Irish Fairy Tales by James Stephens (best ereader for academics .txt) 📕
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- Author: James Stephens
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Fionn shook his head sternly and said no more.
“What is your judgement?” Cormac demanded of his fellow-judges.
Flahri pronounced first.
“I give damages to clann-Morna.”
“Why?” said Cormac.
“Because they were attacked first.”
Cormac looked at him stubbornly.
“I do not agree with your judgement,” he said.
“What is there faulty in it?” Flahri asked.
“You have not considered,” the king replied, “that a soldier owes obedience to his captain, and that, given the time and the place, Fionn was the captain and Goll was only a simple soldier.”
Flahri considered the king’s suggestion.
“That,” he said, “would hold good for the white-striking or blows of fists, but not for the red-striking or sword-strokes.”
“What is your judgement?” the king asked Feehal. Feehal then pronounced:
“I hold that clann-Morna were attacked first, and that they are to be free from payment of damages.”
“And as regards Fionn?” said Cormac.
“I hold that on account of his great losses Fionn is to be exempt from payment of damages, and that his losses are to be considered as damages.”
“I agree in that judgement,” said Fintan.
The king and his son also agreed, and the decision was imparted to the Fianna.
“One must abide by a judgement,” said Fionn.
“Do you abide by it?” Goll demanded.
“I do,” said Fionn.
Goll and Fionn then kissed each other, and thus peace was made. For, notwithstanding the endless bicker of these two heroes, they loved each other well.
Yet, now that the years have gone by, I think the fault lay with Goll and not with Fionn, and that the judgement given did not consider everything. For at that table Goll should not have given greater gifts than his master and host did. And it was not right of Goll to take by force the position of greatest gift-giver of the Fianna, for there was never in the world one greater at giving gifts, or giving battle, or making poems than Fionn was.
That side of the affair was not brought before the Court. But perhaps it was suppressed out of delicacy for Fionn, for if Goll could be accused of ostentation, Fionn was open to the uglier charge of jealousy. It was, nevertheless, Goll’s forward and impish temper which commenced the brawl, and the verdict of time must be to exonerate Fionn and to let the blame go where it is merited.
There is, however, this to be added and remembered, that whenever Fionn was in a tight corner it was Goll that plucked him out of it; and, later on, when time did his worst on them all and the Fianna were sent to hell as unbelievers, it was Goll mac Morna who assaulted hell, with a chain in his great fist and three iron balls swinging from it, and it was he who attacked the hosts of great devils and brought Fionn and the Fianna-Finn out with him.
THE CARL OF THE DRAB COAT
Original Size CHAPTER I
One day something happened to Fionn, the son of Uail; that is, he departed from the world of men, and was set wandering in great distress of mind through Faery. He had days and nights there and adventures there, and was able to bring back the memory of these.
That, by itself, is wonderful, for there are few people who remember that they have been to Faery or aught of all that happened to them in that state.
In truth we do not go to Faery, we become Faery, and in the beating of a pulse we may live for a year or a thousand years. But when we return the memory is quickly clouded, and we seem to have had a dream or seen a vision, although we have verily been in Faery.
It was wonderful, then, that Fionn should have remembered all that happened to him in that wide-spun moment, but in this tale there is yet more to marvel at; for not only did Fionn go to Faery, but the great army which he had marshalled to Ben Edair [The Hill of Howth] were translated also, and neither he nor they were aware that they had departed from the world until they came back to it.
Fourteen battles, seven of the reserve and seven of the regular Fianna, had been taken by the Chief on a great march and manoeuvre. When they reached Ben Edair it was decided to pitch camp so that the troops might rest in view of the warlike plan which Fionn had imagined for the morrow. The camp was chosen, and each squadron and company of the host were lodged into an appropriate place, so there was no overcrowding and no halt or interruption of the march; for where a company halted that was its place of rest, and in that place it hindered no other company, and was at its own ease.
When this was accomplished the leaders of battalions gathered on a level, grassy plateau overlooking the sea, where a consultation began as to the next day’s manoeuvres, and during this discussion they looked often on the wide water that lay wrinkling and twinkling below them.
A roomy ship under great press of sall was bearing on Ben Edair from the east.
Now and again, in a lull of the discussion, a champion would look and remark on the hurrying vessel; and it may have been during one of these moments that the adventure happened to Fionn and the Fianna.
“I wonder where that ship comes from?” said Cona’n idly.
But no person could surmise anything about it beyond that it was a vessel well equipped for war.
As the ship drew by the shore the watchers observed a tall man swing from the side by means of his spear shafts, and in a little while this gentleman was announced to Fionn, and was brought into his presence.
A sturdy, bellicose, forthright personage he was indeed. He was equipped in a wonderful solidity of armour, with a hard, carven helmet on his head, a splendid red-bossed shield swinging on his shoulder, a wide-grooved, straight sword clashing along his thigh. On his shoulders under the shield he carried a splendid scarlet mantle; over his breast was a great brooch of burnt gold, and in his fist he gripped a pair of thick-shafted, unburnished spears.
Fionn and the champions looked on this gentleman, and they admired exceedingly his bearing and equipment.
“Of what blood are you, young gentleman?” Fionn demanded, “and from which of the four corners of the world do you come?”
“My name is Cael of the Iron,” the stranger answered, “and I am son to the King of Thessaly.”
“What errand has brought you here?”
“I do not go on errands,” the man replied sternly, “but on the affairs that please me.”
“Be it so. What is the pleasing affair which brings you to this land?”
“Since I left my own country I have not gone from a land or an island until it paid tribute to me and acknowledged my lordship.”
“And you have come to this realm,” cried Fionn, doubting his ears.
“For tribute and sovereignty,” growled that other, and he struck the haft of his spear violently on the ground.
“By my hand,” said Cona’n, “we have never heard of a warrior, however great, but his peer was found in Ireland, and the funeral songs of all such have been chanted by the women of this land.”
“By my hand and word,” said the harsh stranger, “your talk makes me think of a small boy or of an idiot.”
“Take heed, sir,” said Fionn, “for the champions and great dragons of the Gael are standing by you, and around us there are fourteen battles of the Fianna of Ireland.”
“If all the Fianna who have died in the last seven years were added to all that are now here,” the stranger asserted, “I would treat all of these and those grievously, and would curtail their limbs and their lives.”
“It is no small boast,” Cona’n murmured, staring at him.
“It is no boast at all,” said Cael, “and, to show my quality and standing, I will propose a deed to you.”
“Give out your deed,” Fionn commanded.
“Thus,” said Cael with cold savagery. “If you can find a man among your fourteen battalions who can outrun or outwrestle or outfight me, I will take myself off to my own country, and will trouble you no more.”
And so harshly did he speak, and with such a belligerent eye did he stare, that dismay began to seize on the champions, and even Fionn felt that his breath had halted.
“It is spoken like a hero,” he admitted after a moment, “and if you cannot be matched on those terms it will not be from a dearth of applicants.”
“In running alone,” Fionn continued thoughtfully, “we have a notable champion, Caelte mac Rona’n.”
“This son of Rona’n will not long be notable,” the stranger asserted.
“He can outstrip the red deer,” said Cona’n.
“He can outrun the wind,” cried Fionn.
“He will not be asked to outrun the red deer or the wind,” the stranger sneered. “He will be asked to outrun me,” he thundered. “Produce this runner, and we shall discover if he keeps as great heart in his feet as he has made you think.”
“He is not with us,” Cona’n lamented.
“These notable warriors are never with us when the call is made,” said the grim stranger.
“By my hand,” cried Fionn, “he shall be here in no great time, for I will fetch him myself.”
“Be it so,” said Cael. “And during my absence,” Fionn continued, “I leave this as a compact, that you make friends with the Fianna here present, and that you observe all the conditions and ceremonies of friendship.”
Cael agreed to that.
“I will not hurt any of these people until you return,” he said.
Fionn then set out towards Tara of the Kings, for he thought Caelte mac Romin would surely be there; “and if he is not there,” said the champion to himself, “then I shall find him at Cesh Corran of the Fianna.”
CHAPTER II
He had not gone a great distance from Ben Edair when he came to an intricate, gloomy wood, where the trees grew so thickly and the undergrowth was such a sprout and tangle that one could scarcely pass through it. He remembered that a path had once been hacked through the wood, and he sought for this. It was a deeply scooped, hollow way, and it ran or wriggled through the entire length of the wood.
Into this gloomy drain Fionn descended and made progress, but when he had penetrated deeply in the dank forest he heard a sound of thumping and squelching footsteps, and he saw coming towards him a horrible, evil-visaged being; a wild, monstrous, yellow-skinned, big-boned giant, dressed in nothing but an ill-made, mud-plastered, drab-coloured coat, which swaggled and clapped against the calves of his big bare legs. On his stamping feet there were great brogues of boots that were shaped like, but were bigger than, a boat, and each time he put a foot down it squashed and squirted a barrelful of mud from the sunk road.
Fionn had never seen the like of this vast person, and he stood gazing on him, lost in a stare of astonishment.
The great man saluted him.
“All alone, Fionn?” he cried. “How does it happen that not one Fenian of the Fianna is at the side of his captain?” At this inquiry Fionn got back his wits.
“That is too long a story and it is too intricate and pressing to be told, also I have no time to spare now.”
“Yet tell it now,” the monstrous man insisted.
Fionn, thus pressed, told of the coming of Cael of the Iron, of the challenge the latter had issued, and that he, Fionn, was off to Tara of the Kings to find Caelte mac Rona’n.
“I know that foreigner well,” the big man commented.
“Is he the champion he makes himself out to be?” Fionn inquired.
“He can do twice as much as he said he would do,” the monster replied.
“He won’t outrun Caelte mac Rona’n,” Fionn asserted. The big man jeered.
“Say that he won’t outrun a hedgehog, dear heart. This Cael will end the course by the time your Caelte begins to think of starting.”
“Then,” said Fionn, “I no longer know where to turn, or how to protect the honour of Ireland.”
“I know how to do these things,” the other man
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