Irish Fairy Tales by James Stephens (black male authors TXT) đź“–
- Author: James Stephens
Book online «Irish Fairy Tales by James Stephens (black male authors TXT) 📖». Author James Stephens
“The gods be praised!” said the man who was in the branch above the king.
“What for this time?” said the king.
“Because that dog cannot climb a tree,” said the man.
And the man on a branch yet above him groaned out “Amen!”
“There is nothing to frighten sheep like a dog,” said Mananna’n, “and there is nothing to frighten these sheep like this dog.”
He put the dog on the ground then.
“Little dogeen, little treasure,” said he, “go and kill the sheep.”
And when he said that the dog put an addition and an addendum on to the noise he had been making before, so that the men of Ireland stuck their fingers into their ears and turned the whites of their eyes upwards, and nearly fell off their branches with the fear and the fright which that sound put into them.
It did not take the dog long to do what he had been ordered. He went forward, at first, with a slow waddle, and as the venomous sheep came to meet him in bounces, he then went to meet them in wriggles; so that in a while he went so fast that you could see nothing of him but a head and a wriggle. He dealt with the sheep in this way, a jump and a chop for each, and he never missed his jump and he never missed his chop. When he got his grip he swung round on it as if it was a hinge. The swing began with the chop, and it ended with the bit loose and the sheep giving its last kick. At the end of ten minutes all the sheep were lying on the ground, and the same bit was out of every sheep, and every sheep was dead.
“You can come down now,” said Mananna’n.
“That dog can’t climb a tree,” said the man in the branch above the king warningly.
“Praise be to the gods!” said the man who was above him.
“Amen!” said the warrior who was higher up than that. And the man in the next tree said:
“Don’t move a hand or a foot until the dog chokes himself to death on the dead meat.”
The dog, however, did not eat a bit of the meat. He trotted to his master, and Mananna’n took him up and wrapped him in his cloak.
“Now you can come down,” said he.
“I wish that dog was dead!” said the king.
But he swung himself out of the tree all the same, for he did not wish to seem frightened before Mananna’n. “You can go now and beat the men of Lochlann,” said Mananna’n. “You will be King of Lochlann before nightfall.”
“I wouldn’t mind that,” said the king. “It’s no threat,” said Mananna’n.
The son of Lir turned then and went away in the direction of Ireland to take up his one-day rights, and Fiachna continued his battle with the Lochlannachs.
He beat them before nightfall, and by that victory he became King of Lochlann and King of the Saxons and the Britons.
He gave the Black Hag seven castles with their territories, and he gave her one hundred of every sort of cattle that he had captured. She was satisfied.
Then he went back to Ireland, and after he had been there for some time his wife gave birth to a son.
CHAPTER VIII
“You have not told me one word about Duv Laca,” said the Flame Lady reproachfully.
“I am coming to that,” replied Mongan.
He motioned towards one of the great vats, and wine was brought to him, of which he drank so joyously and so deeply that all people wondered at his thirst, his capacity, and his jovial spirits.
“Now, I will begin again.”
Said Mongan: There was an attendant in Fiachna Finn’s palace who was called An Da’v, and the same night that Fiachna’s wife bore a son, the wife of An Da’v gave birth to a son also. This latter child was called mac an Da’v, but the son of Fiachna’s wife was named Mongan.
“Ah!” murmured the Flame Lady.
The queen was angry. She said it was unjust and presumptuous that the servant should get a child at the same time that she got one herself, but there was no help for it, because the child was there and could not be obliterated.
Now this also must be told.
There was a neighbouring prince called Fiachna Duv, and he was the ruler of the Dal Fiatach. For a long time he had been at enmity and spiteful warfare with Fiachna Finn; and to this Fiachna Duv there was born in the same night a daughter, and this girl was named Duv Laca of the White Hand.
“Ah!” cried the Flame Lady.
“You see!” said Mongan, and he drank anew and joyously of the fairy wine.
In order to end the trouble between Fiachna Finn and Fiachna Duv the babies were affianced to each other in the cradle on the day after they were born, and the men of Ireland rejoiced at that deed and at that news. But soon there came dismay and sorrow in the land, for when the little Mongan was three days old his real father, Mananna’n the son of Lir, appeared in the middle of the palace. He wrapped Mongan in his green cloak and took him away to rear and train in the Land of Promise, which is beyond the sea that is at the other side of the grave.
When Fiachna Duv heard that Mongan, who was affianced to his daughter Duv Laca, had disappeared, he considered that his compact of peace was at an end, and one day he came by surprise and attacked the palace. He killed Fiachna Finn in that battle, and be crowned himself King of Ulster.
The men of Ulster disliked him, and they petitioned Mananna’n to bring Mongan back, but Mananna’n would not do this until the boy was sixteen years of age and well reared in the wisdom of the Land of Promise. Then he did bring Mongan back, and by his means peace was made between Mongan and Fiachna Duv, and Mongan was married to his cradle-bride, the young Duv Laca.
CHAPTER IX
One day Mongan and Duv Laca were playing chess in their palace. Mongan had just made a move of skill, and he looked up from the board to see if Duv Laca seemed as discontented as she had a right to be. He saw then over Duv Laca’s shoulder a little black-faced, tufty-headed cleric leaning against the door-post inside the room.
“What are you doing there?” said Mongan.
“What are you doing there yourself?” said the little black-faced cleric.
“Indeed, I have a right to be in my own house,” said Mongan.
“Indeed I do not agree with you,” said the cleric.
“Where ought I be, then?” said Mongan.
“You ought to be at Dun Fiathac avenging the murder of your father,” replied the cleric, “and you ought to be ashamed of yourself for not having done it long ago. You can play chess with your wife when you have won the right to leisure.”
“But how can I kill my wife’s father?” Mongan exclaimed. “By starting about it at once,” said the cleric. “Here is a way of talking!” said Mongan.
“I know,” the cleric continued, “that Duv Laca will not agree with a word I say on this subject, and that she will try to prevent you from doing what you have a right to do, for that is a wife’s business, but a man’s business is to do what I have just told you; so come with me now and do not wait to think about it, and do not wait to play any more chess. Fiachna Duv has only a small force with him at this moment, and we can burn his palace as he burned your father’s palace, and kill himself as he killed your father, and crown you King of Ulster rightfully the way he crowned himself wrongfully as a king.”
“I begin to think that you own a lucky tongue, my black-faced friend,” said Mongan, “and I will go with you.”
He collected his forces then, and he burned Fiachna Duv’s fortress, and he killed Fiachna Duv, and he was crowned King of Ulster.
Then for the first time he felt secure and at liberty to play chess. But he did not know until afterwards that the black-faced, tufty-headed person was his father Mananna’n, although that was the fact.
There are some who say, however, that Fiachna the Black was killed in the year 624 by the lord of the Scot’s Dal Riada, Condad Cerr, at the battle of Ard Carainn; but the people who say this do not know what they are talking about, and they do not care greatly what it is they say.
CHAPTER X
“There is nothing to marvel about in this Duv Laca,” said the Flame Lady scornfully. “She has got married, and she has been beaten at chess. It has happened before.”
“Let us keep to the story,” said Mongan, and, having taken some few dozen deep draughts of the wine, he became even more jovial than before. Then he recommenced his tale:
It happened on a day that Mongan had need of treasure. He had many presents to make, and he had not as much gold and silver and cattle as was proper for a king. He called his nobles together and discussed what was the best thing to be done, and it was arranged that he should visit the provincial kings and ask boons from them.
He set out at once on his round of visits, and the first province he went to was Leinster.
The King of Leinster at that time was Branduv, the son of Echach. He welcomed Mongan and treated him well, and that night Mongan slept in his palace.
When he awoke in the morning he looked out of a lofty window, and he saw on the sunny lawn before the palace a herd of cows. There were fifty cows in all, for he counted them, and each cow had a calf beside her, and each cow and calf was pure white in colour, and each of them had red ears.
When Mongan saw these cows, he fell in love with them as he had never fallen in love with anything before.
He came down from the window and walked on the sunny lawn among the cows, looking at each of them and speaking words of affection and endearment to them all; and while he was thus walking and talking and looking and loving, he noticed that some one was moving beside him. He looked from the cows then, and saw that the King of Leinster was at his side.
“Are you in love with the cows?” Branduv asked him.
“I am,” said Mongan.
“Everybody is,” said the King of Leinster.
“I never saw anything like them,” said Mongan.
“Nobody has,” said the King of Leinster.
“I never saw anything I would rather have than these cows,” said Mongan.
“These,” said the King of Leinster, “are the most beautiful cows in Ireland, and,” he continued thoughtfully, “Duv Laca is the most beautiful woman in Ireland.”
“There is no lie in what you say,” said Mongan.
“Is it not a queer thing,” said the King of Leinster, “that I should have what you want with all your soul, and you should have what I want with all my heart?”
“Queer indeed,” said Mongan, “but what is it that you do want?”
“Duv Laca, of course,” said the King of Leinster.
“Do you mean,” said Mongan, “that you would exchange this herd of fifty pure white cows having red ears—”
“And their fifty calves,” said the King of Leinster—
“For Duv Laca, or for any woman in the world?”
“I would,” cried the King of Leinster, and he thumped his knee as he said it.
“Done,” roared Mongan, and the two kings shook hands on the bargain.
Mongan then called some of his own people, and before any more words could be said
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