Chapter V: Book III

The many bands and troops which Maev had summoned
Began to come upon Moy Wee. The first
(And they arrived upon Moy Wee next day)
Were Maev’s own seven sons, the seven Mahn-yas,
Whom she had borne to Al-yill. These they were:—
Mahn-ya Mathroo-il, who resembled Maev:
Mahn-ya Athroo-il, who resembled Al-yill:
Mahn-ya Mo-aepert, the much-talking Mahn-ya:
Dumb Mahn-ya Toi, the mute and silent Mahn-ya:
Good Mahn-ya More-gar, of great piety
To Al-yill son of Mawta, to his father:
Good Mahn-ya Meen-gar, of great piety
To Maev the daughter of Yohee, to his mother.
Mahn-ya Condagau Illy, who had beauty
From father and from mother, being like both.
Now, at the first, their names had not been Mahn-ya;
But these had been their names:—Faylimy, Carpry,
Yohee, Ket, Fergus, Sheen, and Dawra. Then,
Suddenly, on a day, Maev had bestowed
On each that new name, Mahn-ya. For one day
(And it was many years before this time)
While she was on the playing-field of Croohan,
And they were playing round her, she had said
Unto her Druid: “Say to me, O Druid,
By which of all my sons Conor shall fall.”
“Thou hast not borne him yet,” the Druid answered,
“Unless thou wilt re-name them.” “How is that?
Make this thing clear,” said Maev. The Druid answered:
“By Mahn-ya Conor shall be slain.” Then Maev
Re-named her sons, and gave unto each one
That new name, Mahn-ya; so that by a son
Of hers great Conor son of Fahtna Fahee
Might fall in time to come. (Howbeit, a thing
There was, which was not known to Maev that day:—
It was not Conor son of Fahtna Fahee,
But Conor son of a famed King of Alba,
Of whom the Druid prophesied, and who
Was destined to be slain in time to come
By one of Maev’s own sons.) So now these Mahn-yas
Arrived upon Moy Wee; and each one brought
His cantred, thrice ten hundred men; and all
Encamped upon Moy Wee, and joyfully
Maev saw her valorous offspring.
After these,
The seven sons of Mahga came the next
Upon that plain. They were experienced warriors,
Brethren to Al-yill’s mother, Mawta Murrisc;
And they were scarred and grey. These were their names:—
Anloo-an, Baskell, Maccorb, Scandall, Aen,
Five sons of Mahga. Doha son of Mahga,
Who was—it happened so—a foster-brother
To Laery the Victorious of Loch Laery,
A chief in Ulster. Last, but most renowned,
Ket son of Mahga, who a wolf of evil
Was unto all in Ulster. These arrived,
Each with his cantred (thrice ten hundred men)
On smooth Moy Wee; and on Moy Wee encamped,
And gladly Maev beheld them.
After these
Seven great noble under-kings arrived
From wide and mirthful Munster. To each one
(In order, so, the more to bind him to her)
Maev, through her envoys, secretly had offered
Her daughter, Findabair, the White-beam. Now,
Each of those seven with his cantred came—
His thrice ten hundred—in the hope to wed
That maiden when the hosting should return.
The maiden of that thing knew nought. These camped
On smooth Moy Wee. Maev gladly saw them there.
A warlike cantred next from Leinster came,
Fighters replete with fames and victories.
Their wide blue lance-heads, like those Lawry Ling-sha
Had brought of old across the ocean, flashed
Now, being borne across Moy Wee.
And next
Came a contingent of the Folk of Tara;
And next, some small and varied bands; and then,
A certain small but beautiful bright band,
Mounted on soft, grey mares, which had gold bits
And little bells of gold; the men themselves
Having upon them wan-white laynas, worked
With threads of gold, and, over these, eared bratts
Blue like the sky, and clasped with deep red gold.
Their silver shields and varied weapons, set
With carbuncle and gems of worth, flamed bright
With sparkles, as they faced the westering sun.
This was the band of Frae the son of Eedath,
Whose mother, Baefinn, sister was to Boyne
Of the Immortal Shee. From the Shee-mound
On green Moy Bray, that robing and equipment
Had been bestowed upon him. Findabair,
Far-gazing from the lofty greeanawn
Above the high main gateway of the doon,
Perceived that band arriving on the plain;
Whereat her cheeks and countenance waxed bright
Like sunrise in the month of May. She thought,
Communing with herself, of that past day—
Yet not long past—when, in the same array,
Frae had approached to woo her. And she thought
Upon his beauty on that other day,
During the sojourn he had made at Croohan—
The day when he had swum the dark-pooled stream,
To pluck a branch of rowan red with fruit,
That fringed the further brink. For, beautiful
She had then thought it—o’er the black-dark pool
To see him—his fresh body all clear white,
His hair of radiant brightness, and his eyes
Of blue-green greyness; and the branch with fruit
Between his throat and his bright face. Then e’en
Calling, “Is it not beautiful he looks?”
She had perceived that the wild river-beast
Had caught him in mid-stream. Whereat at once
(Those who were round her being loth and slow)
She, flinging off her raiment, had leapt down
To swim the stream, carrying him a sword,
Wherewith to slay the beast. After that day,
And after some events and happenings,
Al-yill and Maev had said to Frae: “Come, then,
To join our hosting to the land of Cooley.
Bring kine for sustenance to kings and princes.
Bring thy three gentle and far-famed musicians
For gladdening of the Hosts; and, at the end,
When we again shall have returned to Croohan,
Thou shalt have Findabair.” Now, therefore, Frae
Came to the hosting on Moy Wee. He camped
Upon Moy Wee, ere yet the twilight fell;
And Findabair was glad. “I see,” said Maev,
“O daughter, thou art glad to see them there.”
The last of those to come upon Moy Wee
Was the Black Exile. Fergus had sent word
To Cormac, who was then in a far part
Of Connaught; and he hasted not, but now,
Almost at juncture of the day and night,
He came with three great bands, the three together
Making one cantred. From the Green of Croohan
The men of Croohan watched these bands arrive.
The first band was arrayed in bratts of green—
Green like spring-grass, with silvery dagger-pins
Fastening the bratts. Their laynas, stitched with gold,
Descended to their knees. Their shields were long.
A spear with wide grey head and slender shaft
Was in the hand of every man of them.
“Is this now Cormac?” shouted everyone.
“It is not Cormac yet,” responded Maev.
The second band wore bratts of dark black-grey.
Their laynas next their skin, which were bright white,
Descended past their thighs. Their shields were white.
A spear which had five points on one stout shaft
Was in the hand of every man of them.
“Is this now Cormac?” shouted everyone.
“It is not Cormac yet,” responded Maev.
The third band was arrayed in purple bratts
Of hill-heath purple; and their dagger-pins
Above their breasts were all of rich chased gold.
Their silken laynas, rich and soft and smooth,
Descended to their insteps. Their curved shields
Had blade-keen edges; and a towering spear,
Like to a pillar in some kingly stead,
Was in the hand of every man of them.
While they drew near, they all in unison
Lifted their feet, and all in unison
Lowered their feet; so toward the doon they came.
“Is this now Cormac?” shouted everyone.
“Yea, this indeed is Cormac,” answered Maev.
And very gladly on her plain of Wee
Maev saw the Ulster King’s great exiled son.

So the Four Fifths of Erin had assembled
Until they were upon Moy Wee in Connaught.
And on Moy Wee all made their camps that night,
So that between the four famed fords of Wee,
The Ford of Moga and the Ford of Bercna,
The Ford of Slissen and the Ford of Coltna,
The plain was as one cloak of smoke and fire,
With their camp-fires enkindled there that night.
And they remained the space of fifteen nights
Encamped around Rath Croohan; for their poets
And druids would not let them travel forth
Until the end of fifteen days and nights,
While they were waiting for a happy sign
Of luck and fortune to that war and hosting.
Therefore, throughout that time they had regalement
And pleasing drinks and pastime, so that haply
The hardships of their coming war and hosting
Might seem the less severe and hard to them.
When, at the end of all those fifteen nights,
From her high mound and stronghold for outlooking
And for surveying, Maev surveyed those troops
And those vast multitudes and bands and throngs
In point to break up camp and journey east
Upon her war and hosting into Ulster—
Into her mind there came uneasiness,
Doubt and uncertainty and trouble. “Here,”
She said within her mind, “are multitudes
Parting to-day from loved ones and from kindred,
From territory and from heritage,
From father and from mother; and unless
Whole and unharmed they here return again,
It is on me that they will strike their groans
And sighs and curses. And moreover now—
Though I am now (outside high-powerful Ulster)
The greatest ruler through the lands of Erin—
Though I have now assembled this great hosting,
That I may so avenge my bitter groans,
And the disgrace and wrong and shame and insult
Which were inflicted on me in my youth—
Yet there is not true certainty with me
That I shall have success, or that, indeed,
I shall myself escape dark death, or even
That I shall not be captured and be taken
By Conor, and be given a far worse shame,
And a worse wrong and contumely and insult,
Than were inflicted on me in my youth.”
This was the time wherein Maev called and spake
Unto her charioteer, and bade him catch
Her steeds and yoke her chariot, so that straightway
She might repair to speak with her own Druid
And ask for prophecy and knowledge. “Wait
One while, O Queen,” the charioteer made answer,
“That I may three times wheel the chariot round
Sunwise, to win a sign of luck and fortune.”
He wheeled the chariot sunwise, and then Maev
Rode to her Druid. When she reached the Druid,
She asked for prophecy and knowledge. “Here,”
Said Maev, “are many throngs and multitudes
Parting to-day from loved ones and from kindred,
From territory and from heritage,
From father and from mother; and unless
Whole and unharmed they here return again,
It is on me that they will strike their groans
And sighs and curses, for ’tis I alone
Who have assembled all this wondrous hosting.
And yet, let that be as it will. There goes
Not forth to Ulster and there bides not here
Life dearer to us than our own. Find, then,
O Druid, whether we, at least, ourselves,
In safety from this hosting shall return.”
The Druid said, “O great and prosperous Maev,
Daughter of Yóhee Fayla, here I have
Knowledge to hearten and enliven thee:—
This knowledge, namely. Conor son of Fahtna
Lies at this hour in splendid Avvin Maha
In torment and in weakness. On all chiefs
And kings in Ulster, each in his own doon,
Torment and pain and weakness have descended.
This is the curse of Maha daughter of Sanrith;
And here now is the reason of that curse.
Some six score years before the year in which
We speak, Crunniuc the son of Agnoman,
A wealthy brewy of the Ultonians, lived
In Ulster, ’mid high, wild, and lonely moors.
Many sons dwelt with him. His wife was dead.
One day, when he was in his house alone,
A thing occurred. For he perceived a woman
Stately and young move by; and wonderful
He deemed her guise and semblance. He perceived
How, without uttering word, she kneaded, baked,
And milked, and ruled the folk, even as though
She in that stead had e’er been wont to be.
At night she slept with him. So, a long time
They dwelt together; and, through her good rule,
There was no scarcity of each good increase
In viands, vesture, wealth. A festival
Was held in Ulster then. The folk of Ulster,
Both men and wives and growing lads and maids
Were faring to that festival; and Crunniuc
Made to fare thither too. Excellent vesture
Was round him; and a blooming, rich appearance
Was on him. Then the woman said to him:
“It will become thee at that festival
To be discreet, O Crunniuc.” And he went
With every other to the Green of Meeting.
The festival was held. At close of day
The steeds and chariot of the Ulster king
Were brought on to the green; and those two steeds,
Drawing his chariot, gained the victory.
And the hosts cried, “There is not in this world
Aught fleeter than those steeds are!” Crunniuc said:
“My wife is fleeter than the steeds.” Whereat,
He by the king was placed in cords and bonds.
They told the woman that. “’Tis hard,” said she,
“For me to go there to release him now;
Since I am great with child, and nigh my hour.”
“However hard,” the messenger replied,
“Unless thou goest to race with the king’s steeds,
Thy man will presently be slain.” She went
So to the green. Then, when she reached the green,
Her pangs of travail came on her. She cried
Aloud unto the hosts. “Help me,” said she.
“Help me. Show mercy; for it was a mother
Who bore each one of you. Grant me delay
Until I be delivered.” By them all
She was refused that respite and delay.
“Then,” she called out, “worse ill shall come of it—
Ill that shall press on the Ultonians all
For a long space of time.” “What is thy name?”
The king put query to her. “I will tell
My name,” said she. “Moreover, by the name
Of that Birth I shall bear, this green for ever
Will be denominated. I am Maha
Daughter of Sanrith son of Imba.” Then
She raced the chariot. Even with the speed
Of windy ripples blown athwart a mere
Or of blown foam flitting o’er some sea-strand,
She raced the chariot; and she reached the goal,
And, ere the chariot too had reached the goal,
She was delivered; and she brought forth twins,
“The Twins of Maha,” “Avvin Maha.” This,
Then, “Avvin Maha,” thus became the name
Whereby that green is known. Now, she had cried
With agony of childbirth, and each man
Who heard that cry immediately was cast
Into great helplessness and grief and pain.
She said: “Ye men of Ulster, from this hour—
For nine full generations from this hour—
When most oppression from your enemies
Falls on your country, then on every man
Descended from you men who here to-day
Have done this shame to me, there shall come down
A curse of torment and of pain and weakness,
Like to the pain and weakness of a woman
Approaching to her hour. And three alone,
Namely, the women and the tender children,
And also he who will be named Cucullin,
Shall be exempted from this Curse.
This Curse,
Namely, the Kesh upon the Ulster warriors,
It is,” the Druid said, “O Queen, which now—Now
when thy mighty hosts fare forth to Ulster—
Has fallen on each Ulster chief and king.”
So spake the Druid, yielding knowledge. Then
Maev answered: “Long ago I heard that tale,
What time I was in Avvin in my youth,
When I had been given to Conor against my will.
This is the thing which I have hoped for, ever.
And not long since, just ere Mac Roth returned
From Cooley, certain of my envoys came
From spying out proud Ulster; and I knew
By their sure words that at this time the Kesh
Was falling on the Ulster chiefs and kings.
E’en had their bull been rendered eagerly,
We should have gone to Ulster at this time.
And yet a cloud of darkness and of doubt
And apprehension weighs on me. Find then,
O Druid, whether we, at least, ourselves,
In safety shall return.” The Druid said,
“Whoever may return or not return,
Thou wilt return thyself.” The charioteer
Then turned the chariot round; and Maev came back.

Then, even as Maev came, she saw a thing
Which was to her a wonder; for she saw,
Fronting her, poised upon a chariot-pole,
A just-grown maid move towards her. In this way
That maid was. In her right hand she was holding
A weaving-sword of white findrinny, set
With hooklets of red gold; and she was weaving
A bordering fringe. Folded around her shape,
A bratt of leafy green, chequered and pied,
Was held by a full fruit-like heavy clasp
Over her breast. Her face was rosy, bright.
Her eyes were laughing, blue; and her two lips
Were shapely-thin and red. Within her lips
Her teeth were glistering, pearly-glimmering—
One might have deemed a white rain-shower of pearls
Had rained in there. Her light, long, yellow hair
Divided; three gold tresses of it wound
About her head; another long gold tress
Fell round her, making shade around her calves.
Her feet were long and slender, very white.
Her nails were trim and sharp and crimson-stained.
Whiter than snow in one night softly fallen,
The whiteness of her flesh was, where it shined
And gleamed athwart her quivering, blown apparel.
Maev looked at her. “What makest thou?” said Maev,
“O damsel now and here?” The maiden spoke;
And, when she spoke, as sweet as are the strings
Of peakéd harps played by the skilful hands
Of master-players, was the sweet, clear sound
Of her calm, pleasant voice and utterance.
“I am illuminating and revealing,”
She said, “O Queen, the profit and the loss
Which are before thee now, while thou dost gather,
And muster here the Four great Fifths of Erin,
To go unto the land of Ulster.” “Wherefore
Dost thou this thing for me?” Maev asked of her.
“I have much cause,” she said, “I am indeed
A handmaid ’mid thy people.” “Of my people
Who art thou?” Maev made question. And the maid
Replied, “Not hard to tell; for I am Fedelm,
A prophetess from ’midst thy unseen Shee.
At Sowin, now, out of thy green Shee-mound
Of Croohan, I have come, O Queen, to thee.”
And it was then that Maev began to ask
For prophecy; and Fedelm answered her.
And this is what was said between them there.
Maev said: “Speak then, O Fedelm, Prophetess,
How seest thou our great hosts?” And Fedelm answered:
“I see them red. I see them crimson-red.”
“Conor the son of Fahtna lies,” said Maev,
“In Avvin in his Kesh, the curse of Maha.
My messengers were there; and there is nothing
That we need dread, now, from the men of Ulster.
But speak the truth, O Fedelm, Prophetess—
How seest thou these our hosts?” Fedelm replied:
“I see them red. I see them crimson-red.”
“Cooscree Mend Maha, Conor’s son,” said Maev,
“Lies in his Kesh in his own Innish Cooscree.
My messengers were there; and there is nothing
That we need fear, now, from the men of Ulster.
But speak the truth, O Fedelm, Prophetess—How
seest thou our great hosts?” Fedelm replied:
“I see them red. I see them crimson-red.”
“Owen the son of Doorha lies,” said Maev,
“In his own rath, Rath Aer-heer, in his Kesh.
My messengers were there, and there is nothing
That we need fear, now, from the men of Ulster.
But speak the truth, O Fedelm, Prophetess.
How seest thou our great hosts?” Fedelm repeated:
“I see them red. I see them crimson-red.”
“This is not truth, O Prophetess,” said Maev.
“Keltar the son of Oo-hider,” said Maev,
“With a full third of all the men of Ulster,
Lies in his Kesh in Doon Le-glass. And Fergus
The son of Roy the son of Yóhee Lenny,
Is with us here in exile, and he has
His thrice ten hundred men; and we shall surely
Bring victory and triumph out of Ulster.
Speak then the truth, O Fedelm, Prophetess,
How seest thou these great hosts?” She still repeated:
“I see them red. I see them crimson-red.”
“This thing to me,” said Maev, “is not the same
As ’tis to thee. For when the men of Erin
Shall meet in the one place, there will be quarrels,
Occasions of dissension and disunion,
And frays and fallings-out and feuds and broils—
About their being in the van or rear,
And about fords and rivers, and about
First-slaying of swine and hares and stags and deer.
Then look again for us, O Prophetess,
And speak the truth to us.” The maiden answered:
“I see them red. I see them crimson-red.
I see a man who will perform great feats.”
And she began to sing and prophesy
And to foretell things that would be thereafter.
And this was what she sang then at that time.
“I see a man youthful and very fair,
Who will perform great deeds, and win his fill
Of hurts and wounds in his smooth fine-fair skin.
Upon his brow, which is a meeting-place
For victories, the hero’s light flames high.
Amidst each eye the seven dragon-gems
Of a pure hero-champion flame and burn.
Plain to perceive, his intellect is keen.
A red hooked layna folds him. His fresh face
Is beautiful and noble. He observes
Towards women courtesy and modesty.
Though a mere stripling, blooming, dainty-cheeked,
He in the battle shows a dragon’s form.
His fairness and his valour now resemble
Cucullin of Mweerhevna; and though, truly,
Who this Cucullin of green Moy Mweerhevna
May be I know not, yet this thing I know—
These hosts by him will all be very red.
Four little swords for feats of special skill
He carries in each hand: he will attain
To plying these upon the hosts: the hosts
Will flee from him on every road and way.
When, in addition to his spear and sword,
He brings his dread Gae Bulg, he plants his feet
On every slope and hill. Two spears project
O’er his bright chariot-wheels: he rides to battle.
Fury distorts him, battle-fury changes
That form which hitherto I have perceived.
He is Cucullin son of Sooaltim,
Hound of the Forge: he wends unto a battle.
Your hosts, now whole, he will hack down and fell.
He will compel your slain thickly to lie.
Strong men will leave their heads with him. This I,
Fedelm the Prophetess, will not conceal.
Red blood shall drip from the white skins of heroes—
Lasting and long the memory shall be—
Bodies shall there be torn, women shall wail,
Through deeds of that renowned Hound of the Forge,
Whom now, O Queen, I see.”
The Prophetess
Ended her prophecy: and Maev rode back
From seeking-out of prophecy and knowledge.

BOOK IV