“Darthool is right. And wise she was, too, to bid this Angus of Moidart come on the morrow after to-morrow. Nevertheless, I know well by hearsay of his vassal, Fergus of the Three Duns, and that the man is called Fergus the Wily. He will not wait, but at dawn will be about us, with thrice fifty and thrice fifty again.”
“Ardan has spoken well,” added Nathos. “There is but one thing to be done. Weary we are, but we must go hence at once.”
And so it was. The dusk was heavy upon sea and land that night, and a sea-mist came up and obscured the skies, so that not a star was visible.
Soundlessly they launched the great galley again, and once more set sail. The night-wind was from the south-east, whereat they rejoiced, for thus there was no need of the oars, and so no betraying thresh would be heard.
When they were well north of Lismore they put out the long oars and swung the galley northwards. It was with relief that the sons of Usna passed the Appin lands, and before dawn rowed into a great sea-loch.
There, however, they learned that the Kingof Alba, he who had called himself Angus Mudartach, was in the westlands only for a brief while, and would have to haste to Dunedin straightway, as runners had come with tidings of a great rising. He had no rath of Dunchraig, and no dun there; and so in truth the sons of Usna knew that the king had lied to them, and that Darthool was right. As for Fergus of the Three Duns, he was no longer a great lord, but had been despoiled, and at the most could summon two score and ten men.
So the sons of Usna greatly rejoiced, for now they could go to their own land in safety, which lay beyond the region held by Fergus of the Duns.
For seven days they stayed by the shores of that sea-loch, under the shadow of mighty mountains. Ardan, with a scanty following, went through the hill-passes, and returned saying that the King of Alba had gone to his own country and that all the great lords of the region had departed with him, including Fergus.
So on the eighth day the galley sailed a short way southward once more, and entered into the Bay of Selma. There, on a rockyeminence, were the walls of their great dun, which Usna their father had built among the ruins of the chief stronghold of the Cruithne, the ancient people of Alba.19
It was with joy that the sons of Usna saw once more the house of their childhood, and with still greater joy that they found the people of the neighbouring glens and straths still loyal to them. Their father Usna had ever been at war with the King of Alba, and after many battles (the bards sang of the beauty of Usna’s wife as the torch that lit those wars) he had conquered all this region. But at his death, by treachery the king had overcome the stronghold and destroyed it.
But now again the sons of Usna had their home in their own eyrie. They knew not how long they might abide there in peace, for either the King of Alba, or Fergus of the Duns as his leader of men, would come again when once peace in the eastlands was secured.
There Nathos wished to dwell alone with Darthool and a few followers, but Ailne andArdan once more refused to leave him then or ever. But glad were the thrice fifty vassals to return to their own land, and without regret the sons of Usna saw them set sail for Erin. They were men who cared little for aught save strife, and when not wielding sword or spear were haughty and bitter with all other men save those of the Red Branch, and so were only a danger and a weariness in that place.
Throughout that winter they lived there in peace, hunting and fishing. So great was the love of each for Darthool that every day was full of peace and content wherein they saw her. Nathos moved in a dream, and knew the extreme of joy. At night, before the fire, Darthool sang to them old-world airs of a sweet plaintive music, so sweet and plaintive that men said she must be no other than Fionula, she of the children of Lir who were turned into wild swans, and lived a thousand years in the old, old days.
But when spring came again—a spring so fair and sweet that it was as though May had come hand in hand with February—a rumour reached them that the King of Alba, though he could not penetrate the highlands of thewest, intended, with the help of Fergus of the Duns and other chieftains, to proceed once more against the Dun of Usna. Moreover, he had sworn to raze it to the ground, and to slay Nathos, and to take Darthool to be his wife.
Nathos laughed at this, for he knew well that the King of Alba would never take him alive, nor yet Darthool. But after long colloquy with Ailne and Ardan, all decided to set forth and pass northward to the land whence their mother had come, a land of endless mountains and narrow lochs, beautiful beyond any other, grander than any Darthool had seen, and remote beyond the reach of any Alban king.
So thither they set forth, and took with them in their great galley two score and ten men of their own clan. After long sailing up narrow lochs, the sons of Usna reached the mountain land whence their mother had come. Her father was dead, but the great dun he had built upon the summit of one of the hills overlooking the Black Loch had been left unharmed, and was tenanted only by wandering shepherds. Here Nathos and Darthool made their home, and in that beautiful land and inthe glory of spring, knew the full joy and richness of life.20
For a brief while all the people of the mountain lands round about gave in their adherence to Nathos, so that he became as a king in that region. So great was the fear in which the three sons of Usna were held, and so strong were they in their mountain home, that none dared to approach them with the flaming brand.
Thus three years passed, and in all the wide reaches of the world there was no man so happy as Nathos and no woman so happy as Darthool; and after these there were none so happy as Ailne and Ardan, who were well content to live so that they might be near the beautiful wife of Nathos, their sister, Darthool, fairest of all women in the world.
The King of Alba, whom they had feared, was now dead, and the king who reigned in his place was well disposed towards the sons of Usna and sought their alliance. So this was done, and the name and fame of the threebrothers spread throughout the land; while from the wild west to the populous east the poets sang of the beauty of Darthool.
In the summer months they abode at the high fort of Darthool, for so they named it, on the heights above the Black Loch, or Loch Ness as we now call it; and from the first frosts till the cuckoo’s song had ceased they lived at Dunuisneachan, their father’s ancient stronghold by the shores of Loch Etive. Thence often they wandered far afoot, or sailed southward and eastward among the sea-lochs and narrow kyles. They hunted in Glenorchy and fished under the mountain-shadows on Loch Awe; or followed the deer through the woods of Glenlaidhe. When it was pleasant to be upon the waters, they sailed down the long fjord of Loch Fyne, and rested awhile at the Haven of the Foray, and watched the coming and going of the rainbows on the rocky headlands which guard that place; then they would cross to the Cowal, and enter the narrow Kyles of Bute, where on the little isle we call the Burnt Island they built a vitrified fort. Thence they followed past the Hills of Ruel to Glendaruay (Glendaruel), and so to the head of Loch Striven and up Glenmassan, and thencedown by the sweet inland waters of Loch Eck, and waterward again by the bay we now call the Holy Loch. Thence up the long, narrow fjord of Loch Long they sailed, till among the mountains they crossed the short pass to Loch Lomond, and perhaps met the soldiery of the King of Alba at the inland lakes, or came upon the great fort of Dumbarton on the Clyde; or they may have crossed the hill to the Gareloch, and so returned westward once more by the blue frith of Clyde, past the precipitous isle of Arran, and so up Loch Fyne again; or seaward by the Mull of Cantire, and thence northward past the isles to their own place, and could once more watch the salmon leaping through the Falls of Lora or chase the deer on the hills of Etive.
But during all this time Concobar, the high king of the Ultonians, nursed his bitter thoughts. He had heard of the great fame and happiness of the sons of Usna, and more than ever he yearned after Darthool, his wrath at his loss being the greater because that all the old prophecies about the beautiful daughter of Felim were unfulfilled.
One day the high king made a great festival in Emain Macha, and never in Erin was seenone more royal and magnificent. The princes and nobles from all the regions in the sway of Concobar were there, and all the musicians, singers, and poets in Uladh.
In the midst of the festival Concobar asked those present at his board if now, in the height of the glory of the Red Branch, they wanted for anything; but they answered as with one voice that they were content.
“And that is what I am not,” he answered.
“And wherefore, O king and lord?”
“Because that the three greatest of ye are absent from us. I speak of the three Torches of the Valour of the Gael: Nathos and Ailne and Ardan, the sons of Usna, the son of Congal Claringnech. For now I the king say this: that it is not fitting these three heroes, the pride of our chivalry, should be in exile, and this only because of a woman. By the Sun and Wind, there is no woman alive who is worthy to be the cause of this. Far better were it that the sons of Usna were once more in our midst. Even now they hold half the lands of Alba under the shadow of their sword. Truly they are heroes, and if dark days come upon us, as the soothsayers foretell, then indeed we shall be in sore need of them.”
All there were rejoiced at that. There was not one who had not lamented the fierce anger of Concobar, and who was not fain to have the sons of Usna again among the chivalry of the Red Branch. Only fear had not allowed them to speak, for the high king had slain a man who had said that Nathos was too great a lord to be exiled.
“And since ye are so glad at this thing,” Concobar added, “and would fain have these heroes among us, to be the chief pride, glory and defence of Uladh against all other kingdoms and provinces of Erin, I say to ye: Go and bring hence again from Alba the three sons of Usna.”
“That is well,” their spokesman answered; “but who is to prevail with Nathos and his brothers? We are willing to go, but we cannot bring Nathos against his will. Moreover, is he not undergeasnot to put foot again in Erin?”
“Not so. I know that Nathos is undergeasnot to return to Erin unless it be in the company of Fergus, the son of Lossa the Red, or Conall Cernach, or Cuchulain. And look you, each of these is now here, so that I shall well know who most loves me.”
So, when the feast was over, Concobar first drew Conall Cernach aside.
“Tell me, O warrior lord,” he said, “what wouldst thou say or do if I should send thee for the sons of Usna, and that at my secret command they should be slain privily—a thing, nevertheless, Conall, which I do not purpose to do.”
“That could not be done, O king and lord, without a bitter and wrongful bloodshedding, for I could not do otherwise than put death upon each and all of the Ultonians who might be with me on that day.”
“That may be so, Conall Cernach. So now, go.”
Thereafter the king sent for Cuchulain. The young champion came to him fearlessly, for the whole heart of the warrior prince was noble and courageous.
Concobar asked him the same question as he had asked Conall Cernach.
“What would I do, O lord and king?” answered Cuchulain with proud disdain. “This thing I would do, and my troth to it: that if thou through me brought about the death of the sons of Usna, thou mightst flee eastwardto Innia Iarrtharaigh21itself, and yet not be safe from perishing by my hand because of thy deed.”
Concobar smiled grimly.
“I knew well, Cuchulain, that ye bore me no love,” he said; and bade the hero begone.
Thereafter the king sent for Fergus, the son of Rossa, and to him he put the same question as to Conall Cernach and to Cuchulain.
“This much I say,” said Fergus, “that never would I raise hand or weapon against thee: nevertheless, there is not one Ultonian who might fare forth on that errand who would not get the shortness of life and sorrow of death from me.”
“It is thou, Fergus, son of Rossa, who dost truly love thy king. It is to thee I entrust this thing, who shalt be greater in Erin than any son of Usna. Go forth on the morrow, and remember thy name of old—Fergus Honeymouth. Of a surety Nathos, with Darthool, and Ailne and Ardan, shall come from Alba with thee. When thou art againin Erin, go at once to the house of Borrach, the son of Cainte; and when thou art there stay, because of one of thygeasanever to refuse a feast, and beforehand I shall warn Borrach of this thing. Then send forward at once, and without covenant, and without protection, to Emain Macha, the three sons of Usna.”
So on the morrow Fergus went forth, taking none with him save his two sons, Illann the Fair, and Buine of the Red Locks, and a man Cullen to steer the sea-barge wherewith he would set sail.
It was a fair voyage, and soon the black barge of Fergus sailed past the isles and headlands of Alba, and came to Loch Etive and the Bay of Selma, where the great fort of Dun Usneachain lay black against the ivy-clad heights beyond.
This was in the first heats of summer, and Nathos and Darthool, with Ailne and Ardan, had left the fort and were among the rocky declivities of the woodland near the sea. There they had three hunting booths: one for Nathos and Darthool, one for Ailne and Ardan, and one wherein to have their eating and drinking. In front of one of these boothsNathos and Darthool sat, on that day of the days, playing on theCemrcaem(the chessboard), the verychessboard which had belonged to Concobar, but which the king had left in the dun of Ailne and Ardan when hunting near by, on the day before that on which they fled with Nathos. It was all of ivory, and the chessmen were of wrought gold and in the likeness of strange kings and priests and fantastic animals wrought in immemorial years in the Orient.
And while they were playing a great shout was heard, coming upon them from a branch-hid hollow of the sea.
“That is the voice of a man of Erin,” said Nathos, holding in the air a golden knight.
“Not so,” answered Darthool; “it is the voice of a Gael of Alba.” Yet well she knew that Nathos had guessed aright, and that even now were the footsteps of fate drawing close. For none can prevail against destiny.
Once more a loud cry was heard, and a voice called upon Nathos and the sons of Usna.
“Of a surety, that is the voice of a man of Erin,” said Nathos eagerly, for his heart was fain to see an Ultonian again, and to hear of the Red Branch and of the fate ofUladh, and as to whether Concobar reigned still.
“Indeed, it is not so,” answered Darthool, and turning the great glory and beauty of her eyes upon Nathos she bade him play on. Then a third cry, nearer and clearer, was heard; and now all knew that it was the voice of a man of Erin.
“And if there be no cloud upon me,” said Nathos, “that is the voice of no other than Fergus, the son of Rossa the Red, whom I knew well of old, and for whom my heart is fain. Ardan, do ye go down at once to the haven, and bid Fergus welcome, and all who may be with him. It is a good day this for us, when once more we may hear the voices of the Red Branch.”
While Ardan went to the haven, Darthool told Nathos she had known from the first that the newcomer was a man out of Erin, and moreover, that he came from Concobar, and that his coming boded no good.
“And how will you be knowing the one and the other, Darthool?”
“From a dream that I had: to wit, that three birds flew hither from Emain Macha, and brought with them three sips of rarehoney, and then that they left us with that honey but took away instead three sips of our blood.”
“Tell me, my queen, what is the reading you put upon that dream?”
“That Fergus comes to us with the honey-words of peace, but that behind them lies the shedding of blood, and that blood ours.”
Meanwhile Ardan welcomed Fergus, and brought him and his companions to where Nathos sat playing with Darthool upon the ivory and gold chessboard of Concobar the king. As the fair-smiling Ultonian drew near, he smiled a grimmer smile behind his beard, to see Nathos there with the two chiefest treasures of the king’s heart—the woman he wished to make his queen, and the chessboard that had come to him from some great king’s palace in the dim remote Indies of which the poets sang.
Great was the rejoicing, and Nathos and his brothers and Darthool embraced Fergus and his sons, and eagerly questioned them for tidings.
“The best tidings I have,” Fergus answered, “is that I have come to ye with messages of loving peace from Concobar, whose heartis smitten by your long absence, and who would fain see in Erin again the three noblest lords in his or any other realm. Moreover, he has sent me to you with covenants and guarantees of loving good faith. He has pledged his kingly word, and I, too, have pledged mine, and ye know well, ye sons of Usna, that Fergus MacRossa Rua is not a man of light word. So come back to Erin with me, Nathos and Ailne and Ardan, and I pray of thee, come thou too, Darthool, wife of Nathos. Great shall be the welcome given to ye all, and sure it is a good thing to end a feud, and to put an unwaking sleep upon the sword and the spear.”
“That is a good word,” said Nathos, who was well pleased; but a sob was in the heart of Darthool, and her lips quivered as she spoke.
“Surely,” she said, “Concobar MacNessa forgets. The sons of Usna are no tributaries. Nathos is overlord now of a country greater in extent than all the province of Uladh over which Concobar is king. It ill befits a king of an isle to go as a forgiven guest to the lord of a rock.”
“That is true,” said Fergus quickly, “Darthoolhas justice for what she says. But there is truth in what I say also, and it is a truth which the sons of Usna know, and will act by, that a man longs to see the land which is his own land or the land of his adoption. And were not Nathos and Ailne and Ardan among us as children and as boys and as youths, and are they not heroes of the Red Branch? Surely, it is a good thing for a man to see his own land each day, and to rejoice therein?”
“We have two lands,” interrupted Ardan, “we who are of both Alba and Erin. Nevertheless, it would ill befit us not to look upon ourselves of the Red Branch first and foremost. So if Nathos is ready to go with thee, so also are Ailne and I myself.”
“I am ready,” said Nathos, though he kept his eyes away from those of Darthool.
“And ye know that my guaranty is sure?” added Fergus.
“It is sure,” said Nathos.
That night all were full of joyous pleasure, save only Darthool, who in her heart knew that the shadowy feet of Fate were all about them, and that she at least and perhaps none other there would ever again see Alba.
On the morrow all set sail. As they leftthe beautiful shores, than which for sure there are none more beautiful in all the realms of the Gael, Darthool took her harp and sat back among the deerskins in the stern of the galley and sang:
“Ionmhuin tir, an tir ud shoir—Alba go na h’-iongantaibh;Nocha ttiocfainn aiste ale,Muna ttagainn le Naoise,”
“Ionmhuin tir, an tir ud shoir—Alba go na h’-iongantaibh;Nocha ttiocfainn aiste ale,Muna ttagainn le Naoise,”
“Ionmhuin tir, an tir ud shoir—Alba go na h’-iongantaibh;Nocha ttiocfainn aiste ale,Muna ttagainn le Naoise,”
“Ionmhuin tir, an tir ud shoir—
Alba go na h’-iongantaibh;
Nocha ttiocfainn aiste ale,
Muna ttagainn le Naoise,”
and for eight other verses in the old ancient Gaelic that has lived in her lament till this day:22
Dear is this land to me, dear is this land:O Alba of the lochs!Sure I would not be sailing sad from thy foam-white sandWere I not sailing with Nathos for the Irish strand.Dear is the Forest Fort and high Dunfin,And Dun Sween, and Innis Drayno—Often with Nathos have I striven to winTo the wooded heights of these—and now we goFar hence, and to me it is a parting of woe.O woods of Coona, I can hear the singingOf the west wind among the branches greenAnd the leaping and laughing of cool waters springing,And my heart aches for all that has been,For all that has been, my Home, all that has been!Fain would I be once more in the woods of Glen Cain,Fain would I sleep on the fern in that place:Of the fish, venison, and white badger’s flesh I am fainThat plentifully we had there, or wherever our trailCarried us, yea, I am fain of that place.Glenmassan! O Glenmassan!High the sorrel there, and the sweet fragrant grasses:It would be well if I were listening now to whereIn Glenmassan the sun shines and the cool west wind passes,Glenmassan of the grasses!Loch Etive, O fair Loch Etive, that was my first home,I think of thee now when on the grey-green sea—And beneath the mist in my eyes and the flying foamI look back wearily,I look back wearily to thee!Glen Orchy, O Glen Orchy, fair sweet glen,Was ever I more happy than in thy shade?Was not Nathos there the happiest of men?O may thy beauty never fade,Most fair and sweet and beautiful glade.Glen of the Roes, Glen of the Roes,In thee I have dreamed to the full my happy dream:O that where the shallow bickering Ruel flows,I might hear again, o’er its flashing gleam,The cuckoos calling by the murmuring stream.Ah, well I remember the Isle of the ThornIn dark and beautiful Loch Awe afar:Ah, from these I am now like a flower uptorn,Who shall soon be more lost than a falling star,And am now as a blown flame in the front of war!
Dear is this land to me, dear is this land:O Alba of the lochs!Sure I would not be sailing sad from thy foam-white sandWere I not sailing with Nathos for the Irish strand.Dear is the Forest Fort and high Dunfin,And Dun Sween, and Innis Drayno—Often with Nathos have I striven to winTo the wooded heights of these—and now we goFar hence, and to me it is a parting of woe.O woods of Coona, I can hear the singingOf the west wind among the branches greenAnd the leaping and laughing of cool waters springing,And my heart aches for all that has been,For all that has been, my Home, all that has been!Fain would I be once more in the woods of Glen Cain,Fain would I sleep on the fern in that place:Of the fish, venison, and white badger’s flesh I am fainThat plentifully we had there, or wherever our trailCarried us, yea, I am fain of that place.Glenmassan! O Glenmassan!High the sorrel there, and the sweet fragrant grasses:It would be well if I were listening now to whereIn Glenmassan the sun shines and the cool west wind passes,Glenmassan of the grasses!Loch Etive, O fair Loch Etive, that was my first home,I think of thee now when on the grey-green sea—And beneath the mist in my eyes and the flying foamI look back wearily,I look back wearily to thee!Glen Orchy, O Glen Orchy, fair sweet glen,Was ever I more happy than in thy shade?Was not Nathos there the happiest of men?O may thy beauty never fade,Most fair and sweet and beautiful glade.Glen of the Roes, Glen of the Roes,In thee I have dreamed to the full my happy dream:O that where the shallow bickering Ruel flows,I might hear again, o’er its flashing gleam,The cuckoos calling by the murmuring stream.Ah, well I remember the Isle of the ThornIn dark and beautiful Loch Awe afar:Ah, from these I am now like a flower uptorn,Who shall soon be more lost than a falling star,And am now as a blown flame in the front of war!
Dear is this land to me, dear is this land:O Alba of the lochs!Sure I would not be sailing sad from thy foam-white sandWere I not sailing with Nathos for the Irish strand.
Dear is this land to me, dear is this land:
O Alba of the lochs!
Sure I would not be sailing sad from thy foam-white sand
Were I not sailing with Nathos for the Irish strand.
Dear is the Forest Fort and high Dunfin,And Dun Sween, and Innis Drayno—Often with Nathos have I striven to winTo the wooded heights of these—and now we goFar hence, and to me it is a parting of woe.
Dear is the Forest Fort and high Dunfin,
And Dun Sween, and Innis Drayno—
Often with Nathos have I striven to win
To the wooded heights of these—and now we go
Far hence, and to me it is a parting of woe.
O woods of Coona, I can hear the singingOf the west wind among the branches greenAnd the leaping and laughing of cool waters springing,And my heart aches for all that has been,For all that has been, my Home, all that has been!
O woods of Coona, I can hear the singing
Of the west wind among the branches green
And the leaping and laughing of cool waters springing,
And my heart aches for all that has been,
For all that has been, my Home, all that has been!
Fain would I be once more in the woods of Glen Cain,Fain would I sleep on the fern in that place:Of the fish, venison, and white badger’s flesh I am fainThat plentifully we had there, or wherever our trailCarried us, yea, I am fain of that place.
Fain would I be once more in the woods of Glen Cain,
Fain would I sleep on the fern in that place:
Of the fish, venison, and white badger’s flesh I am fain
That plentifully we had there, or wherever our trail
Carried us, yea, I am fain of that place.
Glenmassan! O Glenmassan!High the sorrel there, and the sweet fragrant grasses:It would be well if I were listening now to whereIn Glenmassan the sun shines and the cool west wind passes,Glenmassan of the grasses!
Glenmassan! O Glenmassan!
High the sorrel there, and the sweet fragrant grasses:
It would be well if I were listening now to where
In Glenmassan the sun shines and the cool west wind passes,
Glenmassan of the grasses!
Loch Etive, O fair Loch Etive, that was my first home,I think of thee now when on the grey-green sea—And beneath the mist in my eyes and the flying foamI look back wearily,I look back wearily to thee!
Loch Etive, O fair Loch Etive, that was my first home,
I think of thee now when on the grey-green sea—
And beneath the mist in my eyes and the flying foam
I look back wearily,
I look back wearily to thee!
Glen Orchy, O Glen Orchy, fair sweet glen,Was ever I more happy than in thy shade?Was not Nathos there the happiest of men?O may thy beauty never fade,Most fair and sweet and beautiful glade.
Glen Orchy, O Glen Orchy, fair sweet glen,
Was ever I more happy than in thy shade?
Was not Nathos there the happiest of men?
O may thy beauty never fade,
Most fair and sweet and beautiful glade.
Glen of the Roes, Glen of the Roes,In thee I have dreamed to the full my happy dream:O that where the shallow bickering Ruel flows,I might hear again, o’er its flashing gleam,The cuckoos calling by the murmuring stream.
Glen of the Roes, Glen of the Roes,
In thee I have dreamed to the full my happy dream:
O that where the shallow bickering Ruel flows,
I might hear again, o’er its flashing gleam,
The cuckoos calling by the murmuring stream.
Ah, well I remember the Isle of the ThornIn dark and beautiful Loch Awe afar:Ah, from these I am now like a flower uptorn,Who shall soon be more lost than a falling star,And am now as a blown flame in the front of war!
Ah, well I remember the Isle of the Thorn
In dark and beautiful Loch Awe afar:
Ah, from these I am now like a flower uptorn,
Who shall soon be more lost than a falling star,
And am now as a blown flame in the front of war!
Nathos was sad when he heard this lament from the mouth of Darthool, and Ailne and Ardan looked at each other and whispered that it was the beginning of the end. Nevertheless, they did not fear to confront the days to come, for whatsoever the decrees of Fate may be a brave man does not draw back, but goes forward upon the way set before him. But Nathos was in a dream, and so heeded little, content too to chide Darthool because that she laid so much stress on vain imaginings.
The voyage was a swift and good one, and even Darthool’s heart beat the quicker whenonce more she stood on the soil of Erin, her own land. In three days thereafter they came within sight of the Dun of Borrach, and Fergus MacRossa was glad, for soon he would be able to see Concobar the king, and tell him how great was his success.
It is a strange thing that a man such as Fergus Honeymouth could be so blind. Yet had he ever believed in the kinglihood of Concobar, and it was not till he reached the house of the son of Cainte that he knew in truth how the high king meant to play him false, and mayhap to deal treacherously with the sons of Usna. For after Borrach had greeted them all with affection and heartsome pleasure, he told them that word had come from Concobar that they were to press forward without delay, so great was the king’s longing to see them again, and so deep was his love for three of the noblest of the knights of the Red Branch. “But upon thee, Fergus MacRossa, I have a feast made ready, a festival of weeks, and thou knowest it isgeasupon thee not to refuse any feast made for thee: and so as thou wouldst avoid putting shame upon me and deep disgrace upon thyself, thou must abide here with me.”
At that, Fergus flushed a deep red,23and was filled with anger. Yet could he not refuse, for hisgeaswas sacred: and no man of that age dared break that bond.
So he turned to those with him, and asked what was now to be done.
“Let this be done,” said Darthool: “either forsake the sons of Usna, or keep to thy feast-bond.”
“My feast-bond I must keep, Darthool, yet will I not forsake the sons of Usna. My guaranty is known for sure: but over and above that I will send with them, and with thee, my two sons, Illann the Fair and Buine the Fiery, as further warranty.”
But at these words Nathos turned away with a scornful smile.
“It is not at thee or thy feast-bond I smile, O Fergus,” he said, “but at thy protection, good though thy sons be. For, by the Sun and Wind, I have never yet had need of any man to protect me, and go now, as ever before,confident in my own valour and might: and this I say not boastingly, but openly, so that Concobar and all Uladh may know it.”
Thereafter Darthool and the sons of Usna left the house of Borrach, and fared southward, with Illann the Fair and Buine in their company. As for Fergus, he cursed his bond, but nevertheless assured himself, for, as he said over and over, if the whole five provinces of Erin were assembled on one spot, they would not be able to break the solemn pledge of his guaranty.
But on the way Darthool urged advice upon Nathos and his brothers.
“Let us go,” she said, “to the isle of Cullen, between Erin and Alba, and there await the day when Fergus will fulfil his bond. In that way he shall still keep the obligation of hisgeas, and yet we shall escape the evil that I know well awaiteth us.”
“That we cannot do,” answered the sons of Usna, “for we are in honour bound now to the king. Moreover, we have the guaranty of Fergus MacRossa.”
“It was an ill day when we came here trusting to that word,” Darthool replied: but said no more then.
At dusk they reached the White Cairn on Sliav-Fuad, and it was not till after they had left the watch-tower behind them that Nathos saw that Darthool was no longer of their company. So he retraced his way, and came upon her sleeping a deep sleep, though she awoke suddenly as he drew near.
“Is sleep so heavy upon thee, fair queen?” he asked, when he saw her startled eyes and pale face.
“I was weary, Nathos. Yet it is not weariness that has done this, but a dream. I dreamed a terrifying and dreadful thing. I saw thee and Ailne and Ardan and Illann the Fair, but on not one of these was the head remaining, but only on Buine the Fiery.”
“And what will be the meaning of that, Darthool?”
“That Buine will leave ye ere death comes, and that a bloody death will be upon each. Nathos, I pray of thee that thou wilt go straightway to Dun Delgan, where the great and noble lord Cuchulain is, and abide with him for a while. There we shall be safe. Listen, I pray thee: I see thine own shadow creeping up thee, and a darkcloud overhead, and a cloud of clotted blood it is by the same token.”
“Fair woman, there is some guile upon thy delicate thin lips. Why shouldst thou see evil everywhere? Be assured that neither I nor Ailne nor Ardan will turn aside from our quest of Concobar the king.”
Darthool sighed, and remembered some old wisdom she had heard from Lavarcam: that if misfortune will not come to a man swiftly, he will seek it and take it by the great boar-fangs and compel it to come against him.
But on the morrow, as they came within sight of Emain Macha, once more she gave counsel.
“Ye know well, Nathos and Ailne and Ardan, that in Emain Macha are three fair great houses of the king: that in one he himself is, with the nobles of Uladh who are his own following, and that in another are the wayfarers of the Red Branch, and that in a third are the women. Now I warn ye of this thing: that if Concobar welcome us into his own house and among the nobles of Uladh, all will be well: but that if he send us to the house of the Red Branch, thatwill mean a disastrous end to thee and to me.”
They said nothing to that, and when they came late into Emain Macha they knocked at the gates of Concobar’s house.
The messengers told the king that the sons of Usna, and Darthool, and the two sons of Fergus MacRossa, were without: whereupon he asked of those about him in what state of provision and comfort was the house of the Red Branch, and on hearing that there was abundance of food and drink and comfort, he bade the messengers return and conduct the newcomers to that place.
When that message was given, Darthool again gave counsel: but Illann the Fair was wroth thereat, and the others yielded. As for Nathos, he said only:
“Great is thy love, Darthool, queen of women: but great also is thy fearfulness.”
At that Darthool smiled gravely, but said no more. Only in her heart she remembered what Lavarcam, in bitter irony, had told her once, that when a man foresaw evil and fore-fended it he was wise and strong in his courage, but that if a woman did the same she was timorous and whim-borne.
In the house of the Red Branch the strangers were rendered all honour. Generous and pleasant foods and bitter cheering drinks were supplied to them, so that the whole company was joyful and merry, save the sons of Usna, and Darthool, who were weary with their journeying.24
Thus after they had eaten and drunken, Nathos and Darthool lay down upon high couches of white and dappled fawn-skins, and played upon the gold and ivory chessboard.
It was at this time that a secret messenger came from Concobar to tell him if Darthool were as beautiful as when she fled from Erin. This messenger was no other than Lavarcam. The woman embraced Darthool tenderly, and kissed the hands and brow of Nathos. Then, looking upon them through her tears, she said:
“Of a surety it is not well for ye twain to be playing thus upon the second dearest thing in all the world to Concobar, Darthool beingthe dearest, and ye having taken both from him, Nathos, and now ye twain being in his house and in his power. And this I tell you now, that I am sent hither by Concobar to see if Darthool has her form and beauty as it was of old. Thy beauty then was a flame before his eyes, Darthool, and now it will be as a torch at his heart.”
Suddenly Darthool thrust the chessboard from her.
“I have the sight upon me,” she said in a strange voice with a sob in it.
“And what is that sight, my queen?” asked Nathos.
“I see three torches quenched this night. And these three torches are the three Torches of Valour among the Gael, and their names are the names of the sons of Usna. And more bitter still is this sorrow, because that the Red Branch shall ultimately perish through it, and Uladh itself be overthrown, and blood fall this way and that as the whirled rains of winter.”
Then taking the small harp by her side, she struck the strings and sang:
A bitter, bitter deed shall be done in Emain to-night,And for ages men will speak of the fratricidal fight;And because of the evil done, and the troth unsaid,Emain of dust and ashes shall cover Emain the White.Of a surety a bitter thing it is thus to be ledInto the Red Branch house, there to be rested and fed,And then to be feasted with blood and drunken with flame,And left on the threshold of peace silent and cold and dead.The three best, fairest, and noblest of any name,Are they all to be slain because of a woman’s fame?Alas! it were better far there were dust upon my head,And that I, and I only, bore the heavy crown of shame.
A bitter, bitter deed shall be done in Emain to-night,And for ages men will speak of the fratricidal fight;And because of the evil done, and the troth unsaid,Emain of dust and ashes shall cover Emain the White.Of a surety a bitter thing it is thus to be ledInto the Red Branch house, there to be rested and fed,And then to be feasted with blood and drunken with flame,And left on the threshold of peace silent and cold and dead.The three best, fairest, and noblest of any name,Are they all to be slain because of a woman’s fame?Alas! it were better far there were dust upon my head,And that I, and I only, bore the heavy crown of shame.
A bitter, bitter deed shall be done in Emain to-night,And for ages men will speak of the fratricidal fight;And because of the evil done, and the troth unsaid,Emain of dust and ashes shall cover Emain the White.
A bitter, bitter deed shall be done in Emain to-night,
And for ages men will speak of the fratricidal fight;
And because of the evil done, and the troth unsaid,
Emain of dust and ashes shall cover Emain the White.
Of a surety a bitter thing it is thus to be ledInto the Red Branch house, there to be rested and fed,And then to be feasted with blood and drunken with flame,And left on the threshold of peace silent and cold and dead.
Of a surety a bitter thing it is thus to be led
Into the Red Branch house, there to be rested and fed,
And then to be feasted with blood and drunken with flame,
And left on the threshold of peace silent and cold and dead.
The three best, fairest, and noblest of any name,Are they all to be slain because of a woman’s fame?Alas! it were better far there were dust upon my head,And that I, and I only, bore the heavy crown of shame.
The three best, fairest, and noblest of any name,
Are they all to be slain because of a woman’s fame?
Alas! it were better far there were dust upon my head,
And that I, and I only, bore the heavy crown of shame.
At that Nathos was silent awhile. He knew now that Darthool was right. He looked at his brothers: Ailne frowned against the floor, Ardan stared at the door, with a proud and perilous smile. He looked at Illann the Fair and at Buine the Fiery: Buine drank heavily from a horn of ale, with sidelong eyes, Illann muttered between his set teeth.
“This only I will say, Darthool,” Nathos uttered at last, “that it were better to die for thee, because of thy deathless beauty, than to live for aught else. As for what else may betide, what has to be will be.”
“I will go now,” said Lavarcam, “for Concobarawaits me. But, sons of Usna and sons of Fergus, see ye that the doors and windows be closed, and if Concobar come against ye treacherously may ye win victory, and that with life to ye all.”
With that Lavarcam left. Swiftly she sought Concobar, and told the king that it was for joy she knew now that the three heroes, the sons of Usna, had come back to Erin to dwell in fellowship with the Ardree and the Red Branch, but that it was for sorrow she had to tell that Darthool the Beautiful was no longer fair and comely in form and face, but had lost her exceeding loveliness, and was now no more than any other woman.
At first Concobar laughed at that; then as his jealousy waned he thought with sorrow of the loss of so great beauty; and then again his spirit was perturbed. So he sent yet another messenger on the same errand.
This was a man named Treandhorn. Before Concobar sent him to the house of the Red Branch he said:
“Treandhorn, who was it that slew thy father and thy brother?”
“Thou knowest, O King, that it was Nathos, son of Usna, who slew them.”
Concobar smiled. “Now,” he said, “go and do my behest.”
When Treandhorn reached the house, he found all the doors and windows closed and barred. Then fear seized him, for he knew that the sons of Usna were on guard, and would have wrath upon them.
Nevertheless, still more did he fear to go back to Concobar with nought to tell him.
So the man, descrying a narrow window at one side, climbed to it from an unyoked chariot that was near, and looked in. He saw Nathos and Darthool talking each to each in low voices, where they lay upon the white and dappled fawn-skins, with the gold and ivory chessboard between them. He smiled grimly, when he saw how great and noble and kingly Nathos seemed, and how more wonderful and beautiful than ever were the wonder and beauty of the eyes and face and form of Darthool.
It was the last time he smiled. At that moment Nathos glanced upward. Swift as thought he lifted a spiked and barbed chessman and hurled it at the man’s eye. Treandhorn fell backward, but rose at once and fled, with his right eye torn and blind for evermore.
When he came to the king and told his tale, and how Nathos was like a king indeed, and Darthool more beautiful by far than she had been of old, Concobar sprang to his feet. A red light came into his eyes, and he threw back his head and laughed; and at that laughing every man there knew that his madness was come upon him, and that the blood-thirst was already sweating upon many swords.
“Ultonians,” he cried, “will ye do the will of your king?”
“That will we!” they answered with a great shout.
“Then come ye, and all your followers and vassals, and surround the house of the Red Branch, and set it in a forest of red flames, and if any run from out thereof put them to the sword.” As all ran swiftly from the king’s fort, a high terrible voice was heard. It was that of the dying Cathba the ancient Druid, and what he cried thrice was: “The Red Branch perisheth! Uladh passeth! Uladh passeth!”
But none heard him or paid heed, save only Lavarcam, who in that bitter crying knew well that the end was come.
In a brief while thrice three hundred mensurrounded the fort of the Red Branch, and set red flames about it; and thrice three hundred more made haste to join them.
There was a mighty onset at the first led by Buine the Fiery, who slew many, and quenched the fires, and threw the Ultonians into confusion.
“Who is the hero who has done this?” cried Concobar.
“It is I, Buine Borbruay, the son of Fergus MacRossa.”
“I will give thee great bribes, Buine, if thou wilt forsake these robbers of my wife that was to be.”
“What are thy bribes?”
“I will give thee a cantred of land at thine own choice, and I will make thee my chosen comrade, and thou shalt be as next to the king.”
Then Buine the Faithless laughed and said: “Better the honours of a king than the thanks of dead men,” and with that, for all the pledged guaranty of Fergus and the troth of his own word, he went over unto Concobar.
But when Illann the Fair heard of this he was wroth. He saw the bitter smile on the lips of Darthool, and he swore that he wouldnot desert those upon whom lay the protection of his father’s guaranty.
Meanwhile Ardan lay, dreaming with a proud smile against the fire; and, upon the deerskins near the couch of Darthool, Ailne and Nathos played at chess, for little did they care to heed the treacherous valour of the Ultonians. They knew, too, that their hour was come; and being kingly, gave no thought to that little thing.
But Illann called the troops together and fared forth, and made so deadly an onslaught that he slew three hundred of Concobar’s men. Then he quenched the fires, and went back to the fort and to where Ailne and Ardan were playing together.
“Is that rain that is making a noise without?” said Ailne to Nathos.
“No; it is a humming of gnats,” answered Nathos. “Let us play on.”
“My fate is heavy upon me, Nathos and Ailne,” said Illann the Fair. “I have done well by thee, but I feel the heavy hand of fate is against me, and who can withstand fate?”
“No one,” Nathos answered later, when he had thought upon his play. At that Illann theFair drank a drink,25and went out again. The fires had been quenched, and there was a deep darkness. So he bade each man take a torch, and then all set furiously again upon the Ultonians.
It was then that Concobar bethought him of his son Fiacha the Fair, who was born on the same night as Illann the Fair. There was life to the life, or death to the death, in that.
So he called Fiacha, and bade him strive with Illann, and gave him the three famous weapons of the royalty of Uladh—the moaning Orchaoin, and the terrible Corrthach, and the Notched-Bow.
But for all his enchanted weapons Fiacha did not prevail, and after a great and wonderful fight, which was girt about by a strange sighing, the sighing being the breath of the pulses of the watching host, Illann drove him to the ground where he crouched behind the shelter of his shield. Easily then he might have slain him but for this:—
The moaning Orchaoin made so great and terrible a voice that it was heard afar off. The Three Ceaseless Waves of Erin heard it,and roared responsive, so that all the coasts shook with their thunder: the Wave of Toth (Tuaithe), the Wave of Clidna (Cliodhna), and the Wave of Rudhraya (Rudhraighe). There was a great dun on these coasts, named Dun Tobairce, and there Conall Cernach the son of Amergin lived: and when he heard the roaring of the Three Waves of Erin, he knew that Concobar was in dire distress.
And that moaning of Orchaoin brought Conall Cernach on his magic steed that could fly through the night. He had with him his great sword “Blue Blade,” and when he came to the place of the strife he moved swiftly up behind Illann the Fair, and plunged “Blue Blade” into the back, and through the heart, and out at the breast of the hero.
But when Conall Cernach heard from Illann’s own lips what he had done, he was filled with wrath and grief.
“Thy faithless summons shall avail nought,” he cried into the torchlit darkness where Concobar was; and with that he took his sword, and severed from its body the head of Fiacha the son of Concobar, and tossed it towards the king. Then, turning his back upon the host, he departed as he had come.
With the death of Illann the Fair, the Ultonians once more took heart. They surrounded the Red Branch fort, and again set red flames leaping against it.
Then Ardan came forth: laughing lightly, and with a proud joy.
The Ultonians saw then what it was to perish as mown grass. And when he had slain five times fifty, his arms grew weary.
“How many did Illann the Fair slay in that onslaught of his?” he asked.
“Thrice five score,” he was told.
So Ardan slew two score and ten more, and then another score, for it did not befit so great a hero to slay less than an Ultonian champion, noble as Illann the Fair was.
When he was tired, he went into the fort, and told Ailne that there was still fresh carrion enough for a wild-hawk to glut its thirst with.
So Ailne rose from the chessboard and drank a drink, and went out, and did among the Ultonians even as Ardan had done, although he slew a score more, for he was older than Ardan, and so it did not befit him to put the stiffness and the silence upon fewer men.
Two-thirds of the night were now gone, yet Concobar did not withstay his wrath. Fornow the whole host of the Ultonians was gathered together, and he thought to have victory at the last.
But at their great shouting and the higher leaping of the flames Nathos rose. He kissed Darthool, then he drank a drink, and went out against the Ultonians.
In that hour thrice three hundred men grew cold and stiff.
Then he slew five score more.
“Go to Concobar,” he said to a man, “and tell him that he has lost a thousand men over and above the hundreds slain by Illann the Fair and Ailne and Ardan. And now let him come to me himself.”
But when Concobar heard that, he sent a messenger to Lavarcam to ask if Cathba the Druid were yet dead; and when he heard that he was not, he bade that the old man should be brought to him on a litter.
When Cathba was brought, he asked if the king meant death to the sons.
“I swear I mean no death,” said Concobar; “but only honourably to subdue them and to obtain Darthool. And so I pray of thee to put an enchantment upon them, otherwise they will slay every Ultonian in the land.”
So Cathba raised himself, and put an enchantment between the sons of Usna and the host of the Ultonians. That enchantment was a hedge of spears, taller than the tallest spear-reach, and more thickset than thorns on a bramble-bush.
But Nathos and Ailne and Ardan put their shields about Darthool, and came forth from the blazing house, and cleft a way through the hedge of spears, and, laughing loud, garnered a red harvest among the swaying corn of the Ultonian host.
Then there was a strange roaring heard, and a vast and terrible flood came pouring from the hills. The Ultonians fled to the high ground, but Darthool and the sons of Usna were cut off by the rushing waters.
Soon the flood rose to their waists, but then it ceased rising.
“The wind will soon blow,” whispered Darthool, “and then the flood will rise, and we shall be drowned.”
Nathos answered nothing, but raised her in his arms, and kissed her thrice upon the lips. Then he put her upon his left shoulder, where she sat with her white arms round his neck.
There was a smile in the blue eyes of Nathos.
The flood now subsided, but the sons of Usna could not move, for their feet were in a morass. On a dry spit of land close to them a man walked. This man was Maine of the Red Hand, a man of Lochlin,26in the train of Concobar.
Concobar had bidden some hero go forth and slay the sons of Usna. But none would stir. A deep shame burned in all. But Maine’s father and two brothers had been slain by Nathos, and he said he would do likewise unto the sons of Usna.
When he drew near, Ardan spoke.
“Slay me first,” he said, “for I am the youngest of the sons of Usna: and it may be that with my death the tides of fortune may flow again.”
“That cannot be,” said Nathos. “Here is the sword which Manannan, the son of Lir, gave me, and that cannot leave any remains of blow or stroke. Let this man Maine take it, and strike at us at one and the same time, so that not one of us may have the shame and sorrow of seeing the other beheaded.”
And so it was. But while the man reached for the sword, Darthool sprang from the shoulder of Nathos, and strove to kill Maine of the Red Hand. With a blow he reeled her aside, and then whirled the great sword of Manannan on high.
There was a flash in the air, and then the heads of the three fairest and noblest heroes of Alba fell. There was a long and terrible silence, till suddenly the whole host of Uladh broke into lamentation. Only Concobar stood leaning on his sword, and stared at the stillness that was now fallen upon the House of Usna.
But already afar off Darthool had descried the champion Cuchulain, and she fled towards him.
“Thou shalt be safe with me, beautiful one,” he said. “Tell me what thou wantest me to do.”
“I do not wish to live, but I wish to live yet a brief hour, and not to be taken in shameful life before the eyes of Concobar.” So the twain returned to where the dead lay. Darthool fell upon her knees, and spread out the glory of her hair, and put her lips to the blood-wet lips of Nathos.
Then she rose, and looking upon the silent Ultonians, chanted this chant: