As soon as she was weaned, King Conor took the child away from her own parents, as was the custom in those olden days, and put her out to foster with a nurse, Levarcam, a wise and skilful dame, who told the King from day to day how Deirdre fared. And for the first seven years Deirdre grew up within the royal household, petted and loved by all, and she was richly fed and robed in silk, and nourished like a princess, for all in the palace knew that this young lovely child was destined to be mated with their king. Often she spent her days upon the playing fields, and watched the boy-corps practising their sports, and joined their games and laughed with glee like any other child. Thus happily and gaily passed the years for Deirdre, till one day when she was playing ball among the little lads, the King came down to watch their play. He saw how like a flower Deirdre grew, half like the opening daisy, pink and white, half like the slender hairbell on its stem, graceful and delicate; and though he was an old man, and had been a widower for now many years, and the child but a babe of seven years, a sudden jealousy smote at his aged heart. He saw the girl surrounded by the lads, who tossed the ball into her little lap or into her small apron held out to catch it as it fell. And every time she caught it, her ringing childish laugh broke out, and all the boys cried,“Well, caught, O Deirdre; bravely caught, our little Queen!” For to them all, it was well-known that this small child was kept by Conor for himself, to share his throne and home; so oft in play they called her “Little Queen.”
Then Conor called his Druid Caffa to him, and he said, “Too long we leave this child at liberty among the chieftain’s sons. She must henceforth be kept apart and quite forget that there are younger men than you or me. If she grows up among these lads, most certainly the day will come when she will wish to wed some chief of her own age. See, even now, the lads bend to her will; she rules them like a queen indeed, and gladly they obey her. When she is grown to maidenhood, small chance for me, an aged man, when comes the time to woo.”
“The King woos not,” said Caffa, “he commands, and none dare disobey.” “Still I would rather have a willing bride,” the King replied; “I want no girl to be my royal mate who craves and hankers for some other man among my subjects. She shall come to me of her own free will, because she knows no other man but me. She shall not even know what kind of thing a man may be, for I will shut her up apart from men, and, save yourself and me, she shall not ever see a manly face.” “The King commands,” said Caffa, slowly, “and it must be done as he desires. But yet I fear the maid will pine in her captivity. The bride you wed will be a lily pale as death, and not a maiden in her blooming loveliness.”
“She shall have space and air and garden-ground,” the King replied, “only she shall not ever see a human face, save yours and mine, and nurse Levarcam’s.”
So for the girl he built a place apart, far off from Emain in a lonely dell, surrounded by a wood. A simplestately house was reared, surrounded by an orchard of rare fruits. Behind the house a garden and a piece of barren moor, and through the wood a gently-flowing stream that wandered amid carpets of bright flowers. And all seemed fair enough, but round the place he built a mighty wall, so high that none could climb it, and a moat ran round within. Four savage man-hounds sent by Conor were on constant guard, watching on every side by night and day, so that no living thing could enter or pass out, save with the knowledge of Levarcam.
And for a time the child was happy, for Levarcam, the wise woman, taught her all she knew. She taught her how each bird sings to its mate, each different note of thrush or cuckoo or the soaring lark; she taught her of the plants that spring towards heaven, their roots deep hidden in the yielding soil, and of their names and uses, and the way they fructified and sent out shoots, and of the fruits they bore. And in the solemn night, they went abroad and watched the motion of the stars, and marked the wandering planets how they carved out their own path among the rest, and all the changes of the moon the maiden knew, and how to calculate the time of day by shadows on the grass. There was no bird upon the spray, nor herb among the plants, nor star in heaven, but Deirdre had a name for each and all.
And ever and anon, King Conor came and sat with her and talked, and brought her gifts to while away the time; and because the days were long and passed one like the other without any change, she liked his coming, and would call him “Father,” and make tales for him, and sing her songs and show the little garden she had made herself alone.
And Deirdre grew up tall and stately as the saplingof the forest, and lithe as the green moorland rush that bows before the wind. Of all the women of the world was Deirdre the gentlest and best, lovely of form and lovely in her mind; light as the hind that leaps upon the hill, and white and shapely as the snowy swan. But though they tended her, and fed her with the best, the maiden drooped and pined. And on a day Levarcam said, “What ails thee, girl? Why is thy face so pale, thy step so slow? Why dost thou sigh and mope?” And Deirdre said, “I know not, nurse, what ails me; but I think I should be well if once again I saw the boys upon the playing fields, and heard their shouts, and tossed the ball with them.”
“Fie, fie,” replied the nurse, “’tis seven full years since on the green you played at ball. A child of but seven years were you at that time, and now full fourteen years have come and gone, and you are growing into maidenhood.” “Seven bitter years,” said Deirdre, “since I beheld the joyous playing field, and saw the sports, and marked the manly face of Naisi, noblest and bravest of the corps of boys.”
“Naisi, the son of Usna?” asked Levarcam, much surprised. “Naisi was his name, he told me so,” said Deirdre; “but I did not ask whose son he was.” “He told you so?” Levarcam asked again. “He told me so,” said Deirdre, “when he threw the ball, by a mis-cast, backward, across the heads of the group of maidens who were standing on the edge of the green, and I rose up among them all, picked up the ball, and gave it back to him. He pressed my hand and smiled, and promised he would see me oft again; but never since that day, that fatal day, when Conor brought me to this lonely place, have he or I beheld each other more. BringNaisi here, O nurse, that I may once again behold his face, so bright and boyish, with its winning smile; then shall I live and laugh and love my life again.”
“Speak not like this, O Maiden,” exclaimed the nurse. “To-day the King comes for his visit. We are in winter now, but in the budding of the spring, he takes you hence to Emain, there to claim you as his wife.”
“The king no doubt is kind,” the girl replied, “and means me well, but he is old and grey, and in his face is something that I do not like. I think he could be cruel, and that if any man stood in his way, he would not hesitate to lay a trap to catch him, as Caffa snared the little mouse that ran about my room and kept me company. Yet will I go with him to Emain, for I think that somewhere among the people of the court, I shall find Naisi out.”
“Hush, hush,” the nurse replied, “Naisi is now a little boy no longer, but the foremost of all Ulster’s younger chiefs, the hero of the Red Branch, and the favourite of the King. Speak not of Naisi to King Conor, or mayhap some harm will come to him.” “Then will I never speak his name, or tell of him,” the girl replied, “though in my dreams I see him every night playing at ball with me; but when he flings the ball for me to catch, ’tis ever the same thing. King Conor comes between and seizes it, and throws it back at Naisi. So can I never catch and hold it in my hands, and I am vexed and weep. But last night, O good nurse, King Conor flung the ball craftily at his head, and Naisi fell all red and stained with blood, like that poor calf that Caffa slew, thinking that I could eat it for my food. The little tender calf that played with me! Upon the winter’s frosty floor I saw its blood, all crimson-red upon the driven snow,and as I looked I saw a raven that stooped down to sip the blood; and, O dear nurse, I thought of Naisi then, for all his hair, as I remember it, was dark and glossy like the raven’s wing, and in his cheeks the ruddy glow of health and beauty, like the blood, and white his skin like snow. Dear nurse, dear nurse, let me see Naisi once again, and send the King away.” “Alas! alas!” Levarcam said; “most difficult indeed is thy desire, for far away is Naisi, and he dare not come within this fort. High is the wall and deep the moat, and fierce the blood-hounds watching at the gates.” “At least,” said Deirdre, “procure for me from Caffa that I may once in a while wander without the fort and breathe the open air upon the moor; this wall frowns on me like an enemy holding me in his grasp and stifling me, surely I die e’er long within these heavy walls. But on the moor, where no man comes (if you must have it so), I’d see at least the grouse winging its flight, and hear the plover and the peeweet call, and pluck the heather and the yellow gorse in summer time. O nurse, dear nurse, have pity on your child.” When Levarcam saw the misery of the maid, she feared that Conor would upbraid her with neglect because her cheek grew pale, and her young joy seemed gone; and so that night she spoke to Caffa, and he said, “I think no harm could come if we should let the maiden walk out upon the wild hillside. No human creature, save a stray hunter following the deer, or a poor shepherd garnering his sheep, or some strange homeless wanderer, e’er sets his foot upon this lonesome moor. Far off are we from any human habitation; and the maid droops, indeed. Let her go out, but keep her well in sight; to climb the hill-top and to roam the heather moor as spring comes on,will bring fresh colour into her pale cheeks, and fit her for the wooing of the king.”
So from that time, Deirdre went out upon the upland moor, and soon she knew each nook and stream and bit of forest-land for miles around. She learned the zig-zag flight of the long-billed snipe, she knew the otter’s marshy lair, and where the grouse and wild-duck made their nests. She fed the timid fawn, wild, trustful as herself, and made a dear companion of a fox that followed her as though it were a dog; and once, while Levarcam stayed below, she climbed the dizzy height where golden eagles had built their nest upon the mountain’s crest, and smoothed the eaglets with her own soft hand. And so she grew in health, and all her spirit came to her again, and when King Conor came to visit her, he thought that in his dreams and in the long life he had passed among the best of Erin’s women, he had never seen or dreamed of a girl so lovely as this blood-drop of the moor. Eagerly he began to reckon up the days until, her fifteenth birthday being passed, he should bring her down to Emain, and take her as his wife. But of her walks he knew not, only Caffa and Levarcam knew.
On a wild wintry night while things were so, there came into the neighbourhood a hunter of wandering game, who had lost his course and his companions. The man was tired with travelling among the hills all day, and in the dark cloudy night, with the mist rising round him from the hills, he laid him down outside the garden within which Deirdre dwelt, and fell asleep. Weak he was with hunger and fatigue, and numb with cold, and deep sleep fell upon the man. Sleep-wandering came upon him then, and he thought that he was close beside a warm hollowed-out fairy mound, and in his dreams he heard fairy music, soft and sweet. In his sleep he called aloud that if there were any one at all in the fairy mound, they would open the mound and let him in, for the sake of the Good Being.
Now Deirdre had not slept that night, and she had arisen and with her nurse had moved about the grounds to seek for warmth of exercise. Just as they turned to go back within the house out of the chill and heavy mist, Deirdre heard the faint feeble voice of the weary man outside the gate. “Nurse-mother, what is that?” she asked and stopped. Levarcam knew it was a human voice, but she replied, “Only a thing of little worth, the birds of the air have gone astray, and are seeking oneanother; let them hie away to the forest of branches”; and she tried to draw Deirdre towards the house. Again sleep-wandering came on the man, and he called out again and louder than before, that if there were any in the fairy mound, for the sake of the Being of the Elements they would arise and let him in.
“What is that, nurse-mother?” said the girl again. “Only a thing of little sense, the birds of the woods are gone astray from each other, and are seeking to come together again. Let them hie them away to the forest of branches.”
The third time came sleep-wandering upon the hunter, and he called aloud that if there were any within the mound, they would let him in for the sake of the God of the Elements, for he was benumbed with cold and parched with hunger.
“Oh! what is that, nurse-mother?” said Deirdre. “Nought there is in that to bring gladness to thee, maiden; it is but the birds of the air who have lost one another in the woods; let them hie away into the forest of branches. Neither shelter or home will they get from us this night.” “Oh! nurse-mother, it was in the name of the God of the Elements that the bird asked shelter of us; and oft hast thou told me that anything asked of us in His name should willingly be done. If thou wilt not allow me to bring in the bird that is benumbed with cold and sore with hunger, I myself will doubt thy teaching and thy faith. But as I believe in thy teaching and thy faith, as thou thyself didst explain it to me, I myself will let in the bird.” So Deirdre turned back to the gate and drew the bar from the door, and let in the hunter. She brought him into the house, and placed a seat in the place of sitting, food in the place of eating,and drink in the place of drinking, for the man who had come home.
“Go on and eat thy food, for indeed thou art in need of it,” said Deirdre.
“Well, I was in truth needful of food and of drink and of warmth when I came to the door of this home,” said the hunter, “but these are all gone from me now that I behold thee, maiden.” Then Levarcam was angry with the man, and spoke sharply to him: “It is too ready on thy tongue the talk is, O man, with thy food and with thy drink. It would be better for thee to keep thy mouth shut and thy tongue dumb in return for the shelter we are giving thee on a cold winter’s night.”
“Well,” said the hunter, “I may keep my mouth shut and my tongue dumb if it suits thee, but by thy father’s two hands and thine own, there are some others of the world’s men who, if they but saw this blood-drop thou art hiding here, it is not long that they would leave her here with thee.”
“What people are those and where are they?” said Deirdre, eagerly. “I will tell thee that, maiden,” said the hunter. “There are three heroes of the Red Branch, Naisi, Ainle, and Arden, sons of Usna, brothers, who, if they saw thee, would bear thee hence to some other place than this.”
“What like are these three brothers of whom you speak?” cried Deirdre, and all her face blushed to a rosy red. “Like the colour of a raven their dusky hair, tossed back from each high, shining brow; their skin white as the plumage of a swan, their cheeks like to a red-deer’s coat, or like your own cheeks, maiden. They swim and leap and run as strong and stately as thesalmon of the stream, or as the stag upon the dappled hill, ’twixt sun and shade; but Naisi, when he stands upright, towers a head and shoulders above all the men around him. Such are the sons of Usna, noble maid.”
But Levarcam interfered: “However be those men of whom you speak, off with you now and take another road that comes not past this way. Small is my gratitude for all thy talk, and well for her who let thee in hadst thou died of thy cold and hunger at the door, and never come within for food and drink.”
The hunter went his way; but he bethought himself that if he told the sons of Usna of the lovely blood-drop he had seen, they might free the maiden out of Levarcam’s hands, and do a good deed to him also for telling them that there was such a damsel as Deirdre on the surface of the living dewy world. So he told his tale to Naisi and said to him that there dwelt, far away on the distant moor, shut in between high walls, the loveliest maiden that ever was born in Erin, and that none lived beside her but an aged nurse and an old Druid, so that Deirdre was like a tender flower over-shadowed by two ancient branchy trees, that hid her from the air and sun.
When Naisi heard that, he said, “Who is the maid and where is she, whom no man hath seen but thee, if, indeed, seen her thou hast?” “Truly I have seen her,” said the hunter, “but no one else could find her save I myself should guide him.”
Then Naisi said that he would go; but Arden and Ainle tried to dissuade him, for they said, “What if the girl should be the maid the King hath destined to himself?” But from far-off to the mind of Naisi there came a memory of a young child, scarce seven years old,whom on the playing-fields he once had seen and promised to see again, but who had disappeared that very day, and never from that day to this had he set eyes upon the girl. So all his brothers could devise served not to turn him from his purpose; and at dawn of the next day, amid the early carolling of birds, in the mild morning dawn of fragrant May, when all the bush was white with hawthorn-bloom, and dew-drops glistened from every point of sapling, bush, and plant, they four set out, going in search of the retired place where Deirdre dwelt.
“Yonder it is, down on the floor of the glen,” the hunter said, when at the fall of eve they stood upon the mountain-brow above the house, so well concealed in trees that many times they might have passed it by and never known that any house was near. “I care not for myself to see again the woman who lives therein; sharp is her tongue, unwelcoming her words. I leave you then, good luck go with you, but if you will be advised, go not near the house. At every gate are blood-hounds, and Levarcam’s bite is nigh as fierce as theirs.”
From day to day the sons of Usna stayed among the hills that circled Deirdre’s home. But for awhile Levarcam feared to let her charge go out, for soon would Conor come to claim her, and Levarcam thought, “If aught should happen or the girl should slip between my hands, small pity would King Conor have for me.” But as time passed, and Deirdre pined again for open air and sunshine, and the walks she loved, and fretted for the fox that looked for her, and for her woodland company of beasts and birds, Levarcam once again took the girl abroad, and oft they sat upon the open hill and watched the sun go down, or brought theirwork and passed the long spring mornings on the heather, happy because the sunshine was so warm, the air so sweet, and all the world so fresh with herbs and flowers.
One day they long had sat thus drinking in the sun, and while Levarcam dozed and nodded with the heat and the fatigue of climbing up the hill, Deirdre from time to time would leave her side to seek some plant or follow a butterfly that passed across her path. Reaching the summit of the hill she saw three men whose like she never in her life before had set her eyes upon. They were not bent, like Caffa, or wrinkled, like King Conor when he came; nor were they dark and roughly clad, with shaggy beards, like the one hunter who had made his way to her abode. These men were young and lithe, straight as the pine and shapely as the stag. But one above the rest towered head and shoulders high, his raven locks thrown back, his blue eye scanning all the mountain for trace of fawn or deer. Beside them, in the leash, three noble hounds; and as they paced along the upland track, Deirdre sat mute in wonder, for in all her life never had she seen such goodly men as these. But suddenly, as they drew near, a flash of inspiration came upon her mind; she knew that these were Usna’s sons, that he who overtopped the rest was Naisi, the boy who long ago had thrown the ball with her. The brothers passed her by, not seeing her seated above them on the hill. But all at once, without a moment’s thought, Deirdre sprang up, and gathering up her dress, she sped as swiftly as a roe along the mountain side, calling out, “Naisi, Naisi, wilt thou leave me here?” Now Naisi had rounded the bend of the hill, and he could not see the maiden, but Ainle and Arden saw her bounding after them, and no thought had they but to get Naisiaway, for they knew well that this was Deirdre, and that if Naisi once set eyes on her, nothing in life would prevent him from carrying her off, the more especially, since Conor was not yet married to the girl. So when Naisi asked, “What is that cry that came to mine ear that it is not easy for me to answer and yet not easy for me to refuse?” the brothers replied, “What but the quacking of the wild ducks upon the mere? Let us hasten our steps and hurry our feet, for long is the distance we have to traverse, and the dark hour of night is coming on.” They went forward quickly, but when Deirdre saw that they were lengthening the space between themselves and her, she called again piteously, “Naisi, thou son of Usna, is it leaving me alone thou art?” “What cry is that which strikes into my very heart?” said Naisi. “Not easy is it for me to answer, but harder yet is it to refuse.” “It is but the cry of the grey geese in the air, winging their flight to the nearest tarn,” said the brothers again; “let us hasten now and walk well, for long is our path to-night and the darkness of night is coming on.” They set out to walk faster than before, and farther yet was the distance between themselves and Deirdre. Then Deirdre flew with the swiftness of the winds of March across the bend of the mountain, and reached a place above them on the cliff, and called again the third time, “Naisi, Naisi, Naisi, thou son of Usna, wilt thou leave me here alone?” “The cry I hear strikes sweetly on mine ear, but of all cries I ever heard, this cry makes deepest wound within mine heart,” said Naisi, and he stopped short.
“Heed not the cry,” his brothers said, “it is the wail of the lake-swans, disturbed in their nesting-place; let us push on now, and win our way to-night to EmainMacha.” “Three times came that cry of distress to me,” said Naisi, “and the vow of a champion is upon me, that no cry of distress shall be passed by unheeded. I will go back now and see whence comes that cry.”
Then Naisi turned to go back, and on the hill above him he saw Deirdre, standing on a rock with her arms outstretched, and all her hair blown backward by the wind, and her fair face flushed all with red, part with her running, part with a lovely shame, and changing as the aspen shimmering in the summer’s breeze. And Naisi knew that never in his life had he seen anything one-half so fair, or any blood-drop like the living blood-drop here, and he gave love to Deirdre such as he never gave to any other, or to a dream or vision, or to a person on the whole world’s face, but only to Deirdre alone.
And Deirdre came close, and to him she gave three loving kisses, and to his brothers each a kiss; and Naisi lifted her and placed her on his shoulder, and he said, “Hitherto it is you, my brothers, who have bidden me to walk well, but now it is I who bid the same to you.”
That night they carried Deirdre to their own home, and sheltered her there for many days. But the news reached Conor that Deirdre was flown, and that it was the sons of Usna with whom she went, and in his fury he sent out armies, and hunted them from place to place, so that they traversed all Ireland, fleeing before the King. And when they found there was no rest for them in Ireland, Naisi determined to forsake his native land and to flee to Alba, for there he had made wars and had carved out for himself a kingdom as great as the kingdom of Conor in Ulster. So he and Deirdre, with his brothers and a great band of followers fled to Alba, which is to-day called Scotland, and they made their home on GlenEtive in Alba, and thence Naisi ruled over the territories he had taken from the King of Alba, and he made wars, and became a powerful prince. And joyous and gladsome were he and Deirdre in each other’s company, and great was the love and affection they gave one to the other.
But all this while the cunning, cruel heart of Conor was planning his revenge. For though he was an old man with grown-up sons of middle age, he had begun to feel affection for the child who had been sheltered by his care, and who looked to him as her protector and her friend. And after all the years that he had waited for the girl, to have her plucked away beneath his eyes just when she was of age to be his wife, aroused his bitter wrath and jealousy. Deep in his heart he plotted dark revenge, but it was hard to carry out his plan, for well he knew that of his chiefs not one would lift his hand against the sons of Usna. Of all the Red Branch Champions those three were loved the best; and difficult it was to know which of the three was bravest, or most noble to behold. When in the autumn games they raced or leaped or drove the chariots round the racing-course, some said that Arden had the more majestic step and stately air; others, that Ainle was more graceful and more lithe in swing, but most agreed that Naisi was the princeliest of the three, so dignified his gait, so swift his step in running, and so strong and firm his hand. But when they wrestled, ran or fought in combats side by side, men praised them all, and called them the “Three Lights of Valour of the Gael.”
When his plans were ripe, King Conor made a festivalin Emain Macha, and all his chiefs were gathered to the feast. The aged Fergus sat at his right hand, and Caffa next to him; close by sat Conall Cernach, a mighty warrior, still in his full prime, and by his side, as in old times, Cuchulain sat. He seemed still young, but of an awesome aspect, as one who had a tragedy before him, and great deeds behind; and, for all that he was the pride of Ulster’s hosts, men stood in dread before him, as though he were a god.
Around the board sat many a mighty man and good prime warrior seasoned by long wars. But in the hall three seats were empty, and it was known to be the king’s command that in his presence none should dare to speak the names of Usna’s banished sons.
This night the King was merry and in pleasant humour, as it seemed. He plied his guests with mead and ale out of his golden horns, and led the tale and passed the jest, and laughed, and all his chiefs laughed with him, till the hall was filled with cheerful sounds of song and merriment. And when the cheer was bravest and the feast was at its height, he rose and said: “Right welcome all assembled here this night, High Chiefs of Ulster, Champions of the Branch. Of all the kingly households in the world, tell me, O you who travel much and see strange distant lands and courts of kings, have ye in Alba or in Erin’s realms, or in the countries of the great wide world, e’er seen a court more princely than our own, or an assembly comely as the Red Branch Knights?”
“We know not,” cried they all, “of any such. Thy court, O High King, is of all courts on earth the bravest and the best.”
“If this be so,” said wily Conor, “I suppose no senseof want lies on you; no lack of anything is in your minds?”
“We know not any want at all,” they said aloud; but in their minds they thought, “save the Three Lights of Valour of the Gael.”
“But I, O warriors, know one want that lies on us,” the King replied, “the want of the three sons of Usna fills my mind. Naisi and Ainle and Arden, good warriors were they all; but Naisi is a match for any mighty monarch in the world. By his own strength alone he carved for him and his a princely realm in Alba, and there he rules as king. Alas! that for the sake of any woman in the world, we lose his presence here.”
“Had we but dared to utter that, O Warrior King, long since we should have called them home again. These three alone would safely guard the province against any host. Three sons of a border-king and used to fight are they; three heroes of warfare, three lions of fearless might.”
“I knew not,” said King Conor craftily, “you wished them back. Methought you all were jealous of their might, or long ere this we should have sent for them. Let messengers now go, and heralds of the king to bring them home, for welcome to us all will be the sight of Usna’s sons.”
“Who is the herald who shall bear that peaceful message?” cried they all. “I have been told,” said Conor, “that out of Ulster’s chiefs there were but three whose word of honour and protection they would trust, and at whose invitation Naisi would come again in peace. With Conall Cernach he will come, or with Cuchulain, or with great Fergus of the mighty arms.These are the friends in whom he will confide; under the safe-guard of each one of these he knows all will be well.”
“Bid Fergus go, or Conall or Cuchulain,” the warriors cried; “let not a single night pass by until the message goes to bring the sons of Usna to our board again. Most sorely do we need them, deeply do we mourn their loss. Bring back the Lights of Valour of the Gael.”
“Now will I test,” thought Conor to himself, “which of these three prime warriors loves me best.” So supper being ended, the King took Conall to his ante-room apart and set himself to question cunningly: “Suppose, O royal soldier of the world, thou wert to go and fetch the sons of Usna back from Alba to their own land under thy safeguard and thy word of honour that they should not be harmed; but if, in spite of this, some ill should fall on them—not by my hand, of course—and they were slain, what then would happen? what wouldst thou do?”
“I swear, O King,” said Conall, “by my hand, that if the sons of Usna were brought here under my protection to their death, not he alone whose hand was stained by that foul deed, but every man of Ulster who had wrought them harm should feel my righteous vengeance and my wrath.”
“I thought as much,” said Conor, “not great the love and service thou dost give thy lord. Dearer to thee than I are Usna’s sons.”
Then sent he for Cuchulain and to him he made the same demand. But bolder yet Cuchulain made reply: “I pledge my word, O King, if evil were to fall upon the sons of Usna, brought back to Erin and their homesin confidence in my protection and my plighted word, not all the riches of the eastern world would bribe or hinder me from severing thine own head from thee in lieu of the dear heads of Usna’s sons, most foully slain when tempted home by their sure trust in me.”
“I see it now, Cuchulain,” said the king, “thou dost profess a love for me thou feelest not.”
Then Fergus came, and to him also he proposed the same request. Now Fergus was perplexed what answer he should give. Sore did it trouble him to think that evil might befall brave Usna’s sons when under his protection. Yet it was but a little while since he and Conor had made friends, and he come back to Ulster, and set high in place and power by the King, and well he knew that Conor doubted him; and such a deed as this, to bring the sons of Usna home again, would prove fidelity and win the King’s affection. Moreover, Conor spoke so guardedly that Fergus was not sure whether the King had ill intent or no towards the sons of Usna. For all he said was: “Supposing any harm or ill befall the sons of Usna by the hand of any here, what wouldst thou do?”
So after long debate within himself, Fergus replied: “If any Ulsterman should harm the noble youths, undoubtedly I should avenge the deed; but thee, O King, and thine own flesh and blood, I would not harm; for well I know, that if they came under protection of thy sovereign word, they would be safe with thee. Therefore, against thee and thy house, I would not raise my hand, whatever the conditions, but faithfully and with my life will serve thee.”
“’Tis well,” the wily king replied, “I see, O royal warrior, that thou lovest me well, and I will prove thy faithfulness and truth. The sons of Usna without doubtwill come with thee. To-morrow set thou forward; bear the King’s message to brave Usna’s sons, say that he eagerly awaits their coming, that Ulster longs to welcome them. Urge them to hasten; bid them not to linger on the way, but with the utmost speed to press straight forward here to Emain Macha.”
Then Fergus went out from the King and told the nobles he had pledged his word to Conor to bring back the sons of Usna to their native land. And on the morrow’s morn Fergus set forth in his own boat, and with him his two sons, Illan the Fair and Buinne the Ruthless Red, and together they sailed to Loch Etive in Alba.
But hardly had they started than King Conor set to work with cunning craft to lure the sons of Usna to their doom. He sent for Borrach, son of Annte, who had built a mighty fortress by the sea, and said to him, “Did I not hear, O Borrach, that thou hadst prepared a feast for me?” “It is even so, O King, and I await thy coming to partake of the banquet I have prepared.” And Conor said, “I may not come at this time to thy feast; the duties of the kingdom keep me here at Emain. But I would not decline thy hospitality. Fergus, the son of Roy, stands close to me in place and power; a feast bestowed on him I hold as though it were bestowed on me. In less than a week’s time comes Fergus back from Alba, bringing the sons of Usna to their home. Bid Fergus to thy feast, and I will hold the honour paid to him as paid to me.”
For wily Conor knew that if his royal command was laid on Fergus to accept the banquet in his stead, Fergus dare not refuse; and by this means he sought to separate the sons of Usna from their friend, and get them fastinto his own power at Emain, while Fergus waited yet at Borrach’s house, partaking of his hospitality. “Thus,” thought the King, “I have the sons of Usna in my grasp, and dire the vengeance I will wreak on them, the men who stole my wife.”
At the head of fair Loch Etive the sons of Usna had built for themselves three spacious hunting-seats among the pine-trees at the foot of the cliffs that ran landward to deep Glen Etive. The wild deer could be shot from the window, and the salmon taken out of the stream from the door of their dwelling. There they passed the spring and summer months, Usna’s sons of the white steeds and the brown deer-hounds, whose breasts were broader than the wooden leaves of the door. Above the hunting-lodge, on the grassy slope that is at the foot of the cascade, they built a sunny summer home for Deirdre, and they called it the ‘Grianan,’ or sunny bower of Deirdre. It was thatched on the outside with the long-stalked fern of the dells and the red clay of the pools, and lined within with the pine of the mountains and the downy feathers of the wild birds; and round it was the apple-garden of Clan Usna, with the apple-tree of Deirdre in its midst and the apple-trees of Naisi and Ainle and Arden encircling it.
And Deirdre loved her life, for she was free as the brown partridge flying over the mountains, or as the vessels with ruddy sails swinging upon the loch.
But in the winter they moved down to the broad sheltered pasture-lands that lay on the western side ofthe loch near the island that was in olden days calledEilean Chlann Uisneor the Island of the Children of Usna, but is calledEilean nan Ronor the Isle of the Seals to-day; and there they built a mighty fortress for Deirdre and the sons of Usna which men still call theCaisteal Nighean Righ Eirinnor the Castle of the Daughter of the King of Ireland, and thence they made wars and conquered a great part of Western Alba and became powerful princes.
One sultry evening in the late autumn, Deirdre and Naisi were resting before the door of her sunny bower after a day spent by the brothers in the chase. Below, their followers were cutting up the deer, and as they brought in the bags of heavy game, and faggots for the hearth, the voice of Ainle singing an evening melody resounded through the wood. Like the sound of the wave the voice of Ainle, and the rich bass of Arden answered him, as together the two brothers came out from the shadow of the trees, gathering to the trysting-place of the evening meal.
Between Naisi and Deirdre a draught-board was set, but Deirdre was winning, for a mood of oppression lay upon Naisi and his thoughts were not in the game. For of late, at evening, his exile weighed upon him, and little good to him seemed his prosperity and his successes, since he did not see his own home in Ireland and his friends at the time of his rising in the morning or at the time of his lying down at night. For great as were his possessions in Alba, stronger in him than the love of his kindred in Alba was the love of his native land in Erin. He thought it strange, moreover, that of those three who in the old time loved him most, Fergus and Conall Cernach and Cuchulain, not one of them had allthis time come to bring him to his own land again under his safeguard and protection.
So, as they played, Deirdre could see that the mind of Naisi was wandering from the game, and her heart smote her, as often it had smitten her before when she had seen him thus oppressed, that for her sake so much had gone from him of friends and home, and his allegiance to his king, and honourable days among his clan. Wistfully she smiled across the board at Naisi, but mournful was the answering smile he sent her back.
“Play, play,” she said, “I win the game from you.” “One game the more or less can matter little when all else is lost,” he answered bitterly. But hardly had the unkind words passed from him, the first unkindness Deirdre ever heard from Naisi’s lips, when far below, across the silent waters of the lake, he caught a distant call, his own name uttered in a ringing voice that seemed familiar, a voice that brought old days to memory.
“I hear the voice of a man from Erin call below,” he cried, and started up. Now Deirdre too had heard the cry and well she knew that it was Fergus’ voice they heard, but deep foreboding passed across her mind that all their hours of happiness were past, and grief and rending of the heart in store. So quickly she replied: “How could that be? It is some man of Alba coming from the chase, belated in returning. No voice was that from Erin; it was a Scotchman’s cry. Let us play on.”
Three times the voice of Fergus came sounding up the glen, and at the last, Naisi sprang up. “You are mistaken, damsel; of a certainty I know this is the voice of Fergus.” “I knew it all the time, whose voice it was,” said Deirdre, when she saw he would not be putoff. “Why then didst thou not tell us?” Naisi asked. “A vision that I saw last night hath hindered me,” replied the girl. “I saw three birds come to us out of Emain from the King, carrying three sips of honey in their bills; the sips of honey they left here with us, but took three sips of our red blood away with them.”
“What is thy rede of this vision, O Damsel?” Naisi asked. “Thus do I understand it,” Deirdre said; “Fergus hath come from our own native land with peace, and sweet as honey will his message be: but the three sips of blood that he will take away with him, those three are ye, for ye will go with him, and be betrayed to death.” “Speak not such words, O Deirdre,” cried they all; “never would Fergus thus betray his friends. Alas! that words like this should pass thy lips. We stay too long; Fergus awaits us at the port. Go, Ainle, and go, Arden, down to meet him, and to give him loving welcome here.” So Arden went, and Ainle, and three loving kisses fervently they gave to Fergus and his sons. Gladly they welcomed the wayfarers to Naisi’s home, and led them up; and Naisi and Deirdre arose and stretched their hands in welcome; and they gave them blessing and three kisses lovingly, for old times’ sake, and eagerly they asked for tidings of Erin, and of Ulster especially. “I have no other tidings half so good as these,” said Fergus, “that King Conor waits for you to give you welcome back to Emain, and to the Red Branch House. I am your surety and your safeguard, and full well ye know that under Fergus’ safeguard ye are sure of peace.” “Heed not that message, Naisi,” Deirdre said; “greater and wider is your lordship here, than Conor’s rule in Erin.”
“Better than any lordship is one’s native land,” said Naisi; “dearer to me than great possessions here, is one more sight of Erin’s well-loved soil.”
“My word and pledge are firm on your behalf,” said Fergus; “with me no harm or hurt can come to you.” “Verily and indeed, thy word is firm, and we will go with thee.”
But to their going Deirdre consented not, and every way she sought to hinder them, and wept and prayed them not to go to death. “Now all my joy is past,” she said; “I saw last night the three black ravens bearing three sad leaves of the yew-tree of death; and O Beloved, those three withered leaves I saw were the three sons of Usna, blown off their stem by the rough wind of Conor’s wrath and the damp dew of Fergus’ treachery.” And they were sorry that she had said that. “These are but foolish women’s fears,” said they; “the dropping of leaves in thy dream, and the howling of dogs, the sight of birds with blood-drops in their bills, are but the restlessness of sleep, O Deirdre; and verily we put our trust in Fergus’ word. To-night we go with him to Erin.”
Gladsome and gay were the three brothers then; they put all fears away from them, and set to prepare them for their journey back to Erin’s shores. And early the next morning, about the parting of night from day, at the delay of the morning dawn, they passed down to their galley that rocked upon the loch, and hoisted sail, and calmly and peacefully they sailed out into the ocean. But Deirdre sat in the stern of the boat, and her face was not set forward looking towards Erin, but it was set backward looking on the coasts of Scotland. And she cried aloud, “O Land of the East, My love to thee, with thy wondrous beauty! Woe is me that I leave thy lochs and thy bays, thy flowering delightfulplains, and thy bright green-smooth hills! Dear to me the fort that Naisi built, dear the sunny bower up the glen; very dear to my heart the wooded slope holding the sunbeams where I have sat with Naisi.” And as they sailed out of Glen Etive she sang this song, sadly and sorrowfully:—