BOOK III

The many bands and troops which Maev had summoned Began to come upon Moy Wee. The first (And they arrived upon Moy Wee next day) Were Maev’s own seven sons, the seven Mahn-yas, Whom she had borne to Al-yill. These they were:— Mahn-ya Mathroo-il, who resembled Maev: Mahn-ya Athroo-il, who resembled Al-yill: Mahn-ya Mo-aepert, the much-talking Mahn-ya: Dumb Mahn-ya Toi, the mute and silent Mahn-ya: Good Mahn-ya More-gar, of great piety To Al-yill son of Mawta, to his father: Good Mahn-ya Meen-gar, of great piety To Maev the daughter of Yohee, to his mother. Mahn-ya Condagau Illy, who had beauty From father and from mother, being like both. Now, at the first, their names had not been Mahn-ya; But these had been their names:—Faylimy, Carpry, Yohee, Ket, Fergus, Sheen, and Dawra. Then, Suddenly, on a day, Maev had bestowed On each that new name, Mahn-ya. For one day (And it was many years before this time) While she was on the playing-field of Croohan, And they were playing round her, she had said Unto her Druid: “Say to me, O Druid, By which of all my sons Conor shall fall.” “Thou hast not borne him yet,” the Druid answered, “Unless thou wilt re-name them.” “How is that? Make this thing clear,” said Maev. The Druid answered: “By Mahn-ya Conor shall be slain.” Then Maev Re-named her sons, and gave unto each one That new name, Mahn-ya; so that by a son Of hers great Conor son of Fahtna Fahee Might fall in time to come. (Howbeit, a thing There was, which was not known to Maev that day:— It was not Conor son of Fahtna Fahee, But Conor son of a famed King of Alba, Of whom the Druid prophesied, and who Was destined to be slain in time to come By one of Maev’s own sons.) So now these Mahn-yas Arrived upon Moy Wee; and each one brought His cantred, thrice ten hundred men; and all Encamped upon Moy Wee, and joyfully Maev saw her valorous offspring. After these, The seven sons of Mahga came the next Upon that plain. They were experienced warriors, Brethren to Al-yill’s mother, Mawta Murrisc; And they were scarred and grey. These were their names:— Anloo-an, Baskell, Maccorb, Scandall, Aen, Five sons of Mahga. Doha son of Mahga, Who was—it happened so—a foster-brother To Laery the Victorious of Loch Laery, A chief in Ulster. Last, but most renowned, Ket son of Mahga, who a wolf of evil Was unto all in Ulster. These arrived, Each with his cantred (thrice ten hundred men) On smooth Moy Wee; and on Moy Wee encamped, And gladly Maev beheld them. After these Seven great noble under-kings arrived From wide and mirthful Munster. To each one (In order, so, the more to bind him to her) Maev, through her envoys, secretly had offered Her daughter, Findabair, the White-beam. Now, Each of those seven with his cantred came— His thrice ten hundred—in the hope to wed That maiden when the hosting should return. The maiden of that thing knew nought. These camped On smooth Moy Wee. Maev gladly saw them there. A warlike cantred next from Leinster came, Fighters replete with fames and victories. Their wide blue lance-heads, like those Lawry Ling-sha Had brought of old across the ocean, flashed Now, being borne across Moy Wee. And next Came a contingent of the Folk of Tara; And next, some small and varied bands; and then, A certain small but beautiful bright band, Mounted on soft, grey mares, which had gold bits And little bells of gold; the men themselves Having upon them wan-white laynas, worked With threads of gold, and, over these, eared bratts Blue like the sky, and clasped with deep red gold. Their silver shields and varied weapons, set With carbuncle and gems of worth, flamed bright With sparkles, as they faced the westering sun. This was the band of Frae the son of Eedath, Whose mother, Baefinn, sister was to Boyne Of the Immortal Shee. From the Shee-mound On green Moy Bray, that robing and equipment Had been bestowed upon him. Findabair, Far-gazing from the lofty greeanawn Above the high main gateway of the doon, Perceived that band arriving on the plain; Whereat her cheeks and countenance waxed bright Like sunrise in the month of May. She thought, Communing with herself, of that past day— Yet not long past—when, in the same array, Frae had approached to woo her. And she thought Upon his beauty on that other day, During the sojourn he had made at Croohan— The day when he had swum the dark-pooled stream, To pluck a branch of rowan red with fruit, That fringed the further brink. For, beautiful She had then thought it—o’er the black-dark pool To see him—his fresh body all clear white, His hair of radiant brightness, and his eyes Of blue-green greyness; and the branch with fruit Between his throat and his bright face. Then e’en Calling, “Is it not beautiful he looks?” She had perceived that the wild river-beast Had caught him in mid-stream. Whereat at once (Those who were round her being loth and slow) She, flinging off her raiment, had leapt down To swim the stream, carrying him a sword, Wherewith to slay the beast. After that day, And after some events and happenings, Al-yill and Maev had said to Frae: “Come, then, To join our hosting to the land of Cooley. Bring kine for sustenance to kings and princes. Bring thy three gentle and far-famed musicians For gladdening of the Hosts; and, at the end, When we again shall have returned to Croohan, Thou shalt have Findabair.” Now, therefore, Frae Came to the hosting on Moy Wee. He camped Upon Moy Wee, ere yet the twilight fell; And Findabair was glad. “I see,” said Maev, “O daughter, thou art glad to see them there.” The last of those to come upon Moy Wee Was the Black Exile. Fergus had sent word To Cormac, who was then in a far part Of Connaught; and he hasted not, but now, Almost at juncture of the day and night, He came with three great bands, the three together Making one cantred. From the Green of Croohan The men of Croohan watched these bands arrive. The first band was arrayed in bratts of green— Green like spring-grass, with silvery dagger-pins Fastening the bratts. Their laynas, stitched with gold, Descended to their knees. Their shields were long. A spear with wide grey head and slender shaft Was in the hand of every man of them. “Is this now Cormac?” shouted everyone. “It is not Cormac yet,” responded Maev. The second band wore bratts of dark black-grey. Their laynas next their skin, which were bright white, Descended past their thighs. Their shields were white. A spear which had five points on one stout shaft Was in the hand of every man of them. “Is this now Cormac?” shouted everyone. “It is not Cormac yet,” responded Maev. The third band was arrayed in purple bratts Of hill-heath purple; and their dagger-pins Above their breasts were all of rich chased gold. Their silken laynas, rich and soft and smooth, Descended to their insteps. Their curved shields Had blade-keen edges; and a towering spear, Like to a pillar in some kingly stead, Was in the hand of every man of them. While they drew near, they all in unison Lifted their feet, and all in unison Lowered their feet; so toward the doon they came. “Is this now Cormac?” shouted everyone. “Yea, this indeed is Cormac,” answered Maev. And very gladly on her plain of Wee Maev saw the Ulster King’s great exiled son.

So the Four Fifths of Erin had assembled Until they were upon Moy Wee in Connaught. And on Moy Wee all made their camps that night, So that between the four famed fords of Wee, The Ford of Moga and the Ford of Bercna, The Ford of Slissen and the Ford of Coltna, The plain was as one cloak of smoke and fire, With their camp-fires enkindled there that night. And they remained the space of fifteen nights Encamped around Rath Croohan; for their poets And druids would not let them travel forth Until the end of fifteen days and nights, While they were waiting for a happy sign Of luck and fortune to that war and hosting. Therefore, throughout that time they had regalement And pleasing drinks and pastime, so that haply The hardships of their coming war and hosting Might seem the less severe and hard to them. When, at the end of all those fifteen nights, From her high mound and stronghold for outlooking And for surveying, Maev surveyed those troops And those vast multitudes and bands and throngs In point to break up camp and journey east Upon her war and hosting into Ulster— Into her mind there came uneasiness, Doubt and uncertainty and trouble. “Here,” She said within her mind, “are multitudes Parting to-day from loved ones and from kindred, From territory and from heritage, From father and from mother; and unless Whole and unharmed they here return again, It is on me that they will strike their groans And sighs and curses. And moreover now— Though I am now (outside high-powerful Ulster) The greatest ruler through the lands of Erin— Though I have now assembled this great hosting, That I may so avenge my bitter groans, And the disgrace and wrong and shame and insult Which were inflicted on me in my youth— Yet there is not true certainty with me That I shall have success, or that, indeed, I shall myself escape dark death, or even That I shall not be captured and be taken By Conor, and be given a far worse shame, And a worse wrong and contumely and insult, Than were inflicted on me in my youth.” This was the time wherein Maev called and spake Unto her charioteer, and bade him catch Her steeds and yoke her chariot, so that straightway She might repair to speak with her own Druid And ask for prophecy and knowledge. “Wait One while, O Queen,” the charioteer made answer, “That I may three times wheel the chariot round Sunwise, to win a sign of luck and fortune.” He wheeled the chariot sunwise, and then Maev Rode to her Druid. When she reached the Druid, She asked for prophecy and knowledge. “Here,” Said Maev, “are many throngs and multitudes Parting to-day from loved ones and from kindred, From territory and from heritage, From father and from mother; and unless Whole and unharmed they here return again, It is on me that they will strike their groans And sighs and curses, for ’tis I alone Who have assembled all this wondrous hosting. And yet, let that be as it will. There goes Not forth to Ulster and there bides not here Life dearer to us than our own. Find, then, O Druid, whether we, at least, ourselves, In safety from this hosting shall return.” The Druid said, “O great and prosperous Maev, Daughter of Yóhee Fayla, here I have Knowledge to hearten and enliven thee:— This knowledge, namely. Conor son of Fahtna Lies at this hour in splendid Avvin Maha In torment and in weakness. On all chiefs And kings in Ulster, each in his own doon, Torment and pain and weakness have descended. This is the curse of Maha daughter of Sanrith; And here now is the reason of that curse. Some six score years before the year in which We speak, Crunniuc the son of Agnoman, A wealthy brewy of the Ultonians, lived In Ulster, ’mid high, wild, and lonely moors. Many sons dwelt with him. His wife was dead. One day, when he was in his house alone, A thing occurred. For he perceived a woman Stately and young move by; and wonderful He deemed her guise and semblance. He perceived How, without uttering word, she kneaded, baked, And milked, and ruled the folk, even as though She in that stead had e’er been wont to be. At night she slept with him. So, a long time They dwelt together; and, through her good rule, There was no scarcity of each good increase In viands, vesture, wealth. A festival Was held in Ulster then. The folk of Ulster, Both men and wives and growing lads and maids Were faring to that festival; and Crunniuc Made to fare thither too. Excellent vesture Was round him; and a blooming, rich appearance Was on him. Then the woman said to him: “It will become thee at that festival To be discreet, O Crunniuc.” And he went With every other to the Green of Meeting. The festival was held. At close of day The steeds and chariot of the Ulster king Were brought on to the green; and those two steeds, Drawing his chariot, gained the victory. And the hosts cried, “There is not in this world Aught fleeter than those steeds are!” Crunniuc said: “My wife is fleeter than the steeds.” Whereat, He by the king was placed in cords and bonds. They told the woman that. “’Tis hard,” said she, “For me to go there to release him now; Since I am great with child, and nigh my hour.” “However hard,” the messenger replied, “Unless thou goest to race with the king’s steeds, Thy man will presently be slain.” She went So to the green. Then, when she reached the green, Her pangs of travail came on her. She cried Aloud unto the hosts. “Help me,” said she. “Help me. Show mercy; for it was a mother Who bore each one of you. Grant me delay Until I be delivered.” By them all She was refused that respite and delay. “Then,” she called out, “worse ill shall come of it— Ill that shall press on the Ultonians all For a long space of time.” “What is thy name?” The king put query to her. “I will tell My name,” said she. “Moreover, by the name Of that Birth I shall bear, this green for ever Will be denominated. I am Maha Daughter of Sanrith son of Imba.” Then She raced the chariot. Even with the speed Of windy ripples blown athwart a mere Or of blown foam flitting o’er some sea-strand, She raced the chariot; and she reached the goal, And, ere the chariot too had reached the goal, She was delivered; and she brought forth twins, “The Twins of Maha,” “Avvin Maha.” This, Then, “Avvin Maha,” thus became the name Whereby that green is known. Now, she had cried With agony of childbirth, and each man Who heard that cry immediately was cast Into great helplessness and grief and pain. She said: “Ye men of Ulster, from this hour— For nine full generations from this hour— When most oppression from your enemies Falls on your country, then on every man Descended from you men who here to-day Have done this shame to me, there shall come down A curse of torment and of pain and weakness, Like to the pain and weakness of a woman Approaching to her hour. And three alone, Namely, the women and the tender children, And also he who will be named Cucullin, Shall be exempted from this Curse. This Curse, Namely, the Kesh upon the Ulster warriors, It is,” the Druid said, “O Queen, which now—Now when thy mighty hosts fare forth to Ulster— Has fallen on each Ulster chief and king.” So spake the Druid, yielding knowledge. Then Maev answered: “Long ago I heard that tale, What time I was in Avvin in my youth, When I had been given to Conor against my will. This is the thing which I have hoped for, ever. And not long since, just ere Mac Roth returned From Cooley, certain of my envoys came From spying out proud Ulster; and I knew By their sure words that at this time the Kesh Was falling on the Ulster chiefs and kings. E’en had their bull been rendered eagerly, We should have gone to Ulster at this time. And yet a cloud of darkness and of doubt And apprehension weighs on me. Find then, O Druid, whether we, at least, ourselves, In safety shall return.” The Druid said, “Whoever may return or not return, Thou wilt return thyself.” The charioteer Then turned the chariot round; and Maev came back.

Then, even as Maev came, she saw a thing Which was to her a wonder; for she saw, Fronting her, poised upon a chariot-pole, A just-grown maid move towards her. In this way That maid was. In her right hand she was holding A weaving-sword of white findrinny, set With hooklets of red gold; and she was weaving A bordering fringe. Folded around her shape, A bratt of leafy green, chequered and pied, Was held by a full fruit-like heavy clasp Over her breast. Her face was rosy, bright. Her eyes were laughing, blue; and her two lips Were shapely-thin and red. Within her lips Her teeth were glistering, pearly-glimmering— One might have deemed a white rain-shower of pearls Had rained in there. Her light, long, yellow hair Divided; three gold tresses of it wound About her head; another long gold tress Fell round her, making shade around her calves. Her feet were long and slender, very white. Her nails were trim and sharp and crimson-stained. Whiter than snow in one night softly fallen, The whiteness of her flesh was, where it shined And gleamed athwart her quivering, blown apparel. Maev looked at her. “What makest thou?” said Maev, “O damsel now and here?” The maiden spoke; And, when she spoke, as sweet as are the strings Of peakéd harps played by the skilful hands Of master-players, was the sweet, clear sound Of her calm, pleasant voice and utterance. “I am illuminating and revealing,” She said, “O Queen, the profit and the loss Which are before thee now, while thou dost gather, And muster here the Four great Fifths of Erin, To go unto the land of Ulster.” “Wherefore Dost thou this thing for me?” Maev asked of her. “I have much cause,” she said, “I am indeed A handmaid ’mid thy people.” “Of my people Who art thou?” Maev made question. And the maid Replied, “Not hard to tell; for I am Fedelm, A prophetess from ’midst thy unseen Shee. At Sowin, now, out of thy green Shee-mound Of Croohan, I have come, O Queen, to thee.” And it was then that Maev began to ask For prophecy; and Fedelm answered her. And this is what was said between them there. Maev said: “Speak then, O Fedelm, Prophetess, How seest thou our great hosts?” And Fedelm answered: “I see them red. I see them crimson-red.” “Conor the son of Fahtna lies,” said Maev, “In Avvin in his Kesh, the curse of Maha. My messengers were there; and there is nothing That we need dread, now, from the men of Ulster. But speak the truth, O Fedelm, Prophetess— How seest thou these our hosts?” Fedelm replied: “I see them red. I see them crimson-red.” “Cooscree Mend Maha, Conor’s son,” said Maev, “Lies in his Kesh in his own Innish Cooscree. My messengers were there; and there is nothing That we need fear, now, from the men of Ulster. But speak the truth, O Fedelm, Prophetess—How seest thou our great hosts?” Fedelm replied: “I see them red. I see them crimson-red.” “Owen the son of Doorha lies,” said Maev, “In his own rath, Rath Aer-heer, in his Kesh. My messengers were there, and there is nothing That we need fear, now, from the men of Ulster. But speak the truth, O Fedelm, Prophetess. How seest thou our great hosts?” Fedelm repeated: “I see them red. I see them crimson-red.” “This is not truth, O Prophetess,” said Maev. “Keltar the son of Oo-hider,” said Maev, “With a full third of all the men of Ulster, Lies in his Kesh in Doon Le-glass. And Fergus The son of Roy the son of Yóhee Lenny, Is with us here in exile, and he has His thrice ten hundred men; and we shall surely Bring victory and triumph out of Ulster. Speak then the truth, O Fedelm, Prophetess, How seest thou these great hosts?” She still repeated: “I see them red. I see them crimson-red.” “This thing to me,” said Maev, “is not the same As ’tis to thee. For when the men of Erin Shall meet in the one place, there will be quarrels, Occasions of dissension and disunion, And frays and fallings-out and feuds and broils— About their being in the van or rear, And about fords and rivers, and about First-slaying of swine and hares and stags and deer. Then look again for us, O Prophetess, And speak the truth to us.” The maiden answered: “I see them red. I see them crimson-red. I see a man who will perform great feats.” And she began to sing and prophesy And to foretell things that would be thereafter. And this was what she sang then at that time. “I see a man youthful and very fair, Who will perform great deeds, and win his fill Of hurts and wounds in his smooth fine-fair skin. Upon his brow, which is a meeting-place For victories, the hero’s light flames high. Amidst each eye the seven dragon-gems Of a pure hero-champion flame and burn. Plain to perceive, his intellect is keen. A red hooked layna folds him. His fresh face Is beautiful and noble. He observes Towards women courtesy and modesty. Though a mere stripling, blooming, dainty-cheeked, He in the battle shows a dragon’s form. His fairness and his valour now resemble Cucullin of Mweerhevna; and though, truly, Who this Cucullin of green Moy Mweerhevna May be I know not, yet this thing I know— These hosts by him will all be very red. Four little swords for feats of special skill He carries in each hand: he will attain To plying these upon the hosts: the hosts Will flee from him on every road and way. When, in addition to his spear and sword, He brings his dread Gae Bulg, he plants his feet On every slope and hill. Two spears project O’er his bright chariot-wheels: he rides to battle. Fury distorts him, battle-fury changes That form which hitherto I have perceived. He is Cucullin son of Sooaltim, Hound of the Forge: he wends unto a battle. Your hosts, now whole, he will hack down and fell. He will compel your slain thickly to lie. Strong men will leave their heads with him. This I, Fedelm the Prophetess, will not conceal. Red blood shall drip from the white skins of heroes— Lasting and long the memory shall be— Bodies shall there be torn, women shall wail, Through deeds of that renowned Hound of the Forge, Whom now, O Queen, I see.” The Prophetess Ended her prophecy: and Maev rode back From seeking-out of prophecy and knowledge.