🧚 Opening, part 14

FRAGMENT IV.1

_THE INVASION OF ULADH.2

ARGUMENT.3

Cuchullain lies long in the forest nigh to death from his wounds, and yet more through grief for Ferdīa.4 The queen crosses the Ford into Uladh, and captures the Donn Cuailgné.5 The confederate kings fall out among themselves; Meave summons a war council; whereupon there bursts forth a second contention between them and the Exile-Band.6 She makes the circuit of all Uladh; yet enacts nothing memorable.7 Lastly she marches against Eman, its metropolis, but slowly, being encumbered by her spoil.8 Uladh rouses itself daily out of its trance of imbecility.9 The death of Ketherne.10 Finobar is fain to draw Rochad to the cause of her mother, but fails.11 Her fate.12 The queen, falling into despondency, re-crosses the frontier.13

Silence amid the wide, confederate camp: No clang of sword or shield; no warrior’s tread Striding to Meave with battle-gage down flung For him who kept the Ford.14 But when six days Were past, and none had seen that threatening helm, There went abroad a rumour, ‘he is dead:’ Then sped to her six champions claiming fight: Whom from her presence spurning, Meave advanced With all her host o’er Uladh’s frontier line By Daré’s castle and the ill-omened gate Whereon high-seated Daré’s Fool had hurled Against her scorn and gibe.15 As Meave drew near Forth rolled the bellowing of Cuailgné’s Donn, Cause of that war.16 King Daré’s sons had fled; But in the gate-way stood their old, grey sire, Alone, and slew the first that entrance made: The rest dashed in upon him, and he died.17 Six days, and in Cuchullain’s cell no change-- The bud grew large; the earlier violet died; He neither spake nor moved.18 His wounds were deep: Deeper his grief; and stronger thence their power Though dead, that clan accursed of Cailitin, With ghostly spells darkening the warrior’s heart: As lie the dead, he lay.19 One eve, what time The setting sun levell’d through holly brakes Unnumbered dagger-points of jewel’d light And ’neath the oak-stem burned a golden spot, Leagh, standing near his couch, reproached him thus; ‘In time of old the greatness of thy spirit Had ever strength to salve thy corporal griefs: But now through coward heart thou makest no fight, Dying as old men die.’20 Cuchullain heard; But answered nought.21 Next day, while near them buzzed At noon the gilded insect swarm, he spake; ‘While lived Ferdīa wounds to thee were jest; Thy grief it is that drags thee to the pit; Grief; and for what?22 Of treasons worse is none Than sorrow when thy country’s foe is dead!23 Not man is he, the man who dies of grief.’24 He spake: Cuchullain fixed a vacant eye On that sad, wrathful face.25 Then hastened Leagh To where those giant coursers, side by side, Stood tethered mid green grass and meadow-sweet Within a lawn; and led them to a stream, And bade them drink; and later led them home; And placed their corn before them, and they ate: Next spake he; ‘Horses ye; and yet ye know To eat at need, while men self-sentenced starve!’26 Thus of that man whom most he loved on earth He made complaint.27 Liath, the lake’s white son, Tossed high his head in anger.28 By his side Sangland, his dusky comrade, sadly ate, Moistening with tears her barley.29 Late that eve Cuchullain beckoned Leagh; ‘To Conor speed: Speak thus; “Put on thine arms and save thy land Since now the Hound that kept thy gate is dead:-- Make no delay!”’30 At midnight Leagh went forth Though loth to leave his master to the care Of cowherd rude, or swineherd.31 Tenderer aid Ere long consoled him.32 Beauteous as the dawn Next morn two shepherd boys seeking a lamb Came on the sick man in his forest nook; Long time they gazed on him compassionate; With voice benign and tendance angel-like Onward into his confidence they crept; His lips with milk, the purest, they refreshed; They placed the dewy wood flowers in his hand; They sang him ballads old, not battle-songs, Too loud such songs they deemed, but Fairy lore, Or tale of lovers fleeing tyrant’s rage: Among the last unwittingly they sang ‘Cuchullain’s Wooing;’ how the youth had found Eimer, the loveliest lady of the land Within her bowery pleasaunce, girt with maids Harping, or broidering fair in scarf deep-dyed Blossom or insect: how he sued; and how She answered; ‘Woo my sister: woo not me!’33 How, glorying in her loveliness, her sire Had sworn no chief should ever call her wife Who won her not by valour; how that youth Had scaled his rock and slain his guards and forth Led her by hand, a downward-looking bride, Majestic, unconsenting, undismayed, But likewise unreluctant.34 As they sang Above that suffering face there passed a smile; And where that smile had lain there crept a tear; And in few minutes more asleep he sank Who had not slept nine days.35 Swiftly meanwhile On marched the host confederate: bootless speed; Since ever one day’s progress by the next Was cancelled; tortuous mind made tortuous course Now bent awry to capture spoil, anon To avenge some private wrong.36 Fergus the while Inly with fury raged; for still his thought Was ‘Eman--Vengeance.’37 Meave, to calm his wrath, Albeit debate she scorned, a council called And made demand, ‘To Eman speed we, Kings, With central wound striking at Uladh’s heart, Or wind, as now, at random through the realm, With havoc huge, and plunder?’38 Rose a chief Aulnau, the son of Magach, one whose pride Was not in war-deeds but in crafty brain, And thus made answer.39 ‘March to Eman!40 Queen!41 Not difficult the emprise; but whose the gain?42 Eman to burn, what were it but to sow The sanguine seed of endless wars to come?43 The Uladh chiefs live scattered.44 Eman’s fall Touches not them.45 Their strength ere long revived Southward in search of vengeance they will rush: Slay them yet weakling!46 Slay them ere they wake!47 Slay them in mountain hold and forest lair In vale and glen: slay each apart, half-armed; Easy the task!’48 Arose the Exiled King: ‘“Easy the task!”’ he cried; ‘that Daré learned!49 Unarmed--alone--I saw the old man fall!50 “Easy the task!”’51 Then brake upon him Alp That ruled in far Iorras, speaking thus; ‘Fergus, we love our queen; but love not thee!52 Hostile to ours thy race: King Conor’s fall Thou seek’st; not Uladh’s.53 Hear me, Queen of Men!54 The siege of Eman means a three months’ siege: Be wary lest, ere yet that time is past King Conor with his exiles makes a pact, And they who now but rate thee drink thy blood: Be wary likewise lest in half that time Thy host melt from thee like a wreath of snow!55 The Gael is restless; lives on chance and change; The clan grows home-sick: victory in its grasp, Pines for the babe unkissed, or field unreaped: My counsel then is Aulnau’s.56 Like a flood Wind devious through the land and strip it bare: Till then let Eman be.’57 Debate ere long, For chiefs there were who loved the nobler war, Passed on to raging storm.58 Old friendships died; And from the dust of ages injuries old Leaped up like warriors armed.59 In Fergus wrath Gave way to scorn: with haughty port he spake, A man majestical yet mirthful too.60 ‘Great Lords and Kings--since Kings ye claim to be-- King-vassals, world-renowned for mutual hate, Alone of men I censure not your strifes, Knowing their cause.61 The very air you breathe, The founts whereof you drink, the soil you tread, Are all impregnate with a sacred rage; And false alike to usage, country, blood, Were he among you who, for three hours’ space, Discerned ’twixt friend and foeman.62 Lords and Kings, Attend a legend from your annals old, A laughing picture of man’s life this day.63 In Erin’s earlier age there reigned two kings: Each had a swineherd who, through magic power, Assumed what form he would of shapes that live In heaven, or earth, or sea.64 Friendship eterne They pledged; then strove ten years, with hosts allied So huge that none remained to till the land.65 At last the vanquished westward creaked, a crane: A crane, the victor chased him.66 Twenty years High up they fought; to each side Erin’s birds Flocking in clans, the factions of the heavens.67 Those twenty years run out, the vanquished crane Dropp’d on a stream and straight to salmon changed; Instant his foe, to salmon turned not less, From stream to sea pursued him.68 Far and wide All scaly shapes that buffet Erin’s waves From sprat and minnow up to shark and whale Beat up in finny squadrons.69 Forty years With deepening rage they fought, till round the isle Main ocean boiled, and from her ships black-ribbed Melted the tar, and mist was over all.70 Next changed those salmons twain to dragon-flies: But while they sat in hate on neighbouring pools A dun cow and a red cow drank them up Unwittingly.71 From them two bull-calves sprang That, grown, with battle thunders dinned the realm For eighty years!72 How say ye, Lords?73 From these Come not the Bulls that shake this day our land, Fionbannah, and the Donn?74 For them we fight, And in their honour hold, on peaceful days, Like them our roaring synods!’75 Fiercely and long The unwise council strove; and Meave, who feared Far more the petulance of her lesser kings Than that great exile’s loftier wrath, resumed Next morn her march erratic.76 On she passed, The Dal Araidhé forests on her right, Northward to Moira’s plain and Clannaboy; And through the Glynns of Ardes glimpsed remote Alba’s blue hills.77 Dalríad fastnesses She burned with fire, and seized full many a herd On banks of Bann; then westward turned, and kenned The grass-green glitter soon of far Lough Foyle, And where the winding river-sea divides Fanad from Inishowen’s cliffs forlorn.78 Aileach she passed, more late the seat of kings; And, southward next, that lake[34] whose lonely isle Descends, through caves, to Spirit-worlds unknown.79 Thus Meave a circle traced round Uladh’s realm, And heard the murmur of its three great seas, Yet nothing wrought of perdurable fame.80 Conor, meantime, round Eman ranged his hosts There flocking night and day.81 ‘I march not hence’ He said, ‘till Uladh’s wound is wholly healed;-- Fergus I deem the sage of battle-fields, Though fool in all beside.’82 But sloth and fear In manly hearts at worst rare visitants, Leave them betimes, like vermin caught by chance That quit ere long the clean.83 O’er Uladh’s breadth Daily some chief, or fragment of a clan Long chilled by rumour of Cuchullain slain, Despite King Conor’s hest assailed the queen Marching, though late, on Eman.84 First of these Was Ketherne.85 Hewing oaks on Fuad’s crest He marked her host, and rushed, a naked man From waist to head, his axe within his hand, In fury on it.86 Late that eve his kernes Forth from the battle tore him bleeding fast From fifty wounds.87 That night physicians five Were bending o’er his bed: the eldest spake; ‘Ketherne, thou son of Fintan, thou must die!’88 Then Ketherne raised himself and with one blow Smote him upon his forehead that he died.89 In turn the second,--‘Ketherne, thou must die:’ And Ketherne slew him.90 Feebler-toned the third Whispered, ‘The man must die;’ and died himself; Likewise the fourth.91 Old Ithal was the fifth, A son of Alba.92 He with stealthy foot Stepping o’er corpses of his brethren slain, Made keen-eyed inquest of the wounds; then spake: ‘Of these the least is dangerous: fatal none: Two cures for such there be, diverse in kind; Ketherne, thou son of Fintan, make thy choice!93 The first is slow but certain: where thou liest Full three months thou must lie; then rise restored: The second is immediate: strength divine It pours like light into a warrior’s veins; Then dies its virtue, and the warrior dies!’94 Ketherne laughed loud: ‘My choice is quickly made-- Three months bed-ridden, or one vengeance day Joyous and glorious!95 Leech!96 I rather choose With mine own hand to avenge eretime my death Than trust that task to others!’97 At his word Ithal prepared a wonder-working bath Strewn with strange herbs, and bathed therein the man, Then bade him drink of some elixir bright Drawn from the sun. As one refreshed by sleep He rose: he clomb his war-car; sought the foe; Threescore he slew, their best.98 At last the strength Ceased from his arm; and opened once again His wounds late closed; and back he sank, and died.99 Such hindrances, and every day had such, Likewise huge herds and cumber of her spoil Slackened the march of Meave.100 Full many a chief Perished in bootless fight; full many an eye Turned on her, malcontent.101 But trial worse Had found her through her daughter, Finobar.102 Without an hour’s misgiving or remorse In beauty’s pride not less than patriot zeal-- Wilier she was than Meave, and haughtier far-- Champion on champion she had sent to doom Beside that fatal Ford.103 Ferdīa most Had tasked the sorceress, for in him alone Vanity kept no place.104 She watched the fight No pallor on her fruit-like cheek, no cloud Dimming her star-like eyes.105 Without a sigh She saw the Firbolg, last of all his race, Fall on the soil once theirs.106 Even then she knew not The inevitable shaft had pierced whate’er Of woman heart was hers.107 The strong man’s death Lifted that veil his victory ne’er had raised: Standing mid others she beheld him dead: Thenceforth that deep-toned voice, that mournful front, Those stern yet stately ways, so great and plain, Haunted her memory.108 Oft with sudden spasm She strove to shake that viper from her breast Which sucked its life-blood.109 ‘I, the Princess, love!110 And love a Firbolg!’111 She had never loved: Self-love, sole regent of the unloving heart, Had barred it ’gainst all other tenderer loves: In vain the island chiefs had wooed and sued: She spurned them each and all.112 Of these the last Was Rochad, and the proudest, in the North A vassal prince of Conor’s, oft his foe: The passion she had kindled she had scorned: Rochad had vowed revenge.113 In wonder Meave Noted the weary lids, the vanishing bloom, The abrupt accost, though haught yet unassured; The movements to mechanic changed, the mind Still strong, yet widowed of its flexile strength; These things she saw; their cause she ne’er divined: Love for the living Meave could understand: For her the dead was dead.114 To Finobar The one thing yet remaining was her pride: Questioned, her answer ever was the same, ‘Onward, to Eman!’115 Nearer it each day They drew.116 One evening through the sunset mist A camp, high-seated on a bosky hill, Shone out, fire-fringed: aloof it stood as one That halts ’twixt war and peace.117 Ere long they learned Rochad that site had chos’n, with Uladh’s King Friendly but half, thence slow to prop his cause.118 Then spake the queen; ‘The hand of yonder chief Sustains our battle’s balance.119 If his host, Now dubious, joins the bands that vex our flank No choice remains but this, a homeward course Or, if a march to Eman, then the loss Of half our hard-earned spoil and hate thenceforth Of all our vassal kings.’120 Forth flashed the eyes Of Finobar--it was their latest flash-- She answered thus; ‘The sequel leave to me!121 He loved me, Rochad, once: ere sets yon moon I bring you tamed the lion of yon hills, Aye, in a silken leash!’122 Rochad far off Beheld her coming; marked it with a smile; Welcomed her gaily; led her to the feast; Thence to his tent wherein was none beside.123 There put she forth whatever subtlest art In seeming-simple innocence disguised Imagines of persuasive, whatsoe’er Delicatest craft of female witcheries Potent for man’s destruction can devise, To bend that warrior’s will.124 The winter beam Thaws not the polar ice: o’er Rochad’s soul So passed the syren’s pleadings.125 Pleased not less To stand implored, he dallied with her suit Destined, and this he knew, to end in shame.126 She, self-deceived, inly made vow; ‘This tent I leave not, save victorious.’127 Hours went by: She noted not their flight.128 Once more with skill Plastic as wind in woods, a measured strength Varying as minstrel’s hand that grazes now Now sweeps the tenderer or the deeper strings, To all the passions of the heart of man Glory, Ambition, Love, Revenge, she tuned The modulations of her passionate strain; While half the richness theirs aforetime throbbed Again in those sad accents, half their light-- For oft from out the present shines a past Long dead--returned to eyes that, seen of none, Had wept away their splendours.129 Calm he sat, Sternly quiescent.130 Sudden on her broke The fatal truth.131 She saw her power was gone; And all that posthumous life late hers sank back In embers lost and ashes.132 On the West Rested her gaze.133 A cloud of raven black, Its veil for half that night, had drifted by, And o’er that distant gleam, her mother’s camp, Slowly the moon descended.134 Finobar That hour recalled her boast; ‘Ere sets yon moon I bring you tamed the lion of yon hills, Aye, in a silken leash!’135 The Orient soon Whitened with early dawn.136 Forlorn it lay On hill and heath and plain and distant mere, Forlorner on the haggard face--for oft A face, still fair, in anguish antedates Its future--of that woman as she knelt, She knelt at last, low on that threshold low.137 Then came the hour of Rochad’s great revenge: Then first he answered plainly; ‘Finobar!138 One day I knew you not: I know you now: Your spells are null when once their trick is learned: Likewise your face has lost its earlier charm.139 Back to your mother!140 Say, ere sets yon sun I join the king my master, from his gate Repel with scorn the invader.’141 Forth he passed Without farewell.142 A clarion broke ere long Her trance: adown the slope she saw his host Winding t’ward Eman.143 From a burning couch She rose next eve; and, strong with fever’s strength, Paced swiftly by that sunset-crimsoned stream Which cut the camp in twain.144 Anon she marked In all who met her, change inexplicable, Strange eyes, strange faces, strange embarrassed ways: Sadly compassionate that change in some: In others questioning glance and meaning smile Hinted at things that through her flaming heart Passed like a sword of ice.145 Whisperings not less There were, but these she heard not; ‘What!146 All night!147 From eve to morn with Rochad in his tent!-- The men she fed on hopes she sent to death Beside the Ford.148 Well! pride must have its fall!149 Rochad is joined with Conor!’150 Slanders worse Some chiefs whom most her haughtiness had galled Ventured, vain-glorious.151 Late one eve the truth Sprang like a tigress on her.152 In his tent She heard her father with her mother speak; ‘She yet may wear the crown: her maiden fame Is lost forever!’153 Three hours ere her death Thus to her mother spake that sentenced one; ‘Noise it among the host that grief for those Her countrymen--the Gael--who, near the Ford-- Ere yet that Firbolg shared the common fate, Fell by Cuchullain, snapped her thread of life.154 Bear on your march my body:--raise the cairn On the first hill that kens Emania’s towers.’155 So spake she; and the queen obeyed her hest: She flung that rumour forth; and all who heard, Heart-stricken now, believed it.156 But on Meave A piercing sadness fell; and by her bed Orloff her buried son stood up, and spake; ‘Home to thy native realm, and Cruachan!157 Not less a battle waits thee great and dread ’Twixt Gairig and Ilgairig.’158 One day’s march Eastward still marched she; then upon a hill, The first whose summit looked on Eman’s towers, Interred the all-beauteous one with Pagan dirge, And o’er her piled the cairn.159 Southward, next morn She turned, and crossed the Ford.160 Fulfilled was thus Cuchullain’s word, breathed o’er Ferdīa dead, ‘Finobar snared thee.161 Finobar shall die.’162 But many a century later Uladh’s sons Rose up and said; ‘Great scorn it is and wrong Yon stranger’s grave should gaze on Eman’s towers:’ Then bore they forth those relics once so fair With funeral rites revered and Pagan dirge, And laid them by the loud-resounding sea, And o’er them raised a cairn: and, age on age, As sighed the sea-wind past it shepherds said ‘It whispers soft that sad word, Finobar!’163