🧚 Opening, part 13

FRAGMENT III.1

_THE COMBAT AT THE FORD.2

ARGUMENT.3

Queen Meave sends her herald to Ferdīa the Firbolg, requiring him to engage with Cuchullain in single combat.4 Ferdīa refuses to fight against his ancient friend; yet, later he attends a royal banquet given in his honour; and there, being drawn aside through the witcheries of the Princess Finobar, he consents to the fight.5 The charioteer of Ferdīa sees Cuchullain advancing in his war-car to the Ford, and, rapt by a prophetic spirit, sings his triumph.6 For two days the ancient friends contend against each other with reluctance and remorse: but on the third day the battle-rage bursts fully forth: and on the fourth, Cuchullain, himself pierced through with wounds innumerable, slays Ferdīa by the Gae-Bulg.7 He lays his friend upon the bank, at its northern side, and, standing beside him, sings his dirge.8

Meantime the queen, ere dawned that ninetieth morn, Mused, ill at ease; ‘Daily my people die, And many a stormy brow on me is bent:-- What if they turn on me like starving hounds That rend their huntsman?’9 In her ear once more Sounded the word of Cailitin; ‘The man To fight Cuchullain is the man he loves: His death were death to both.’10 Then came the kings Confederate, saying; ‘Send Ferdīa forth!11 Ferdīa is the mightiest of our host: Ferdīa is Cuchullain’s chief of friends: Westward of Alba in the Isle of Skye Scatha, that rock-browed northern warrioress, In amplest lore of battles trained them both: Except the Gae-Bulg, every feat of arms Is known to each alike.’12 The queen gave way: She sent her herald to the man she scorned With offers huge, tract vaster than his own Not barren like his mountains billow-beat, But laughing in the lap of Ai’s plains; A war-car deftly carved and ribbed with brass; And, for his clansmen, raiment of all dyes, Twelve suits.13 A stalwart man, yet fair as strong The Firbolg towered, dark-eyed, dark-haired, pale-faced, Unlike the Gael.14 Melodious was his voice But deeper than a lion’s.15 Ceaseless thought On immemorial wrongs--he brooded still O’er glories of Moytura, and Tailltenn, Their great assemblies, and their solemn games, And kingly graves--had cast upon his brow Perpetual shade; and ever, on the march, If high on crags there stood some Gaelic tomb Wind-worn a thousand years, he passed it by With face averse, muttering, ‘New men!16 New men!17 We note not such!’18 The herald’s task discharged, He answered thus, not turning; ‘Tell your queen That I, a Firbolg, serve, but not for hire, A cause not mine.19 Cuchullain is my friend: Better I died than he!’20 O’er-awed though wroth The queen despatched in statelier embassage Three warriors, and three ollambs, and three bards: With reverence they addressed him.21 ‘Chief and Prince!22 True prince, though scion of a house deject, The queen, who judges all men by their deeds, This day hath in thine honour made a feast And sues to it thy presence.23 Kings alone Partake that banquet; Ailill first, and she Of princesses the fairest, Finobar!’24 Scornful the Firbolg answered; ‘Finobar!25 She whose bright face hath frosted with death’s white Full four score faces of war-breathing men Sent to that Ford successive!26 Let it be!27 Tell them I join their feast: tell them beside Their bribe shall prove base gold!’28 In mantle blue Clasped by a silver torque, and silver belt Enringed with silver rings innumerable That evening from his tent Ferdīa strode With large attendance.29 Ailill and the queen Received him on their threshold.30 At the board Princes alone had place.31 High up, o’er each Glittered upon the wall his blazoned shield.32 King Ailill placed Ferdīa on his right; Beyond him sat the Princess.33 In her ear Her mother whispered as she neared that seat: She answered with her eyes.34 Well stricken harp Gladdened that festive throng; and many a tale, The rage of hunger lessening by degrees, Ailill recounted of the heroic past, When, youthful yet, he ranged ’mid friends and foes Such men as breathed no longer.35 Servitors Brimmed oft the goblets; and Ferdīa’s brow, As song to song succeeded, tale to tale, Remitted its first sternness.36 Finobar Unconsciously had dropp’d her jewell’d hand Not far from his: her large and dusky eyes, Shyly at first from his withdrawn, at last Full frankly met them: on her lips the smile Increased, though waveringly, then waned, not died, And in it sadness mingled as she spake: ‘But late yon harper told us of a dream-- My earliest of remembered dreams was sad; I saw some princess of your earlier stock Whose lover late had perished, slain in fight By ours, methought them recent.37 At her feet-- Why there I scarcely know--I made lament: “All thou hast lost for thy sake I renounce: For me, like thee, no bridal rites forever!38 Dead on thy marriage garland lies mine own; For lo! the stain accursed is on our sword: Thy race came first: this Island should be theirs!”’39 Ferdīa listened; and the icy pride Thawed in his bosom.40 With a sudden change The jubilant music into martial soared, Wild battle-chaunt.41 Upon the warrior’s hand Still nigh to hers, there lay a scar.42 With eye Reverently dewed the princess gazed thereon: ‘Aye, of your war-deeds I have heard so long, It seems as though since childhood--Whence that wound?43 What battle left it there?44 What sister bound it?45 I would that sister were my sister too, Partaker of my heart, my hope, my life: I have no youthful friend!’46 She paused:--again But now with paler cheek, and hurried, spake: ‘Beware my mother!47 She would send you forth Her knight to meet Cuchullain!48 Shun that man!49 Cuchullain spares not: four score warriors dead Avouch it.50 Chief of Gaels is he!51 Ah me!52 The last great battle ’twixt the old race and new Would find the same sad ending as the first.’53 The Firbolg frowned: she faltered, ‘Am I false, False to my race’--and tears were in her voice-- ‘False to my race, who cannot wish such ending?’54 She paused; again she questioned of his wars: He told her of his sire’s.55 Like one who thinks Not speaks, she murmured low; ‘A soothsayer Thus warned my mother--I was then a child-- “Bring not that maid to war-fields!56 She shall die Grieving for some dead warrior.”’57 Changed once more The martial songs to amorous and of mirth, And once again the torches’ golden flame Laughed on the cup new-brimmed.58 Again she spake, That lovesome one, ‘I love not songs of love!59 Better the war-song!60 Best, methinks, of all That lullaby half war and sorrow half Breathed by some bride while o’er her wounded lord Softly descends the sleep:--so softly sank Cold dews of evening on this flower still wet.’61 She took it from her breast, and held it near: He smelt it; kissed it; kept it.62 With a smile She added; ‘For your sister?63 Have you one?64 If so, ’tis likely she resembles me: They chide me oft; “No Gaelic face is thine, Dark-eyed, dark-browed, a rebel since its birth!”’65 She ceased; again she spake: ‘Even now, methinks, That lullaby I spake of I can hear!66 Is it for thee, my friend, or Cuchullain?’67 That hand, of flower amerced, drew nearer yet To his.68 That smile had passed.69 Tearful she turned On him those luminaries of love and death, Her eyes, like stars in midnight waters glassed; Turned them, but spake no longer.70 Through his brain Shivered their shrouded lustre; through his blood: The sanguine currents from the warrior’s heart Long sad, to female sympathies unused, Drank up at once that splendour, and the tears That splendour’s strange eclipse.71 And yet, that hour, Seen in some lonelier region of his soul Another presence, O how different, stood!72 Again, that hour, he saw those guileless eyes, Blue as the seas they gazed on; saw once more That hair like winter sunshine, brow snow-white, That unvoluptuous form and virginal, That love-unwakened breast with love for all, Those hands that knew not what their touch conferred, Those blithesome, wave-washed, scarce divided feet:-- The huge cliff smiled upon her; seemed to say, ‘Ah little nursling mine!73 Ah tender child Of winds and rocks untender!’74 Had he loved?75 Sadness is celibate and eremite: His converse long had been with injuries past, In Scatha’s isle with frowning crags and clouds-- Aye, but with one beside, a friend, his nearest, Who loved that maid, and sued her grace.76 Ferdīa Had never spoken love; nor thought, ‘I love:’ And yet, that hour, was false.77 A hundred harps Rang out together, and the feast was o’er: Murmured the rose-red lips; but what they said He heard not.78 Mournfully at last withdrew Those eyes, like eyes fated thenceforth to bear One image on till death.79 She joined her mother.80 The queen, as he departed, took his hand: Alone they stood: she spake: ‘That noble scorn Which spurned a bribe, approves a Firbolg’s worth: ’Twas Ailill sent that herald. ’81 Twas not I. I know you now, and proffer royal terms Confirmed by guarantee of all our kings: Accept this combat; and the princess wed!82 Ferdīa!83 I have made that offer thrice To three dead warriors with the king’s consent, Never till now with hers!’84 He pledged his word: The battle day was fixed; the morrow morn: She took that glittering torque whose splendours clasped Her mantle red; with it his mantle bound: Then with attendance to his tent he passed.85 Meantime, that night within his forest lair In dreams Cuchullain lay, and saw in dreams, Not recent fights, but ocean and that isle Where with Ferdīa he had dwelt in youth, With Scatha--and another.86 And in dream He mused; ‘The dearest of my friends survives: These wars will pass; Ferdīa then and I Thenceforth are one for aye!’87 That self-same hour Sadly from troubled sleep the Firbolg woke, Murmuring, as one in trance, ‘Against my friend!88 Against my only friend!’89 With gloomy brows His clansmen watched him arming.90 One sole man They feared; that man Cuchullain.91 Morn the while Was dawning, though nor glowing cheek she raised Nor ardent eyes, with silver wand not gold Striking the unkindling portals of the East; And, ere the sun had risen, Ferdīa bathed Three times his forehead in the frosty stream; And bade attend his charioteer; and drave Begirt by stateliest equipage of war Down to the river’s brim.92 In regal pomp The host confederate followed, keen to watch With Meave, and Ailill, and with Finobar, All passions of a fight unmatched till then; While clustered here and there, on rock or mound, Minstrel and food-purveyor groom and leech With healing herbs, and charms.93 The sun arose And smote the forest roof dew-saturate As onward dashed through woodlands to the Ford Cuchullain’s war-car.94 Nearer soon it rolled Crushing the rocks.95 Above those wondrous steeds That Great One glittered through the mist of morn, Splendour gloom-veiled.96 Ferdīa’s charioteer Half heard, half saw him.97 Spirit-rapt, yet awed, Perforce thus sang he standing near the marge.98 ‘I hear the on-rushing of the car!99 I see There throned that warrior not of mortal mould Swathed in the morning.100 Dreadful are his wheels; Dreadful as breaker arched, when on its crest Stands Fear, and Fate upon the rock-strewn shore: But not sea-rocks they crush, those brazen wheels, But realms, and peoples, and the necks of men.101 ‘I see the war-car!102 Terrible it comes, Four-peaked; and o’er those peaks a shadowy pall Pavilioning dim crypt and caves of death: I see it by the gleam of spears high held, The glare of circling Spirits.103 Lo! the same I saw far northward drifting, months gone by, Ere yet that madness quelled the northern land.’104 Then cried Ferdīa, stationed where huge trees Shut out unwelcome vision: ‘For a bribe Thou seest these portents, singing of my death!’105 Once more, in agony prophetic, he-- ‘The man within that car is Uladh’s Hound!106 What hound?107 No stag-hound of the storm-swept hills: No watch-hound watching by a merchant’s store: The hound he is that tracks the steps of doom; The hound of realms o’er-run, and hosts that fly; The hound that laps the blood!’108 Again he sang; ‘The Hound of Uladh is a hound with wings; A hound man-headed!109 Yea, and o’er that head Victory and empire, like two eagles paired Sail onward, tempest-pinioned.110 Endless morn Before him fleeting over seas and lands, With shaft retorted lights his chariot-beam.111 That chariot stays not, turns not: on it comes, Like torrent shooting from a tall cliff’s brow, Level long time; then downward borne!’112 ‘A bribe!’113 Once more Ferdīa cried; ‘A bribe! a lie!114 Traitor! for Ailill’s gold and gold of Meave, Thou sing’st thy master’s death-song!’115 By the stream Cuchullain stood: not yet he knew his foe; That foe who slowly to the Ford advanced Full panoplied, and in his hand a spear.116 Long gazed they each on each.117 Cuchullain spake: ‘Welcome howe’er thou com’st, Ferdīa!118 Once In Scatha’s isle far otherwise thou camest Morn after morn with tidings fresh of war Plaything and pastime of our brother swords.119 This day thou com’st invader of my land Murthemné, bulwark broad of Uladh’s realm; Thou com’st to burn my cities, spoil my flocks-- A change there is, Ferdīa!’120 Stern of brow The Firbolg answered; ‘Friends we were; not peers: The younger thou. ’121 Twas thine to yoke my steeds; Arm me for fight.122 A stripling hopes this day With brandished spear to make a mountain flee!123 Son of the Gael! long centuries since, thy race Trampled my race:--their vengeance hour is near; I bid thee to depart!’124 To him his friend; ‘Ferdīa, in the old days on Scatha’s Isle Thou wert my tribe, my household-stock, my race!125 Questioned I then on battle-plain, or when On frosty nights we couched beneath one rug, Ancestral claims, traditions of the clan?126 A change there is, Ferdīa!’127 Thus with words Or mild, or stern in hope to save not slay, Those friends contended.128 Sternest was the man Whose conscience most aggrieved him.129 ‘To this Ford Thou cam’st the first, old comrade! choice of arms Is therefore thine by right.’130 Cuchullain spake: Ferdīa chose the javelin.131 Arrow-swift, While still the charioteers brought back the shaft, The missiles flew.132 Keen-eyed as ocean bird That, high in sunshine poised, glimpses his prey Beneath the wave, and downward swooping slays him, Each watched the other’s movements, if an arm Lifted too high, or buckler dropp’d too low Left bare a rivet.133 Long that fight endured: Three times exhausted sank their hands: three times They sat on rocks for respite, each the other Eyeing askance, not silent; ‘Lo the man Who shields an ox-like or a swine-like race That strikes no blow itself!’ or thus; ‘Ah pledge Of amity eterne in old time sworn!134 Ferdīa, vow thy vow henceforth to maids!135 The man-race nothing heeds thee!’136 Evening fell And stayed perforce that combat.137 Slowly drew The warriors near; and as they noted, each, The other bleeding, in its strength returned The friendship unextinct: round either’s neck That other wound his arms and kissed him thrice: That night their coursers in the self-same field Grazed, side by side: that night their charioteers With rushes gathered from the self-same stream Made smooth their masters’ beds, then sat themselves By the same fire.138 Of every healing herb That lulled his wounds Cuchullain sent the half To staunch Ferdīa’s; while to him in turn Ferdīa sent whate’er of meats or drinks Held strengthening power or cordial, to allay Distempered nerve or nimble spirit infuse, In equal portions shared.139 The second morn They met at sunrise:--‘Thine the choice of arms;’ The Firbolg spake; the Gael made answer; ‘Spears!’140 Then leaped the champions on their battle-cars And launched them into battle.141 Dire their shock In fiery orbits wheeling now; anon Wheel locked in wheel.142 Profounder wounds by far That day than on the first the warriors gored, Since closer was the fight.143 With laughing lip Not less that eve Cuchullain sang the stave That chides in war ‘Fomorian obstinacy:’ Again at eve drew near they, slower now For pain, and interwove fraternal arms: Again their coursers in the self-same field Grazed side by side, and from the self-same stream Again their charioteers the rushes culled: Again they shared alike both meats and drinks, Again those herbs allaying, o’er their wounds With incantations laid.144 Forlorn and sad Peered the third morning o’er the vaporous woods, The wan grey river with its floating weed, And bubble unillumined.145 From the marge Cuchullain sadly marked the advancing foe:-- ‘Alas, my brother! beamless is thine eye; The radiance lives no longer on thy hair; And slow thy step.’146 The doomed one answered calm, ‘Cuchullain, slow of foot, but strong of hand Fate drags his victim to the spot decreed: The choice to-day is mine: I choose the sword.’147 So spake the Firbolg; and they closed in fight: And straightway from his heart to arm and hand Rushed up the strength of all that buried race By him so loved!148 Once more it swelled his breast: In majesty re-clothed each massive limb, And flashed in darksome light of hair and eye Resplendent as of old.149 Surpassing deeds They wrought, while circled meteor-like their swords, Or fell like heaven’s own bolt on shield or helm.150 Long hours they strove till morning’s purer gleams Vanished in noon.151 Sharper that day their speech; For, in the intenser present, years gone by Hung but like pallid, thin, horizon clouds O’er memory’s loneliest limit.152 Evening sank Upon the dripping groves and shuddering flood With rainy wailings.153 Not as heretofore Their parting.154 Haughtily their mail they tossed Each to his followers.155 In the self-same field That night their coursers grazed not; neither sat Their charioteers beside the self-same fire: Nor sent they, each to other, healing herbs.156 Ere morn the Firbolg drank the strength of dreams Picturing his race’s wrong; and trumpet blasts Went o’er him blown from fields of ancient wars: And thus he mused, half-wakened; ‘Not for Meave; Not for the popular suffrage; not for her That maid who fain had held me from the snare, Fight I that fight whose end shall crown this day: O race beloved, this day your vengeance dawns Red in the East!157 The mightiest of the Gaels Goes down before me!158 What if both should die?159 So best!160 Thus too the Firbolg is avenged!’161 Thus mused he.162 Stately from his couch he rose, And armed himself, sedate.163 Upon his breast He laid, in iron sheathed, a huge, flat stone, For thus he said, ‘Though many a feat of arms Is mine, from Scatha learned, or else self-taught, The Gae-Bulg is Cuchullain’s!’164 On his head He fixed his helm, and on his arm his shield Sable as night, with fifty bosses bound, All brass; the midmost like a noontide sun. Cuchullain eyed him as he neared the Ford, And spake to Leagh; ‘This day, if slack of hand Thou notest me, or wearied, hurl, as wont, Sharp storm of arrowy railing from thy lips That so the battle-anger from on high May flame on me.’165 The choice of arms was his: He chose ‘the Ford-Feat.’166 On the Firbolg’s brow A shadow fell:--‘All weapons there,’ he mused, ‘Have place alike: if on him falls the rage He will not spare the Gae-Bulg!’167 Well they knew, Both warriors, that the fortunes of that day Must end the conflict; that for one, or both, The sun that hour ascending shone his last: Therefore all strength of onset till that hour By either loosed or hoarded, craft of fight Reined in one moment but to spring the next Forward in might more terrible, compared With that last battle was a trivial thing; Whilst every weapon, javelin, spear, or sword, Lawful alike that day, scattered abroad Huge flakes of dinted mail; from every wound Bounded the life-blood of a heart athirst For victory or for death.168 The vernal day Panted with summer ardours, while aloft Noontide, a fire-tressed Fury, waved her torch, Kindling the lit grove and its youngling green From the azure-blazing zenith.169 As the heat So waxed the warriors’ frenzy.170 Hours went by: That day they sought not rest on rock or mound, Held no discourse.171 Slowly the sun declined; And as wayfarers oft when twilight falls Advance with strength renewed, so they, refreshed, Surpassed their deeds at morning.172 With a bound Cuchullain, from the bank high springing, lit Full on the broad boss of Ferdīa’s shield, His dagger-point down turned.173 With spasm of arm Instant the Firbolg from its sable rim Cast him astonished.174 Upward from the Ford Again Cuchullain reached that shield: again With spasm of knee Ferdīa flung him far, While Leagh in scorn reviled him: ‘As the flood Shoots on the tempest’s blast its puny foam; The oak-tree casts its dead leaf on the wave; The mill-wheel showers its spray; the shameless woman Hurls on the mere that babe which was her shame, So hurls he forth that fairy-child bewitched Whom men misdeemed for warrior!’175 Then from heaven Came down upon Cuchullain, like the night, The madness-rage.176 The Foes confronted met: Shivered their spears from point to haft: their swords Flashed lightnings round them.177 Fate-compelled, their feet Drew near, then reached that stream which backward fled Leaving its channel dry.178 While raged that fight Cuchullain’s stature rose, huge bulk, immense, Ascending still: as high Ferdīa towered Like Fomor old, or Nemed from the sea, Those shields, their covering late from foot to helm, Shrinking, so seemed it, till above them beamed Shoulders and heads.179 So close that fight, their crests That waved defiance, mingled in mid air; While all along the circles of their shields, And all adown their swords, viewless for speed Ran, mad with rage, the demons of dark moors And war-sprites of the valleys, Bocanachs And Banacahs, whose scream, so keen its edge, Might shear the centuried forest as the scythe Shears meadow grass.180 To these in dread response Thundered far off from sea-caves billow-beat And halls rock-vaulted ’neath the eternal hills, That race Tuatha, giant once, long since To pigmy changed, that forge from molten ores For aye their clanging weapons, shield or spear, On stony anvils, waiting still their day Of vengeance on the Gael.181 That tumult scared The horses of the host of Meave that brake From war-car or the tethering rope, and spread Ruin around.182 Camp-followers first, then chiefs Innumerable were dragged along, or lay ’Neath broken axle, dead.183 The end was nigh: Cuchullain’s shield splintered upon his arm Served him no more; and through his fenceless side Ferdīa drave the sword.184 Then first the Gael Hurled forth this taunt; ‘The Firbolg, bribed by Meave, Has sold his ancient friend!’185 Ferdīa spake, ‘No Firbolg he, the man in Scatha’s Isle, That won a maid, then left her!’186 Backward stepp’d Cuchullain paces three: he reached the bank; He uttered low; ‘The Gae-Bulg!’187 Instant, Leagh Within his hand had lodged it.188 Bending low, Low as that stream, the war-game’s crowning feat, He launched it on Ferdīa’s breast.189 The shield, The iron plate beneath, the stone within it, Like shallow ice-films ’neath a courser’s hoof Burst.190 All was o’er.191 To earth the warrior sank: Dying, he spake: ‘Not thine this deed, O friend-- ’Twas Meave who winged that bolt into my heart!’192 Then ran Cuchullain to that great one dead, And raised him in his arms, and laid him down Beside the Ford, but on its northern bank, Not in that realm by Ailill swayed and Meave: Long time he looked the dead man in the face; Then by him fell in swoon.193 ‘Cuchullain, rise!194 The men of Erin be upon thee!195 Rise!’196 Thus Leagh.197 He answered, waking; ‘Let them come!198 To me what profit if I live or die?199 The man I loved is dead!’200 But by the dead Cuchullain stood; and thus he made lament: ‘Ferdīa!201 On their head the curse descend Who sent thee to thy death!202 We meet no more; Never while sun, and moon, and earth endure.203 ‘Ferdīa!204 Far away in Scatha’s isle A great troth bound us and a vow eterne Never to raise war-weapons, each on each:-- ’Twas Finobar that snared thee!205 She shall die.206 ‘Ferdīa! dearer to my heart wert thou Than all beside if all were joined in one: Dear was thy clouded face, and darksome eye; Thy deep, sad voice; thy words so wise and few; Dear was thy silence: dear thy slow, grave ways, Not boastful like the Gael’s.’207 Silent he stood While Leagh in reverence from the dead man’s breast Loosened his mail.208 There shone the torque of Meave:[33] There where the queen had fixed it yet it lay.209 Cuchullain clutched it.210 ‘Ha! that torque I spurned!211 Dark gem ill-lifted from the seas of Death!212 Swart planet bickering from the heavens of Fate!213 With what a baleful beam thou look’st on me! ’214 Twas thou, ’twas thou, not I, that slew’st this man’-- He dashed it on the rock, and with his heel Smote it to fragments.215 Then, as one from trance Waking, once more he spake: ‘Oh me--oh me, That I should see that face so great and pale!216 To-day face-whitening death is on that face; And in my hand my sword:--’tis crimson yet.217 That day when he and I triumphed in fight By Formait’s lake o’er Scatha’s pirate foes The woman fetched a beaker forth of wine, And made us drink it both; and made us vow Friendship eterne.218 O friend, my hand this day Tendered a bloody beaker to thy lip.’219 Again he sang; ‘Queen Meave to Uladh’s bound Came down; and dark the deed that grew thereof; Came down with all the hosting of her kings; And dark the deed that grew thereof.220 We two Abode with Scatha in her northern isle, Her pupils twinned.221 The sea-girt warrioress That honoured few men honoured us alike: We ate together of the self-same dish: We couched together ’neath the self-same shield: Now living man I stand, and he lies dead!’222 He raised again his head: once more he sang: ‘Each battle was a game, a jest, a sport Till came, fore-doomed, Ferdīa to the Ford.223 I loved the warrior though I pierced his heart.224 Each battle was a game, a jest, a sport Till stood, self-doomed, Ferdīa by the Ford.225 Huge lion of the forestry of war; Fair, central pillar of the House of Fame; But yesterday he towered above the world: This day he lies along the earth, a shade.’226