Chapter V (5)

So exceeding great was her beauty that Nathos did not think of her as Darthool or as any mortal woman, but rather as a daughter of the elder gods, or of that bright divine race of the Tuatha-De-Danann, whose beauty surpassed that of human beings as the beauty of the primrose bank that of the brown sod. He looked upon her amazed, and in a silent worship. If she were indeed of the Dedannan folk, she might disappear at any moment as a shadow goes, that now is here asleep upon the grass and in the twinkling of an eye is among the things of oblivion.

At last speech rose to his lips.

“O fair and wonderful one, whom I see well art of the old sacred race of the Tuatha-De-Danann, may I have word with thee? It may well be that thou art no other than the wife of Midir himself, she who lives in a fair shining grianan in the hollow of a hill, and lives upon the beauty and fragrance of flowers.” Darthool looked at him, and her heart beat. He was in truth fair to see: fairer even than him whom she had imaged in her dreams, or him of whom Lavarcam had spoken.

“Speak. What wouldst thou?”

“I am faring idly through this lonely land, and I know not where I am. Yonder, in the valley behind the oak-glade, is a high-walled rath. Is it a place of the Shee, and so forbidden? or who dwells there, and shall a spear or welcome greet me if I enter?”

“Indeed, thou mayst enter there, and a welcome awaits thee, O Nathos, son of Usna.”

“Thou knowest my name, O fair one; then, indeed, thou art of the old wondrous race, who know swifter than our thought, and whose sight is further and deeper than our sight.”

“I am no queen, Nathos, nor am I of the Tuatha-De-Danann, but am a woman as other women are. If I am beautiful in thine eyes, of that I am right glad, for thou art fairer to me than any man I have seen or dreamed of, and my pulse leaps when thine eyes look into mine. I am Darthool, the daughter of Felim the Harper; yet am I no better than a slave, for here am I bound to stay, and see no one save Lavarcam and my two women, and here I shall die for loneliness and longing.”

Nathos heard her sweet low voice with delight, and it was with joy at his heart he knew she was no strange Dedannan but a woman of his own race, and that she was Darthool. Love rose suddenly within him like a flame: a red flame was it that was in his heart, and a white flame in his mind, and out of these two flames is wrought the love of love and the passion of passion and the dream of dreams.

“Art thou, indeed, Darthool?” he whispered; “art thou that Darthool of whom I have dreamed? Strange is the strangeness of this meeting, O white daughter of Felim. For so great is thy beauty that I was fain to believe I saw before me one of the queens of the Tuatha-De-Danann. But is this thing true, that against thine own will Concobar the high king keeps thee here like a trapped bird among these woods?”

“True it is, and more: for it is not even by Concobar’s will that I roam the woodlands. He was fain that I should never leave the rath save with Lavarcam, and that I should spend most of my days within the stone walls of the dreary lios where he has doomed me to dwell.”

“Darthool, my heart is filled with a rising tide. That tide is love. Thou hast not seen the sea: but there, when the tide flows, there is nothing, there is no one, in all the world, which can say it nay. So is my love for thee, that now rises; and, once thine, will be thine evermore. Yet I would not put this upon thee; and if thy words and looks come out of thy frank, sweet courtesy and open maidenly heart, and mean no more than that thou carest for me as a brother, it is thy brother I will be, Darthool, to serve thee and succour thee and love thee evermore, and in that way only.”

For a brief while she looked at him. Then the noon-blue of her eyes deepened, and a flush drifted through her face and waned into the deeper red of her parted lips.

“Nathos,” she said in a low voice, which trembled as a reed in the wind, “I, too, love. It is thee I love. If it be wrong for me, a maiden, to speak thus, forgive me, for I have grown wilding here, and am more akin to the fawns of the forest than to women kind of mine own age or estate. But I love thee, Nathos: as of old, in the far-off Dedannan days, Dectura the queen loved the Green Harper, and went forth with him and was seen no more of her own people.”

“If thou indeed wilt have it so, Darthool, be thou my Dectura, and let me be thy Green Harper. For beyond the reach of life or death is the greatness of the love I feel for thee, even now in this first hour of our meeting.”

“Thy words are in my heart, Nathos; and because that this is so, I now put _geas_ upon thee. Let thy sword be as my sword, and be thou to me as brother and friend and the holder of my leal love; and to this end, lo! I throw this yellow thistle against thy cheek, to raise a mark of shame there if thou dost not fulfil the bond, and there to be seen of all men as a sign and witness of thy disgrace; yea, even thus I put _geas_ upon thee, to succour me in my ill fate, to take me unto thyself, to give thyself unto me, and to let us go forth together heedless of Fate.”

Nathos looked at her with proud eyes.

“Of a surety, Darthool, there is no hero of the Red Branch who hath a courage greater than thine, even though it may be that thou speakest the more freely from knowing little of what may befall.”

“What can befall save death, and dost thou fear death, son of Usna?”

Nathos smiled out of grave eyes.

“If I feared death, Darthool, I would not now be speaking with thee here. It is swift silence upon any who in this forbidden land speaks with the daughter of Felim the Harper. Concobar MacNessa has the ears of a hare and the eyes of a hawk and the swoop of an eagle. Dost thou remember the swineherd to whom thou gavest word privily? Well, that night he lay in the grass tended only by the raven and the wolf, for he was done to death with blunt spear-shafts.”

“For that I have deep grief,” said Darthool, with tears drifting like a rainy mist athwart the blue of her eyes.

“Nevertheless, he died with a smile, Darthool. Thou hadst looked into his eyes and kissed him. Even so, and for less now, would I too die.”

“That thou shalt not do, Nathos;” and even as she spoke Darthool moved forward and put her honeysweet lips against the mouth of Nathos, and made his blood leap, and a flame come into his eyes, and a trembling come into his limbs.

Then, as though with that kiss she had become as a wild rose, she stood swaying lightly, her fair face delicately aflame. Nathos put his arms about her, and kissed her on the brow and on the lips.

“That kiss on the brow is for service,” he said, “because from this hour thou art my queen; and that kiss on the lips is for love, for from this hour I shall love no woman save thee thyself, but shall be thine and thine only in life or death.”

Nevertheless, though Nathos accepted the _geas_ put upon him by Darthool, he was troubled at the thought of the anger of Concobar the high king. It would be a swift and bitter death for him, and for Darthool too it might be death or worse.

The thought in his mind swam into his eyes, and Darthool saw it. She shrank from him, and stood hesitating and as though about to flee at his first word of doubt. When he looked at her again his last fear went.

“Fair wonderful one, thou art as a fawn there in the fern where thou standest; Darthool, do not doubt the truth of my words. I am thine to love and to serve, and am under _geas_ to thee. But my thought was this: if we two go hence and are waylaid, it will be death, and if we go hence and are not waylaid forthwith, it will still be death; for long is the arm, and heavy the hand, and tireless the quest of Concobar MacNessa. And this, too: that if we cross the Moyle and go to Alba, it may still be death; yea, though for a year or for a brood of years we elude the undying wrath and vengeance of the king.”

“He will forget when once the bird is flown. Neither the bird nor the wind leaves any track, so let our flight be as that of the bird and our way be as that of the wind.”

“The king forgetteth not. If so be that we might escape him many years, he will yet have his will of us in the end; and this though thou wert old, Darthool, and wert no longer his desire, and though I were outlawed and broken and no more in his sight than a wolf of the hills, good to slay if come upon, but not worthy of chase.”

“Concobar is not a king in Alba?”

“No.”

“Then let us go to thine own land. He can do no more than send emissaries after us, and with these thou canst deal swiftly, Nathos.”

At that, Nathos lightly laughed.

“Truly, I am seeing Concobar as a man sees his own shadow in the water. He is a great king in Uladh, but he is no more in Alba than any hero of the Red Branch. Come, Darthool; across the Moyle are the pine-green shores of Alba. It is a fair, beautiful land. The sea-lochs reach far among pine-clad hills, and green pastures are on the slopes of the great mountains and around the shadowy, inland waters. The forests are full of deer and wild birds, the rivers and lochs of fish, the pastures of cattle and sheep and swift brown mares. Thou shalt have milk to drink, and the red flesh of the salmon, and the brown flesh of the deer, and the white flesh of the badger. Thou shalt lack for nothing, who art my queen; and thou shalt have love till the sun grows a lordlier fire and the stars leap in their slow dance from dusk to dawn.”

“I will come,” Darthool whispered, with glad eyes.

“Only thou must not delay. Thy coming must be now. Thou must not even enter the rath again. Otherwise it is never the waters of the Moyle that we shall see, but only the red flame in the eyes of Concobar.”

Even while Nathos spoke his eyes grew hard, and his hands slipped to the javelin he had by his side. While Darthool watched him in amaze, he swung the iron-pointed shaft at a place where a bent bracken hung listless in the air.

“Is it a wolf?” cried Darthool, in sudden affright.

“It is worse than a wolf,” answered Nathos; “for if thou wilt go to that place thou wilt see either a slain man, or the form of a man, in the grass beneath the bracken.”

Swiftly Darthool ran to the spot wherein the javelin had swung singing. There was no one there, but, where the javelin still quivered slightly, she saw the still warm shape of a crouching man, and discerned, by the bending of the bracken, what course he must have twisted away.

Nathos followed and stood beside her. As he stooped to pluck the javelin from the ground, he descried a wooden-hilted knife.

“It is as I thought,” he said gravely. “Concobar has set a spy upon me. No Ultonian carries a knife such as this. It belongs to the hillmen of the north-west, of whom a few years agone we made slaves. Mayhap one of these men who were with the swineherd has been told to follow me secretly wheresoever I go.”

Darthool turned and looked at Nathos with eyes filled with a new fear, because of her love of him.

He took her hand in his.

“There is yet time, Darthool. Wilt thou go back to the rath, and stay there till Concobar wills thee to be his wife?”

“I cannot go back.”

“Then come, O Darthool.”

And with that the twain turned and moved swiftly northward through the forest, by the way Nathos had already passed.

“By dawn we may reach the dun where my two brothers now are, and for that day and that night we may rest in safety,” whispered Nathos, as Darthool turned and looked for the last time upon the place where she had lived all these years.

“But thereafter, O love that I have won, the wind must be in our hair and the dead leaves be upon the soles of our feet, for there can be no resting for us till we are away from this land: no, and not for us only, but also for Ailne and Ardan. Concobar will not rest content with bitter wrath, and, if he cannot track the stag, will slay the fawns.”

Soon thereafter they drew near the place where Nathos had left his hounds and his huntsmen. Bidding Darthool hide among the bracken and undergrowth, he went forward alone and told the men to go back to the dun of the sons of Usna, but not till the third day, and by circuitous ways. Thus he hoped that he might the longer elude Concobar, whose emissaries would follow the track of his hounds.

Thereafter Nathos and Darthool fared swiftly hand in hand through the sombre ways of the forest. While it was still light they emerged upon a great moor, which they crossed, and then ascended the gorges of the hills. There the night fell, as though a wind-drifted darkness suddenly suspended and then swiftly enshrouded everything. They dreaded to rest, and yet so deep was the darkness that they could fare no farther.

But while they were still whispering the one to the other, Darthool descried a soft, silver shining, like a dewy gossamer. It was the little group of seven stars that we call the Pleiades.

“See,” she whispered, “An Grioglachan! When they shine, others will soon be seen.” And so it was.

All through the night the fugitives hastened onward by the light of the stars, ever keeping close to each other, for the mountain solitudes were full of dreadful noises, and in the black tarns among the peaty moss they could hear the moaning of the kelpie, or on the shores of the hill-lochs the shrill neighing of the water-horses, terrible creatures of the darkness.

For the last hour of the dark they rested a brief while, lying close hid among the bracken, in a sheltered place on a rocky mountain slope. Darthool heeded little now the weariness and fears of that perilous faring by night, for she was with Nathos; and Nathos now was glad, and no longer cared whether death was sure or not. He fell asleep there under the morning stars, among the winter-brown bracken, with Darthool’s head upon his breast; and his last thought was, that if the swineherd had died smiling because Darthool’s eyes had looked into his, how well might he too die content if his hour came suddenly upon him.

The dawn wavered among the hills, but still they slept.

A wolf tracking a wounded doe howled, and the howling wailed from corrie to corrie. Darthool stirred, but slept again. An eagle screamed as it rose and wheeled against the broadening light, but its wild voice was drowned in silence. Then came the first sun-rays rippling, dancing, leaping, from amid the crested heights and peaks to the eastward, and Nathos awoke.

For some moments he lay breathless with wonder. Darthool, in all her radiant beauty, was by his side, her golden hair ablaze in the sunlight, and her fair face like a flower amid the bracken. It was too great a wonder. Then he knew that Concobar’s hounds might any hour now be upon them, and so he put his dream away from him, and stooped and kissed Darthool upon the lips. With a cry she woke, and put her arms about him. Hard it was for him to add to her weariness; but she rose at once, and seemed, indeed, in his eyes, as fresh as any fawn of the hill-side. She went to a little tarn close by and drank of the cool, sweet water.

As she drank Nathos looked at her, and again wondered if she were not one of the divine race of old, the mysterious Tuatha-De-Danann, whom, ages before, the Milesians had driven to the hills and remote places. So fair was she that his heart ached. Then a swift pulse of joy leaped within him, and he was glad with a great gladness.

Thereafter they sped swiftly onward, and now Nathos exulted, for he recognised the peaks and the trend of the valleys. Within an hour from the rising of the sun he saw the grey walls of the dun of the sons of Usna.

His long cry--that of the heron thrice repeated--brought Ailne and Ardan forth. Darthool looked at them wondering, for they, too, were taller and nobler than other men, and only less beautiful in her eyes than Nathos himself.

But if she wondered, much more did they marvel at what they saw. Never had they beheld any woman so beautiful, and their first thought was that of Nathos, that Darthool was of the fair divine race who were now so seldom seen of men.

But when Nathos had told them all, and that she who was now his bride was no other than that Darthool whom Concobar the high king had set aside to become his queen, they were filled with sorrow. Well they knew that Concobar MacNessa would not lightly relinquish the fair maid whom he had so long secreted in the forest-lios, and that blood would flow because of this thing.

“Moreover,” said Ailne, “hast thou forgotten the prophecy? There is the saying of Cathba the Druid, of which we have all heard: that from the daughter of Felim the Harper would come sorrow to the king, and severance of the Red Branch from the lost kingdom of Uladh, and rivers of blood.”

“That may be, Ailne, my brother,” Nathos answered; “but I ask none to go with me into this doom, if that doom indeed must be, though mayhap the dark hour of it is passed. For Darthool and I shall now fare forward, with some of our following, and with horses and food, and haply we may reach the coast and find our great galley in the Creek of the Willows, where we secreted it, and so gain the shores of Alba before Concobar can overtake us.”

But while Ailne pondered, Ardan spoke.

“That shall not be, Nathos. Listen! By the Sun and the Wind I swear that where thou goest I will go, and that I will never desert thee nor Darthool, who is now our sister. If the doom must come, let it come. What is death, that it should put a paleness into the face of love? Are we not close-kin, children of one mother, and is not Darthool thy wife now and our sister, and are we not henceforth as one? Speak, Ailne, is it not so?”

“It is so. Ardan has spoken for me. But I say nothing, for I feel upon us the shadow of that doom of which, as we have heard, Cathba the Druid spoke.”

But here Darthool moved forward.

“Listen, Nathos, and ye, Ailne and Ardan, my brothers: it is not for me to bring sorrow upon the king and upon the Red Branch and upon Uladh, and still less upon ye, my brothers, and upon thee, Nathos. Therefore, let me now go back to the lios, and tell Lavarcam, who will tell the king, that I have no will to stray, and that I will abide in that place till I die, or till Concobar dare put his face against Fate and take me thence.”

At that Nathos smiled only. There was no word to say; in his eyes was all his answer to Darthool.

But Ardan answered for himself and Ailne:

“Though the stars fall, beautiful daughter of Felim, who art now Darthool, our sister, we shall not leave thee, nor suffer thee to go from us save by thine own free will, and that in no fear for what may befall us. Nathos and Ailne and Ardan are the three sons of Usna, upon whom long ago _geas_ was set, that each would abide by each until death.”

Thereupon all kissed each other, and took the deep vow of fealty. The sons of Usna knew well that it would be a madness to withstand Concobar in their dun, strong as it was; for in time he would take the place, as dogs hunt out the badger from its lair, and at the best would still starve them into surrender or death.

So with all speed they summoned those of their following who were under the sword-bond, and put together food and raiment, and then mounted and rode swiftly away.

As they passed the highest ridge to the eastward that night they looked back. A red light flared in a valley far to the west. It was their dun, a torch amid the darkness. A single column of flame rose above it, and wavered to and fro. And by that sign they knew that the long arm and the heavy hand of Concobar MacNessa had already reached out towards them. Three times fifty men went with them, and so swift was their flight and so sure their way that before long they came to the coast-lands. There, in the Creek of the Willows, the long black galley was found; and swiftly all embarked.

It was with glad eyes that Darthool and the sons of Usna saw the dancing waves of the sea, and felt its free breath break upon them. From three great tiers, fifty score men to each, the vassals thrust out their long oars, and with their blades threshed the waters into a yeast of foam. In the dazzle of the sea Darthool rejoiced, and made the hearts of all there to swell because of an exceeding sweet song she sang.

Nathos and Ailne and Ardan sat beside her, and could scarce take from her face their dreaming eyes.

Towards noon the wind shifted, and slid out of the north towards the west. Then the great sail was hoisted, and bellied out to the steady breeze, and the oars were shipped. The black galley now flew along the waters like a cormorant. Darthool laughed with joy at this new beautiful world of the sea, and never tired of trailing her hands in the swift lapsing wave, or in the send of the following billow.

In the afternoon they came close to the shores of Alba, and made northward, past many isles and through narrow straits and fjords. In one and all Darthool took pleasure, and was glad indeed that the land of Nathos was so beautiful.

At sundown they reached the eastern shores of the great island of Mull, and there the wind failed them, so the galley was put into a bay that is now the bay of Aros.

There the sons of Usna debated long as to what course to follow. Nathos and Ailne thought it best to move inland, and to gain the protection of the high king of Alba; but Darthool feared this because of a dream she had thrice dreamed, wherein she saw a strange king and a strange folk laughing over the slain body of Nathos, while she stood by crowned but a captive. As for Ardan, he said only that the sons of Usna should go to where their father’s dun had been, before the last king of Alba had destroyed it.

That night a galley came to them from the long island of Lismore. In it were a score of men, commanded by a lord of Appin, named Fergus of the Three Duns. With him was a stranger, clad in a rich robe of fur, so claspt across the throat with gold that the hood he wore fell about and covered his face. While Fergus spake with the sons of Usna, and told them how they had been seen by men of his in a swift war-galley, off the south coast of Mull, and urged them also to go inland to meet the king, the stranger looked steadfastly upon Darthool.

When at last he had to speak to the brothers he addressed them courteously, but in a Gaelic strange to their ears. He bade them come with him to his high-walled dun, a brief way inland: to come alone, as his guests, and to bring Darthool with them.

“It is not well to go to a man’s dun, and not be knowing that man’s name,” said Nathos courteously.

The stranger hesitated, and looked at Fergus.

“They call me Angus Mudartach,” he said. But at that Darthool asked him to let her look upon his face.

“For it is not meet,” she added, “that we should go to a man’s dun and not have seen his face.”

Angus of Moidart drew back his hood.

Darthool’s lips grew pale. Then she smiled.

“Let us rest here for to-night, Angus Mudartach,” she said, “and, if thou wilt come again on the morrow after to-morrow, thou canst take us with thee to thy great dun. But meanwhile we have travelled far and swiftly, and would fain rest: and, as thou seest, the skies are clear, and we want for nothing.”

Once more Angus pleaded to the sons of Usna.

“Ye are brave men, and can laugh at weariness or danger. But if the island be swept by a great storm to-night, or if the followers of Concobar, king of the northlands of Erin, come upon ye, or if other misadventure befall, shall ye wantonly expose this fair young princess? Nay, rather, let her come with me, and she shall not only be safe in my great rath of Dunchraig, but there my wife and her maidens shall make much of her, and give her white robes and golden torques and garments of delicate furs. This maid whom ye call Darthool is too young to be thrown thus idly before the feet of the evil powers who are for ever clamouring for death.”

But, at a sign from Darthool, Nathos refused; saying, with gracious words and courteous mien, that it would rejoice them all to visit Angus Mudartach later, but not then.

So Angus of Moidart turned, frowning, and went back to his galley with Fergus of the Three Duns. And as he went he asked mutteringly how many men the sons of Usna had with them. When he learned that there were thrice fifty, and that Fergus had but a score and ten men with him, he said no more.

When the strangers had gone, Nathos turned to Darthool and asked why she had not shown more graciousness to one who was surely a great lord among the Alban Gaels, and why she would not go with him.

“Because, Nathos, that man who called himself Angus Mudartach is no other than the King of Alba. He it is whom I saw in my dreams, laughing over your slain body, and beside whom I stood crowned and yet a captive. And by that token I warn ye of this thing: that the Alban king desireth me, and would fain slay ye all, or deliver ye into the hands of Concobar MacNessa.”

Nathos stood brooding, but Ardan stepped forward.

“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 King of 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 rocky eminence, 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 and Ardan 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 the west, 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 in the 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 three brothers 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 thence down 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 seen one 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 under _geas_ not to put foot again in Erin?”

“Not so. I know that Nathos is under _geas_ not 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 eastward to Innia Iarrtharaigh[21] itself, 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 again in Erin, go at once to the house of Borrach, the son of Cainte; and when thou art there stay, because of one of thy _geasa_ never 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 booths Nathos and Darthool sat, on that day of the days, playing on the _Cemrcaem_ (the chessboard), the very chessboard 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 of Uladh, 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 rare honey, 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 heart is 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, “Darthool has 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 left the 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_,”

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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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!