dog’s head on this. They have brought out our master’s chair. Now I know what the horse-boys were talking about. We must not stay here. The Kings are going to meet here. Now that Concobar and our master, that is his chief man, have put down all the enemies of Ullad, they are going to build up Emain again. They are going to talk over their plans for building it. Were you ever in Concobar’s town before it was burnt? O, he is a great King, for though Emain was burnt down, every war had made him richer. He has gold and silver dishes, and chessboards and candlesticks made of precious stones. Fool, have they taken the top from the ale vat?

_Barach._ They have.

_Fintain._ Then bring me a horn of ale quickly, for the Kings will be here in a minute. Now I can listen. Tell me what you saw this morning?

_Barach._ About the young man and the fighting?

_Fintain._ Yes.

_Barach._ And after that we can go and eat the fowl, for I am hungry.

_Fintain._ Time enough, time enough. You’re in as great a hurry as when you brought me to Aine’s Seat, where the mad dogs gather when the moon’s at the full. Go on with your story.

_Barach._ I was creeping under a ditch, with the fowl in my leather bag, keeping to the shore where the farmer could not see me, when I came upon a ship drawn up upon the sands, a great red ship with a woman’s head upon it.

_Fintain._ A ship out of Aoife’s country. They have all a woman’s head on the bow.

_Barach._ There was a young man with a pale face and red hair standing beside it. Some of our people came up whose turn it was to guard the shore. I heard them ask the young man his name. He said he was under bonds not to tell it. Then words came between them, and they fought, and the young man killed half of them, and the others ran away.

_Fintain._ It matters nothing to us, but he has come at last.

_Barach._ Who has come?

_Fintain._ I know who that young man is. There is not another like him in the world. I saw him when I had my eyesight.

_Barach._ You saw him?

_Fintain._ I used to be in Aoife’s country when I had my eyesight.

_Barach._ That was before you went on shipboard and were blinded for putting a curse on the wind?

_Fintain._ Queen Aoife had a son that was red haired and pale faced like herself, and everyone said that he would kill Cuchullain some day, but I would not have that spoken of.

_Barach._ Nobody could do that. Who was his father?

_Fintain._ Nobody but Aoife knew that, not even he himself.

_Barach._ Not even he himself! Was Aoife a goddess and lecherous?

_Fintain._ I overheard her telling that she never had but one lover, and that he was the only man who overcame her in battle. There were some who thought him one of the Riders of the Sidhe, because the child was great of limb and strong beyond others. The child was begotten over the mountains; but come nearer and I will tell you something.

_Barach._ You have thought something?

_Fintain._ When I hear the young girls talking about the colour of Cuchullain’s eyes, and how they have seven colours, I have thought about it. That young man has Aoife’s face and hair, but he has Cuchullain’s eyes.

_Barach._ How can he have Cuchullain’s eyes?

_Fintain._ He is Cuchullain’s son.

_Barach._ And his mother has sent him hither to fight his father.

_Fintain._ It is all quite plain. Cuchullain went into Aoife’s country when he was a young man that he might learn skill in arms, and there he became Aoife’s lover.

_Barach._ And now she hates him because he went away, and has sent the son to kill the father. I knew she was a goddess.

_Fintain._ And she never told him who his father was, that he might do it. I have thought it all out, fool. I know a great many things because I listen when nobody is noticing and I keep my wits awake. What ails you now?

_Barach._ I have remembered that I am hungry.

_Fintain._ Well, forget it again, and I will tell you about Aoife’s country. It is full of wonders. There are a great many Queens there who can change themselves into wolves and into swine and into white hares, and when they are in their own shapes they are stronger than almost any man; and there are young men there who have cat’s eyes and if a bird chirrup or a mouse squeak they cannot keep them shut, even though it is bedtime and they sleepy; and listen, for this is a great wonder, a very great wonder: there is a long narrow bridge, and when anybody goes to cross it, that the Queens do not like, it flies up as this bench would if you were to sit on the end of it. Everybody who goes there to learn skill in arms has to cross it. It was in that country too that Cuchullain got his spear made out of dragon bones. There were two dragons fighting in the foam of the sea, and their grandam was the moon, and nine Queens came along the shore.

_Barach._ I won’t listen to your story.

_Fintain._ It is a very wonderful story. Wait till you hear what the nine Queens did. Their right hands were all made of silver.

_Barach._ No, I will have my dinner first. You have eaten the fowl I left in front of the fire. The last time you sent me to steal something you made me forget all about it till you had eaten it up.

_Fintain._ No, there is plenty for us both.

_Barach._ Come with me where it is.

_Fintain._ [_Who is being led towards the door at the back by BARACH._] O, it is all right, it is in a safe place.

_Barach._ It is a fine fowl. It was the biggest in the yard.

_Fintain._ It had a good smell, but I hope that the wild dogs have not smelt it. [_Voices are heard outside the door at the side._] Here is our master. Let us stay and talk with him. Perhaps Cuchullain will give you a new cap with a feather. He told me that he would give you a new cap with a feather, a feather with an eye that looks at you, a peacock’s feather.

_Barach._ No, no.

[_He begins pulling FINTAIN towards the door._

_Fintain._ If you do not get it now, you may never get it, for the young man may kill him.

_Barach._ No, no, I am hungry. What a head you have, blind man! Who but you would have remembered that the hen-wife slept for a little at noon every day!

_Fintain._ [_Who is being led along very slowly and unwillingly._] Yes, I have a good head. The fowl should be done just right, but one never knows when a wild dog may come out of the woods.

[_They go out through the big door at the back. As they go out CUCHULLAIN and certain YOUNG KINGS come in at the side door. CUCHULLAIN, though still young, is a good deal older than the others. They are all very gaily dressed, and have their hair fastened with balls of gold. The young men crowd about CUCHULLAIN with wondering attention._

_First Young King._ You have hurled that stone beyond our utmost mark Time after time, but yet you are not weary.

_Second Young King._ He has slept on the bare ground of Fuad’s Hill This week past, waiting for the bulls and the deer.

_Cuchullain._ Well, why should I be weary?

_First Young King._ It is certain His father was the god who wheels the sun, And not King Sualtam.

_Third Young King._ [_To a YOUNG KING who is beside him._] He came in the dawn, And folded Dectara in a sudden fire.

_Fourth Young King._ And yet the mother’s half might well grow weary, And it new come from labours over sea.

_Third Young King._ He has been on islands walled about with silver, And fought with giants.

[_They gather about the ale vat and begin to drink._

_Cuchullain._ Who was it that went out?

_Third Young King._ As we came in?

_Cuchullain._ Yes.

_Third Young King._ Barach and blind Fintain.

_Cuchullain._ They always flock together; the blind man Has need of the fool’s eyesight and strong body, While the poor fool has need of the other’s wit, And night and day is up to his ears in mischief That the blind man imagines. There’s no hen-yard But clucks and cackles when he passes by As if he’d been a fox. If I’d that ball That’s in your hair and the big stone again, I’d keep them tossing, though the one is heavy And the other light in the hand. A trick I learnt When I was learning arms in Aoife’s country.

_First Young King._ What kind of woman was that Aoife?

_Cuchullain._ Comely.

_First Young King._ But I have heard that she was never married, And yet that’s natural, for I have never known A fighting woman, but made her favours cheap, Or mocked at love till she grew sandy dry.

_Cuchullain._ What manner of woman do you like the best? A gentle or a fierce?

_First Young King._ A gentle, surely.

_Cuchullain._ I think that a fierce woman’s better, a woman That breaks away when you have thought her won, For I’d be fed and hungry at one time. I think that all deep passion is but a kiss In the mid battle, and a difficult peace ’Twixt oil and water, candles and dark night, Hill-side and hollow, the hot-footed sun, And the cold sliding slippery-footed moon, A brief forgiveness between opposites That have been hatreds for three times the age Of this long ’stablished ground. Here’s Concobar; So I’ll be done, but keep beside me still, For while he talks of hammered bronze and asks What wood is best for building, we can talk Of a fierce woman.

[_CONCOBAR, a man much older than CUCHULLAIN, has come in through the great door at the back. He has many KINGS about him. One of these KINGS, DAIRE, a stout old man, is somewhat drunk._

_Concobar._ [_To one of those about him._] Has the ship gone yet? We have need of more bronze workers, and that ship I sent to Africa for gold is late.

_Cuchullain._ I knew their talk.

_Concobar._ [_Seeing CUCHULLAIN._] You are before us, King.

_Cuchullain._ So much the better, for I welcome you Into my Muirthemne.

_Concobar._ But who are these? The odour from their garments when they stir Is like a wind out of an apple garden.

_Cuchullain._ My swordsmen and harp players and fine dancers, My bosom friends.

_Concobar._ I should have thought, Cuchullain, My graver company would better match Your greatness and your years; but I waste breath In harping on that tale.

_Cuchullain._ You do, great King. Because their youth is the kind wandering wave That carries me about the world; and if it sank, My sword would lose its lightness.

_Concobar._ Yet, Cuchullain, Emain should be the foremost town of the world.

_Cuchullain._ It is the foremost town.

_Concobar._ No, no, it’s not. Nothing but men can make towns great, and he, The one over-topping man that’s in the world, Keeps far away.

_Daire._ He will not hear you, King, And we old men had best keep company With one another. I’ll fill the horn for you.

_Concobar._ I will not drink, old fool. You have drunk a horn At every door we came to.

_Daire._ You’d better drink, For old men light upon their youth again In the brown ale. When I have drunk enough, I am like Cuchullain as one pea another, And live like a bird’s flight from tree to tree.

_Concobar._ We’ll to our chairs for we have much to talk of, And we have Ullad and Muirthemne, and here Is Conall Muirthemne in the nick of time.

[_He goes to the back of stage to welcome a company of KINGS who come in through the great door. The other KINGS gradually get into their places. CUCHULLAIN sits in his great chair with certain of the young men standing around him. Others of the young men, however, remain with DAIRE at the ale vat. DAIRE holds out the horn of ale to one or two of the older KINGS as they pass him going to their places. They pass him by, most of them silently refusing._

_Daire._ Will you not drink?

_An Old King._ Not till the council’s over.

_A Young King._ But I’ll drink, Daire.

_Another Young King._ Fill me a horn too, Daire.

_Another Young King._ If I’d drunk half that you have drunk to-day, I’d be upon all fours.

_Daire._ That would be natural When Mother Earth had given you this good milk From her great breasts.

_Cuchullain._ [_To one of the YOUNG KINGS beside him._] One is content awhile With a soft warm woman who folds up our lives In silky network. Then, one knows not why, But one’s away after a flinty heart.

_The Young King._ How long can the net keep us?

_Cuchullain._ All our lives If there are children, and a dozen moons If there are none, because a growing child Has so much need of watching it can make A passion that’s as changeable as the sea Change till it holds the wide earth to its heart. At least I have heard a father say it, but I Being childless do not know it. Come nearer yet; Though he is ringing that old silver rod We’ll have our own talk out. They cannot hear us.

[_CONCOBAR who is now seated in his great chair, opposite CUCHULLAIN, beats upon the pillar of the house that is nearest to him with a rod of silver, till the KINGS have become silent. CUCHULLAIN alone continues to talk in a low voice to those about him, but not so loud as to disturb the silence. CONCOBAR rises and speaks standing._

_Concobar._ I have called you hither, Kings of Ullad, and Kings Of Muirthemne and Connall Muirthemne, And tributary Kings, for now there is peace-- It’s time to build up Emain that was burned At the outsetting of these wars; for we, Being the foremost men, should have high chairs And be much stared at and wondered at, and speak Out of more laughing overflowing hearts Than common men. It is the art of kings To make what’s noble nobler in men’s eyes By wide uplifted roofs, where beaten gold, That’s ruddy with desire, marries pale silver Among the shadowing beams; and many a time I would have called you hither to this work, But always, when I’d all but summoned you, Some war or some rebellion would break out.

_Daire._ Where’s Maine Morgor and old Usnach’s children, And that high-headed even-walking Queen, And many near as great that got their death Because you hated peace? I can remember The people crying out when Deirdre passed And Maine Morgor had a cold gray eye. Well, well, I’ll throw this heel-tap on the ground, For it may be they are thirsty.

_A King._ Be silent, fool.

_Another King._ Be silent, Daire.

_Concobar._ Let him speak his mind. I have no need to be afraid of ghosts, For I have made but necessary wars. I warred to strengthen Emain, or because When wars are out they marry and beget And have their generations like mankind And there’s no help for it; but I’m well content That they have ended and left the town so great, That its mere name shall be in times to come Like a great ale vat where the men of the world Shall drink no common ale but the hard will, The unquenchable hope, the friendliness of the sword.

[_He takes thin boards on which plans have been carved by those about him._

Give me the building plans, and have you written That we--Cuchullain is looking in his shield; It may be the pale riders of the wind Throw pictures on it, or that Mananan, His father’s friend and sometime fosterer, Foreknower of all things, has cast a vision, Out of the cold dark of the rich sea, Foretelling Emain’s greatness.

_Cuchullain._ No, great King, I looked on this out of mere idleness, Imagining a far-off country and one That held it with a sword, although a woman.

_Concobar._ A woman needs but laugh, or a friend sigh, And you’re afar off sounding through the world, While I plan Emain’s greatness.

[_The sound of a trumpet without._

Open the doors! I hear a herald’s trumpet, and await, It may be, the heavy fleeces of the sea And golden and silver apples or ancient crowns Long hidden in the well at the World’s End, Or glittering garments of the salmon, tributes From the Great Plain, or the high people of Sorcha, Or the walled garden in the east of the world.

[_The great door at the back is flung open; a YOUNG MAN, who is fully armed and carries a shield with a woman’s head painted on it, stands upon the threshold. Behind him are trumpeters. He walks into the centre of the hall, the trumpeting ceases._

What is your message?

_Young Man._ I am of Aoife’s army.

_First King._ Queen Aoife and her army have fallen upon us.

_Second King._ Out swords! Out swords!

_Third King._ They are about the house.

_Fourth King._ Rush out! Rush out! Before they have fired the thatch.

_Young Man._ Aoife is far away. I am alone. I have come alone in the midst of you To weigh this sword against Cuchullain’s sword.

[_There is a murmur amongst the KINGS._

_Concobar._ And are you noble? for if of common seed You cannot weigh your sword against his sword But in mixed battle.

_Young Man._ I am under bonds To tell my name to no man, but it’s noble.

_Concobar._ But I would know your name and not your bonds. You cannot speak in the Assembly House If you are not noble.

_A King._ Answer the High King.

_Young Man._ [_Drawing his sword._] I will give no other proof than the hawk gives That it’s no sparrow.

[_He is silent a moment, then speaks to all._

Yet look upon me, Kings; I too am of that ancient seed and carry The signs about this body and in these bones.

_Cuchullain._ To have shown the hawk’s gray feather is enough, And you speak highly too.

[_CUCHULLAIN comes down from his great chair. He remains standing on the steps of the chair. The YOUNG KINGS gather about him and begin to arm him._

Give me that helmet! I’d thought they had grown weary sending champions. That leathern coat will do. The High King there Being old in wisdom can think of times to come, But the hawk’s sleepy till its well-beloved Cries out amid the acorns, or it has seen Its enemy like a speck upon the sun. What’s Emain to the hawk when that clear eye Is burning nearer up in the high air? That buckle should be tighter. Give me your shield. There is good level ground at Baile’s Yew-tree, Some dozen yards from here, and it’s but truth That I am sad to-day and this fight welcome.

[_He looks hard at the YOUNG MAN, and then steps down on the floor of the Assembly House. He grasps the YOUNG MAN by the shoulder._

Hither into the light.

[_Turning to one of the YOUNG KINGS._

The very tint Of her that I was speaking of but now: Not a pin’s difference.

[_To the YOUNG MAN._

You are from the North, Where there are many that have that tint of hair, Red-brown, the light red-brown. Come nearer, boy! For I would have another look at you. There’s more likeness, a pale, a stone pale cheek. What brought you, boy? Have you no fear of death?

_Young Man._ Whether I live or die is in the Gods’ hands.

_Cuchullain._ That is all words, all words, a young man’s talk; I am their plough, their harrow, their very strength, For he that’s in the sun begot this body Upon a mortal woman, and I have heard tell It seemed as if he had outrun the moon, That he must always follow through waste heaven, He loved so happily. He’ll be but slow To break a tree that was so sweetly planted. Let’s see that arm; I’ll see it if I like. That arm had a good father and a good mother, But it is not like this.

_Young Man._ You are mocking me. You think I am not worthy to be fought, But I’ll not wrangle but with this talkative knife.

_Cuchullain._ Put up your sword, I am not mocking you. I’d have you for my friend, but if it’s not Because you have a hot heart and a cold eye I cannot tell the reason. You’ve got her fierceness, And nobody is as fierce as those pale women.

[_To the YOUNG KINGS._

We’ll keep him here in Muirthemne awhile.

_A Young King._ You are the leader of our pack and therefore May cry what you will.

_Cuchullain._ You’ll stop with us And we will hunt the deer and the wild bulls, And, when we have grown weary, light our fires In sandy places where the wool-white foam Is murmuring and breaking, and it may be That long-haired women will come out of the dunes To dance in the yellow fire-light. You hang your head, Young man, as if it was not a good life; And yet what’s better than to hurl the spear, And hear the long-remembering harp, and dance? Friendship grows quicker in the murmuring dark; But I can see there’s no more need for words And that you’ll be my friend now.

_First Old King._ Concobar, Forbid their friendship, for it will get twisted To a reproach against us.

_Concobar._ Until now I’d never need to cry Cuchullain on And would not now.

_First Old King._ They’ll say his manhood’s quenched.

_Cuchullain._ I’ll give you gifts, but I’ll have something too, An arm-ring or the like, and if you will We’ll fight it out when you are older, boy.

_An Old King._ Aoife will make some story out of this.

_Cuchullain._ Well, well, what matter, I’ll have that arm-ring, boy.

_Young Man._ There is no man I’d sooner have my friend Than you whose name has gone about the world As if it had been the wind, but Aoife’d say I had turned coward.

_Cuchullain._ I’ll give you gifts That Aoife’ll know and all her people know To have been my gifts. Mananan, son of the sea, Gave me this heavy embroidered cloak. Nine Queens Of the Land-under-Wave had woven it Out of the fleeces of the sea. O! tell her I was afraid, or tell her what you will. No! tell her that I heard a raven croak On the north side of the house and was afraid.

_An Old King._ Some witch of the air has troubled Cuchullain’s mind.

_Cuchullain._ No witchcraft, his head is like a woman’s head I had a fancy for.

_Second Old King._ A witch of the air Can make a leaf confound us with memories. They have gone to school to learn the trick of it.

_Cuchullain._ But there’s no trick in this. That arm-ring, boy.

_Third Old King._ He shall not go unfought, I’ll fight with him.

_Fourth Old King._ No! I will fight with him.

_First Old King._ I claim the fight, For when we sent an army to her land----

_Second Old King._ I claim the fight, for one of Aoife’s galleys Stole my great cauldron and a herd of pigs.

_Third Old King._ No, no, I claim it, for at Lammas’ time----

_Cuchullain._ Back! Back! Put up your swords! Put up your swords! There’s none alive that shall accept a challenge I have refused. Laegaire, put up your sword.

_Young Man._ No, let them come, let any three together. If they’ve a mind to, I’ll try it out with four.

_Cuchullain._ That’s spoken as I’d spoken it at your age, But you are in my house. Whatever man Would fight with you shall fight it out with me. They’re dumb. They’re dumb. How many of you would meet

[_Drawing his sword._

This mutterer, this old whistler, this sandpiper, This edge that’s grayer than the tide, this mouse That’s gnawing at the timbers of the world, This, this--Boy, I would meet them all in arms If I’d a son like you. He would avenge me When I have withstood for the last time the men Whose fathers, brothers, sons, and friends I have killed Upholding Ullad; when the four provinces Have gathered with the ravens over them. But I’d need no avenger. You and I Would scatter them like water from a dish.

_Young Man._ We’ll stand by one another from this out. Here is the ring.