Part 6

A great shout welcomed these champions of the Fairy Host as they drew near, but this shout came from the assemblage outside of Tara; and neither the king nor his lords rose at their approach. The Fomorians scowled and stood apart, and then scornfully resumed their tax-gathering.

When they had finished their task the Fomorians rose and together approached the place where the king sat high among his people.

As they drew near, Nuadh of the Silver Hand and all his lords rose and made humble obeisance.

At this, Lu the Ildanna frowned, and when Lu of the Long Hand frowned his company knew that evil was like to come.

“Tell me, O King,” he said haughtily: “why do you make obeisance to these rude, ungainly folk, and did none to us when we approached, to us who are of the old Dedannan race?”

Thereupon Nuadh of the Silver Hand spake the bitterness of truth, and how it was that in order to save the land from devastation, and his people from rapine and outrage, he submitted to the Fomorian yoke. And for the same reason he had not ventured to pay homage to Lu and the Fairy Host, for the Fomorians would have taken this as an insult to Balor of the Evil Eye, and some great evil would have ensued.

Lu smiled scornfully.

“And at the worst, O Nuadh of the Silver Hand, there is a disastrous end and death. What then? Is not death the sure end of all men, and is not disaster the lot of many a hero as well as of many a slave?”

“That is so, Ildanna.”

“Then why evade that shadow, and all because of fear of these dark pirates out of the north. Is not honour better than safety, and is not shame a worse death than to be slain?”

“Even so, Ildanna. Nevertheless, I wish to avoid vain bloodshed. There can be but one end. Why should I ruin my people?”

“Ruin is not a sure thing, O King: but if it were, better ruin than dishonour.”

“Dost thou speak as a lord of high birth, or as one of the common people?”

“I speak as the son of Kian the Noble.”

“Even so; but for each noble in my kingdom there are a thousand Dedannans of no rank. I am their king. I speak for them.”

For a time thereafter Lu sat brooding. His silence was worse than his scornful words. Nuadh the King saw what was in his mind, and dreaded that he would go forth in his wrath. Thrice he half rose as though to lay hands upon Lu to restrain him, and thrice he sat back uncertain what to do.

Then suddenly Lu rose, and in the eyes of all men drew slowly from its sheath his great white sword. At sight of the “Answerer,” there was a shiver among the Dedannans, so great was the terrible fame of this sword, but still more because the drawing of it there and then by Lu of the Long Hand meant that the flame was in his blood.

“Beware!” cried the king.

But Lu laughed a grim laugh. Then, lifting the “Answerer” on high, and knitting his brows into a heavy frown, he sprang in among the Fomorians.

It was like the leap of lightning among wild cattle, that. Hither and thither the “Answerer” flashed, and at each blow a Fomorian head whirled to the ground; yea, as a sharp prow will divide the wave-crest from the wave, so the great sword severed the head from the shoulders of each Fomorian, shoring through helmet or thick fell of hair as through water.

It was not till a whirlwind of swords flashed and circled around Lu that those about him woke from their stupor. Then with a loud shout the sons of Manannan and others of the Fairy Host leaped forward and joined in the fray.

The Fomorians fought with fury, being wrought to madness by the thought that they were as chaff before these newcomers, in the face of the whole Dedannan nation--for so great was their scorn of the people they held in bondage that death at their hands seemed doubly accursed.

But before Lu of the Long Hand and his Fairy Host there was no withstaying. By tens and scores the Fomorians fell, as swaying grain before the reaper. Everywhere, flashing like a meteor, the white gleam of the Answerer rose and fell, the pulse of death.

At last only nine of the Fomorian pirates survived, and these clustered upon a low rising, and fought desperately to the end. Suddenly the tides of battle ceased, and this was because of the voice of Lu Ildanna.

He looked scornfully at the remnant of the proud Fomorians. These were now sullenly at bay, foreseeing death only, and not unwillingly now that the despised Dedannans had brought them to so sore a pass.

“Let these dogs go!” exclaimed Lu.

At the bitter words, the emissaries of King Balor of Lochlin gripped their swords anew, and ground their teeth in impotent rage. More they could not do, for even in their brief breathing space they saw that they were beset by a hedge of spears.

“Let these dogs go!” Lu said again. Then, addressing them, he added:

“Look ye, ye carrion wolves, we spare your lives only that ye may fare back to your dens in the north, and tell that unkingly king, Balor of the Evil Eye, that which we have done unto your company. And say this also, that if he come hither, we shall do unto him and his, that which we have done unto these dead men who were once your fellows.” With that the nine Fomorians departed, scowling fiercely and below their breath muttering imprecations and menaces.

That night the beacons of joy flared out across valley and plain, from the hill of Tara, and great were the rejoicings throughout the land. Only Nuadh of the Silver Hand dreamed uneasily for that and many other nights; knowing well that Balor of the Evil Eye would not let pass the slight which had been put upon him. And after all, it was but a handful of the Fomorian host which had been slain on the Plains of Tara. Nevertheless, the king hoped that he might be spared the wrath of Balor, for none of the Dedannans whom he ruled had taken part in the fray, but only those who were of the company of Lu of the Long Hand.

Bitter, indeed, was the wrath of Balor, when he heard what had been done to his Fomorian emissaries.

“The Dedannans shall soon be but a memory,” he exclaimed; “their kings and nobles shall utterly perish, and of all their race none shall survive save those who shall be slaves for ever to my people. Their very land, that green Eri they are so fain of, shall be no more than an unregarded province of Lochlin.”

Thereafter, Balor sent word throughout all Lochlin, from the Cape of the Midnight Sun to the Narrow Seas,[9] and bade all the peoples who owned him king to assemble speedily for war; and in every haven he bade the sea-galleys to be got ready.

This took many weeks, and thereafter was the slow waiting for the coming of spring. But at last all was ready, and then Bras, the son of Balor, led forth the mightiest host which had ever sailed from the shores of Lochlin.

This vast concourse of galleys sailed northward before favouring winds, and then westward along the storm-swept coasts of Alba, and at last southward again by the Hebrid Isles. Thence, with fresh provisions and replenished water-barrels, they sailed towards and round the northern headlands of Eri, and like a great flock of sea-vultures settled upon the coasts of Connaught.

With laughter and fierce disdain the Fomorians spread far and wide, and at once began to despoil the country, and lay waste the tilled lands. In the ears of all rang the arrogant parting words of Balor of the Evil Eye: “And when at the last ye have cut off for me the head of that man Lu, called the Ildanna, then put a mighty cable around this troublesome Isle of Erin, and tow it back with your ships, and lay it alongside the north coasts of our Lochlin.”

But meanwhile all the realms of the Tuatha-De-Danann were smitten with fear. None dared await the dreaded Fomorians, and everywhere were flying hordes of men and women and children, chariots, horses, and cattle.

The king of Connaught in that day was Bove Derg, son of the Dagda, he who afterwards became the last Dedannan king. Straightway he sent word to Lu Ildanna, begging him to raise a host and succour the men of Connaught, as otherwise not a man would be left to stay the advance of the Fomorians.

Lu of the Long Hand was sorrowful that by his action he had brought this curse upon the lands of Erin, yet he knew that it was better than the old shame. By the Sun and Moon and Wind he swore that he would do all he could to raise a host, and himself give battle to Bras and his Fomorians.

With all speed he hasted to Dunree, and was glad indeed when he saw the Hill of Tara rise from the plain. For of a surety he held that Nuadh of the Silver Hand would join with the princes of Erin and fight the invader.

That surety was in vain. Nuadh refused to go into battle.

“When Bras leads his Fomorians towards the Hill of Tara,” he said, “that will be time for me to raise the banner against him.”

“Listen, Nuadh of the Silver Hand, art thou not High King?” exclaimed Lu.

“Even so, Ildanna.”

“And is not thy first duty to lead the princes of Erin against the invader? If we are all as one, we can laugh at Balor of the Evil Eye and all the host he sends against us. If we are divided we shall surely fall.”

But for all the pleadings of Lu Ildanna, Nuadh refused to take the field. He had one answer to all pleas.

“Bras and his Fomorian host do no more than lay waste the lands of Connaught. Let then the king of Connaught see to his own. I have sent friendly messages to Balor, and in order to keep the peace have offered alliance and even to pay tribute again. But till war is declared against me I will do nothing.”

Furious against Nuadh of the Silver Hand, Lu Ildanna rode away.

“Dust upon thy home,” he muttered, “were it not for the ruin upon all Erin. Nevertheless, I have but one thing to do.”

Lu had not ridden far, when his heart rejoiced because of three strong warriors he saw approaching.

These were his father, Kian, and the two brothers of his father, Ald and Art. In that day the seven fairest champions in the northlands of Erin were Lu himself, Kian and his two brothers, and Brian, Ur, and Urba, the sons of Turenn. Each of these was a host in himself, both because of his own valour and for the great influence that each had upon the clansmen of the north.

In a brief while Lu told all, and begged the aid of these three chiefs for Bove Derg, and not for Bove Derg only, but for the honour and safety of Erin.

Kian and Ald and Art were wroth with the high king.

“The first duty of a king is kinglihood,” said Kian.

“And without deathless courage a king is dead,” said Ald.

“And without sleepless eyes a king is a sluggard,” said Art.

“A king should be to all men what each man would fain be to himself,” said Lu. “My father Kian says well: the first duty of a king is kinglihood. But since Nuadh of the Silver Hand is fain to rest at ease in his dun, under the safe shadow of Tara, so let him rest. We are men, and must act.”

Therewith all took counsel, and while Lu rode westward, to raise all whom he could to succour the men of Connaught, Ald and Art rode southward.

“I shall go north,” said Kian.

“Why so?” asked Lu, knowing that it would be best for his father to go eastward.

“The wind bloweth that way,” answered Kian lightly. But truly enough none knew that in that answer and in that riding northward, was the beginning of the long and dreadful tragedy of which, for generations thereafter, the bards sang as The Fate of the Sons of Turenn.

* * * * *

At this point Peterkin rose from where he kneeled beside Eilidh, and went over to Ian Mor and took his hand and looked long at him.

“These words I have heard you say again and again, Ian--_Ma tha sin an Dan_, if it be Destiny--what do they mean?”

“I cannot tell you, Peterkin; for to me they mean everything.”

“But must Kian come to sorrow because he followed the way of the wind?”

“I cannot tell you, Peterkin. But of this you may be sure, that no man needs to do this or that thing because of the way of the wind or anything else. Only, behind all doings of men there is a wind that blows. That is the wind of Destiny. That is what I meant when I said that Kian, choosing lightly to go the way of the wind, and by his own choice, yet went the way of Fate.”

“And is Fate a man?”

“No.”

“Have you ever seen it?”

“No.”

“Has any one ever seen it?”

“No.”

Peterkin laughed below his breath.

“Ivor Maclean the boatman, told me that ‘an Dan’ was only a shadow before and behind, and that none need trouble about a shadow.”

“And what do _you_ think, Peterkin?”

“I think that ‘an Dan’ is only a shadow before and behind; and I laugh to see my shadow, but I do not fear it. It is only a shadow.”

“Peterkin is right, Ian,” said Eilidh, in a low voice. “And do you remember what was said long ago about wisdom coming out of the mouths of little children?”

“Yes,” Ian answered slowly and gravely, “Peterkin is right.”

But Peterkin only laughed merrily, as suddenly he sprang up.

“See,” he exclaimed, “my shadow has leapt from beside me, till now it is fading along the wall. When I laughed it leapt away.”

* * * * *

Well, resumed Ian Mor, Kian was not many miles forth upon the great pastures to the north of Tara, when he saw three lordly men riding towards him.

They were still a great way off, but Kian the Noble was noted far and wide for his keen sight, and he knew who the mailed and shining ones were. They were Dedannans, but they were of a clan at bitter feud with his own; and his heart quailed as he saw that in that lonely place he would have to meet face to face with Brian, Ur, and Urba, the sons of Turenn. Far better would it have been for him to ride forward fearlessly, and call upon the sons of Turenn to put all enmity aside in the face of the bitter danger to Erin because of Bras and his Fomorians. But a man born under a dark star must soon or late ride into the shadow of that star.

So when Kian had realized that the foes of him and his house were fast approaching, he cast about for some way to delude the sons of Turenn. Already they had seen the stranger, though they had not recognised him.

In common with all the lords of the Dedannans, Kian carried with him a magic wand. With this he could at any time transform himself into some living creature. And so it happened that, while he was still pondering, he caught sight of a vast herd of swine feeding upon the thistle-pastures to the left; and no sooner had he done so than he took his wand and changed himself into a boar. His horse, too, he changed; and then both, grazing often, joined the great herd, and were soon at one with it.

Kian laughed to himself at how he had outwitted the sons of Turenn, but oversoon did he laugh. After all he was sorrowful; for it was not seemly for a man to change himself into a pig, lest death or some disaster came upon him in that guise: for, according as a man’s doom came to him, so would he have to bear it.

Meanwhile the three sons of Turenn rode across the plain. Fair to see were they, these three comely lords: Brian, the eldest and strongest; Ur, the tallest and fairest; and Urba the swift. They had seen Kian riding slowly towards them, but had not thought more than that he was an emissary from Dunree, where Nuadh of the Silver Hand was. When, however, they missed him suddenly, Brian frowned and drew rein.

“Tell me, my brothers,” he exclaimed, “where is he whom a brief while ago we saw riding toward us?”

“He is no longer to be seen,” Urba answered. “Yet there is no hiding-place that we wot of. If he were lying on the grass, we should descry him and his horse from where we now are.”

“They are not on the grass,” said Ur; “for I could see a slim greyhound were it lying there.”

Brian pondered awhile. Then he spoke again.

“As ye know well, war is all about us now, and it befits us to be wary. It is clear that the man we saw was no friend to us, or why has he hidden himself? But I think I know his secret: with a magic wand he has turned himself into a pig, and is now among that great herd of swine that we see yonder.”

“Then he has escaped us, Brian?”

“Not so, Ur. I too have my magic wand with me; with it I shall now turn my two brothers into swift hounds. Ye shall then speed in among these swine and see if ye can root out this man, who is surely an enemy.”

And with that Brian took his wand, and changed his brothers into hounds; and they raced away with the speed of the wind, while he rode swiftly towards a belt of forest which skirted the plain to the rear of the herd.

When the baying of the hounds was heard, a panic seized upon the swine. Like a great swaying mass of seaweed in the trough of the waves, the herd swung to and fro; ever becoming more and more densely packed, and squealing and grunting in terror and bewilderment as the two gaunt hounds sprang against their heaving masses or dashed to and fro in their midst.

At the east they were so driven in upon themselves, that they became as one solid mass, close-wedged. Among these dense hundreds it seemed impossible for Ur and Urba to find the enchanted man; but while they were still running to and fro in their eager quest, Brian saw a pig leap from the rear of the herd and run swiftly towards the belt of forest.

Brian put his horse upon the wind, as the saying is; and it was a race then between the mounted man and the enchanted boar: but just as the first undergrowth was nigh Brian came up with the fleeing animal, and drove his hunting-spear in betwixt its shoulders.

With a terrible scream the flying boar rolled over; then, with a wild human crying and speech, begged for pity.

“Oh, son of Turenn,” it cried, “have pity upon me! Sure it is an evil deed to slay me thus, well knowing who I am!”

“I know that thy voice is the voice of a man,” answered Brian, “but I know not who thou art. I am Brian, eldest of the sons of Turenn. Tell me thy name.”

“He who implores thy mercy, O Brian of the Oak Shaft, is Kian, the father of thy comrade in years and arms, Lu of the Long Hand.”

By this time Ur and Urba were beside the victor and the victim, and now resumed their human shape. When they heard the pleadings of Kian they interceded for him, notwithstanding the deadly feud between the clans of Turenn and Kian. But Brian would not listen to their counsel, not even when Ur pleaded that great evil might come out of the slaying of Kian, nor when Urba urged that this was not the day and the hour for such a deed, when Erin needed every man to fight against the Fomorians. And, of a truth, that has ever been the sad way of the Gael, who will think of the private wrong first, than of the general weal, and so will fall as a single tree will fall where a forest would be steadfast.

When Kian saw that his fate was come upon him, and heard Brian swear by a sacred oath that he would not spare him though he returned thrice to life, or seven times changed his form, he made one last supplication.

“At the least, as ye are honourable men, save me this dishonour. Let me not die as a pig, but as a man. I have dropped my magic wand; therefore, O Brian, I pray of thee to take thine, and with it restore me to mine own form.”

“That shall be done,” said the chief, adding scornfully, “for sure it is an easier thing for me to kill a man than a pig.”

But no sooner was Kian a man again than he laughed mockingly.

“Why do you laugh thus?” asked Ur.

“I laugh because I have outwitted ye at the last, ye sons of Turenn. What is death to me who have a dust of grey hairs over my once black locks, or is death indeed a thing at any time to fear overmuch? Ill as it would befit me to die as a pig, still more ill would it be because of that which follows death.”

“Speak,” said Ur, though in his heart both he and his brothers knew what Kian was about to say.

“I have outwitted ye, as I have said; for if as a pig I had been slain by Brian of the Oak Shaft, then ye would have had no other eric to pay for me than the eric of a pig, but now ye shall have to pay the eric of a man, and upon that the eric of a father of grown sons, and upon that the fatherhood eric of each son, and upon that the eric of a great lord, and upon that the eric of the broken honour of my son Lu of the Long Hand. And I tell ye this, that never has there been, nor ever will be, so great an eric as that which ye shall have to pay for this deed of thine, so that in the years to come men shall speak of the eric of the sons of Turenn as the most difficult and the worst that was ever paid in Erin.”

“That may be,” said Brian sullenly, “but we shall slay thee here, in this waste place, and none shall know when death came to thee, or where thou liest, and for all that thy son Lu is Lu the Ildanna, he shall seek in vain to know where the worms make merry upon thee.”

“In the shadow of death I see clearly, and I see that death will not put his silence upon me till Lu has learned the evil deed that has been done.”

“Spare him,” urged Urba, “for of a surety he is already sore wounded, and he did no more than seek to escape us. It would be well, Brian, not to have this man’s blood upon us.”

“Spare him,” pleaded Ur, “for innocent blood is an ill thing to spill. This man did not come upon us with lifted spear or sword, but, seeing that we were three and he one only, sought to escape. It is not a knightly deed to take the life of a stricken man, and of one who asks for mercy.”

“We will slay him,” said Brian sullenly.

“Remember this,” pleaded Ur, “that if we slay him, Urba and I must pay the penalty along with thee, and that it is a hard thing upon us who would fain spare this man.”

Brian laughed.

“If ye and Urba fear the eric, ye may go hence at once. I will do my own slaying. But ye forget that the sons of Turenn are under _geas_ to have no quarrel that is not the quarrel of each, and to fight no fight wherein each doth not front it in the same hour and place.”

“We do not forget,” answered Ur and Urba; and each added: “Do as thou wilt, Brian, our elder brother.”

So Brian turned to where Kian lay upon the stony thistle-strewn grass.

“Hast thou aught more to say?”

“This only, that no eric ever paid shall be counted as near unto that which ye shall have to pay, and that the weapons wherewith ye slay me shall cry out to Lu my son, and tell him what ye three have done unto me.”

Again Brian laughed.

“Thou who fled before us as a pig shalt die as a trapped beast. We shall not give thee the honour of death by the clean sword or the deft spear.”

With that he stooped and raised on high a huge angular slab of stone, grey below, and mossed and lichened above, and, swaying with the weight, hurled it down upon the head of Kian. Then Ur and Urba lifted other great stones, and did likewise, because of their bond. And this was how death came to Kian the Noble.

When the old chief lay still and white at last, the three sons of Turenn made haste to hide his body from sight; so they dug a great hole in the sandy grass, and buried the slain man.

There was a strange trembling in the earth that day, a trembling felt throughout Erin from sea to sea, and men marvelled and feared.

But none so much marvelled as Brian and Ur and Urba, for when they had buried the bruised body of Kian they saw with horror that the shaking earth threw it back again. Nevertheless, once more they buried it, and deeper, and put heavy stones upon the trodden sods. Then, to their still greater horror and amaze, the earth again trembled and again threw back the murdered dead.

At that Ur and Urba wished to ride away at once from the accursed place, but Brian would not.

“Fate is made by men, as well as that Fate rules men,” he said. “I shall not rest content till the earth holds at last the body of Kian, son of Kian the White.”

Yet it was not until the seventh time that the earth trembled no more, and held within it, beneath a cairn of boulders, the slain body of Kian the Noble.

Thereafter the three sons of Turenn rode swiftly away, and that night were among the host which had been assembled by Lu of the Long Hand.