Celtic Mithology

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CELTIC MYTHOLOGY
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OTHER TITLES BY PHILIP FREEMAN
The World of Saint Patrick

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CELTIC
MYTHOLOGY
Tales of Gods, Goddesses, and Heroes
PHILIP FR EE M A N
1
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1
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v
CONTENTS
Introduction: Who Were the Celts? ix

Pronunciation Guide xvii
1. The Earliest Celtic Gods 1

2. The Book of Invasions 14
3. The Wooing of Étaín 29
4. Cú Chulainn and the Táin Bó Cuailnge 46
The Discovery of the Táin 47
The Conception of Conchobar 48
The Curse of Macha 50
The Exile of the Sons of Uisliu 52
The Birth of Cú Chulainn 57
The Boyhood Deeds of Cú Chulainn 61
The Wooing of Emer 71
The Death of Aife’s Only Son 75
The Táin Begins 77
Single Combat 82
Cú Chulainn and Ferdia 86
The Final Battle 89
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vi | C ontents
5. Tales from the Ulster Cycle 92

The Story of Mac Dá Thó’s Pig 92
The Cattle Raid of Fróech 98
The Destruction of Dá Derga’s Hostel 104
Athairne and Amairgen 115
Briccriu’s Feast 116
The Intoxication of the Ulstermen 123
The Wasting Sickness of Cú Chulainn
and the Only Jealousy of Emer 126
The Death of Cú Chulainn 133
6. Stories of the Irish Otherworld 137
The Adventure of Nera 137
The Adventure of Cormac 141
The Adventure of Conla 145
The Adventures of the Sons of Eochaid
Mugmedón 147
The Voyage of Bran 149
7. Finn the Outlaw 153
The Boyhood Deeds of Finn 153
The Pursuit of Diarmuid and Gráinne 158
8. Welsh Mythology—The Mabinogi 165
Pwyll Prince of Dyfed 165
Branwen Daughter of Llyr 174
Manawydan Son of Llyr 180
Math Son of Mathonwy 185
9. Welsh Stories and Sagas 197
Lludd and Lleuelys 197
Gwion Bach and Taliesin 199
Culhwch and Olwen 205
10. Christian Mythology 213
Saint Patrick 214
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C ontents | vii
Saint Brigid 224

Saint Brendan 231
Notes 241
Glossary 249
Bibliography 265
Index 267
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ix
INTRODUCTION: WHO
WERE THE CELTS?
Over two thousand years ago, someone on the cold and

windswept shores of the Atlantic Ocean sat down before a
blazing fire and told a story. Long ago, this person said, there
were two gods who were brothers, twins born together from
the same womb of a great mother goddess of the sea. When
these brothers grew up, they left the ocean behind and came
to dwell among the people who lived near the sea.
There was much more to the story, but that is all that
survives. The only reason we know even this bare outline
is that the tale was passed on by word of mouth until a visi-
tor from the Mediterranean world wrote it down. In time
that document found its way to a Greek historian named
Timaeus from the island of Sicily, who lived just after the age
of Alexander the Great. He recorded the story as part of his
monumental history of the world from legendary times until
his own day. But all the volumes of Timaeus were lost over
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the centuries, so that his words are preserved only in a few

quotations by later classical writers whose works did survive.
One of these writers was another Greek named Diodorus,
who three hundred years later briefly summarized the story
of the twin gods he had read in Timaeus.
And thus the oldest myth of the Celtic people of ancient
Europe has been preserved for us today by the merest chance.
Everyone today knows about the gods and heroes of
the ancient Greeks, such as Zeus, Hera, and Hercules, and
most have read of the Norse gods Odin, Thor, and Freya, but
how many people have heard of the Gaulish god Lugus, or
the magical Welsh queen Rhiannon, or the great Irish war-
rior Cú Chulainn? We still thrill to the story of the Trojan
War, but the epic battles of the Irish Táin Bó Cuailnge are
known only to a few. And yet those who have read the sto-
ries of Celtic myth and legend—among them writers like
J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis—have been deeply moved
and influenced by these amazing tales, for there is nothing
in the world quite like them. In these stories a mysterious
and invisible realm of gods and spirits exists alongside and
sometimes crosses over into our own human world, fierce
women warriors battle with kings and heroes, and even the
rules of time and space can be suspended.
But who were these Celts who told such tales, what sort
of stories did they tell, and how have they survived? We know
the Celts were one of the most feared and admired peoples
of ancient Europe, inhabiting in Roman times the coastal
lands from Spain, Britain, and Ireland across the continent
to northern Italy and into eastern Europe and Asia Minor.
They served as mercenary soldiers in the armies of Egyptian
kings and fought for centuries against the expanding empire
of Rome. Their druid priests taught of reincarnation and
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I ntroduction | xi
sacrificed human captives by burning them alive in wicker

cages; their poets sang hauntingly beautiful songs of praise
and satire. They were never a single nation but, rather, a vast
collection of tribes sharing similar languages, religion, and
mythology.
We first hear of a people called the Keltoi from Greek
merchants and explorers who sailed to the western shores of
the Mediterranean and Atlantic around 500 b.c.e. But soon
these same Celts who lived in Gaul (modern France) were
crossing the Alps and invading Italy and Greece. Writers
such as the Greek historian Xenophon and the philosopher
Aristotle describe them as matchless warriors who feared
nothing and plunged sword-first into battle with joyous
abandon, sometimes naked except for the gold torques they
wore around their necks.
The Celtic warriors of northern Italy sacked the young
city of Rome in 390 b.c.e. and demanded a ransom of gold
before leaving the smoldering ruins behind them. Their
descendants ventured into the Balkans and invaded Greece
a century later. Some of these Celtic tribes even crossed into
what is now Turkey and established kingdoms that would
last for centuries in the mountainous heart of Asia Minor,
becoming the Galatians to whom St. Paul would address one
of his New Testament letters.
A curious and brave Greek philosopher named
Posidonius visited the wild interior of Gaul at the beginning
of the first century b.c.e. and wrote about the Celtic warriors
who were his hosts. He records that they were a proud and
brave people who loved fighting, riddles, and feasting. He
was appalled to see the preserved heads that decorated the
halls of their tribal chieftains serving as trophies of valiant
enemies they had slain. He spoke of their devotion to the
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gods and their fondness for tales sung by their bards, though
he preserved only a few hints of what these stories were.
Almost half a century after the visit of Posidonius,
the Roman general Julius Caesar conquered the Celts of
Gaul in a brutal war that left hundreds of thousands dead
or enslaved. Caesar writes at length of his battles with the
Gauls, but also briefly preserves some of our best descrip-
tions of their gods and religion. And although the Romans
took over Gaul and banned human sacrifice by the druids,
they had little interest in changing native Celtic religion and
culture. Bits and pieces of this religion and mythology sur-
vive in Greek and Roman stories, carved into stone monu-
ments, or etched on lead tablets, though rarely anything that
could be called a complete story. Sadly for us, the Celts of
classical times did not record any of their own myths. Thus
for the ancient Gauls, Galatians, and other Celtic peoples of
continental Europe, we must be content with a few scattered
references to their gods and a handful of short and possi-
bly distorted myths that come to us from Greek and Roman
visitors.
Caesar crossed the channel and attacked Britain twice
during his first-century b.c.e. war in Gaul, but he left the
conquest of the island to the Romans of the next century,
beginning under the emperor Claudius. Years of bloody
fighting by the legions pushed the Roman frontier all the way
to Hadrian’s Wall in northern Britain. The British Celts were
eventually subdued and became a vital part of the empire,
but their language, gods, and stories persisted under Roman
rule until the Saxons and other Germanic tribes landed on
their shores in the fifth century a.d. These new invaders
were more thorough than the Romans. Celtic culture soon
vanished from Britain except in the remote regions of Wales,
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I ntroduction | xiii
Cornwall, and for a time, in the native British kingdoms of

the north. Others left Britain altogether and settled across
the sea on the remote peninsula of Brittany in what is now
northwestern France. But in all these Celtic enclaves, the
ancient stories survived and evolved, most famously into the
great Welsh tales of the Middle Ages, especially the collec-
tion known as the Mabinogi. The surviving medieval man-
uscripts in which these legends were written tell of magic
and giants, of great kings such as the mighty Arthur, and
of women and poets with supernatural powers. Although
strongly influenced by European literature of the time, these
Welsh stories are uniquely and wonderfully Celtic.
By the end of the fifth century a.d., only Ireland
remained as a free land where the ancient ways of the Celts
remained untouched by Rome. The classical world knew of
Ireland only as a distant and savage island, supposedly full
of cannibals and barbarians. In truth it was a rich and fer-
tile land with an ancient and sophisticated culture. Kings,
warriors, and druids formed an aristocracy that ruled over a
land of prosperous farms where cattle were the measure of a
family’s wealth. Around these farms throughout the island
were stone tombs and monuments far more ancient than the
Celts that became a part of Irish mythology as entrances to
the mysterious Otherworld.
Christianity reached Ireland by the early fifth century
a.d., when Pope Celestine sent a bishop named Palladius
to the distant island to minister to its people. A young
Roman nobleman named Patrick, who had been captured
in an Irish slave raid on Britain, escaped from captivity in
Ireland during this time, but later returned as a missionary,
bringing with him not only a new religion but also the art
of writing, which could at last record ancient Irish myths
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on parchment. The monks of Ireland soon became famous

scribes who wrote down both Christian tales and native
Irish stories.
And what stories they were—gods and goddesses bat-
tling for control of the island in epic wars, heroes engaged in
endless combat to win undying glory, voyages across the sea
to magical islands, divine women who with the gift of their
sexuality could establish or destroy the power of kings. Even
early Christian saints such as Patrick, Brigid, and Brendan
became part of Irish mythology.
For centuries the Irish and Welsh, along with the Scots,
Cornish, and Bretons, preserved their traditional tales in
their own languages as the English and French, through war
and campaigns of cultural assimilation, tried to force them
to abandon their heritage. But fortunately for all of us they
did not prevail, so that when we ask who the Celts were, we
should really ask who they are—for the Celtic people with
their unique languages and cultures still survive. On the
west coast of Ireland, in Welsh towns and villages, in the
hills and islands of western Scotland, and on the farms of
Brittany, visitors today can still hear the ancient tales of the
Celts told and sung in their native languages. In music and
stories, the mythology of the Celts lives on for all of us.
In writing any book on mythology, an author first has
to decide what a myth is. The ancient Greeks thought of a
mythos simply as a spoken story. But ask a random person
today what a myth is and they will probably say it’s a story
that isn’t true. Even scholars of mythology can rarely agree
on what exactly a myth is. My definition for this book is
simple—a myth is a traditional tale about gods and heroes.
One problem about our written sources for Celtic
mythology is that many of the authors who recorded them
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I ntroduction | xv
were far removed from the original tales, if not plainly hos-
tile to them. The Christian scribe who wrote down one ver-
sion of the Irish epic Táin Bó Cuailnge includes on the last
page a warning to his readers:
I, however, who have copied this history—or more accu-

rately this fable—give no credence to various incidents
narrated here. Some things in this story are feats of devilish
deception, others are poetic figments, a few are probable,
others improbable, and even more invented for the delight
of fools.
The earlier Greek and Roman authors who wrote about the
Celts had their own prejudices that could distort the stories
they were recording. To many of them the Celts were wild
barbarians who threatened to destroy civilization; to others
they were romantic figures of primal innocence. The later
medieval stories, like the tales of Norse mythology, were all
recorded by Christians who viewed an earlier pre-Christian
world through the lens of their own beliefs and experiences.
In many cases we can see beneath the classical and Christian
biases to the original Celtic tale, but the recovery of a “pure”
myth isn’t always possible or even desirable. The best mythol-
ogy of every culture is a rich blend of many influences—and
the remarkable stories of the Celts are no exception.
It has been my privilege to teach courses on Celtic lit-
erature and mythology to university and college students for
many years. It’s always a thrill to stand before my students
on the first day of class and talk about the stories we will be
reading that semester. There’s such excitement among peo-
ple young and old about the traditional stories of Ireland,
Wales, and the rest of the Celtic world that I can’t imagine a
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more enjoyable project than writing this book to introduce

readers everywhere to these tales.
I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to my own pro-
fessors at Harvard University who patiently taught me the
languages and myths of the Celts, but I also must thank the
many friends in Ireland and Wales who have shared so many
stories with me over the years and made the mythology of
the Celts come alive before my eyes. I hope in my own small
way I can do the same for everyone who reads this book.
xvii
PRONUNCIATION GUIDE
The ancient Celtic languages of Roman times are pro-

nounced very much as they look (e.g., E-po-na), but the
medieval languages of Ireland and Wales can confound
even the most dedicated students of mythology. The follow-
ing is a brief guide to a few of the more important features
of the languages. A more extensive guide to the pronuncia-
tion of medieval Irish words and names is found in Carson,
The Táin, xxvii–x xx. For Welsh, see Ford, The Mabinogi and
Other Medieval Welsh Tales, 195–196.
Gaulish
Anyone who has studied a little Latin in school will have no

trouble with the ancient Celtic words and names recorded in
Greek and Roman authors. Like Latin, almost all the conso-
nants and vowels are pronounced as they appear on the page
xviii
xviii | P ronunciation G uide
and no letters are silent; c is always hard (k, not s or ch), as is

g (as in go, never j). For example:
Lugus LU-gus
Teutates teu-TA-tes
Matrona ma-TRO-na
Welsh
Medieval Welsh is related to Gaulish, but its spelling and

pronunciation underwent radical changes in the early
Middle Ages; g is always pronounced hard, w can be a con-
sonant or a vowel (short as in put or long as in tool), y is a
vowel (short as in in or long as in screen), ch as in German
ich or Scottish loch, and ll (represented below by LL) is found
in few other languages of the world—try pronouncing it by
making a regular l sound without vibrating your throat:
Lleu LLai
Pwyll pwiLL
Culhwch KIL-huch
Mabinogi mab-in-O-gee
Irish
Like its linguistic cousin Welsh, medieval Irish evolved rap-

idly soon after the Roman era. Long vowels are marked by
an accent (e.g., cú) and ch is pronounced in the back of the
throat as in Welsh. Consonants standing between vowels
are usually softened, so that for example t becomes d and d
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P ronunciation G uide | xix
becomes the sound of the final consonant in English bathe

(shown below as dh):
Ailill A-lil
Cathbad CATH-badh
Cú Chulainn ku CHU-lan
Medb medhv
Táin Bó Cuailnge tan bow KUAL-nya
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CELTIC MYTHOLOGY
xxii
1
1
✦
THE EARLIEST CELTIC GODS
THE GODS OF THE ANCIENT Celts are a mystery. Even

when we know their names—and we know quite a few—we
seldom can say for certain what their powers were, how they
were worshiped, or what stories were told about them. Julius
Caesar devotes one brief paragraph of the long history of his
war in Gaul to the gods of that land, but that short descrip-
tion is by far the best written evidence we have of ancient
Celtic religion. A few other Greek and Roman writers men-
tion the gods of the Celts and many of their names are
found in local inscriptions or in tribal names, but compared
to what we know about the gods of Mount Olympus, our
knowledge of Celtic divinities is sorely lacking.
We know that the greatest of the gods of ancient Gaul
was Mercury—so says Caesar. But in his description of the
deities of the people he conquered, Caesar substitutes the
names of similar Roman gods rather than use their native
Celtic names. Caesar adds that there were images of this
Mercury throughout Gaul, that he was the inventor of all
the arts, and that he was a guide for every journey, as well as
the most influential god in trade and business.
The Roman Mercury was a god of movement, not only of
goods and people but also of words and ideas. He guided the
souls of mortals to the land of the dead and moved on the
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2 | C eltic M ythology
boundaries of life in every aspect. It might seem strange that

Caesar would choose him as the closest counterpart to the
chief god among the Gauls instead of Jupiter, but his choice
reveals something important about Celtic religion. The Celts
were polytheists who believed in many gods, like the ancient
Greeks and Romans, but their greatest god was not a white-
bearded king of the heavens casting thunderbolts down to
earth. The Celtic Mercury was a craftsman, an inventor, a
traveler, and a guide for all in need.
Caesar’s claim about the numerous images of this god
are confirmed by archeologists who have unearthed many
statues and sculptures of Mercury in Gaul. Usually he is
portrayed as a young man in the classical mode, with his
trademark caduceus staff, sometimes accompanied by a
cornucopia-bearing goddess named Rosmerta. But nowhere
in all of Gaul does an inscription tell us what the Celts them-
selves called Caesar’s Mercury.
And yet we may be able to discover his true name.
One clue comes from Caesar’s own description of Gaulish
Mercury as the inventor of all the arts. In medieval Ireland,
there is a young and handsome god we will meet later who is
described in Irish as samildánach (“skilled in all arts”). His
name is Lug, which means “the shining one.” He is the most
honored and versatile of the Irish gods, and he is the divine
father of Cú Chulainn, the greatest hero of Irish legend.
Linguistics can tell us that if such a god existed among the
Gauls, his name would be Lugus—and it happens that there
is evidence for a god with this very name not only in Gaul
but also throughout the ancient Celtic world. Numerous
towns throughout western and eastern Europe were named
for him, such as Lugudunum (“fortress of Lugus”), which
became modern Lyon, France, as well as Luguvalium,
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T he E arliest C eltic G ods | 3
modern Carlisle in southern Scotland. By no coincidence,

ancient Lyon celebrated a great annual festival for Lugus on
August 1, the same day the Irish danced at their celebration
of Lughnasa in honor of their god Lug.
The ancient god Lugus also appears in Celtic Spain on
a dedication by a guild of shoemakers. Here, as in a similar
inscription in Switzerland, his name is found in the plural as
Lugoves—probably because Celtic gods from Gaul to Ireland
often manifested themselves as one god in three parts, like
the Christian Trinity. Intriguingly, the later Welsh version of
Lugus is a magical character named Lleu, who in one story
puts aside his noble rank and works as a humble maker of
shoes. Another inscription carved in stone on a mountain-
top in Spain honors Lugus as tribal god at what seems to be
a place of pilgrimage.
Caesar next says that the Gauls worship Apollo, Mars,
Jupiter, and Minerva, who rule over the same areas of human
life and the world as they do in Roman religion. Apollo, he
says, drives away disease, Mars is the god of war, Jupiter
reigns over the sky, and Minerva is devoted to crafts. Again,
we don’t know for certain what the Gauls called these gods,
but we can learn something about them from the descrip-
tive names given to them, from their depiction in ancient
Celtic art, and from similarities to characters in later Irish
and Welsh mythology.
In classical mythology, Apollo is a young god of healing,
prophesy, poetry, and music. Disease in the Greek world was
often seen as the result of impurity, and so shrines of Apollo
were centers of purification rituals. Likewise in Gaul, natu-
ral springs were cultic centers of this god who could heal
all manner of infirmities. The Celtic Apollo has more than
a dozen descriptive titles attached to his name in surviving
4
inscriptions, such as Belenus, Cunomaglus, and Grannus.

Apollo Belenus is widely attested at therapeutic hot springs
in Austria, northern Italy, and southern Gaul, as well as
Britain. The root bel-, meaning “brilliant,” is found also in
the Irish Mayday festival of Beltaine (“brilliant fire”). Apollo
Cunomaglus (“hound lord”) appears in Britain as a young
hunter god, while Apollo Grannus was such a well-k nown
healing god that his cult spread beyond the Celtic world
and was invoked by the Roman emperor Caracalla. Other
of the many names and manifestations of Gaulish Apollo
are Borvo (“the boiling one”—probably from his association
with hot springs), accompanied by a consort Damona, and
Maponos (“the divine youth”), invoked in a magical tablet
unearthed in France that was written in the native Gaulish
language in the first century a.d. Maponos was especially
popular in northern Britain and survives in early Arthurian
literature as Mabon son of Madron (“the divine mother”).
Caesar says that the war-loving Gauls would often dedi-
cate the spoils of an upcoming battle to Mars—and, indeed,
there is archeological evidence for this practice. If suc-
cessful in war, Caesar says, they would sacrifice all living
things captured in the battle to the god and gather together
the material spoils into a sacred place in his honor. He says
many tribes throughout Gaul had such sanctuaries that were
rarely violated. Those who did so, if caught, faced unimagi-
nable torture and punishment. The Celtic Mars overlaps in
his duties with Apollo by also serving as a healing god, but
his main functions were war and territorial protection. He
bears many Celtic names, such as the guardian deity Mars
Albiorix in southern Gaul, Mars Caturix (“king of fighting”)
near Geneva, and the popular healing god Mars Lenus in
Gaul and Britain. He is often pictured on stone carvings with
5
a goose, a sentry animal known for its aggressiveness. The

god is also called Mars Teutates, which matches the name of
a ferocious Gaulish deity described by the first-century a.d.
Roman poet Lucan as “cruel Teutates satisfied only by
human sacrifice.” Eight hundred years later a commentator
on Lucan says that this Teutates was in fact the god Mars
and that he was appeased by the drowning of his victims.
It’s difficult to know if this is an accurate description of ear-
lier Gaulish religion, but the god of the medieval commen-
tary bears a striking resemblance to an image carved on an
ancient cauldron found in a bog at Gundestrup in Denmark,
in which a superhuman figure plunges a man upside down
into a giant vat.
Caesar’s Jupiter often appears in Gaulish sculpture as a
toga-clad ruler of the sky with a scepter in hand. In a few
inscriptions he is expressly identified by the name Taranis,
a Celtic word meaning “thunderer.” The previous passage
of Lucan says that Taranis was as vicious as the Scythian
goddess Diana, while Lucan’s medieval commentator
claims that victims dedicated to Taranis were burned alive
in wooden cages, a practice mentioned by Caesar himself.
But Gaulish Jupiter bears many other names as well, such as
Jupiter Brixianus in northern Italy, Jupiter Ladicus in Spain,
and Jupiter Poeninus in the Alps. Whatever his name, the
sky-god was worshiped widely across the Celtic world and is
the subject of a remarkable set of a hundred columns found
mostly along the Rhine River. These tall pillars are carved to
resemble oak trees, confirming a passage in the writings of
the second-century a.d. Greek writer Maximus of Tyre, in
which he says the Celtic image of Zeus (the Greek name for
Jupiter) was a lofty oak tree. Jupiter rides a horse at the top
of these columns, sometimes with a wheel of the sun and
6
lightning in his hands, as he tramples a giant, serpent-legged

monster beneath him. Zeus also fights giants and monsters
in Greek mythology, but never from atop a horse, suggesting
a distinctly Celtic story behind these carvings. We can only
guess about the myth the columns represent, but it’s pos-
sible there was an ancient and widespread Celtic tale about
the god of the sky defeating the dark powers of the under-
world with the blinding power of the sun and his mighty
thunderbolts.
Caesar lists only one goddess among the Gauls—
Minerva, who was the mistress of all arts, a description that
closely matches her role in Greek and Roman mythology.
But just as Roman Minerva (Greek Athena) was much more
than a goddess of craft, it’s likely that the Celtic goddess also
had other areas of concern, such as victory in war and heal-
ing. A Roman writer of Gaulish origin named Pompeius
Trogus who wrote during the time of the emperor Augustus
tells the story of an attack on the city of Massalia (modern
Marseilles, France) during which a goddess appeared to the
besieging Celtic war leader in a dream and warned him to
cease his assault. He entered the city peacefully and saw in
a temple there a statue of Minerva, the very goddess who
had appeared to him in his dream. The third-century geog-
rapher Solinus says that in Britain, Celtic Minerva was wor-
shiped as Belisama (“brightest”) and had in her sanctuary
a perpetual fire burning in her honor. She was also hon-
ored in Britain as the goddess Sulis at the famous thermal
springs at Bath, known as Aquae Sulis (“the waters of Sulis”)
throughout Roman times. Indeed, Celtic Minerva seems to
have been one of the longest surviving of the Celtic gods.
The Christian church fathers Salvianus of Marseilles and
Gregory of Tours mention her active worship in Gaul during
7
the fifth and sixth centuries. As late as the seventh century,

Bishop Eligius of Noyon in northern France was warning
women of his diocese not to pray to Minerva when weaving
and dyeing cloth.
Caesar includes one final god of the ancient Gauls after
all the others. This is Dis, a Roman name for the Greek
Hades, god of death and the dark underworld. He records
that the Gauls all believed they were descended from Dis, as
the druids taught. Because of this, they marked the begin-
ning of each day with sunset, not sunrise. In early Celtic art
Dis appears holding a scroll, sometimes accompanied by a
maternal goddess named Aericula. It may seem strange that
the Celts believed they were descended from the god of the
dead, but the same belief is found in ancient India and other
mythologies around the world. In later Irish stories, the god
Donn (“the dark one”) appears as a kindly, paternal figure
who lives on a rocky island in the western sea where the
souls of the Irish journeyed after death.
There were many other ancient Celtic gods apart from
those listed by Caesar, but again we know very little about
them. One is Esus, who appears in the poem of Lucan as
“dreadful Esus,” who demands human blood shed on sav-
age altars. The medieval commentator says that victims of
this god were suspended from trees—as were those of the
Norse god Odin—after they had been fatally wounded.
The only certain image we have of Esus is a pillar discov-
ered in 1711 underneath the cathedral of Notre Dame in
Paris. In this carving, dedicated by local sailors and dated
to the first century a.d., the god is named in an inscrip-
tion and appears as a muscular woodsman chopping at a
tree. On the panel next to him is a bull with three cranes
and the name Tarvos Trigaranus. The pillar is similar to an
8
ancient relief from Trier dedicated to Mercury, which shows

another woodsman about to chop down a tree with an axe
while three birds and the head of a bull watch from the foli-
age above. These enigmatic carvings may well depict a lost
myth about the god.
Among the many other gods of the ancient Gauls is
Sucellus (“the good striker”) who appears in stone relief
as a man with a curly beard and hair with a long-shafted
hammer in his hand. Beside him on one carving is a god-
dess named Nantosvelta, who is often pictured with a raven.
Another widespread god is Cernunnos (“the horned god”),
a divine lord of the animals who appears in a Celtic rock
carving from northern Italy as early as the fourth century
b.c. The pillar found under Notre Dame bears the only sur-
viving inscription with his name, but his figure appears in
many locations. In these he is often seated in a cross-legged
posture like the Buddha surrounded by stags and other wild
animals, notably a snake with ram horns, and has large ant-
lers springing from his own head on which hang torques, the
neck rings found throughout the Celtic world. This divine
power over animals survives in many later Irish and Welsh
stories, while a medieval Christian tale tells of a suspiciously
similar Breton saint named Korneli who was a protector of
horned animals.
There is one final Gaulish god about whom we know very
little, yet there survives a story about him that is one of the
closest things we have to an actual Celtic myth from antiq-
uity. His name is Ogmios and he bears in name and func-
tion similarities to a later Irish god named Ogma. The Irish
Ogma was a god of poetry who was called trénfer (“strong
man”) and who was credited with inventing Ogam letters,
an early Irish writing system based on lines carved in stone.
9
The Greek writer Lucian, who lived during the time of

the Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius, tells a story of his
travels in Gaul during which he came across an image of the
god Hercules—but it was unlike any representation he had
seen in Greek or Roman art. Instead of a muscled youth, this
Hercules was a bald old man dark and wrinkled as if from
a lifetime at sea. But he carried a lion skin on his shoulder,
arrows in a quiver, and a club in his hand—unmistakable
signs of the god Hercules. Most striking to Lucian, this
Hercules was dragging behind him a group of men fastened
by the ears to his own tongue with a delicate chain of gold
and amber, from which they could have easily escaped if
they had so desired. The god in the image was turning to
face the men as he smiled.
At first Lucian thought the Celts were making fun of
Hercules, but he was soon approached by a Greek-speaking
Gaul who offered to explain the image to him. He revealed
to Lucian that the Gauls did not think the god Hermes rep-
resented verbal eloquence, but that the power of the spoken
word was best shown by Hercules, whom they called Ogmios,
since he was much stronger. He also told the visiting Greek
that he shouldn’t be surprised that they portrayed Hercules
as an old man, since eloquence is a quality that shows itself
best with age. He also said that their god Hercules achieved
his greatest deeds not by physical strength but by the power
of the spoken word, represented by fast and sharp arrows
that he carried in his quiver.
We should be careful about accepting this story at face
value, since Lucian was known for his imaginative comic
writings, but we know that he was an itinerant lecturer in
Gaul and so it is quite possible this story was based on an
actual encounter. An uncommon appreciation of language
10
among the ancient Celts is a quality attested by several clas-

sical writers, while the similarities between Gaulish Ogmios
and the Irish Ogma are hard to ignore. It seems reasonable
to suppose we have in this story by Lucian a taste of the rich
Gaulish mythology about Ogmios, a god who led men by the
strength of the spoken word.
Goddesses in ancient Celtic religion were more than
just consorts of powerful gods. As with Gaulish Minerva
described by Caesar, these female deities have their own
powers, worshipers, and mythology, though once again
there are only tantalizing hints at what these stories were.
One of the earliest comes from a Greek visitor to west-
ern Europe named Artemidorus. He records that worship-
ers on an island near Britain performed sacrifices like those
offered to Demeter and her daughter on the Aegean island
of Samothrace. We don’t know which of the islands around
Britain he means, but it may be one of the islands to the north
or west of Britain, perhaps even Ireland. He doesn’t name
the Celtic goddesses worshiped there, though the similarity
to sacrifices on Samothrace is an important clue to her pow-
ers. The Aegean island was a center for the worship of the
great mother goddess, sometimes identified with Demeter,
whose control over fertility brought about the fruits of the
earth and the seasons of life. We don’t know all the details
of the Greek worship, since it was a secret religion for initi-
ates only, but we know there were prayers and sacrifices of
domesticated animals on hearth stones along with offerings
to underworld gods in ritual pits. This suggests that the Celts
on the island near Britain also worshiped a mother goddess
or goddesses. Like the Greeks and many other cultures,
they may have also had a myth about a goddess of fertility
withdrawing from the world bringing winter on the earth,
11
only to be enticed back by sacrifice and worship to usher in

the new growth of spring.
Images of such mother goddesses are found throughout
Gaul and Britain, sometimes as single divinities but most
often as a group of three. These carvings show seated women,
sometimes with one breast bared, wearing long garments
and often carrying symbols of harvest and fertility, such as
baskets of fruit, bread, or babies. One particular maternal
goddess was known as Matrona, who gave her name to the
Marne River of eastern France.
A goddess sometimes pictured with the divine mothers
is Epona, whose name means “the horse goddess.” Images of
her appear throughout Celtic Europe and even in Rome itself.
She was the only Celtic divinity to be officially adopted into
the Roman pantheon, with her feast day on December 18.
Her popularity among the Romans springs from her adop-
tion by cavalrymen of the legions stationed in Gaul who took
her worship home. In her depictions she always is accompa-
nied by a horse. Sometimes she rides side-saddle on a mare
carrying fruit and bread, while at other times she feeds a
foal from a shallow dish. Her symbolism is complex and her
role as a goddess was clearly much more than simply as the
patroness of horses and riders. There are also elements of
fertility, motherhood, healing, and rebirth in her worship.
Her ancient roots in Celtic religion and her popularity are
shown in echoes of her cult in later Irish and Welsh stories.
In Ireland, a supernatural and very pregnant woman named
Macha races faster than a horse and curses the men of the
Ulster kingdom to endure the pains of childbirth. In Wales,
another mysterious figure named Rhiannon rides a magical
horse, is falsely accused of murdering her own son, and is
forced to carry visitors to the royal court on her back like a
12
horse as punishment. Rhiannon’s birds were also known to

sing so sweetly they could raise the dead to life.
One of the many goddesses of ancient Britain was
Brigantia, whose name means “the exalted one.” She was
particularly popular among a confederation of tribes in
northern Britain during Roman times who called them-
selves the Brigantes, in her honor. She was also honored in
early Ireland, especially in the province of Leinster in the
southeast of the island, as the triple-goddess Brigid who
presided over fertility, iron-working, and poetry. The Irish
goddess had her feast at the beginning of February on a day
known as Imbolc, a time when the new lambs were born.
Elements of her cult were borrowed by the Christian Saint
Brigid, whose feast day is February 1.
As in classical mythology, some goddesses had darker
natures. A Gaulish lead tablet from the late first century
of our era from Larzac in southern France records a magi-
cal text written by a gathering of women who use “secret
underworld names” to invoke the otherwise unknown god-
dess Adsagsona to render two other women “enchanted and
bound.” Another goddess, Andraste, was supposedly wor-
shiped in groves in Britain by the torture and sacrifice of
captured Roman women by the rebel queen Boudicca in the
first century a.d. Boudicca also invoked Andraste before
beginning her campaign against the Romans by releasing
a hare.
There are dozens of other ancient Celtic gods and
goddesses whose names we know— A lisanos, Dunatis,
Sequana, and Nehalennia, among them—but we can say
little about their powers and nothing of their mythology.
In the end, most of the gods of the Gauls and the other
early Celts remain a mystery that we will probably never
13
solve. Their worship disappeared over time with the victory

of Christianity and their stories vanished with them. We
don’t even know which god or goddess in Celtic mythol-
ogy brought the world into being—for unlike almost every
other early culture, we have no creation myth from the
ancient Celts. But we do know how they believed the world
would end. The Greek traveler Posidonius says that while
he journeyed in Gaul, he heard from the druids themselves
that the human soul and the universe itself were eternal,
but that at some time in the future both fire and water
would destroy our world.
14
2
✦
THE BOOK OF INVASIONS
THERE WAS PRESERVED IN EARLY Ireland a remarkable

story of how the Irish came to their island. It is a tale that
stretches over centuries, with waves of invasions by outsid-
ers and brutal wars to possess its hills and fertile plains. It
is a story of magic and monsters, of death and devastation,
and of gods, like the Tuatha Dé Danann, who seem almost
human, and of heroes who fight like gods. Like almost all
Irish stories, it was recorded by Christian monks. These
scribes blended biblical tales and early Christian writings
with the ancient pre-Christian mythology of their island.
The result is a sweeping saga that begins with Adam and
Eve in the Garden of Eden and weaves its way through Irish
mythical history until the gods at last are banished to the
world of the underground síd mounds and the ancestors of
the Irish rule over the land.
The name of this work is The Book of Invasions (Irish,
Lebor Gabála Érenn), a pseudo-historical epic written down
in its final form in the twelfth-century Book of Leinster,
but with tales woven into it composed by writers and sto-
rytellers of earlier centuries. The first hero in the saga is a
young woman named Cesair, a granddaughter of Noah, who
leads a band of a few dozen men and women to Ireland in
a vain attempt to escape the coming flood. Years later the
15
T he B ook of I nvasions | 15
Partholonians arrive, but they in turn die in a plague save for

a single man named Tuán, who survives for centuries to come
by shape-shifting into various animals before being born
again as a human in the days just before Saint Patrick. The
Partholonians are followed by the Nemedians, who battle the
monstrous Formorians before being driven from the island.
The Fir Bolg rule next, then the magical Tuatha Dé Danann,
who defeat the Fir Bolg in battle. But the Formorians, more
human in form by this point, return and fight the Tuatha Dé
in a separate tale called the Second Battle of Mag Tuired that
is arguably one of the oldest and most mythologically rich
stories from early Ireland. In this battle, the Tuatha Dé are
thinly disguised gods engaged in a primal war with the forces
of chaos reminiscent of the Olympian gods fighting the Titans
of Greek mythology. The sons of Míl from Spain are the final
invaders of the island and victors over the Tuatha Dé, who in
time become identified with the fairy folk of Ireland.
On the first day of creation, God made unformed matter

and the light of the angels. Then came the earth and seas,
the sun and stars, and the birds and beasts. On the sixth
day of that week he made Adam to hold stewardship over
the earth, while the beautiful angel Lucifer was granted
rule over heaven. But Lucifer grew jealous of God and was
cast down from heaven with the angels who followed him.
In revenge, he tempted Eve to sin by eating the forbidden
fruit, so that she and Adam were exiled from Eden. The sons
of Adam multiplied upon the earth until they grew wicked
with greed and envy. God sent a flood to destroy humanity
and drown everyone except Noah and his family on the ark.
After they safely reached land, they and their descendants
repopulated the earth.
16
But Noah had tried to save his granddaughter before the

great flood by sending her to Ireland. Cesair, daughter of Bith,
son of Noah, led three ships west to Ireland after her grandfa-
ther had warned her of the coming flood, and cautioned that
perhaps it would not reach such a distant land. On the voyage
she took her father Bith along with many settlers, but two of
the ships sank so that only fifty maidens and three men sur-
vived. The men divided the fifty women among themselves as
wives and settled the empty land forty days before the flood.
But Noah was wrong. As Bith stood atop a mountain later
named for him, he saw the great wall of water coming and
knew that he, his daughter, and their people would not sur-
vive. The flood overtook Cesair in her valley in Connacht in
the most distant part of Ireland, so that she was the last to die
in the mighty deluge that swept the earth.
Ireland was uninhabited for three hundred years after
the flood, until Partholón came from the east with his fol-
lowers to settle the land. Ten years after he reached Ireland,
he fought and won the first battle ever waged on the island,
against the evil Formorians, hideous creatures then, each
with a single arm and leg. Partholón and his followers
reshaped the landscape of Ireland, building lakes and clear-
ing plains for farming and grazing. But then a plague struck
Ireland and killed every human in the land within seven
days—except for Tuán, the grandson of Partholón’s brother.
Tuán was nearly driven mad from loneliness and fear. For
thirty years he lived a solitary life in cliffs and caves to pro-
tect himself from wolves. He grew into an old man, shriv-
eled, naked, and miserable. One night at last as he lay down
to die he saw himself transformed into a mighty young stag.
In this form he roamed the hills of Ireland, leader of a great
herd, until he saw the coming of a new people to Ireland.
17
Nemed son of Agnoman sailed from the Greek lands of

distant Scythia for Ireland with over thirty ships, but only
the vessel with his own kin survived the voyage. He and
his four sons settled across the island and many children
were born to their wives over the years. They cleared plains
throughout the land until they were attacked by Formorians
who came by sea. Nemed and his army fought many battles
against this monstrous race, but in the end Nemed died and
the Formorians prevailed. They imposed a harsh tribute on
the descendants of Nemed, demanding two-thirds of their
children along with their grain and milk every autumn. The
children of Nemed at last rose up against the Formorians and
attacked them by land and sea. Few of either race were left
alive by the end of the war. Most of those of Nemed’s tribe
who survived succumbed in time to a deadly plague, though
a few fled Ireland for distant lands. Only Tuán remained on
the island, living as a stag until he grew old and returned to
his favorite cave. There he passed into the shape of a wild
boar and became the leader of a herd of pigs that traveled all
around the provinces of Ireland.
Some of the survivors of Nemed’s people went to Britain,
but Sémión journeyed all the way to Greece. There he pros-
pered and had many children, but the Greeks enslaved them
and made them haul soil up into the rugged mountains
to build fields for growing crops. At last, five thousand of
Sémión’s descendants escaped and made ships from the
bags they had used to haul soil. They then sailed away from
Greece all the way back to Ireland.
From Sémión come the Irish people known as the Fir Bolg
and the Fir Domnann. Five kings of the Fir Bolg ruled Ireland,
but they fought each other constantly and many of their peo-
ple died. Of those who survived the wars, a great multitude
18
perished from disease. At last, Eochu son of Erc took the

throne and ruled for ten peaceful years. During his time there
was no rain, but dew watered the prosperous land. Spears and
weapons were banished from Ireland and laws were enacted
for the first time. But at the end of ten years, Eochu was killed
and those who stayed alive in Ireland lived in a world of chaos
and brutality. Only Tuán remained apart from the misery of
the Irish as he wandered the land as a boar. After many years
he returned to his cave and transformed into a hawk, soaring
over the land and learning all things.
It was then that the Tuatha Dé Danann came at last to
Ireland from the far north. Some say they were angels cast
out of heaven with Lucifer, while others say they were chil-
dren of men who had traveled to the northern islands of the
world and learned their magical arts. But no one knew their
true origins.
They came wrapped in dark clouds and landed on the
shore of Connacht, in the far west. They cast darkness upon
the whole island for three days and three nights. With them
they brought four instruments of power. The first was the
great stone of knowledge, called the Lia Fáil, that still stands
on the royal hill of Tara. When a true king of Ireland would
step on the stone, it would shriek beneath him. The second
was the spear of Lug, which made its bearer invincible. The
third was the sword of their king Nuadu, from which no one
could escape once it was drawn. And finally there was the
cauldron of the Dagda that could satisfy the hunger of all.
The Tuatha Dé demanded that the Fir Bolg either grant
them the kingship of the land or meet them in battle. When
the Fir Bolg refused to yield, the Tuatha Dé fought them and
slew tens of thousands on the plain known as Mag Tuired.
Eochaid mac Eirc, king of the Fir Bolg, was slain, while the
19
survivors of his people who escaped the battle fled to the

Formorians and settled on islands near Ireland.
Nuadu, king of the Tuatha Dé, lost his hand in the battle
when the Fir Bolg warrior Sreng mac Sengainn cut it from
his arm. His people loved Nuadu, but no man could rule
over them who bore such an injury. They held an assembly
and decided to give the kingship to Bres, whose mother was
of the Tuatha Dé but whose father was Elatha, king of the
Formorians. The mother of Bres was Ériu, who as a young
woman in years past had stood on the shore of the ocean and
seen a remarkable sight.
As she looked out at the calm sea, a ship of silver appeared
in the distance. The current brought it to the shore, and a
man stepped out of it. He was the most handsome man she
had ever seen. He had golden yellow hair down to his shoul-
ders, a cloak and shirt embroidered with golden thread, and
a jeweled brooch on his chest. He carried two shining silver
spears with shafts of bronze and a gold-hilted sword with
inlaid studs of silver and gold.
The splendid man looked at Ériu and said, “Shall we
make love together for an hour?”
“But I don’t know you,” she replied.
“Lie with me anyway,” he answered.
And so they lay on the beach and made love for an
hour. When they were done, the man got up and Ériu began
to weep.
“Why are you crying?” he asked.
“Because all the young men of the Tuatha Dé have been
wooing me in vain, but I gave myself to you—and I don’t
even know your name.”
“I am Elatha mac Delbaith, king of the Formorians,”
he replied. “You will bear me a son. Name him Bres the
20
Beautiful, for every beautiful creature in Ireland—be they

man, woman, or horse—will be compared to him.”
Then he drew a golden ring from his finger and gave it
to her, saying she should not part with it until she found the
man whose finger it would fit perfectly. After that, he went
back into his boat and sailed away.
And so nine months later, Ériu gave birth to a son and
named him Bres, as his father had said. The boy grew twice
as fast as a normal child until he reached manhood. At last
he was chosen as the new king of the Tuatha Dé and given
sovereignty over Ireland. It was then that his mother came
to him with the ring that had been left with her by her lover
Elatha. When she placed it on her son’s finger, it fit perfectly.
But Bres was an evil king who cared nothing for his peo-
ple. The knives of the Tuatha Dé were not greased by him at
feasts nor did their breath smell of ale. There was no music or
poetry. The crops withered and the people starved because
Bres neglected his royal duties. In time, Formorian kings
imposed tribute on the land so that there was no smoke from
a house on the island that was not under their dominion.
Even the great warriors of the Tuatha Dé became servants,
so that Ogma carried firewood and the Dagda was made to
build a fortress for Bres.
At last, the Tuatha Dé came to Bres and complained
that he was not a just king. He asked that he might have
seven more years to rule and change his ways. The people
at last consented—but Bres had no intention of reforming.
He planned to use the time to gather an army from the
Formorians so that he might destroy the Tuatha Dé.
Bres went to the land of his father Elatha and asked for
soldiers to fight the Tuatha Dé. When the Tuatha Dé dis-
covered this, they expelled Bres from the throne and made
21
Nuadu king again. Since no one who was not perfect in body
could be king among the Irish, the physician Dian Cécht
made for him a new hand out of silver that moved as if he
were born with it. Nuadu then gathered together all his war-
riors on the royal hill of Tara for a great feast.
The doorkeeper Camall mac Riagail stood guard at Tara
during the feast with orders to keep out anyone who was not
useful to the kingdom. As he was on duty, he saw a young
and handsome warrior coming toward him.
“Who are you?” asked Camall.
“I am Lug,” said the young man.
“What is your skill?” asked Camall. “For no one without
a skill may enter Tara.”
“I am a builder,” said Lug.
“We don’t need you,” replied Camall. “We already have
a builder.”
“I am a smith.”
“We already have a smith.”
“I am a champion of warriors.”
“We already have a champion.”
“I am a poet.”
“We already have a poet.”
“I am a physician.”
“We already have a physician.”
“I am a sorcerer.”
“We already have a sorcerer.”
“Then ask the king,” said Lug, “if he has anyone who
possesses all these skills together.”
Camall went to Nuadu and told him of the young man
at the gate.
“Let him enter Tara,” said the king. “For no man like
that has ever come here before.”
22
Lug came into the fortress and took the seat next to the
king reserved for the greatest sage of the land. Ogma was so
angry at this that he picked up a giant stone that could only
be moved by fourscore oxen and threw it at the brash young
man. Lug caught it and tossed it back at Ogma. Lug then
picked up a harp and began to play, so that his sorrowful
music caused the whole assembly of warriors to weep and
his joyful tunes filled them with happiness.
When Nuadu had seen what Lug could do, he held an
assembly of his men and decided to give him power over
the Tuatha Dé to fight against Bres and the Formorians. Lug
accepted and held a council with the Dagda and Ogma at his
side. They summoned all the Tuatha Dé to them—druids and
sorcerers, charioteers and smiths, physicians and warriors—
and asked what they could contribute to the coming battle.
They all promised their loyalty and skills to the defeat of Bres.
The sorcerers even pledged to shake the roots of the moun-
tains so that the Formorians would think the land of Ireland
itself was against them. The Mórrígan, the fearsome goddess
of battle and prophesy, also pledged herself to Lug and urged
him to fight against those who oppressed their island.
A week before Samain—the day known as All Hallows’
Eve—Lug sent the Dagda to spy on the Formorians. He
went to their camp under a flag of truce and waited to be
fed according to the rules of hospitality. The Formorians
knew the Dagda loved porridge, so they boiled a huge vat for
him with eighty gallons of milk, vast quantities of lard, and
countless sheep and swine as well. They poured it into a hole
in the ground and told him he would be killed unless he ate
it all—which he did, scraping the pieces from the bottom of
the hole with his hand. He then fell asleep with his belly as
big as an enormous cauldron.
23
When he woke, he left the Formorian camp and went

on his way, carrying his swollen belly before him. He met
a beautiful young woman on the way whom he desired, as
she did him, but because of his belly he was impotent. The
woman began to mock him and finally threw him to the
ground. Then all that he had eaten came out of him so that
he was himself again and made love to the beautiful woman.
The Formorians and Tuatha Dé advanced to the great
plain of Mag Tuired where they would meet in battle. When
Lug had assembled all his men around him, he asked what
they would do to defeat their enemy.
“I will provide new weapons for every one that breaks,”
said Goibniu the smith, “even if the battle lasts seven years.”
“I will heal every man who is injured,” said Dian Cécht
the physician, “unless his head is cut off.”
“I will kill a third of the Formorians all by myself,” said
Ogma the warrior.
“I will shame and satirize them all,” said Coirpre the
poet, “so that they won’t be able to stand against us.”
“We will enchant the very trees and rocks against them,”
said Bé Chuille and Dianann, women who were weavers
of magic.
“And you, Dagda,” asked Lug, “what will you do?”
“Not hard to say,” he replied. “I will fight for the men of
Ireland with power and destruction. I will crush their bones
with my club like hail beneath the feet of horses on the plain
of Mag Tuired.”
When the time came for the great battle, the Formorians
marched out of their camp against the warriors of the Tuatha
Dé. Bres was there leading the Formorian army, while Lug
was at the front of his own battalions, urging his men to
throw off the bondage they had suffered. Every man on both
24
sides was armored, with a helmet on his head, a spear in his

hand, a sword at his side, and a shield on his shoulder. When
they met, it was as if the raging sea were striking against a
cliff.
The battle fought between the races of Ireland was keen
and cruel. Many men from both the Formorians and Tuatha
Dé fell there in death. Streams of blood flowed over the white
skin of young warriors. Harsh was the noise of a multitude
of swords and shields, sharp weapons piercing the warm
flesh of men with screams of pain. Harsh, too, was the shout-
ing of warriors and the clashing of ivory-hilted blades and
the sound of spears flying through the air. As they hacked at
each other, their fingertips and feet almost met, and because
of the slippery ground soaked in blood, the warriors fell to
the earth to be slain by their foes in the red mud.
The battle lasted for days, but no matter how many
Tuatha Dé fell to the Formorians, they were back to fight
again at the next sunrise, for Dian Cécht and his children
cast each mortally wounded man into a well and chanted
incantations over him until he rose again whole. But the
Formorian warriors did not rise once they fell.
Lug met the monstrous champion Balor of the deadly
eye on the battlefield. His eyelid was so big it was only lifted
in war, and then only by four men. Whoever looked at it
would lose all will to fight and would soon be slain. But just
as the men began to lift Balor’s eyelid, Lug cast a sling stone
at him that carried his eye all the way through his head and
killed Balor, along with a score of his men he crushed when
he fell.
As the battle drew at last to a close, Bres pleaded for
his life.
“It is better to spare me than kill me,” he said.
25
“What good will come from that?” asked Lug.

“Spare me, and the cows of Ireland will always produce
milk,” cried Bres.
“That will not save you,” answered Lug.
“Then I will teach you the secret of abundant sowing
and reaping forevermore,” said Bres.
And so he did. For that, Lug spared him.
The battlefield of Mag Tuired was silent then, save for
the crows who came to feast on the dead. The Formorians
had been utterly vanquished and the Tuatha Dé once again
ruled over Ireland, while Tuán still soared over the island in
the form of a hawk.
Now among the many descendants of Noah after the
flood were a people known as the Gaels, who were always
searching the world for their true home. They helped to build
the tower of Nimrod, after which God separated the proud
races of the earth by giving them different languages. The
Gaels wandered to Egypt, then at last to Spain, where they
conquered the native people and built a great watchtower on
the northern coast known as Breogon’s Tower. It was there
on the clearest of winter evenings that Íth son of Breogon
climbed his father’s tower and saw in the far distance the
land of Ireland.
Íth sailed to Ireland with a hundred and fifty warriors,
but the rulers of the island slew him on the plain that now
bears his name. It was for revenge of Íth that the Gaels came
from Spain to Ireland.
Thirty-six lords of the Gaels came with their wives and
slaves and households. Among the Gaels were the sons of
Míl, including Amairgen, the greatest of their bards. The
sons of Míl had a rowing competition as they approached
Ireland. The mighty warrior Ír drew ahead of the other
26
ships. Éber Donn, his brother, cursed him so that Ír’s oar
broke, causing him to fall over backwards and die.
As Amairgen set his right foot upon the shore of Ireland,
he recited this poem:
I am a wind upon the ocean.

I am a wave upon the land.
I am the roaring of the sea.
I am a stag that battles seven times.
I am a tear-drop of the sun.
I am a boar for valor.
I am a salmon in a pool of still water.
I am a spear that wages war.
The Gaels met a force of the Tuatha Dé in battle at the moun-

tain of Sliab Mis and defeated them there. Then Banba, a
woman of the Tuatha Dé, appeared to them and said: “May
your journey not be prosperous if you have come to conquer
Ireland.”
“Indeed,” said Amairgen, “that is why we have come.”
“Then at least grant me this request,” she said. “Let my
name be upon this island.”
“It will be so,” said Amairgen.
They continued their journey across Ireland and met
another woman of the Tuatha Dé named Fótla. She asked if
her name could also be upon the island. And so Amairgen
agreed.
Then at Uisnech, at the center of Ireland, they met a third
woman of the Tuatha Dé, Ériu the mother of Bres, and she
spoke to them: “Warriors, you are welcome. It was foretold
long ago that you would come and that the island would be
yours forever. I only ask that my name be upon this island.”
27
“Your name will be first among the names of Ireland,”

said Amairgen.
The Gaels then came to the royal hill of Tara, where they
met the kings of the Tuatha Dé. These kings asked the Gaels
to return to their boats and withdraw from Ireland for three
days so that they might prepare for a fair fight. But they had
no intention of fighting an honorable battle. They planned
to have their druids use magic against the Gaels to destroy
them at sea. But the kings said they would submit the issue
to the judgment of Amairgen.
Amairgen decreed that the Gaels would withdraw in
their ships from Ireland—beyond the ninth wave—and then
return to fight for possession of the land. They went south
from Tara and embarked in their ships to the sea. But the
druids of the Tuatha Dé recited magical incantations against
them as they waited on the water. A furious wind tossed the
Gaels upon the sea and threatened to drown them all until
Amairgen mounted the bow of his ship with his harp in
hand and sang with all his strength:
I invoke the land of Ireland,

surging are its mighty seas,
mighty are its upland meadows,
filled with meadows are its rainy woods,
rainy are its rivers full of waterfalls,
filled with waterfalls are its spreading lakes,
spreading widely are its many springs,
springing with people are its assemblies,
the chief assembly is at Tara,
Tara is a tower of tribes,
the tribes of the warriors of the sons of Míl,
warriors of ships to conquer the land.
28
At once the waves grew still. The Gaels returned to

Ireland and conquered the land, driving the Tuatha Dé to the
world beneath the síd mounds, where they remain to this day.
Then the sons of Míl divided the land among themselves and
ruled it.
All these things Tuán saw as he soared above the island
in the form of a hawk. When he grew old and could fly no
longer, he fasted nine days and became a swift salmon. One
day he was caught in a net by the wife of a king named
Cairell. She cooked and ate him, after which he grew in
her womb until he was born as a baby boy and called Tuán
the son of Cairell, who became a great druid prophet. After
that Patrick came to the island and preached the word of
God, converting many to the new way, including Tuán, who
became a monk and lived alone in his hermitage for many
years, telling anyone who would ask the ancient story of
Ireland.
29
3
✦
THE WOOING OF ÉTAÍN
THE WOOING OF ÉTAÍN (IRISH, Tochmarc Étaíne) is an

ancient tale in three parts about the enduring power of love.
In the first part of the story, Midir, a chief of the Tuatha
Dé Danann, wins and falls in love with his bride Étaín, the
daughter of an Ulster king. But when he brings Étaín home,
his first wife magically turns her into a pool of water, which
transforms into a butterfly, then drives her away from Midir
for a thousand years until she is reborn as a girl, also named
Étaín. This reborn Étaín marries a king named Eochaid,
whom Midir ultimately defeats in a battle of wits to win back
his former wife.
There was once a king of the Tuatha Dé Danann ruling over

Ireland named Eochaid Ollathair, the Father of All, who was
also known as the Dagda. He was a powerful lord who could
control the storms of the heavens and bring a bountiful har-
vest to the land.
One of his subjects was Elcmar, whose home was the
síd mound of the Bruig na Bóinne. Elcmar’s wife was
Eithne. The Dagda very much wanted to sleep with Eithne
and she with him, but they were afraid to do so because of
her husband’s magical power. The Dagda therefore used his
30
own magic and sent Elcmar away on an errand using spells

that made time seem to pass not at all for Elcmar while
he was away. Night was banished for him and he did not
grow hungry or thirsty. Nine months passed for him as if
a single day.
The Dagda meanwhile went to Eithne and lay with her so
that she bore a son named Óengus. When Elcmar returned
from his journey, he had no idea that his wife had shared a
bed with the Dagda or that a son had been born to her.
The Dagda took the child to the house of Midir in Brí
Léith to be fostered. Óengus was raised there for nine years
among three times fifty boys and the same number of girls.
Óengus was the greatest among the youth and the favorite of
Midir because of his beauty and nobility. He was also known
among them as the Mac Óg, the young son, for his mother
had said: “Young is my son who was conceived at the begin-
ning of the day and born the same evening.”
One day Óengus had a quarrel with one of the boys in
the house of Midir named Triath of the Fir Bolg, a tribe con-
quered by the Tuatha Dé when they came to Ireland.
“I shouldn’t even be speaking to the son of a slave,” said
Óengus to Triath contemptuously. For Óengus thought he
was a son of Midir and would one day be king at Brí Léith.
He did not know he was in fact the son of the Dagda.
“I lower myself,” replied Triath, “to speak to a boy who
has no mother or father.”
Óengus went to Midir in tears and told him what Triath
had said.
“That is not true,” said Midir. “Your father is Eochaid
Ollathair, the Dagda, and your mother is Eithne the wife
of Elcmar of the Bruig na Bóinne. I have raised you so that
Elcmar might not know that his wife was unfaithful to him.”
31
T he Wooing of É taín | 31
“Come with me,” Óengus said to Midir, “so that my real

father may acknowledge me and so that I will not be mocked
by the Fir Bolg.”
The two traveled to Uisnech, in the middle of Ireland,
where the Dagda had his house. From Uisnech it was equally
far in every direction: north, south, east, and west. The
Dagda was holding an assembly of his tribe, so that Midir
called him aside to speak with him and the boy privately.
“What does this child want?” asked the Dagda.
“He wishes to be acknowledged by his father and given
land, for it is not fitting that a son of a king be without terri-
tory of his own.”
“You are most welcome,” the Dagda said to the boy. “You
are indeed my son. But the land I would gladly give you is
not yet empty.”
“What land is that?” asked Midir.
“The Bruig na Bóinne on the north side of the Boyne
River,” said the Dagda. “Elcmar lives there. I have done him
wrong by sleeping with his wife and fathering this child, so
I do not wish to shame him further by removing him from
his land by force.”
“What should the boy do?” asked Midir.
“Let him go to the Bruig na Bóinne at Samain,” the
Dagda said, “and bring weapons with him. It is a day of peace
across the land, so Elcmar will have no arms with him. He
will be standing on his síd with a forked stick of hazel and
a golden brooch on his cloak. Let the boy go and threaten
to kill him. It is best not to slay him, but instead make him
promise to grant Óengus rule over the Bruig na Bóinne for
a day and a night. But when Elcmar returns, let him not give
back the Bruig. Let Óengus tell Elcmar that the síd is his now
forever, for all of time is day and night.”
32
Midir then took Óengus back home and on the next

Samain gave him weapons and sent him to Elcmar at the Bruig
na Bóinne. Óengus did as the Dagda had said and threatened
Elcmar so that he was granted possession of the Bruig for a
day and a night. On the next day when Elcmar returned and
demanded his home back, Óengus refused and spoke as the
Dagda had said. But Elcmar said he would not yield the Bruig
to Óengus until the matter had been submitted to the judg-
ment of the Dagda in the presence of the men of Ireland.
The Dagda held an assembly and ruled that the Bruig
was now the land of Óengus, since Elcmar had yielded to
fear and granted the boy possession for a day and a night.
But the Dagda granted Elcmar other lands across the river
in recompense, so that Óengus became ruler of the Bruig na
Bóinne and all the people who lived near it.
Midir came back to the Bruig a year later on Samain
to visit Óengus. He found the young man standing on
the síd mound watching two bands of boys playing their
games on the plain below. On the far side of the river to the
south, Elcmar was watching also. A quarrel arose among
the boys, so that Óengus was about to intervene, but Midir
stopped him.
“Stay here,” said Midir. “If you go, Elcmar will come
also and there will be a trouble. I will go myself and
separate them.”
So Midir went down to the plain and with difficulty
stopped the fighting among the boys, but he was wounded
while doing so with a holly javelin that gouged out one of his
eyes. He returned then to Óengus.
“This was a cursed visit,” Midir said to the young man,
“for now I am disfigured and cannot see from where I have
come or where I am going.”
33
“I will make things right,” said Óengus. “I will fetch the

physician Dian Cécht to heal you.”
Óengus brought Dian Cécht to the Bruig na Bóinne and
the physician healed Midir.
“Now that you are whole,” said Óengus to Midir, “stay
with me a year as my guest.”
“I will not,” replied Midir, “unless I have a gift.”
“Name what you want,” said Óengus, “and it will be yours.”
“I desire,” he said, “a chariot worth seven slave women,
a cloak befitting my rank, and the most beautiful woman in
all of Ireland as my own.”
“I will gladly give you the chariot and the cloak,” said
Óengus, “but the fairest woman in the land is not mine to
give. She is Étaín, the daughter of Ailill, a king in Ulster.”
And so Óengus went to Ailill to ask for his daughter. He
declared that he was a prince of the Tuatha Dé Danann and
it was for Étaín that he had come.
“I cannot give her to you,” said Ailill. “Your race and
standing are far above my own. If you do any harm to my
daughter, I would not be able to exact a payment of wrong-
doing from you due to your lofty status.”
“Then I will buy her from you outright,” said Óengus.
“Agreed,” replied Ailill, “but you must know first the
price I ask.”
“Name the price,” said Óengus.
“In exchange for Étaín,” said Ailill, “you must clear
twelve plains that are now wilderness and woodland so that
I may graze my cattle there and build dwelling places for my
people.”
“It will be done,” answered Óengus,
Óengus knew there was no way he could accomplish
such an immense task himself. He went therefore to his
34
father the Dagda, who listened to his son’s plight and cleared
the plains for him in a single night.
Óengus then returned to Ailill to receive Étaín.
“Not yet,” said Ailill. “You must first change the course
of twelve rivers from this land to the sea. These streams are
now bogs and marshes, but I want them to be rivers flow-
ing to the sea that I may add riches from the ocean to my
territory.”
“It will be done,” said Óengus.
Óengus went to the Dagda and complained about the
impossible task he had been given, so his father changed the
course of the twelve rivers in a single night.
When this was done, Óengus came to Ailill and asked
for Étaín.
“Not yet,” said the king. “First you must give me the
girl’s weight in gold and silver, for I will get no good out of
her once she is gone.”
“It will be done,” said Óengus.
Étaín was set in the middle of Ailill’s hall and weighed.
Then Óengus give her father her weight in gold and sil-
ver, after which Óengus took Étaín with him from her
father’s house.
When Óengus returned to the Bruig na Bóinne, he gave
Midir a fine chariot and cloak, along with Étaín. Midir slept
with Étaín that night and was grateful to Óengus his foster
son. He stayed with him at the Bruig for a full year.
At the end of the year, Midir bade farewell to Óengus
and took Étaín with him. But before he left, Óengus said to
him: “Be careful, Midir, for there is a fearsome and powerful
woman angry at you, your wife Fuamnach, the foster daugh-
ter of the druid Bresal. She is shrewd and full of magic. She
will not welcome another woman into her house.”
35
At first Fuamnach seemed to welcome Étaín to her home.

She took her around their holdings and led her at last to the
sleeping hut. But when they were alone, Fuamnach struck
her with a branch of purple rowan so that Étaín turned into
a pool of water on the floor. Fuamnach then went home to
her foster father Bresal.
The heat of the hearth fire, the power of the earth, and
the warmth of the air turned the pool of water that had been
Étaín into a purple butterfly. The butterfly was the size of a
man’s head and the most beautiful creature in all the land.
The sound of her humming wings was sweeter than the
music of pipes and harps. Her eyes shone in the darkness
like precious stones and her fragrance would drive hunger
and thirst from anyone wherever she went. The drops of dew
that fell from her wings would cure all illness and disease.
The butterfly followed Midir wherever he went through-
out the land. Armies of men would gather to gaze on her
beauty and listen to the sound of her wings. Midir knew it
was Étaín and was happy without a woman as long as she was
by his side. He would fall asleep each night to her humming
by his bed, and she would wake him if any danger came near.
Fuamnach, the estranged wife of Midir, came to him
one day accompanied by three of the Tuatha Dé as guaran-
tors of her safety—Lug, Ogma, and the Dagda. Midir was
very angry at Fuamnach, but she said she did not regret
what she had done to Étaín. Moreover, she declared she
would make Étaín miserable in the future, no matter what
form she took.
Fuamnach brought great spells and magic from Bresal
the druid to banish Étaín from Midir. She stirred up a hos-
tile wind that drove Étaín away from Midir so that she could
not light on a tree or anywhere else for seven years. During
36
all that time she was blown about on the wind until finally
she landed in the lap of Óengus at the Bruig na Bóinne.
Óengus recognized her immediately and sang:
Welcome, Étaín,
worn down by travel and sorrow,
driven by the winds of Fuamnach.
You have not found rest
by Midir’s side.
Fruitless is your suffering,
but you are most welcome
in my home.
Óengus took Étaín and folded her up in the fleece of his

cloak. He brought her into his house and sat her in the bright
sun by his windows. He clothed her in purple garments and
slept beside her every night.
Fuamnach heard of how Étaín was honored and made
welcome by Óengus. She sent a message to Midir asking him
to invite his foster son Óengus to visit him so that she might
make peace between them. But as soon as Óengus had left
the Bruig, Fuamnach journeyed there and found Étaín the
purple butterfly alone. She struck her with a fierce wind and
drove her from the house of Óengus across the hills and val-
leys of Ireland for many years.
When Óengus had come to speak with Midir, he was told
that Fuamnach had deceived them both. Óengus rushed back
to the Briug na Bóinne to save Étaín from Fuamnach, but she
was gone. Óengus found the tracks of Fuamnach and followed
them to the house of Bresal the druid. He cut off her head there
and took it back to the Bruig, where he stuck it on a pole.
37
After many years, Étaín landed on a ceiling pole in the

house of Étar, a warrior from Ulster. She fell from the ceiling
into a gold cup held by the wife of Étar, so that the woman
swallowed the butterfly unaware. The wife of Étar then con-
ceived a child in her womb and bore a girl nine months later.
Étar gave the name Étaín to the child and welcomed her into
his home.
Étar raised Étaín in his home along with fifty daughters
of kings who waited on her. One day the girls were washing
themselves in a river near the sea when they saw a horseman
on the plain, coming toward them. He was riding a brown
horse and was dressed in green with red embroidery. He
wore a golden brooch and carried a silver shield and a five-
pointed spear. His fair yellow hair was braided and a band of
gold held it from his face.
He paused and looked at the girls bathing, then recited
a poem:
Étaín is here, swallowed

in the cup of Étar’s wife.
There will be wars, Étaín,
fought because of you.
You are the White Woman
who seeks the king,
our own Étaín.
Then the horseman went away. They did not know who he
was or from where he came.
Eochaid Airem was high king of Ireland at this time.
He summoned all the men of the island to the great feast at
Tara to celebrate his inauguration and confirm their fealty
38
to him—but they would not come. They said they would not
go to the feast at Tara unless Eochaid had a queen.
Eochaid sent messengers to every province of Ireland
to search for the most beautiful woman in Ireland to be his
bride. Not only must she be beautiful, he instructed them,
but she must also be pure and have never slept with a man.
The messengers searched the whole land, but no maiden was
more beautiful in shape or form than Étaín.
Eochaid had a brother named Ailill Anguba, who fell in
love with Étaín at the feast of Tara after Eochaid had slept
with her. Ailill was tormented with guilt and shame because
of his feelings for Étaín, and he fell ill. He would tell no one
of his love for his brother’s wife nor would he even speak to
Étaín. When he was on the verge of death, Eochaid’s physi-
cian came to him and told him he suffered from a disease he
could not cure—the pain of love.
Eochaid then departed from Tara to go on a royal cir-
cuit of Ireland. He left his brother Ailill with Étaín so that
she might see to his funeral when he died. She would come
every day to sit beside Ailill’s bed. When she was near him,
his eyes would follow her the whole time and he would feel
better. Étaín noticed this and asked him one day what was
truly the cause of his illness.
“My sickness,” he said, “is because of my love for you.”
“I wish you had said so before now,” she replied. “For
I could have made you well long ago.”
After that she came every day to feed him and wash his
face and body. In time, he was almost healed.
“There is only one thing lacking to make me whole,”
Ailill said to Étaín.
“You will have that one thing tomorrow,” she said,
“but not here in the court of your brother Eochaid. Meet
39
me at dawn near the hidden tree behind the hill and I shall
heal you.”
Ailill could not sleep that night in anticipation of lying
with Étaín, but at sunrise he fell asleep until three hours
after dawn. Meanwhile Étaín went to the tree and found a
man there who looked like Ailill. He spoke of the illness he
had suffered and talked with her as Ailill would. But they
did not make love.
Ailill awoke at mid-morning and lamented to Étaín that
he had slept through his tryst with her. She was surprised he
spoke so, but she arranged for them to meet under the tree
again the next morning at dawn.
Ailill was determined to meet with Étaín this time, so he
built a roaring fire in his hall and sat in front of it. He also
brought a bucket of cold water to pour on his head. But once
again he fell asleep.
Étaín went to the tree to meet Ailill and found the man
who was like him there. She did the same the next day and
spoke to him.
“You are not Ailill, the man I have come to lie with and
heal,” she said. “Who are you and why have you come to
meet me?”
“It would only be right,” said the man, “to meet my own
wife. Long ago we were married. My name is Midir.”
“Why did we part?” asked Étaín.
“Because of the magic of Fuamnach and the spells of
Bresal,” he answered. “Will you come with me now, Étaín?”
“How can I leave Ailill without healing him?” she asked.
“He is healed,” said Midir. “It was I who caused his sick-
ness so that I might meet you thus. I have made him whole
now. Will you come with me?”
And then Étaín began to remember.
40
“Yes,” she replied, “but only if Eochaid my husband freely

gives me to you.”
“I will see that he does so,” Midir said.
Étaín returned to Ailill and found him healed in body
and soul. The guilt he had felt for planning to lie with his
brother’s wife was gone. Soon Eochaid returned from his
circuit of Ireland and was full of joy that his brother had
been healed by Étaín.
One beautiful summer day not long after this when
Eochaid arose from sleep, he went to the walls of Tara and
gazed out at his kingdom. The fields were covered with flow-
ers of every color and hue.
Suddenly Eochaid saw in front of him on the walls a
strange warrior wearing a purple cloak and golden yellow
hair to his shoulders. His eyes were a piercing blue and he
carried in one hand a five-pointed spear, while in the other
he held a white shield inlayed with gems and gold.
Eochaid was struck speechless, for the man had not
been inside the walls of Tara the night before when the gates
were shut.
“I welcome you, warrior,” said Eochaid, “but I do not
know you.”
“Few men do,” said the stranger. “I am Midir of Brí Léith.”
“Why have you come?” asked Eochaid.
“To play a board game of fidchell with you,” answered
Midir.
“That would be fine, said Eochaid. “I am quite good at
fidchell.”
“We will see,” said Midir.
He then brought from beneath his cloak a silver board
with pieces made of gold.
41
“I will not play without a wager,” said Eochaid.

“If you win,” said Midir, “I will give you fifty fine horses
with red ears and broad chests, fitted with fifty crimson
bridles.”
“Then let us begin,” said Eochaid.
They played the game of fidchell together and
Eochaid won.
The next day the king went to the walls of Tara again
and saw Midir standing there. Below him beneath the walls
were the fifty horses he had promised Eochaid.
“Would you like to play fidchell again?” asked Midir.
“Indeed I would,” answered Eochaid, “but only for a
greater wager.”
“If you win,” said Midir, “I will give you fifty young pigs,
fifty golden swords, fifty red-eared cows each with a calf, and
fifty sheep with red heads.”
“Then let us begin,” said Midir.
They played the game of fidchell together and Eochaid won.
The next day Eochaid went to the top of the walls and
saw Midir there with all the gifts he had promised.
“Let us play fidchell together again,” said Midir.
“Gladly,” said Eochaid, “but I demand a much greater
stake this time.”
“What is it you wish?” asked Midir.
“If you lose,” said the king, “you must clear all the stones
from the fields of my kingdom and build a causeway for me
across the great bog of Lámraige.”
“You ask too much,” said Midir.
“Then I will not play,” said Eochaid.
“Then I accept your wager,” said Midir.
They played the game of fidchell together, and Eochaid won.
42
“Have all your people remain inside their homes tonight,”

said Midir, “and I will give you what we have wagered.”
That night the people of Tara heard a thunder of sounds
outside their walls and throughout the countryside. When
Eochaid arose the next morning, he rode out and saw that all
the stones had been cleared from the fields of his kingdom
and that a sturdy causeway had been built across the impas-
sible bog of Lámraige. When he returned to Tara, he found
Midir waiting for him.
“Let us play fidchell together again,” said Midir.
“What will be the stake?” asked the king.
“Whatever the winner wishes,” answered Midir.
They played the game of fidchell together and Eochaid lost.
“You have beaten me,” said Eochaid. “What do you wish
from me?”
“I wish,” said Midir, “to put my arms around Étaín and
receive a kiss from her.”
“Return in a month,” said the king, “and you shall have
what you have won.”
When a month had passed, Eochaid put a guard around
Tara and the best of all the outlaws of Ireland with them to
prevent anyone from entering the walls. Then he locked the
gates and the doors of his feasting hall. He and Étaín were
inside surrounded by his greatest warriors. The king was
sure that Midir could not enter.
But suddenly Eochaid saw him standing before him in
the hall.
“Give to me what you owe me,” said Midir to the king.
“You may hold Étaín in your arms and receive her kiss,”
said Eochaid, “but only here inside the hall.”
“That will do,” said Midir.
43
Étaín rose from her chair and went gladly to stand before
Midir. He wrapped his arms around her and she kissed him.
As they embraced, Midir and Étaín flew up through the
skylight in the roof. The king and his warriors rushed out
the door, but all they saw were two swans flying swiftly away
from Tara.
The wise men of Eochaid advised the king to dig up all
the síd mounds of Ireland to find Étaín, for they knew then
that Midir was a ruler among the people of the Otherworld.
Eochaid and his laborers spent a year and three months
destroying the síd mounds—but each one they destroyed
was found whole again the next morning.
When the king went to the mound at Ban Find, a man
came forth from the síd and rebuked him.
“What wrong have we done to you that you destroy our
homes?” he asked. “We haven’t taken your wife.”
“I will not cease,” said Eochaid, “from digging up the síd
mounds of Ireland until you tell me how to find Étaín.”
“That is not difficult,” the man said. “Take blind puppies
and cats to the síd of Brí Léith and leave them there. That
will call forth Midir.”
And so the king did as he was told. Then as soon as he began
to dig up the mound of Brí Léith, Midir appeared before him.
“Give me my wife,” demanded Eochaid.
“You sold her to me,” replied Midir.
“You cannot keep her,” said the king.
“Go home,” said Midir. “I will send Étaín to you tomor-
row. You may keep her—if you can recognize her.”
The next morning there appeared before the walls of
Tara fifty women all with the same appearance and clothing
as Étaín. There was an old gray hag in front of them.
44
“Choose your wife, Eochaid,” said the hag.

The king divided the women into two groups and asked
them to approach a vessel of wine in the middle of his hall,
for he knew Étaín was the best at pouring drink in Ireland
and was certain he could recognize her if the women took
turns pouring the wine.
When all but two had come forth and poured from
the vessel, Eochaid was still certain he had not seen Étaín.
But when the last woman poured, the king was sure he had
found Étaín and chose her to stay. The hag and all the other
women then disappeared.
One beautiful day not long after, Eochaid and his queen
were conversing in the middle of the fort at Tara when they
saw Midir approaching them.
“Are you content?” Midir asked of Eochaid.
“I am,” the king said. “I have my wife back and I have
defeated you.”
“Are you sure?” asked Midir. “Étaín was pregnant with
your child when I took her from you and she bore a daugh-
ter in my home. The girl grew remarkably fast and learned
everything from her mother—even how to pour drink—and
she looks just like her.”
“No!” said Eochaid.
“Yes,” said Midir. “Étaín is safe with me. Your chose
your own daughter, Étaín the young, as your wife and have
slept with her. And now she is with child from you.”
“By the gods, that was an evil trick!” exclaimed
Eochaid.
When the king’s daughter was born, he sent her away
without looking at her to a farm in the middle of the wil-
derness to be fed to the dogs. The men of Eochaid threw
the child to the ravenous hounds and left, but the cowherd
45
who lived there and his wife returned home before she
could come to any harm. They then raised the child as
their own.
Eochaid never regained his spirits after losing Étaín and
was killed one day by his enemies, who placed his head on a
pole for all to see.
But Midir and Étaín lived together in love from that day
forward.
46
4
✦
CÚ CHULAINN AND THE TÁIN
BÓ CUAILNGE
THE TÁIN BÓ CUAILNGE, USUALLY known as “The Cattle

Raid of Cuailnge,” is the heart of a series of interrelated
Irish stories known as the Ulster Cycle, which tell of the
exploits and adventures of the Ulster or Ulaid people of
northern Ireland. The surviving manuscripts that preserve
the Táin—The Book of the Dun Cow, The Book of Leinster,
The Yellow Book of Lecan—were written from the twelfth
to fourteenth centuries, but the language of the stories is
from several centuries earlier. As with many other Irish
tales, there is much controversy among scholars concern-
ing how much, if any, of the story preserves elements of
an era before the introduction of Christianity to Ireland.
I have included in this chapter several of the remscéla, or
pre-tales, which are not strictly part of the Táin but are
important to its plot.
The central character of the Táin is the great Irish hero
Cú Chulainn. He was born from divine and human parents;
there begins the hero’s journey found in many mytholo-
gies, consisting of remarkable boyhood deeds, astonishing
feats of bravery and combat, and finally a hero’s death.
47
C ú C hulainn and the Táin B ó C uailnge | 47
T H E DI S C OV E RY OF T H E TÁ I N
One day Senchán Torpéist, the chief bard of Ireland, went

to visit Gúaire, a king in the province of Connacht. Senchán
took with him a retinue of three hundred master and appren-
tice poets, along with their wives and servants. They soon
began to eat Gúaire out of house and home. Gúaire’s brother
Marbán the hermit heard about this injustice and pro-
nounced a curse on Senchán and his band, saying they would
lose their gift of poetry unless they could recite the whole of
the Táin Bó Cuailnge. Among them they knew only pieces of
the Táin, so they searched all of Ireland for a year and a day
looking for a bard or storyteller who knew the whole tale, but
they could find no one who did.
At last one night a young poet named Emine and his
friend Muirgen came upon the grave of a famous warrior of
old, Fergus mac Roich. Emine left to search for shelter, but
Muirgen stayed by the tomb. In despair, Muirgen chanted a
poem above the grave of Fergus:
Oh Fergus, if only this rock

were your true self, mac Roich,
then poets looking for a roof
to cover them here
would recover the Táin,
plain and perfect Fergus.
A heavy mist descended suddenly on Muirgen—and out of

it walked the ghost of Fergus mac Roich in great majesty
wearing a green cloak, a dazzling red tunic, and a golden
sword. For three days and three nights Fergus recited to him
48
the whole Táin from start to finish. After that, the spirit dis-
appeared and Muirgen returned to Senchán to narrate the
story and lift the curse that had been placed on them. And
so the Táin was recovered for all to hear.
THE CONCEPTION OF CONCHOBA R
The story begins with a young woman named Nes, the

daughter of Eochaid Sálbuide. One day she was sitting out-
side of the great Ulster fort of Emain Macha when the druid
seer Cathbad passed by.
“Cathbad, what is this day good for?” asked Nes.
“It’s a perfect day for conceiving a king,” said Cathbad.
“Are you speaking the truth?” she demanded.
“Indeed, I am,” he said. “I swear by all the gods.”
Since Cathbad was the only man present that day, Nes
took him to her bedroom and lay with him so that she would
become pregnant. And just as she had hoped, that very day
she conceived a child within her womb. A long three years
and three months later, she gave birth to a boy and named
him Conchobar.
Nes raised Conchobar for seven years, teaching him the
ways of his people and the love of power. Nes was beautiful
and was sought after by none other than the king of Ulster,
Fergus mac Roich.
“Marry me,” pleaded Fergus.
“Only if you give me something in return,” replied Nes.
“Anything you desire,” the king promised.
“Just a small thing,” she said. “I want you to name my
son Conchobar as king for a year, so that some day his own
49
sons may be called the heirs of a king. You’ll still rule over
Ulster, my dear Fergus, in all but name.”
And so Fergus agreed. After Nes married Fergus and
went to bed with him, she set out to obtain the kingship for
her son permanently. She gave generous gifts of gold and sil-
ver to the warriors of Ulster to win their favor and advised
her son to take everything he could from half the people of
the land and give it to the other half. By these means she won
over the nobility of Ulster.
When the year of Conchobar’s kingship was at an end,
Fergus went to his warriors to take back the crown from
Conchobar. But the nobles were none too pleased that Fergus
had used the kingship as a dowry, and they were grateful
that they had received so many fine gifts from Conchobar
and Nes.
“Let what Fergus sold stay sold,” they declared, “and let
what Conchobar purchased continue to belong to him.”
And so Conchobar became king of the Ulstermen.
Conchobar was loved by all the people of his province.
His judgment was always considered and fair, so that the land
was fruitful and prosperous. He was the bravest of all the
Ulster warriors, even as his fellow fighters risked their own
lives to keep him safe in battle. All the province regarded
him so highly that every man who took a wife gave her on
the wedding night first to Conchobar. When he traveled, at
any house he stayed the husband would send his own wife to
warm Conchobar’s bed. His home was full of captured trea-
sures and the heads of enemy warriors he had slain decorated
his walls. His generosity was legendary and his feasting hall
was always full of guests dining from the bounty of his table.
He seemed in every way the perfect king.
50
T H E C U R S E OF M AC H A
One of the noblemen of Conchobar was Cruinniuc mac

Agnomain, a wealthy but lonely widower who lived with
his sons in the mountains of Ulster. One day when he was
alone at his farm he saw a beautiful woman walking toward
him. She went into his home and began to do the household
chores as if she had lived there for years. When night came,
she climbed into Cruinniuc’s bed and made love with him.
The woman stayed with Cruinniuc after that and took
care of him and his sons. While she was there, the farm was
prosperous and there was never a lack of food, clothing, or
anything else they needed.
One day Conchobar called all the people of Ulster to
a great festival. Men, women, boys, and girls all gathered
with great excitement wearing their finest clothes, including
Cruinniuc and his sons, but his wife stayed on the farm since
she was nine months pregnant.
“Don’t boast or say anything foolish at the festival,” she
warned Cruinniuc.
“That’s not likely,” he said.
At the end of the celebrations there was a great horse
race on a nearby field. Conchobar and all the warriors
brought their horses and chariots to compete, but the king’s
team always won. Everyone in the crowd said that no one
could best Conchobar.
“My wife can run even faster than the king’s horses,”
boasted Cruinniuc.
When the king’s men heard him say this, they hauled
him before Conchobar, who was stung by the claim and
demanded Cruinniuc make good on his boasting. He sent a
messenger to the farm to fetch the woman.
51
“I can’t race now,” she pleaded with the messenger. “I am

pregnant with twins and will give birth any day.”
“If you don’t come,” said the messenger, “your husband
will die.”
And so the woman went, her labor pains beginning even
as she arrived. She begged the king not to make her run, but
he refused to listen. She turned to the crowd gathered there
and pleaded with them: “Please, help me. A mother bore
each of you. At least wait until my children are born before
you force me to race.”
But the crowd stood silent.
“Very well,” said the woman. “But I warn you that a great
evil will come upon Ulster because of this.”
Then the king asked her name.
“I am Macha, daughter of Sainrith mac Imbaith, the
wondrous son of the ocean. From this day forward my name
shall be on this place.”
And then the race began. Macha flew around the field
like the fastest of horses alongside the chariot of the king
until she crossed the finish line just ahead of the team.
When she reached the end of the course she gave birth
to twins, a son and a daughter. It was from them that
the Ulster capital, Emain Macha or the Twins of Macha,
was named.
In her labor pains Macha screamed at the king and his
warriors that thenceforth in the hour of their greatest peril
they would fall into the pangs of birth for five days and four
nights. From that day her curse held for nine generations.
Whenever danger came upon the province, all the men of
Ulster would collapse in labor pains, unable to move in their
agony. Only the women, young boys, and the great warrior
Cú Chulainn were spared from the terrible curse of Macha.
52
THE EX ILE OF THE SONS

OF UISLIU
One day Conchobar and the warriors of Ulster were gathered

together for a feast at the home of the king’s chief storyteller,
Fedlimid mac Daill. Fedlimid’s pregnant wife was serving
them even though she was great with child and about to give
birth. Meat was set before the warriors on overflowing plat-
ters and drinking horns full of ale were passed around the
hall until drunken shouting and laughter filled the night. At
the end of the evening when the men had all fallen asleep,
Fedlimid’s wife at last crossed the hall to her own bedcham-
ber. Suddenly the child in her womb cried out in a scream
that woke everyone in the house.
All the warriors jumped to their feet as if under attack,
but Sencha mac Ailella, the chief judge of Conchobar, ordered
everyone to be still and for the woman to be brought before
them. Her husband Fedlimid then asked her what was the
fearful cry that had burst from her full womb. The woman
shook her head in bewilderment:
Even though the cry came from the cradle of my own body,

no woman knows
what her own womb bears.
She turned to the druid Cathbad hoping that he might

explain the cry. And Cathbad said:
From the hollow of your womb there cried

a woman with twisted yellow hair
and beautiful grey-green eyes.
Her cheeks are flushed like foxglove
53
and her teeth the color of new-fallen snow.

Her lips are lustrous like Parthian red.
Queens will envy her,
heroes will fight for her,
kings will seek her for their bed.
Because of her, great will the slaughter be
among the chariot-warriors of Ulster.
Cathbad placed his hand on the woman’s belly and the child
moved at his touch.
“Yes, this child is a girl. Deirdre will be her name—and
she will bring evil on us all.”
After the girl was born, everyone proclaimed that she
was the most beautiful child they had ever seen.
“Kill her!” shouted the Ulstermen.
“No!” said Conchobar. “I will take this child for myself
and have her reared in secret away from all jealous eyes.
When she is of age, I will bring her to my bed.”
And so Conchobar sent her away to a hidden place so
that no one could see her. Only her foster father and foster
mother saw her, along with a woman poet named Leborcham
who was a satirist and couldn’t be kept away.
One day when Deirdre had grown into a beautiful young
woman, her foster father was outside in the snow skinning a
calf to cook for her. A raven settled on the snow next to the
pool of blood and drank from it.
Deirdre saw it and said: “I could love a man with those
three colors—hair black like a raven, cheeks red like blood,
and a body white as snow.”
Leborcham, who was standing nearby, said: “Luck and
fortune are with you, my dear, for such a man is not far
away—Noíse son of Uisliu.”
54
“I will be ill,” Deirdre said, “until I see him.”

It happened that one night soon after, Noíse was stand-
ing alone on the walls of Emain Macha, the stronghold of
the Ulstermen, and was singing. The songs of the sons of
Uisliu were so sweet that every cow who heard them gave
two-thirds more milk, and every person who heard them
was filled with peace. The sons of Uisliu were also great
warriors. If they stood back to back, they could hold off the
whole province of Ulster. They were moreover as swift as
hunting hounds and could outrun wild beasts.
While Noíse was on the walls alone, Deirdre slipped
away from her hidden farm and came near as if she were
merely walking past him. He didn’t recognize her at first.
“That’s a fine heifer going by,” he said.
“The heifers are bound to be fine when there are no bulls
around,” she replied.
But then he realized who she was.
“You have the greatest bull of this province to yourself,”
he said, “the king of Ulster.”
“Between him and you,” she said, “I would choose a fine
young bull for myself.”
“Don’t say such things!” cried Noíse. “Remember the
prophecy of Cathbad.”
“Are you rejecting me?” she asked.
“Yes, I must,” he answered.
Then Deirdre seized him by both ears.
“Two ears of shame and mockery these will be,” she said,
“if you don’t take me with you.”
“No! Get away from me, woman.”
“Too late. You will do it,” she said, binding him with
her curse.
55
A shrill cry began to rise from the throat of Noíse. As

it grew, the men of Ulster heard it and began to take up
arms. But the brothers of Noíse knew what it was and ran
to quiet him.
“What are you doing?” they asked. “The Ulstermen will
come to blows because of you.”
Then Noíse told them what had happened.
“Evil will come from this,” they said. “But you will not be
disgraced while we are alive. Come, we’ll leave here and go to
some other place. No king in Ireland will deny us welcome.”
And so Noíse and his brothers left that night with
Deirdre among them, as well as three times fifty warriors
along with three times fifty women and the same number of
hounds and servants.
The band of warriors and their followers traveled across
Ireland searching for a safe place to settle, but everywhere
they went Conchobar laid a trap for them. At last they
crossed the sea to Britain, where they lived in the mountains
and hunted wild animals to survive. Finally when the game
was gone, they hired themselves as mercenary soldiers to the
king of Britain. But they built their houses to hide Deirdre
so that no one might see her and seek to take her by force.
One day a servant of the king happened to enter the
home of Deirdre and Noíse early in the morning and saw
them sleeping. He went at once and woke the king, saying
that he had found the most beautiful woman in the world for
him. All he had to do was to kill Noíse and she would be his
to sleep with. The king was reluctant to openly kill Noíse and
lose his Irish mercenaries, so he sent the servant each day to
try and win her favor in secret. Each night, however, Deirdre
told Noíse what the king’s servant had said to her.
56
Soon the king began to send Noíse and his brothers

into the most dangerous battles so that they might be killed,
but they were so fierce in fighting that no one could touch
them. At last the king sent his own soldiers to kill Noíse, but
Deirdre heard of the plan and urged her husband and his
followers to flee back to Ireland immediately. They did so
that very night.
When the warriors of Conchobar heard that Noíse was
back on their island, they told the king that it was time to
forgive him and allow the couple to settle in their own land
in peace. Conchobar sent them a message guaranteeing
their safety. Noíse and his brothers agreed if the previous
king Fergus, along with the great warrior Dubthach and
Conchobar’s own son Cormac, would pledge themselves as
guarantors of Conchobar’s good will. Fergus and the others
then went down to the sea to meet Noíse.
But Conchobar had other plans. He knew that Fergus
was bound by a geis or prohibition put upon him that he
could never pass by a feast without joining it, so the king
held banquets along the way to delay him from joining
Noíse. Since Noíse and his brothers had sworn an oath that
they would not eat in Ireland until they dined at Conchobar’s
table, they were compelled by hunger not to wait for Fergus.
When the sons of Uisliu came to Conchobar’s fortress at
Emain Macha along with Fergus’s son Fiacha who had gone
to meet him, the whole of Ulster was waiting for them on the
walls. Éogan mac Durthacht was the first to greet Noíse—
but with the thrust of a spear through his chest that came
out the back and broke his spine in two. Fiacha threw him-
self across Noíse to protect him, though it was in vain. The
Ulster warriors slaughtered Fiacha and the brothers of Noíse
and all of his followers until the grass ran red with blood.
57
Deirdre alone was left alive and was brought to Conchobar

with her hands bound behind her back.
When Fergus was told of this, he and Dubthach and
Cormac the son of Conchobar attacked Conchobar at Emain
Macha and killed many of the warriors of Ulster. Then they
and three thousand others fled west to the kingdom of Ailill
and Medb in Connacht, where they were welcomed by the
king and queen as exiles. For sixteen years they remained
there, lamenting their betrayal and the loss of honor that
Conchobar had inflicted on them.
As for Deirdre, once she was taken captive by Conchobar
she never again smiled or raised her head in the pres-
ence of the king. She mourned without ceasing the loss of
Noíse, until Conchobar in anger determined to give her to
Éogan mac Durthacht, the very man who had murdered her
husband.
The morning that Éogan took her from Emain Macha,
she stood between him and Conchobar in his chariot as they
left the gates.
“Deirdre,” laughed Conchobar, “don’t look so down-
cast. Between me and Éogan you are powerless, just a sheep
between two rams.”
But as they passed a large boulder on the road, Deirdre
threw herself out of the chariot and smashed her own head
against the stone. There she lay dead on the road, depriving
both men of their prize forever.
THE BIRTH OF CÚ CHU LAIN N
And so it was that Fergus and the exiles of Ulster went to

live in Connacht with the enemies of their tribe. But there
58
were still many great warriors among the men who served
Conchobar, though none was greater than Sétanta, who later
took the name Cú Chulainn.
The story of Cú Chulainn’s birth is strange and wondrous.
There was a day when the crops of Ulster were attacked
and eaten by nine scores of male and female birds, each
pair bound by a silver cord between them. Conchobar and
his men were furious to see their harvest destroyed, and
so mounted their chariots to drive the birds away. Along
with them came Deichtine, Conchobar’s sister, the warrior
Conall, and the troublemaker Briccriu.
They chased the birds south across the mountains
and plains of Ireland until darkness fell, and they reached
the ancient síd mound of the Bruig on the Bóinne River.
Conchobar sent Conall and Briccriu to seek shelter for the
night, but the only place they could find was a small hut in
which a poor couple lived. Briccriu told the king that they
needn’t bother going there unless they brought their own
food, but Conchobar took his men to the hut nonetheless
and crowded inside. They broke down the door of the store-
room and helped themselves to all the couple had. Soon they
were drunk and in a festive mood.
The woman who lived in the hut then began to go into
labor, at the same time as a mare in the yard was giving birth
to two foals. Deichtine went in to help the woman deliver
her child and not long after brought out a baby boy. The
Ulstermen took charge of the child and decided to give him
the two foals as a present, while Deichtine nursed him at her
own breast. Then the whole company fell asleep.
When the sun rose the next morning, the Ulstermen
awoke to find there was nothing to be seen of the hut or the
59
couple. Only the baby and the foals remained. They took the
boy back to Emain Macha and Deichtine raised him as her
own son.
But soon the baby was struck with a fever and died.
Deichtine was heartbroken and all the women of Ulster
sang a song of lamentation for the child. She came home
after lamenting and asked her servant for a drink. A cup
was brought and Deichtine drank it— but she didn’t
notice that a tiny creature was in the cup, and so she swal-
lowed it.
When Deichtine fell asleep that night, she dreamed that
a man came to her and told her she would bear a child by
him. He said that his name was Lug and that he had led her
and her company to the Bruig on the Bóinne River. The boy
who had been born there was his son. Even though the child
had seemed to die, he was in fact now in her womb. She was
to name the boy Sétanta and the two foals were to be raised
with him.
Deichtine grew great with child, though no one knew
who the father was. Some said it was Conchobar himself
who had slept with his own sister in his drunkenness. The
king said nothing, but gave his pregnant sister to Sualdam
mac Roich to marry. Deichtine was so ashamed to go to her
husband’s bed pregnant that she miscarried on her wedding
night. Then she slept with Sualdam, became pregnant, and
gave birth to a son she named Sétanta—a boy who had been
born three times.
When Sétanta was born, the greatest men and women
of Ulster contended to some day take him as a foster son, as
was the custom. They went to Conchobar the king to decide
between them.
60
“My sister Finnchaem should take the boy,” he said.

“I do love him,” she replied, “as if he were my own son
Conall.”
Briccriu the troublemaker spoke up: “Of course you
love him so. There’s little difference between a son and a
nephew.”
“Wait,” said Sencha, chief judge and wisest man of
Ulster. “I would be a better foster parent than Finnchaem. I
am a fine warrior as well as the best judge and advisor in all
matters to the king. I settle all disputes in Ulster and every-
one acknowledges my wisdom.”
“No,” said Blaí Briuga, the warrior most renowned
among the Ulstermen for his hospitality. “The boy should
come to live with me. I can feast all the men of Ireland in
my house for a week without want. I can support him better
than anyone else.”
“Not true,” said Fergus. “I am second to no man in cour-
age, skill in battle, and honor.”
“Sit down, Fergus,” said Amairgen the poet, “and listen,
all of you. I am most worthy to raise this boy. For in elo-
quence and brave deeds I have no equal.”
“There is nothing to be gained by all this fighting,” said
Conchobar at last. “Let Morann the druid decide.”
And so Morann gave his judgment: “Let him be given
to Conchobar as his foster son, for he is the brother of
Finnchaem, and to Finnchaem as a mother and Conall as his
foster brother. But let him also be given to Sencha to teach
him eloquence of speech and to Blaí Briuga for sustenance
and to Fergus to sit on his knee and to Amairgen as his
teacher. In this way he will be raised by everyone, as warrior,
prince, and sage. This boy will be cherished by all and will
save us someday from our enemies.”
61
T H E B OY HO OD DE E D S
OF CÚ CHULAIN N
While Sétanta was very young, he lived with his mother

and father to the south of Emain Macha on the plain of
Muirthemne, near the sea. While there he heard stories of
the boys of Ulster and how three times fifty were always
playing hurley ball with their sticks.
“Mother, let me go and join the boys at Emain Macha,”
he said.
“No,” she replied. “You are much too young and you have
no warrior to escort you from here to there. The journey is
too difficult for you.”
“I’m going to go anyway,” he answered.
Sétanta gathered his wooden shield and toy javelin along
with his hurley stick and ball and set off to the Ulster capital
alone. Along the way he kept throwing the javelin into the
sky in front of him and running to catch it by its end before
it hit the ground.
At last he came to the playing fields of Emain Macha and
rushed to join the game.
“This boy insults us,” said Follomon the son of Conchobar.
For Sétanta did not know that it was forbidden for anyone
to join the game unless he had first sought permission and
protection.
The other boys threw three times fifty javelins at him all
at once, but he repelled each one with his toy shield. Then
they threw all their balls at him, but he caught them against
his chest. Then they threw their hurley sticks, but they could
not touch him.
At last Sétanta became furious at the ill treatment he was
receiving from the boys and began to change in form and
62
appearance. In his battle fury each hair on his head stood

straight up as if it were hammered into his skull. One of his
eyes narrowed until it was like the eye of a needle while the
other opened as wide as a mead goblet. He bared his teeth
from ear to ear and glowed with a warrior’s fire. The boys
began to run.
Then he attacked them and knocked down fifty of them
before they reached the gates of Emain Macha. He pursued
the rest past the king as he sat playing chess at the gate and
leapt over the chess board.
Conchobar seized him by the arm.
“You aren’t treating these boys very well,” said the king.
“I treated them just as they deserved,” Sétanta said. “I
came all the way from my home to play with them, but they
were not kind to me.”
“What is your name?” asked Conchobar.
“I am Sétanta the son of Sualtaim and your sister. I did
not expect to be treated badly here among my own people.”
“Why didn’t you ask them for protection?” said
the king.
“I didn’t know that was required,” replied Sétanta. “And
so I now ask you for your protection.”
“Agreed,” said the king.
The boy then turned and started attacking the boys
throughout the fort.
“Why are you still fighting with them?” asked the king.
“Because now,” said Sétanta, “I want them to ask for my
protection.”
“They will do so,” said Conchobar. “I give you my
word.”
“Then I agree that I shall do them no more harm,” said
Sétanta.
63
After this, the people of Emain Macha went into the

hurley fields and helped the boys to their feet, each going to
the aid of their own foster son.
When he first came to Emain Macha, Sétanta did not
sleep inside the fort.
“Why don’t you sleep here?” asked Conchobar.
“Because I can’t sleep unless my head and feet are equally
high,” said the boy.
And so Conchobar ordered a pillar- stone placed at
Sétanta’s head and another at his feet. In between he made a
special bed for him.
One day when a certain man went to wake him, Sétanta
jumped up with a start and struck the man on the forehead,
driving his broken skull into his brain and killing him. He
also knocked down one of the pillar-stones.
From that time forward no one dared to wake him, but
allowed him to sleep until he woke of his own accord.
At another time, Sétanta was playing hurley ball on
the field east of Emain Macha by himself against three
times fifty boys. In every game he beat them until they
couldn’t stand it anymore and attacked him. He struck
back and killed fifty of them, then ran away to hide under
Conchobar’s bed. The people of Ulster rose up to kill the
boy while Conchobar rushed to defend him, but Sétanta
lifted up the bed with thirty warriors on top of it and threw
it into the middle of the house. At last, Conchobar and
Fergus calmed the angry crowd and made peace between
them and the boy.
Once when Sétanta was still a child, war broke out
between Ulster and Éogan mac Durthacht, who had been
Conchobar’s ally and slain Noíse for him when he returned
to Ireland with Deirdre.
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When the battle began, Sétanta was left behind asleep at

Emain Macha. The fighting went poorly for the Ulstermen
so that Conchobar and many of his men were left for dead
on the battlefield. Their groans woke up Sétanta and he went
to help his countrymen.
Along the way he met a man with half a head carrying
half of another man on his back.
“Help me, boy,” the man with half a head said. “I am
wounded. Take my brother from my back and take a turn
carrying him.”
“I will not,” said Sétanta in fear.
The man threw his brother on the boy, but Sétanta cast
him off and wrestled the man until the man beat him and
threw him on the ground. Then he heard the war goddess
crying from among the corpses: “A poor warrior you are to
be beaten by a phantom.”
Sétanta then took his hurley stick and struck off the
half head of the man who had beaten him. He then began to
drive the head before him across the plain like a ball.
“Conchobar, are you there?” Sétanta shouted.
The king called out to him until the boy found him.
“Why are you here, boy?” Conchobar asked. “A grown
man could die of terror amid such a scene.”
Sétanta picked up the king from the ditch and put him on
his shoulders. Six grown men could not have done the same.
“Go to that house there and make a fire for me,” said the
king after a time.
The boy carried him into the house and made a fire.
“If I had a roasted pig to eat,” said the king, “I might
just live.”
“I’ll find you one,” said Sétanta.
65
He went off into the woods and found at last a man

roasting a pig over a fire. The ferocious-looking man had one
hand on the pig and another on his weapons. But Sétanta
attacked him and cut off his head, carrying it and the pig
back to Conchobar, who then ate the pig.
“Let us go home,” said the king.
And so Sétanta helped him back to Emain Macha.
Along the way they found Conchobar’s son Cúscraid, whom
Sétanta put on his back and carried all the way home.
Once when Sétanta was only five years old, Ulster was
attacked by twenty-seven fierce and dark warriors from the
isles of Faiche. The Ulstermen immediately collapsed into
labor pains because of the curse laid on them by Macha. But
the curse did not fall on young boys. When the invaders
poured over the walls of Emain Macha, the women screamed
and the boys who saw the men of Faiche ran away—all except
for Sétanta. He attacked them with stones and killed nine of
them with his hurley stick, driving the rest out of Ulster and
saving his people.
When Sétanta was seven years old, the smith Culann
prepared a great feast for Conchobar and his best warriors.
As the king was leaving Emain Macha, the king drove his
chariot past the playing fields and saw Sétanta defeating all
the boys there.
“Come with me to the feast, little Sétanta,” said the king.
“You will be my guest.”
“I’ll come later, uncle. I’m not done playing here yet.”
And so Conchobar went to the home of Culann and for-
got that Sétanta would be following him.
“Is there anyone else coming?” asked Culann.
“No,” said the king.
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Culann then locked the gate of his fort and released

his fierce hound outside the walls to guard his home. This
animal was so ferocious that it took three men with three
chains to control him. When that was done, they began
the feast.
Meanwhile, young Sétanta was approaching the fort
of Culann. As he walked he threw his hurley ball into the
air and tossed his stick after it to strike it, then caught both
before they hit the ground.
It was at this moment that Conchobar remembered that
Sétanta was coming. He cried out to Culann and ran to the
top of the rampart above the gate, but it was too late.
The hound had seen Sétanta coming near and rushed
him with his teeth bared ready to tear the boy apart. But
when Sétanta saw the animal, he took his hurley ball and
threw it so hard at the hound that it went into his throat and
drove its entrails out the back end of his body. A great shout
of joy went up among the Ulstermen.
“I welcome you, lad, and am glad you are safe,” said
Culann, “but for my sake I wish I had never prepared this
feast. That hound was the greatest in Ireland and guarded my
farm and cattle from all harm. Without him I am ruined.”
“Don’t worry,” said Sétanta. “I will raise a pup just as
good for you. Until he is grown, I myself will guard your
farm and animals.”
Then Cathbad the druid spoke: “From now on, boy,
your name shall be Cú Chulainn. For you will be the cú, the
hound of Culann.”
“A fine name,” said the boy. And from then on he was
known as Cú Chulainn.
One day Cathbad the druid was instructing his students
when one of them asked what that day would be good for.
67
“Today is a good day,” said Cathbad, “for a warrior

to first take up arms. For whoever receives weapons for
the first time today will have fame forever throughout
Ireland.”
Cú Chulainn overheard these words and went quickly to
Conchobar the king and asked for arms.
“Who sent you to do this?” asked Conchobar.
“Cathbad the druid,” said the boy.
And so the king gave him a spear and a sword. Cú
Chulainn brandished these about the royal hall and broke
them, then went through fifteen more sets of weapons that
also broke in his hands. Finally, Conchobar gave him his
own arms, which were strong enough for the boy.
Cathbad came and saw what was happening.
“Who gave this child weapons today of all days?” the
druid asked.
“I did,” said the king. “Didn’t you send him?”
“No,” said Cathbad, “for whoever takes up weapons
today will be a warrior of great fame, but his mother will
weep, for his life will be short.”
“Why did you deceive me?” Conchobar asked Cú
Chulainn.
“Because a short life means nothing to me,” said the boy.
“Let me live on this earth only a single day if my fame as a
warrior may be everlasting.”
On another day someone asked Cathbad what that day
would be good for.
“The name of the man who goes forth in battle in a
chariot today will live throughout Ireland forever,” said
the druid.
Cú Chulainn heard this and went to Conchobar to ask
for a chariot, which the king gave him. The boy broke the
68
chariot and the next twelve, until Conchobar gave him his
own chariot.
He climbed into this chariot with Ibor, Conchobar’s
charioteer, at the reins and they rode around the yard inside
the gates. After a short time Ibor said that was enough.
“Not yet,” said Cú Chulainn. “Let’s circle around Emain
Macha. I’ll give you a fine reward if you drive me.”
So Ibor took the boy outside and around the fortress
so the other boys could see him. Then he turned back to
the gates.
“Not yet,” said Cú Chulainn. “Put the whip to the horses.”
“Where do you wish to go?” asked the charioteer.
“As far as the road will lead,” said Cú Chulainn.
They went along the road to a mountain called Sliab
Fúait, where Cú Chulainn’s foster brother Conall Cernach
was standing guard. It fell to a different warrior of Ulster
each day to stand at Sliab Fúait and protect the province
from invaders.
“Greetings, Conall,” said Cú Chulainn. “Return to Emain
Macha. I’m here to relieve you as guard.”
“You are too young,” said the warrior.
Then Cú Chulainn took a stone and threw it at the shaft
of Conall Cernach’s chariot, breaking it.
“Why did you do that?” asked Conall in anger.
“Because no warrior of Ulster can stand guard with a
broken chariot,” said the boy. “Go back to the fort and leave
me here to protect Ulster.”
Conall reluctantly agreed. Cú Chulainn then asked his
charioteer about the enemies of Ulster who lived nearby.
Ibor said the nearest were the three sons of Nechta Scéne
named Fóill, Fannall, and Túachell. They were fierce men
and had killed many brave warriors of Ulster.
69
“Take me to them,” said Cú Chulainn.

Ibor drove him to a small river on the border of Ulster
where the sons of Nechta Scéne had their fortress. In the
middle of the stream was a pillar-stone with a wooden
branch set on top as a warning to trespassers. Cú Chulainn
took the branch and cast it into the water, letting it float away
downstream. He then lay down on the far bank for a nap.
“Wake me if any warriors show up,” said Cú Chulainn.
The sons of Nechta Scéne saw what the boy had done
and rushed down to the stream while Cú Chulainn slept
peacefully.
“Who dares to enter our lands?” asked the men.
“Just a lad here on his first outing,” said the charioteer
Ibor. “There’s no need for trouble. My hands are on the reins
already to take him home. The boy is merely sleeping.”
“There’s no boy here,” said Cú Chulainn as he awoke,
“but a man ready to do battle.”
“Don’t be a fool,” said his charioteer. “This first man is
Fóill the Sly. If you don’t kill him with your first spear thrust
you’ll never touch him.”
“Then I swear by the god by whom my people swear,”
said Cú Chulainn, “the spear my lord Conchobar gave me
will not miss.”
Cú Chulainn cast the spear at Fóill and broke his back in
two. The boy then cut off the warrior’s head as a trophy and
took his spoils.
“Watch out for this next man,” said his charioteer. “He is
Fannall the Swallow who moves as swiftly as a bird.”
But Cú Chulainn was even faster. He killed the warrior,
cut off his head, and took his spoils.
“Beware this last man,” said Ibor. “He is Túachell the
Cunning. No weapon has ever touched him.”
70
“Then I will use my finest spear on him and riddle him

full of holes,” said Cú Chulainn.
The boy knocked him down with his spear and cut off
his head. He then gave it and the spoils to Ibor to place in
the chariot.
Cú Chulainn told the charioteer to then turn toward
the plain and drive as fast as he could. With Ibor at the
reins the horses flew like the wind. When they reached the
middle of the plain, Cú Chulainn saw a herd of deer graz-
ing there.
“What would be more impressive to the Ulstermen,” he
asked the charioteer, “to bring the deer back dead or alive?”
“No one can capture a live deer,” said Ibor.
“I can,” said Cú Chulainn. “Drive them into that bog.”
Ibor used the horses to drive the deer into the bog, where
Cú Chulainn then leapt from the chariot and captured the
largest stag in the herd. He tied it to the back of the chariot
and told Ibor to drive on.
Soon they saw a flock of swans.
“What would be more impressive to the Ulstermen,”
Cú Chulainn asked the charioteer, “to bring back the swans
dead or alive?”
“No one can capture swans alive,” said the charioteer.
Cú Chulainn then threw stones at the birds and stunned
twenty of them with two stones so they fell to the ground.
He gathered the birds and tied them with cords to the char-
iot. He then told Ibor to turn back to Emain Macha with
the twenty birds flying above, the deer trailing behind, and
three severed heads hanging from the chariot.
When they approached Emain Macha, Cú Chulainn
ordered Ibor to turn the left side of the chariot toward the
fort, which was forbidden. Cú Chulainn then cried out for
71
all to hear: “I swear by the god by whom the men of Ulster

swear that unless some man is found to fight with me I will
slaughter everyone in the fort.”
The watchman on the walls cried out to the king.
“A warrior in a chariot is here and a great battle fury
is upon him. He will shed the blood of everyone in Emain
Macha unless naked women go out to meet him.”
“Send forth the naked women!” shouted Conchobar.
The women of Emain Macha came out of the gate led by
Mugain the wife of the king himself. They marched up to Cú
Chulainn and bared their breasts to him.
“These are the warriors you will face today,” Mugain
told him.
Cú Chulainn grew red and his face blushed crimson in
embarrassment. The warriors of Ulster then seized him and
threw him into a tub of cold water. That tub burst from the
heat of the boy. They threw him into a second tub of cold
water that began to boil. Then they threw him into a third
tub, which warmed just enough for a bath.
When he came out of the tub, the queen placed on him
a blue mantle with a silver brooch and a hooded tunic. Cú
Chulainn then went and sat beside Conchobar in the place
of honor, which was his ever after.
T H E WO OI NG OF E M E R
One day when the men of Ulster were in Emain Macha feast-
ing, they decided that Cú Chulainn needed a wife, since all
of their own wives and daughters were falling in love with
him. They also thought that such a great warrior should
father a son.
72
Cú Chulainn agreed and so went to a place called

the Gardens of Lug to woo a beautiful girl he knew there
named Emer, the daughter of a cunning man named Forgall
Monach. Cú Chulainn found Emer seated on the grass with
her foster sisters sewing. She was wearing a low-cut dress, so
that her breasts rose over the top.
“I see a sweet country where I could rest my weapon,”
he said to her.
“No man will travel in this country until he has killed a
hundred men,” Emer answered.
“Still, in that country I’ll rest my weapon,” he said.
“No man will travel this country until he has done a
salmon leap with twice his weight in gold and struck down
three groups of nine men each with one blow, leaving the
middle man of each untouched,” she answered.
“It will be done— and in that country I’ll rest my
weapon,” said Cú Chulainn. Then he went home.
That evening Emer told her father what the young man
had said.
“I’ll put an end to this,” he said to himself. “He’ll never
have what he wants.”
Forgall disguised himself as a royal messenger from
Gaul and came to the court of Conchobar at Emain Macha
pretending to pay tribute. At the king’s command, Cú
Chulainn and the other warriors put on a demonstration for
him of their martial skills.
“Not bad,” said Forgall, “but of course if you really want
to be a fine fighter you must study with Scáthach the great
warrior-woman in Britain. Then you could beat any man in
Europe.”
Cú Chulainn was then determined to leave Ireland and
swore to study with Scáthach— which was exactly what
73
Forgall had intended. But before the young man left, he went
to Emer to say goodbye, swearing he would be faithful to her
until they met again.
Cú Chulainn made the long journey across the sea to
find Scáthach in the wild lands of Britain, taking his foster
brother Ferdia with him. He came at last to Scáthach’s for-
tress, but the only way to reach it was to cross a deep gorge by
a way known as the Pupil’s Bridge. This bridge would throw
off anyone who tried to cross it unless he was a skilled war-
rior. Three times Cú Chulainn tried to cross and was tossed
on his back. But then he went into his battle fury and leapt
across the bridge.
Scáthach was told of his arrival and sent her daughter
Uathach to greet him. When she saw Cú Chulainn, she was
amazed by his beauty and fell in love with him.
“I see you’ve fallen for this young man,” said Scáthach.
“Go to his bed tonight if you want.”
“That would be no hardship,” said Uathach.
And so that night she dressed as a maidservant and
went to his chamber. Cú Chulainn reached out to draw the
beautiful maiden into his bed, but in his eagerness he hurt
her so that she cried out. Cochar Cruibne, one of Scáthach’s
finest warriors, rushed to the chamber to defend Uathach
and was killed by Cú Chulainn, who cut off his head. Cú
Chulainn regretted what he had done and promised to train
with Scáthach and take the place of Cochar as her champion
in battle.
Cú Chulainn was the best student Scáthach had ever seen
and learned every skill she could teach him, including the
use of the fearsome gae bolga, a spear no man could avoid.
One day when Scáthach’s greatest enemy, the warrior
queen Aife, marched on her land, Cú Chulainn challenged
74
the invader to single combat. The two met and clashed

as champions, but at last Cú Chulainn seized her by her
breasts and tossed her to the ground with a sword held
over her.
“A life for a life, Cú Chulainn,” she said.
“I will spare you if you grant me three things I desire,”
he said.
“If you can ask them in one breath, you shall have them,”
she answered.
“Give me hostages for Scáthach, promise you’ll never
attack her again, and sleep with me tonight so that you bear
me a son.”
“I grant you all you ask,” said Aife. And she went to bed
with him that very night.
A few weeks later, Aife came to Cú Chulainn and told
him she was pregnant with his son.
“Give him the name Conla,” said Cú Chulainn. “I’ll send
for him to come to Ireland in seven years.”
Then he presented Aife with a ring to give to the boy
when he came of age, with the command that the boy reveal
his name to no man, make way for no man, and never refuse
combat.
When his training was complete, Cú Chulainn returned
to Ireland and went to Emer’s home. Her father had heard
of his coming and had posted men as guards around his
fort, including Emer’s three brothers, each with eight pow-
erful warriors at their sides. Cú Chulainn killed eight men
from each group with one stroke and left the center man
untouched. When he entered the fortress, he put Emer and
her sister on his back, each with a bag of gold in their arms,
and leapt back across the walls of the fort. Emer’s father
Forgall tried to flee, but fell from his own rampart and died.
75
As he escaped back to Emain Macha, Cú Chulainn killed a

hundred men along the way.
The young man and his bride were welcomed to Emain
Macha by Conchobar, but Briccriu the troublemaker said
that the young man’s plans to have the girl for himself would
have to wait. By tradition the king must sleep with every
bride before the groom.
Cú Chulainn flew into a rage and would have killed every
man at Emain Macha, but the warrior Fergus and Cathbad
the druid told him they would sleep in the bed between the
king and Emer to protect his honor. Cú Chulainn agreed
and Emer remained untouched that night. The next day
Conchobar paid Cú Chulainn his full honor-price and pro-
vided the dowry of Emer himself. After that, Cú Chulainn
took her to bed.
T H E D E AT H O F A I F E ’ S O N LY S O N
Seven years passed until one day some men of Ulster who
were at the beach saw a small bronze boat with golden oars
coming toward them across the sea. There was a boy inside
who was slinging rocks at birds so skillfully that he only
stunned them, then he let them go again. The men sent word
of the boy to the king, who ordered his warrior Condere to
find out who he was.
When he reached the shore, Condere asked the boy
his name.
“I give my name to no man,” he replied, “and yield to
no man.”
Condere returned to the king and reported what the
boy said.
76
“No one challenges the honor of the Ulstermen in such

a way,” said the warrior Conall Cernach. And so he went
to the shore to challenge the boy. In no time at all, Conall
was lying in the sand knocked out from a sling stone. The
boy then tied Conall’s arms together and sent him back to
the king.
“This is shameful,” said Conchobar. “Who will stand
against this boy for the honor of Ulster?”
No one stepped forward.
“I will go,” said Cú Chulainn at last.
Emer implored her husband not to meet the boy, fearing
this was the son Cú Chulainn had told her of. He said that
he feared the same, but he could not refuse the king. Then he
went to the shore to meet the boy.
“Name yourself or die,” Cú Chulainn said.
“Then I will die,” the boy replied.
The two clashed fiercely at arms for hours, but Cú
Chulainn could not defeat him. At last he forced the boy
into the water and drew forth the gae bolga from his pack
of weapons. He sent the fearsome spear speeding across the
waves until it pierced the bowels of the boy and mortally
wounded him. Cú Chulainn carried him to the shore and
laid him on the sand.
“Men of Ulster,” said Cú Chulainn, “this is my son,
Conla.”
All the warriors gathered there wept when they heard
this. Conla asked to greet each of the great warriors he had
heard so much about from his mother, then he breathed his
last as his father held him in his arms. He was buried in a
grave beneath a stone, and for three days no calf in Ulster
was allowed to go to its mother on account of the death of
Cú Chulainn’s only son.
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T H E TÁ I N BE G I N S
One night far away in Connacht, when the royal bed was
prepared for Ailill and Medb in their fort at Cruachan, the
couple engaged in pillow talk.
“It’s true what they say, my love, that the wife of a wealthy
man does well for herself,” said Ailill to his wife.
“I suppose,” replied Medb. “What makes you say that?”
“I was just thinking how much better off you are today
than when I first met you,” he said.
“Oh, really?” she said. “I think I was doing quite well
before you came along.”
“If you were, I never heard about it,” Ailill replied. “All
you had were a few woman’s things that your enemies kept
stealing from you.”
“Are you serious?” asked Medb. “My father was Eochu
Feidlech, high king of Ireland, descended from generations
of kings. He had six daughters in all and I was the most cele-
brated of them—and the most generous in bestowing favors.
I had fifteen hundred royal mercenaries at my command
and an equal number of freeborn native men, and those
were just my household guard. My father gave me this prov-
ince of Ireland to rule from Cruachan. Men came from the
whole island to woo me, but I turned them down, for I asked
a harder wedding gift than any bride before me—a husband
with no meanness, fear, or jealousy.
“If I married an ungenerous man, our union would be
wrong, since I am always giving gifts and favors. If I mar-
ried a coward our marriage would be equally wrong, because
I thrive on conflict and battle. And if I married a jealous
man he could never stay my husband, for I never had one
man without another waiting for me in the shadows.
78
“You’re the man I wanted, Ailill of Leinster. You aren’t

greedy or fearful or jealous. When we married I brought you
the best bride price a man could hope for—clothing for a
dozen men, a chariot worth seven female slaves, the width
of your face in red gold, and the weight of your left arm in
white bronze. All that you have I gave you. You’re a kept
man, Ailill.”
“I am not!” he replied. “I only let my brothers rule in
Leinster because they are older than me, not because they
are more generous. I had never heard of a province in Ireland
run by a woman, so I came here to rule with the daughter of
the high king of Ireland.”
“Even so,” said Medb, “it remains that I am wealthier
than you.”
“You astonish me,” he said. “No one has more property
or jewels or precious things than I do.”
And so they both jumped out of bed and ordered all
that each of them owned brought before them—buckets,
tubs, iron pots, thumb r ings, golden treasures, purple cloth,
bracelets, and sheep. These were all counted and found to
be equal in number. From the pastures horses and pigs were
brought in. For every stallion or fine boar of Medb, Ailill
owned one to match it. Finally, they brought in the herds
of cattle from the fields. These were measured and counted.
All were equal, but for one bull held by Ailill—Finnbennach
the White Bull was his name. He had been born to one of
Medb’s cows but had refused to be owned by a woman and
so had gone over to Ailill’s herd. Medb had no equal to this
bull and her spirits fell as if she owned nothing at all.
She was determined to find a bull of her own to match
Ailill’s, so she called her messenger Mac Roth and asked him
where she might find the greatest bull in Ireland.
79
“I know the very animal,” Mac Roth said. “He lives in the
province of Ulster, in the territory of Cuailnge, in the house
of Dáire mac Fiachna. The bull is called Donn Cuailnge, the
Brown Bull of Cuailnge.”
“Go there,” commanded Medb, “and ask Dáire to lend
me his bull for a year. At the end of that time I’ll give it back
to him along with fifty yearling heifers in payment for his
loan. I’ll also give him a portion of the beautiful Plain of Ai
as his own, and a chariot worth seven slave women—and my
own friendly thighs on top of all that.”
Mac Roth and his men journeyed east across Ireland to
the house of Dáire and asked him for the loan of the bull.
Dáire was delighted to agree to Medb’s terms and settled his
guests into his home for the night. But when darkness fell
one of Dáire’s men heard one of Mac Roth’s men say that
it was a good thing they had been granted the loan of the
bull, for they would have taken it by force if he had refused.
When Dáire heard this he sent Mac Roth back to Medb
empty-handed.
“What did Dáire say to my offer?” asked Medb.
When Mac Roth explained what had happened, Medb
spoke: “He was afraid his bull would be taken by force, was
he? Then taken it shall be.”
Ailill and Medb began to gather their army for the inva-
sion of Ulster and the taking of the Brown Bull of Cuailnge.
Ailill sent word to his brothers to come to Cruachan along
with their men. They also gathered many other war lead-
ers with thousands of men. Soldiers from all four provinces
of Ireland came together to invade the rich lands of King
Conchobar of Ulster.
Medb went in her chariot to see her chief druid before
she departed for war.
80
“I have called this army together,” she said to him. “They

have left lovers, friends, and family to follow me. I lead them,
druid, but will I return with them alive?”
“Whoever comes back or not,” he said, “you will return.”
Satisfied, she turned the chariot back—but suddenly
there in front of her she saw a young woman with golden
hair. Her eyebrows were dark, her teeth were white, and her
lips were the color of bright blood.
“Who are you?” asked Medb.
“My name is Fedelm,” said the woman. “I am a poet of
Connacht.”
“Where have you come from?” asked the queen.
“From Britain where I was studying poetry.”
“Do you have the imbas forasnai—the second sight?”
Medb asked.
“I do,” said Fedelm.
“Then look into the future,” said Medb, “and tell me
what lies ahead for my army.”
Fedelm replied: “I see it crimson, I see it red.”
“But that can’t be,” said Medb. “I have heard that
Conchobar and all the warriors of Ulster are laid low by the
curse of Macha. They are defenseless. My spies have told me
this. Now look again and tell me what lies ahead.”
Fedelm closed her eyes and looked into the future
once more.
“I see it crimson, I see it red.”
“No!” cried Medb. “Conchobar cannot fight and the best
of his warriors are in exile here with me. Look again and tell
me what you see.”
“I see it crimson, I see it red.”
“You must be seeing something else,” said Medb.
“Whenever a great army gathers there is always fighting and
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strife. Warriors fall wounded and some die, but not the whole
army. Look again, Fedelm, and tell me what you see now.”
“I see it crimson, I see it red—for I see a young warrior
standing in your path. I see your men dead, corpses torn,
women wailing. I see the blood of your army dripping from
his sword.”
As they marched from Connacht into Ulster, Medb went
to inspect her armies. She came back to camp that night
and complained to Ailill about the three thousand Galeóin
troops from Leinster.
“What’s wrong with them?” asked Ailill.
“Nothing,” said Medb. “That’s the problem. While the
other warriors were still pitching their tents, the Galeóin
had made theirs and were cooking dinner. When the other
troops were cooking dinner, the Galeóin had finished and
were playing their harps by the fire. They make the rest of
the army look bad by comparison.”
“Well, do you want to send them away?” asked Ailill.
“No,” the queen replied. “They would seize our lands
while we’re gone.”
“What do you want me to do then?”
“Kill them,” said Medb.
“That’s a wicked, womanly thing to do,” said Ailill.
“These men are our friends. I will not have them killed.”
Fergus, the exile from Ulster, had heard all this and
said: “There’s no need to leave them behind or kill them.
Divide them in small bands among the rest of the army so
that they don’t stand out.”
And this seemed good to Medb.
Fergus meanwhile sent a secret message to Cú Chulainn
to warn him of the approach of the Connacht army. He also
led them in a winding path to give the Ulstermen time to
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82â•‡â•›â•›| â•‡ C eltic M ythology
recover from Macha’s curse. Medb noticed this and accused

him of betraying her.
“Not at all,” said Fergus. “I’m simply taking a round-
about path to avoid Cú Chulainn. He isn’t affected by the
curse and will destroy this army if he gets a chance.”
“Bah!” cried Medb. “No one man can stop such a
great army.”
“Cú Chulainn can,” said Fergus.
The next day they came to a ford in a river and saw the
heads of four men on a forked branch by the water. Their
horses were there unharmed but covered in blood. Warnings
written in Ogam script were carved onto the branch.
“Are these our men?” asked Medb.
“Yes,” said Ailill. “Four of our best warriors.”
“But who could do such a thing?” she asked.
“Only Cú Chulainn could do this,” said Fergus.
“Then Cú Chulainn must die,” said the queen.
S I NG L E C OM BAT
Medb waited until morning, then called the great warrior

Fróech mac Fidaig to her tent.
“Fróech, we need your help to rid us of this nuisance.
Go find Cú Chulainn and challenge him to single combat.”
And so the next day Fróech took nine men with him and
found Cú Chulainn washing in the river.
“Wait here,” Fróech said to his men. “He isn’t good at
fighting in water. I’ll meet him there.”
So Fróech stripped off his clothes and came to Cú
Chulainn.
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“If you come any closer,” Cú Chulainn said, “I’ll have to

kill you.”
“You can try,” said Fróech.
And so the two warriors began to grapple in the water.
Finally, Cú Chulainn bested Fróech and held him underwa-
ter for a long time before raising him up.
“Now,” he said to Fróech, “will you let me spare your life?”
“Never could I live with such shame,” replied Fróech.
Cú Chulainn thrust him under the water once more and
held him there until he was dead.
Every morning after that Medb sent a new warrior to
face Cú Chulainn and each was killed by the Ulster hero.
She promised the warriors gold and land and her daugh-
ter in marriage and the friendship of her own thighs, if
only they would kill Cú Chulainn. Every day and night Cú
Chulainn would slay dozens more in ambush and com-
bat until hundreds of Connacht soldiers were dead. But
the fighting was taking its toll on Cú Chulainn. He was
exhausted and injured, with no time for his wounds to heal.
Still the army of Medb went forward. Soon they had
crossed all of Ireland and came to the land of Ulster where
they found the Brown Bull of Cuailnge. Then Medb took it
for herself and ordered her army back to Connacht.
One morning as Cú Chulainn was following the
Connacht army, he knelt by the stream bathing his wounds
and saw a man approaching him.
“Who are you?” asked Cú Chulainn.
“Someone who will help you,” said the stranger. “I am
Lug, your father from the síd. Your wounds are griev-
ous. They need time to heal. Sleep, Cú Chulainn. Rest and
be well.”
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Lug put his son into a deep sleep for three days and
labored to heal him. He worked herbs and medicine into his
wounds so that Cú Chulainn began to recover in his sleep
without knowing it.
While Cú Chulainn was sleeping, the boys of Ulster rose
up to fight, for they were too young to be laid low by Macha’s
curse. They wanted to help Cú Chulainn in his battle against
the forces of Queen Medb, and so they went out to attack the
armies of Connacht with Follamain son of Conchobar lead-
ing them. One hundred and fifty of the best young men of
Ulster came to the plain before the army of Connacht.
“Kill them all,” said Ailill.
The warriors of Ailill and Medb met the boys there
on the plain by a stone known as the Lia Toll and slaugh-
tered every one of them save for Follamain, Conchobar’s
son. He survived the battle, but swore he would not return
to Ulster until he took Ailill’s head and crown with him.
The Connacht men only laughed and sent out two brothers
against him. They attacked him and slew him there.
Cú Chulainn meanwhile was still asleep healing from
his wounds. When he awoke after three days, he felt ready
for feasting or love-making or battle, whichever came first.
He found his father Lug sitting beside him.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“Three days and three nights,” the man replied.
“This is disgraceful,” said Cú Chulainn. “For that time
the armies of Connacht have been free from attack.”
“Not so,” said Lug. “The boy troop came from Ulster led
by Follamain and fought the armies of Ailill and Medb on
the plain. They all perished in battle aside from Follamain,
who was killed afterward by the Connacht warriors.”
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“This is to my everlasting shame,” said Cú Chulainn.

“Because of my weakness all these boys have died.”
“Then go and fight,” said Lug. “Your wounds have healed
and the men of Connacht have no power over your life.”
“Ready my chariot,” Cú Chulainn said to his driver, “and
put all the weapons of battle inside it.”
Cú Chulainn strapped on his armor and belt. He then
took with him eight swords with ivory hilts, eight spears and
javelins, eight dark-red shields with razor-sharp rims, and a
crested battle helmet. Around his shoulders he fastened his
magical cloak from Tír Tairngaire, the Land of Promise, a
gift from his father.
Then, ready for battle, a battle fury seized him. He
became monstrous in appearance with a bright red face and
twisted mouth. One eye sunk into his head while the other
bulged out. His heart pounded like a lion among bears and
flames of fire rose from his head.
He stepped into his war chariot and drove out to meet
his enemies in battle. In his fury he killed a hundred, then
two hundred more, then three hundred, then five hundred.
In six great circuits around the camp of the Connachtmen
he drove, killing as he went, so that afterward the place was
known as Seisrech Bresligi, the Place of the Sixfold Slaughter.
No man of Medb’s army escaped without some kind of
wound, but Cú Chulainn remained untouched.
The next morning Cú Chulainn rose from his camp and
put on his best clothing to display himself to the women of
Connacht among the army. The day before he had seemed a
monster in his spasm, but now he was the handsomest man
in Ireland, with loose-flowing golden hair spreading over his
shoulders.
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The women climbed on top of their own husbands to

catch a glimpse of Cú Chulainn as he rode past their camp
in his chariot.
“This is a nuisance,” said Medb. “The women are crowd-
ing so close that I can’t even see this man.”
Then she climbed onto the backs of her own men to see
Cú Chulainn and was awed by his beauty.
CÚ CHU L AIN N A ND FER DIA
“Send someone out to fight me!” shouted Cú Chulainn.

“Not me,” cried each of the Connacht warriors. “My
family owes no sacrifice to the gods—and even if they did,
why should I be the one to die?”
The next day Medb sent twenty-nine men against Cú
Chulainn in a swamp known as Blood Iron. These were Gaile
Dána and his twenty-seven sons along with his nephew. On
the weapons of each was deadly poison. Any man who was
even scratched by their swords and spears would die. But Cú
Chulainn killed them all without being touched.
Day after day Medb sent more warriors against the
Ulster hero, but Cú Chulainn slaughtered them all. At last
she sent for one of the Ulster exiles, Ferdia, the beloved fos-
ter brother of Cú Chulainn.
“Well now, Ferdia,” Medb said. “Do you know why
you’re here?”
“I can guess,” he replied. “But I won’t fight Cú Chulainn.
He is my friend and brother.”
“But I will give you a chariot worth three times seven
female slaves, weapons for a dozen men, a rich portion of
the fertile Plain of Ai, wine flowing for as long as you live,
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freedom from all taxes and tribute, gold and jewels beyond
your dreams, and my own daughter Finnabair as your
wife—plus my own friendly thighs on top of all that.”
“Those are fine gifts,” said Ferdia, “but you can keep
them. I will not fight Cú Chulainn.”
“Oh, really?” Medb said. “Then I suppose what Cú
Chulainn said was true.”
“What did he say?” asked Ferdia.
“He said that slaying you in battle would be no great
accomplishment,” Medb lied.
“He shouldn’t have said that,” answered Ferdia. “I am as
good a warrior as he is. I swear by the gods I will meet him
at the ford of battle in the morning.”
“You have my blessing,” said Medb with a smile, “and
all that I promised will be yours. Now go and prepare for
battle.”
Ferdia went to the ford where Cú Chulainn was waiting
for him.
“I have no wish to harm you, my brother,” said Cú
Chulainn. “It would be better if you returned to Medb and
the Connachtmen without facing me in a fight.”
“I cannot return to them without fighting you, my
brother” Ferdia said. “Either you will die or I must fall.”
“So be it,” said Cú Chulainn. “The choice of weapons is
yours.”
“Do you remember when we learned from Scáthach in
Britain to throw short spears in battle?” asked Ferdia. “Let
us do that.”
And so the two of them fought all day with spears and
shields, but neither drew blood from the other. Then they
took long spears and battled, but neither Ferdia nor Cú
Chulainn was harmed, try as they might to kill each other.
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“It is growing dark, Cú Chulainn,” said Ferdia. “Let us

stop for the night and begin again at sunrise.”
They gave their spears and shields to their charioteers
and embraced each other. They ate together that night and
slept by the same fire in peace. The next morning they arose
ready to do battle once again.
“Your choice of weapons today,” said Ferdia.
“Then let us try our large stabbing spears this morning,”
said Cú Chulainn.
And so they passed the day in fierce combat with their
enormous spears. Soon both were landing wounds on the
other, but neither would yield. As the sun was setting, Cú
Chulainn spoke: “Let us cease fighting for the evening and
begin again tomorrow.”
“Agreed,” said Ferdia.
They passed that night together again and tended each
other’s wounds before falling asleep exhausted. The next day
they rose early and Cú Chulainn offered Ferdia his choice of
weapons.
“Our large swords today,” said Ferdia.
They took up their swords and shields facing each other
until the night, each wounding the other terribly. When
darkness fell they ceased from fighting, but each withdrew
to his own fire for the night.
The next morning both warriors were grim as they put
on their best armor and went to the ford to battle for the last
time. Ferdia used marvelous feats of war craft as he leapt
and danced, striking at Cú Chulainn. At last Cú Chulainn
went into his battle fury and grew in size until he was like
a giant. He called on his charioteer for the gae bolga, the
magical spear that none could resist. With a single throw
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Cú Chulainn sent the spear flying at Ferdia so that it went

straight through his body with its terrible barbs.
“That is enough, my brother,” Ferdia gasped. “You have
slain me.”
Cú Chulainn ran to him and held him in his arms.
When Ferdia breathed no more, Cú Chulainn laid him gen-
tly on the ground.
“Get up, Cú Chulainn,” said his charioteer Laeg. “The
men of Connacht will be here soon and will slay you in your
weakness.”
“What difference does that make?” asked the warrior.
“For I have slain my brother whom I loved.”
Cú Chulainn then began to sing a lament over Ferdia’s
body. In the morning, he arose at last and went back to
his camp.
T H E F I NA L BAT T L E
After the death of Ferdia, Cú Chulainn continued to fight

the warriors of Medb and Ailill as they took the stolen bull
back to Connacht, hoping to delay them in their retreat until
the men of Ulster had recovered from the curse of Macha.
But his wounds grew worse every day and he was exhausted
beyond measure. Even Cú Chulainn could not fight alone
forever.
At last the day came when the curse was lifted from
the Ulstermen. Conchobar the king gathered his warriors
together and marched west as fast as they could to overtake
the soldiers of Connacht and help Cú Chulainn. Hundreds
of the fiercest soldiers in Ireland advanced through the hills
90
and valleys to face their enemies. But Ailill and Medb were
not afraid.
“Let them come,” said Ailill. “We have warriors of our
own to meet them.”
When both armies met at last, they filled the plain with
hundreds of fires like the stars of the sky while they waited
for battle in the morning. The Mórrígan, the goddess of war,
came too and sang over the sleeping warriors:
Ravens tearing at the necks of men,

blood spurting, flesh hacked to pieces,
blades in bodies, the deeds of war.
Hail, men of Ulster, woe to Connacht.
Hail, men of Connacht, woe to Ulster.
Cú Chulainn lay by his fire as he heard the armies arrive for

battle. He tried to rise and help the Ulstermen, but he had
no strength left that night. All he could do was wait for the
battle to begin.
It was noon the next day before Cú Chulainn could
join his countrymen. By then the battle was raging with
unspeakable slaughter on both sides. Cú Chulainn found
Medb relieving herself away from her army, but he spared
her, not being a killer of women.
The battle began to turn at last against the Connachtmen,
but Medb and Ailill had already sent the stolen bull back to
Connacht. Fergus the exile of Ulster was bitter in blaming
the queen for the death and destruction of so many men, all
for the sake of her pride.
“We have followed the rump of a misguided woman,” he
said as the survivors marched home. “It serves us right. This
is what happens when a herd is led by a mare.”
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Cú Chulainn and the Ulstermen made a treaty with

Connacht and returned home in victory to Emain Macha,
but both sides had lost many men. For seven years thereafter
the kingdoms of Ulster and Connacht were at peace.
All that remained was the judging of the two bulls in
Connacht to see if Ailill or Medb now owned the finest ani-
mal. The bulls were brought together on the Plain of Ai at a
place known afterward as Tarbga, the Field of Bull Strife, to
be judged. The animals fought there all day, with neither the
Brown Bull of Medb nor the White Bull of Ailill able to gain
the advantage over the other.
At last at nightfall the Brown Bull pinned the horn of
the White Bull to the ground with his hoof and would not
let him rise. But then the Brown Bull was thrown back and
broke his leg while the White Bull had his horn torn away.
Both animals fought through the night in the darkness so
that none of the men could see what was happening.
Then, in the morning light, the men of Connacht saw
the Brown Bull heading west with the remains of the White
Bull hanging from his horns. Pieces of the slain bull fell
from the victor’s horn as he roamed throughout Connacht,
so that many places in the province were named for parts of
its body.
Ailill and Medb returned to their fort at Cruachan. They
had lost the war with Ulster, but Medb had won the contest
with her husband.
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5
✦
TALES FROM THE ULSTER CYCLE
THERE ARE MANY EARLY IRISH stories apart from the

Táin Bó Cuailnge that feature Ulster warriors such as Con
chobar, Fergus mac Roich, and Cú Chulainn. Ailill and
Medb are also regular actors in the conflicts between the
provinces of Ulster and Connacht. Some, such as the Story
of Mac Dá Thó’s Pig, are clearly meant to be humorous, while
others, such as the Death of Cú Chulainn, are poignant and
solemn. Together with the Táin, all these stories came to be
known as the Ulster Cycle.
T H E S T O R Y O F M A C DÁ T H Ó ’ S P I G
There was once a famous landowner in the province of

Leinster named Mac Dá Thó, the Son of the Two Mutes. All
of Ireland knew of his magnificent hound, so that every ruler
wanted the animal for himself. Messengers came to Mac Dá
Thó from Ailill and Medb in Connacht asking for the dog,
but at the same time messengers arrived at his home from
Conchobar of Ulster seeking the hound. Each promised
magnificent gifts in exchange for the dog Ailbe—threescore
hundred milk cows, along with chariots, horses, and the
friendship of a powerful kingdom.
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Tales from the U lster C ycle | 93
The messengers were taken to guest house of Mac Dá

Thó and made welcome while their host pondered what to
do. There were seven doors to the guest house and seven
cauldrons and seven fireplaces inside, each with a pig and
an ox cooking in them. The custom was that a man enter-
ing the guest house would thrust a flesh fork into the caul-
dron and whatever he brought out the first time was his to
eat. But if he brought out nothing, he received no second
chance.
Mac Dá Thó went to his room and fell into a great silence
for three days and nights, eating and drinking nothing. At
last his wife came to him and asked why he was so quiet.
“I will never open my heart to a woman,” he said, “any
more than I would trust my wealth to a slave.”
“Oh, really?” she replied. “It seems to me, my husband,
that you’re having no luck solving a problem. Perhaps a
woman can find an answer you cannot.”
Mac Dá Thó shrugged and began: “What should I do,
wife? If I don’t give the hound to Conchobar, his army will
come and ravage my land. But if I refuse Ailill and Medb,
they will do the same. I am doomed no matter what I decide.”
“Not so,” said his wife. “Give the dog to both Ulster and
Connacht. Let them come here to take it home and their
armies can destroy each other rather than you.”
This seemed a good idea to Mac Dá Thó, so he called the
messengers secretly in turn and told them he had decided
to give the hound to their masters. But they should come to
him personally with all their warriors to take it home.
And so the messengers returned to Ulster and Connacht
to report the happy news.
On the appointed day, the rulers and greatest warriors
of the two most powerful kingdoms of Ireland came to the
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home of Mac Dá Thó. He welcomed them and showed them

to his magnificent guest house.
Mac Dá Thó ordered his best pig killed for the feast. This
pig was so big that threescore milk cows had been feeding it
for seven years.
The roasted pig was brought to the great wooden table in
the guest house where Conchobar and his warriors, as well
as Ailill and Medb with their men, were all seated.
“How shall the pig be divided?” Ailill asked Conchobar.
While Conchobar considered this, Briccriu the trouble-
maker of Ulster spoke up: “The greatest warriors of Ireland
are at this feast, but it is only right that the best man of all
should plunge his knife first into the pig and take away the
choicest cut. Let those who think they are best tell of their
exploits to win this prize.”
The kings both agreed and so began the contest.
All the warriors of Ulster and Connacht stood and told
the assembled crowd of the men they had slain and the cattle
they had taken from their enemies. At last Cet mac Mágach,
a great warrior of Connacht, was the only one left standing.
“Let a man come forward better than me,” he said, “or
I will divide the pig.”
“Wait,” said Lóegaire of Ulster. “I am a better man than
you, Cet.”
“Is that so?” asked Cet. “Isn’t it a custom among your
tribe that on the day a youth takes up arms he meets the
enemy at your border? I was there that day and put a lance
through you, keeping your horse and chariot for myself. Sit
down, Lóegaire.”
And so he sat down.
“Wait,” said Óengus of Ulster as he stood. “Do not carve
the pig yet, Cet. I am a better warrior than you.”
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“Óengus,” said Cet, “isn’t your father called Lám Gabuid,

the Wailing Hand? Do you remember how he got that name?
Once when I invaded your western lands, many of your war-
riors came out to meet me, including your father. He threw
his lance at me, but I caught it and threw it back at him, cut-
ting off his hand. What makes you think his son can stand
up to me? I am going to carve the pig. Sit down, Óengus.”
“You shall not plunge your knife into that pig,” said
Éogan Mór of Ulster. “I am a greater warrior than you.”
“Don’t make me laugh,” said Cet. “Don’t you remember
when I came to your farm and took your cattle from you?
You chased after me and threw your spear into my shield,
but I pulled it out and cast it back at you so that it passed
through your head and came out your eye. You’ve seen the
world with a single eye ever since. Sit down, Éogan.”
“The pig is not yours yet,” said another Ulster warrior. “I
am a better man than you.”
“Munremar, is that you?” asked Cet. “Well, wasn’t it just
three days ago that I raided your lands and took away the
heads of three of your men along with the head of your own
son? Sit down, Munremar. It’s time to carve the pig.”
“Not yet,” said a gray and terrible warrior of Ulster
named Celtchair son of Uithechar.
“Celtchair,” said Cet, “do wait a moment before you try
to pound me to pieces. Wasn’t it not long ago that I came to
your house? The alarm was raised and you attacked me, but
I cast my spear into your loins and cut away the upper part
of your testicles, so that now you can’t get your wife preg-
nant or even piss straight any more. Sit down, Celtchair.”
“Don’t carve the pig yet, Cet,” said an Ulster warrior
named Mend. “I am a better man than you.”
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“Mend son of Sword Heel, isn’t it?” asked Cet. “I remem-

ber how your father got that name, since I was the one who
cut off his heel with my weapon and sent him limping away.
And he was a better man than his son. Sit down, Mend.”
“W-w-wait!” said Cumscraid the Stammerer, a warrior
of Ulster. “Do not carve the p-p-pig yet, Cet. I am a b-b-
better fighter than you.”
“Oh, my dear Cumscraid,” laughed Cet. “Don’t you
remember how you got your name? You tried to raid the bor-
derlands of Connacht, but I met you there and sent a spear
through your throat. Ever since no word comes rightly from
your lips. Sit down, Cumscraid.”
And so Cet made ready to carve the pig, since no more
Ulstermen rose up to challenge him. But then through the
door walked Conall Cernach—and a great shout arose from
the men of Ulster.
“Get away from the pig, Cet!” shouted Conall. “I swear
by the god my tribe swears by that I am a better man than
you. Since I first took up weapons, I have not passed a day
without killing a Connacht warrior or a night without plun-
dering your lands. Nor have I slept a single night without the
head of a slain Connacht fighter under my knee.”
“It is true,” said Cet as he put down his knife. “You are
a better man than I am, Conall. But if my brother Anluán
were here, he would challenge you, for he is a better warrior
than you.”
“Oh, but he is here,” said Conall.
Then the Ulsterman reached into the satchel on his belt
and pulled out the severed head of Anluán. He threw it at Cet
and covered the man’s chest with his own brother’s blood.
Then Conall went and sat before the pig and began to
carve it for himself. But the men of Connacht pelted him
97
with stones while the Ulster warriors protected him with

their shields. To the Connacht men he gave only a token
amount of the meat.
The warriors of Ailill and Medb rose in anger at their
meager share and attacked the men of Conchobar. Spears
were thrown and swords flashed throughout the hall until
there were bodies of men from both sides piled on the floor
as high as the roof beams and rivers of blood flowed through
the seven doors. Then the slaughter burst out of the hall and
spread to the yard.
At this point Mac Dá Thó came out with the hound
Ailbe and let him loose to see which side he would choose.
The animal chose Ulster and so began to attack the men of
Connacht.
Ailill and Medb jumped into their chariot and rushed
away from the fight in terror, but Ailbe chased after them.
Their charioteer struck the head from the hound with his
sword as they drove through what was thereafter known as
Mag nAilbe, the Plain of Ailbe.
Conchobar also fled the slaughter in his own chariot,
but another charioteer of Ailill named Fer Loga lay in wait
for him behind the heather. As the Ulster king passed by, Fer
Loga jumped into the chariot and seized him from behind
with his sword to his throat.
“You’re not going to escape so easily, Conchobar,” said
Fer Loga.
“Spare me,” said the king, “and I will grant you whatever
you wish.”
“I don’t want too much in exchange for your life,” said
Fer Loga. “Only that you take me as a guest to your fort at
Emain Macha and have your maidens sing ‘Fer Loga is my
darling’ to me every night for a year.”
98
And Conchobar agreed.

Thus every night for a year the maidens of Ulster gath-
ered before Fer Loga and sang love songs to him. At the end
of the year, Conchobar sent Fer Loga back to Connacht in
safety with gifts of horses and gold.
T H E C AT T L E R A I D OF F RÓE C H
There was once a young man named Fróech who was the
most handsome warrior in all of Ireland. His father was
Idath of Connacht, but his mother was Bé Find, a magical
woman of the Otherworld síd and sister of Bóand, a goddess
of the swift Boyne River. Fróech’s mother had given him
twelve white cows with red ears from the síd. Fróech was
rich and prosperous, but he had no wife.
Finnabair, the daughter of Ailill and Medb, heard stories
of Fróech and fell in love with him without ever seeing the
lad. When Fróech heard of this, he decided to go and speak
to the girl. His family told him to go first to his mother’s sis-
ter and ask for gifts so that he might present them to Ailill as
a bride price for his daughter.
Fróech went to Bóand and brought back fifty blue cloaks
and tunics with embroidery of gold, fifty silver shields with
golden rims, fifty candles with golden decorations, fifty spear
blades with precious stones that shone in the darkness like
the sun, fifty gray horses with golden bridles, seven hounds
on silver chains, shoes of bronze, seven horn blowers with
golden yellow hair, three fools with silver shields, and three
harpers in royal clothing.
Fróech and his company arrived at Cruachan, the fort
of Ailill and Medb, and were welcomed by the king and
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queen. There was such a crowd to see the arrivals that six-
teen men died of suffocation in the turmoil. Fróech and his
people were then shown to the guest house and feasted by
their hosts. Fróech brought forth his three harpers to play
and twelve men died of weeping and sorrow at their songs.
Fróech then stayed for a week at Cruachan and hunted with
Ailill and Medb every day.
But Fróech was anxious because during his time at
Cruachan he had not yet seen or talked with Finnabair. So
one morning he rose early and went down to the river to
bathe, hoping to see the girl there. Soon Finnabair and her
maidservant came to the water. Fróech took her hand and
greeted her: “Stay and talk with me, for it is for you I have
come to Cruachan.”
“You are most welcome here, Fróech,” said the princess.
“Will you come away with me?” he asked.
“Indeed, I will not,” she replied, “for I am the daughter
of a king and cannot elope with a man. But take this thumb
ring which my father gave me as a token of my love for you.
I will tell him I have lost it.”
And the two of them parted.
Later that day Ailill was talking with Medb.
“I fear that our daughter will run away with Fróech,”
said Ailill.
“It wouldn’t be a bad idea to give her to him,” said Medb,
“for he would bring many cattle to us as a bride price and go
with us on our raid against Ulster.”
Fróech entered the room and asked if he might speak
with them.
“Will you give me your daughter as my bride?” he asked.
“Indeed, I will,” said Ailill, “if you will pay the bride
price.”
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“Gladly,” said Fróech.

“Then the price is threescore dark gray horses with
golden bridles, twelve milk cows along with a white calf with
red ears with each cow, and yourself and your whole com-
pany to come with us to raid Ulster.”
“I swear by my shield and sword,” Fróech said, “that
I would not pay such a high price for Medb herself!”
And he stormed out of the room.
“Just as I had hoped,” said Ailill to Medb. “For if we had
given him the girl every king in Ireland would attack us out
of jealousy. I think it would be best to kill him now before he
tries something foolish.”
“That would be dishonorable,” said Medb.
“Then I will arrange it so that we don’t get the blame,”
said her husband.
Ailill, Medb, and Finnabair went out to hunt the next
day and invited Fróech to join them. At noon they were hot
and tired, so they went to bathe in the river. After Fróech
took off his clothes and went into the water, Ailill looked
through his bag and found the thumb ring he had given his
daughter.”
“Look at this, wife,” he said to Medb. “Do you recognize
this ring?”
“I do,” she replied.
In his anger Ailill threw the ring into the river. But
Fróech was watching him and saw a salmon leap into the air
and swallow the ring. Fróech quickly caught the salmon and
buried the fish in a hidden place on the riverbank.
After that Fróech was about to leave the water when
Ailill asked him to first bring him a branch with red berries
from a rowan tree on the opposite bank, which Fróech did.
As Finnabair watched him she thought she had never seen
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anyone so beautiful. His body was white, his hair was fair,
his eyes were blue, and his naked body was without blemish.
“Excellent berries,” said Ailill. “Bring us some more
from that other bank.”
And just as Ailill had intended, Fróech walked into a
deep pool in the center of the river where lived a monster.
There the creature seized him.
“Someone bring me a sword!” cried Fróech. But no man
dared to bring him a weapon for fear of Ailill and Medb.
Then Finnabair threw off her outer clothes and jumped into
the water with a sword. Her father threw a five-pointed spear
at her so that it tore her inner garments. Fróech caught the
spear and threw it back at Ailill so that it ripped through
his shirt. Finnabair gave Fróech the sword and after a great
battle he cut off the monster’s head. After that the place was
known as the Black Pool of Fróech.
Ailill and Medb returned to their fortress.
“We did a great evil against that man,” said Medb.
“Yes, but tomorrow the girl will die,” said her father.
When Fróech returned to Cruachan he was injured
badly from his fight with the monster and was near death.
Supper was made ready for him and he was bathed by a com-
pany of women. When he was carried to bed, the people of
Cruachan heard three fifties of women in scarlet mantles,
bright green head scarves, and silver bracelets weeping out-
side the walls of the fortress. When they were asked why
they were weeping, one of them replied: “Fróech son of Idath
is the favorite youth of all the síde of Ireland.”
Fróech then heard the sound of their lamenting and
asked to be carried outside. The weeping women gathered
about him and carried him into the síd of Cruachan, into the
land of the Otherworld.
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On the evening of the following day, the women carried

him from the síd and back to the fort of Cruachan. They left
him at the gate of the courtyard, healed of all his wounds.
Ailill and Medb welcomed Fróech and were in awe that
he had returned from the Otherworld safely. They held a great
feast for him that night. While he was seated at the table, he
called one of his men and gave him instructions: “Go to the
pool where I fought the monster yesterday and find the spot
where I entered the water. There is a salmon hidden there.
Take it to Finnabair and tell her to cook it. The thumb ring is
inside the fish. I expect she may need it later tonight.”
As the evening went on and everyone became drunk,
Ailill called for all his treasures to be brought to him that he
might show his great wealth to his guests.
“Finnabair,” said the king to his daughter, “bring me the
thumb ring I gave you so that I may show it to everyone.”
“I’m sorry, father,” she said, “but I’m afraid I lost it.”
“If you do not find it,” he replied, “then I swear by the
god my people swear by that you will die.”
The guests all cried out that the ring was not worth her
life and that he should spare the girl, but Ailill would not
change his mind.
“Father, if the ring is found and I give it to you,” she said,
“may I be released from my obligations to you as a daughter?
May I choose another man to watch over me?”
“If you give me that ring,” he answered, “you can go with
the stable boy for all I care.” For Ailill was sure the ring was
lost forever.
She called then for one of her maidservants to bring in
the salmon on a platter to the king. On top of the fish was
the thumb ring.
Ailill and Medb looked at the ring in wonder, then their
daughter rose and said to her father: “My lord, you have
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promised me the freedom to choose my own husband and so

I give myself to Fróech. There is no other man in the world
I would prefer to him.”
“Let it be done,” said Ailill. “Fróech, when you return
with your cattle as a bride price for my daughter, then you
may sleep with her.”
“I will do that,” said Fróech.
The next morning Fróech and his company left Cruachan
and went east to retrieve his cattle. But while he was on the
journey, a messenger arrived and said that his cattle had
been stolen. That night his mother came to him from the síd
and told him what had happened.
“The news is terrible,” she said. “Outlaws have seized
your cattle and family and have taken them far away beyond
the Alps. They are lost forever.”
“No,” said Fróech. “I have sworn that I would bring
those cattle to Ailill and I will.”
So Fróech set out to cross the sea with three times nine
men along with a falcon and a hound on a leash. As he was
passing through the province of Ulster, he met the great
warrior Conall Cernach and told him what had happened.
“A difficult task lies ahead of you,” said Conall.
“Help me then,” said Fróech.
“Gladly,” replied the Ulster warrior.
The company crossed the sea to Britain, then sailed to
France and journeyed many weeks until they reached the
Alps. There one day they saw a small woman herding sheep.
“Who are you?” asked the woman.
“We are men of Ireland,” said Fróech. “We come in
search of my stolen cattle.”
“My mother was from Ireland,” she replied. “I will
help you. But you must know that the men of this country
are grim and frightful warriors. They travel far and steal
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whatever they want. I have heard that they have your cattle.
The woman who tends them is from Ulster. Go and speak
with her. Perhaps she can help you. But beware, for a terrible
serpent guards those cattle now.”
Fróech and Conall went secretly to the cowherd and
spoke to her. Conall revealed that he too was from Ulster.
The woman was thrilled and threw her arms around him,
for it had been foretold that Conall of Ulster would destroy
the fortress of thieves.
“Let me go now,” said the woman. “It is time for me to
milk the cows. But I will leave the door to the fortress open.
When everyone is asleep, go inside the door and slay the ser-
pent if you can. But beware that many have died trying.”
When all was dark and everyone was asleep, Fróech and
Conall crept inside the fortress. They found the serpent and
were ready to do battle with it, but instead it leapt into the
bag Conall had on his belt. They then killed the thieves, res-
cued Fróech’s cattle, freed his family, and burned the for-
tress to the ground. After that, Conall released the serpent
from his bag and it went away from him, neither doing harm
to the other.
The Irish warriors drove the cattle back across Europe
to Ireland, where Fróech bade farewell to Conall and went to
Cruachan at last to join Ailill and Medb on their raid against
Ulster.
T H E D E S T R U C T I O N O F DÁ
D E R G A’ S H O S T E L
There was once a famous king over all of Ireland named

Eochaid Feidleach. Once when he was crossing the assembly
105
ground at Brí Léith he saw a young woman standing at the

edge of a well. Her hair was like burnished red gold and she
wore a cloak of green silk embroidered with gold, with clasps
of silver and gold above her breasts. Eochaid watched her as
she loosened her hair to wash it. Her hands were long and
white as snow, her teeth like pearls, her eyes like hyacinth,
her lips as red as rowan berries, and her two thighs sleek
and warm. She bore herself with the dignity of a queen, and
indeed to Eochaid it seemed she was the loveliest woman in
the world.
A desire for the woman seized him and he asked her if
she would sleep with him.
“That is why I have come here,” she said. “I am Étaín,
daughter of Etar, king of the horsemen from the Otherworld.
I was born in the síd twenty years ago. Kings and nobles
there have wooed me, but since I have been able to speak
I have loved you, Eochaid Feidleach.”
“I will never look upon another woman,” said Eochaid,
“and with you alone will I live the rest of my life.”
“I will have my proper bride price,” she said, “and then
my desire.”
“You shall have it,” Eochaid said.
The king paid her father the worth of seven slave women
and married her.
Étaín bore a daughter, also named Étaín, to her husband.
But Eochaid died and in time the younger Étaín was mar-
ried to Cormac, king of Ulster. She bore him only a single
daughter, though he desired a son. The younger Étaín went
to her mother for a magical porridge to help her bear a son,
but she had no other child.
“Your porridge has failed, mother,” she said. “I have only
a daughter.”
106
“No matter,” said her mother. “She will be pursued by

kings.”
Cormac divorced his wife because she was barren,
save for the single girl she had borne. In time, however, he
changed his mind and took her back again, but he desired to
kill their daughter. He gave the child to two slaves and
told them to throw her in a pit. But as they were about to
toss her in, she smiled and laughed at them. They were kind
of heart and could not kill her, so they took her to a king
named Eterscél, who raised her as his own daughter.
Eterscél built a fence of wickerwork around a hut with
no door and kept the girl there so that no one might see her.
Only a skylight in the roof gave her light. But one day years
later a young cowherd looked through the skylight and saw
the girl, who had grown into a beautiful young maiden. He
told King Cormac about the girl and her father sent a band
of warriors to bring her to him, for it had been prophesied
to him by the druids that an unknown woman would bear
him a son.
While young Étaín was in her hut the next morning, a
bird flew in the skylight. He shed his bird skin on the floor
and stood before her as a shining young man.
“The king’s men are coming for you,” he told her. “They
will destroy this house and bring you before the king. But
you will first become pregnant by me. In time you will bear
a son and name him Conaire.”
And so the bird man lay with her and she conceived a
child. After he left, the king’s men burst into the hut and
destroyed it, taking the girl back with them to Cormac. He
was struck so by her beauty that he immediately married
her, for he did not know she was his own daughter. Nine
months later, she bore a son and named him Conaire.
107
Conaire was fostered with three other boys named Fer

Le, Fer Gar, and Fer Rogain. Conaire had special gifts of
hearing, eyesight, and judgment, one of which he taught
to each of his foster brothers. The four shared everything,
dressed alike, and even had the same color horses.
One day King Eterscél died and a Bull Feast was held to
decide the next king. In this feast a bull would be slain and
cooked, then one chosen man would drink the broth. A spell
of truth was said over him in his bed and whoever he saw
in his dream would be the new king. If the sleeper lied, he
would perish.
That night the sleeper dreamed of a naked man passing
along the road of Tara with a stone in his sling.
At this time Conaire was on the plain of the River
Liffey hunting with his three foster brothers when he left
them and turned his chariot to Dublin. There he saw a flock
of white-speckled birds of great size and beauty. He pur-
sued them all the way to the sea, where the birds settled on
the waves. He rushed at them with his sling, but suddenly
they shed their bird skins and attacked him with spears
and swords. One of them, however, protected him and
spoke to him.
“I am Némglan, king of your father’s birds. Go now to
Tara, for there has been a Bull Feast there tonight. A naked
man passing there with a stone and sling shall be the new
king. You are that man.”
The bird king then taught Conaire what he must not do
as king.
“Your reign will be noble,” Némglan said, “but there are
nine gessa—prohibitions—on you.
“You must never harm a bird. You are forbidden to cast
your stones at birds, for we should be dear to you as family.
108
“You must never pass righthandwise like the sun around

the Hill of Tara or lefthandwise around the Plain of Brega
between the River Liffey and the River Boyne.
“You must not hunt the crooked beasts of Cerna.
“You must not be absent more than nine nights
from Tara.
“You must not spend the night in a house from which
the light of a fire is visible from outside.
“You must not allow three red men to go before you into
a red man’s house.
“You must not allow raiding in your lands during your
reign.
“You must not allow a lone man or woman to visit you
after sunset.
“And finally, you must not try to settle a quarrel between
two of your slaves.”
When he had said this, the bird king and his company
disappeared.
After this young Conaire shed his clothes and came near
to Tara. He saw noblemen on the road waiting for their new
king with fine clothing, for they had been told that a naked
man would rule over them. They put royal raiment on him
and sent him in a chariot to Tara.
But the people of Tara were not pleased.
“We were waiting for a king and we get a mere boy?”
they exclaimed. “This will not do!”
“My age is not important,” Conaire said. “I am young,
but generous, and I am of royal birth.”
And so the people of Tara welcomed him as king.
During the beginning of the reign of Conaire, all of
Ireland prospered. Ships brought goods from faraway lands,
pigs feasted on acorns up to a man’s knees every autumn, the
109
rivers were full of fish, the weather was fair and fine, and no
man slew another.
But Conaire’s three foster brothers were not pleased.
They were thieves and raiders by trade, as their father
and grandfather had been before them. Each year during
Conaire’s reign they stole a pig, an ox, and a cow from the
same farmer and beat him to within an inch of his life, just
to see if the king would punish them. Each year the poor
farmer would come to Conaire to seek justice, but the king
would send him away without hearing his complaint.
And so the foster brothers of Conaire grew bold and took
to marauding like wolves around Ireland with three times
fifty men. But they were captured by the men of Connacht
and taken before the king at Tara for judgment.
“Let the father of each outlaw slay his own son,” pro-
claimed Conaire, “but my foster brothers shall be spared.
I banish them from Ireland, but they may raid in Britain if
they wish.”
There was great anger at the king for this, but his
three foster brothers were released and traveled to Britain,
where they were joined by other outlaws from both Ireland
and Britain, including one-eyed Ingcél Cáech, the son of
the British king, and the exiled sons of Queen Medb, all
named Maine.
One day after this when Conaire was traveling along
with his friend Conall Cernach back to Tara through
Uisnech, the center of Ireland, the king and his men saw
war bands of naked men going to battle and burning all the
farms around him.
“What is this?” asked Conaire.
“Not hard to answer,” the people said. “The king’s law
has broken down and the land begins to burn.”
110
Conaire fled from there righthandwise around Tara and

lefthandwise around the Plain of Brega. He hunted beasts
along the way, but did not know that they were the beasts of
Cerna until the hunt had ended.
The night known as Samain had then arrived when the
boundary between the world of humans and the Otherworld
was easily broken.
“Where shall we go now?” Conaire asked his companion
Mac Cécht.
“Let us seek out a hostel to spend the night,” Mac Cécht
answered.
“I know a man of this land,” the king said. “Dá Derga the
Red of Leinster is his name. I have given him many gifts.”
“I know his house,” said Mac Cécht. “There are seven
doorways there and seven bedrooms between every two
doorways.”
Conaire turned to the hostel of Dá Derga along the Road
of Cuala, but as he rode he saw three horsemen going before
him. They each wore a red tunic and mantle. All three had
blazing red hair, carried red shields and spears, and rode red
horses.
“This cannot be,” said Conaire. “It is a geis of mine that
three red men cannot ride before me to the house of a red man.”
Conaire sent his son Le Fer Flaith after the red riders to
stop them by offering them gifts, but no matter how fast he
rode he could not catch them. Again he tried, shouting to
them, but they merely rode faster and sang to him:
We ride the steeds of the síd mounds,

from the Otherworld.
Though we were alive, now we are dead.
Death is coming
111
And then they passed out of sight.

When Conaire heard what the men sang, he was struck
with foreboding.
“Every geis I have is seizing me tonight.”
The king continued toward the hostel with his compan-
ions, but along the way he suddenly came upon a man on
the road with black hair, one hand, one eye, and one foot. He
carried on his back a squealing pig and was followed behind
by a hideous, dark woman with an enormous mouth.
“Welcome to you, dear friend Conaire,” said the stranger.
“Long has your coming been foretold.”
“Who welcomes me?” asked Conaire.
“I am Fer Caille, the Man of the Woods. I’ve brought
you a pig so you won’t go hungry tonight. My wife Cichuil
follows me.”
“Forgive me,” said Conaire. “Any other night I would
stop and feast with you, but I must be on my way.”
“Not to worry,” said the man. “We will follow you to the
place you go.”
Now at this time the marauding foster brothers of
Conaire had returned to Ireland from beyond the sea along
with countless other outlaws to raid and ravage the land of
the king. And it so happened that they landed that night on
the shore at the Hill of Howth, near the hostel of Dá Derga,
just as Conaire was approaching. They saw him coming in
the darkness, and so they waited until he entered the hostel.
“Welcome, Conaire,” said Dá Derga. “I would welcome
you even if you brought all the men of Ireland with you to
feast at my table.”
Conaire sat at the place of honor, near the three red men
who had preceded him and Fer Caille, who was still carrying
his pig on his back.
112
While the guests were seated, a lone woman came to the

door of the hostel after the sun had set and asked to be let in.
She wore a great gray mantle of wool on her shoulders and
her long hair was as black as night.
She leaned on the doorpost of the entryway and cast her
dark eye on the king and his men. She stood in the doorway
on one foot with one hand raised above her.
“Who are you?” asked Conaire fearfully.
“Some call me Cailb,” she answered, “but I have many
names.”
“Woman or phantom, whatever you are,” said Conaire,
“if you are a seer, tell us what fortune awaits us.”
She stared hard at the king.
“I see,” she chanted, “that no one of flesh will escape
this place tonight, except what the birds carry away in their
talons.”
“What do you want from me? “asked Conaire.
“A seat at your feast,” she replied.
“It is a geis of mine,” he said, “that I cannot allow a lone
person inside after the sun has set. You cannot enter.”
“Indeed,” she replied, “if you have no place for me at
your table, then the hospitality of the king has departed.”
“Wait,” said Conaire. “Though it bodes my destruction,
enter and join us.”
While the king and the other guests began the feast,
the foster brothers of Conaire and the other raiders arrived
outside Dá Derga’s hostel. Ingcél, the one-eyed son of the
king of Britain, was their leader. He had seven pupils in the
single eye on his forehead and from a far distance could see
Conaire seated on the champion’s throne in the hostel. Ingcél
was filled with a desire to slaughter the whole household. He
113
had killed his father and mother and all his brothers, so he
thought nothing of slaying the rightful king of Ireland.
Ingcél ordered his men to surround the hostel and attack.
The king heard the host outside and roused his warriors to
fight. The first to fall was Conaire’s fool, Lomna Drúth, who
had predicted his own death. The king and his men did
not wait inside for the marauders, but charged through the
doors and met them before the hostel.
The fighting was terrible, with hundreds slaughtered on
both sides. Three times the hostel was set on fire by the out-
laws and three times the fire was put out. The king was at the
front of the battle, killing many of the raiders with his own
sword as his men fell around him. At last a great thirst came
upon Conaire.
“Bring me a drink, Mac Cécht,” the king said to his com-
panion, “or I will surely perish.”
“There is nothing to be had, my lord,” he replied, “nei-
ther water nor wine.”
Then with his last ounce of strength, the king charged
the marauders. He fell to the ground in death, slain not by
the outlaws but by his consuming thirst. Two of the outlaws
cut off his head as a trophy, but Mac Cécht slew them and
retrieved Conaire’s head. The rest of the outlaws fled for
their lives.
Wounded, broken, and maimed, Mac Cécht lay on the
battlefield. But with the little strength he had left, he took
Conaire’s head, opened the mouth, and poured into it a cup
of water.
And the head of the king spoke:
A good man, Mac Cécht!

an excellent man, Mac Cécht!
114
He gives a drink to a king,

a worthy deed he does.
For three days Mac Cécht lay in the blood and gore outside
the hostel. At the end of the third day a woman passed by
and he called out to her. She was afraid to come near at first,
but he pledged that he would not harm her.
“Woman,” he said, “I don’t know if it is a fly, a gnat, or
an ant that gnaws at my wounds. I am too tired to move and
see. Tell me what it is.”
“It is a wolf,” she said. Then she grabbed the animal by
the tail and pulled it away from him.
“I swear by what my tribe swears,” Mac Cécht said, “it
seemed no bigger than an ant to me.”
He then seized the wolf by the throat and killed it with
a single blow to the head. Mac Cécht afterward carried the
body and head of Conaire back to Tara for a royal burial.
Now Conall Cernach had escaped from Dá Derga’s hos-
tel with three times fifty wounds through his shield arm.
He made his way wearily back to the home of his father.
“Have you any news of the king?” the old man asked.
“He is dead,” said Conall.
“I swear by the gods by whom the great tribe of Ulster
swears,” declared his father, “that it is cowardly for a man to
abandon his lord.”
“Look at my shield arm, father!” said Conall. “The sin-
ews barely hold it together. I fought for Conaire with all my
strength.”
“Aye, that arm did fight tonight,” said the old man.
“That it did,” said Conall. “And I lived. But there are
many men to whom this arm gave drinks of death this night
before Dá Derga’s hostel.”
115
AT H A I R N E A N D A M A I RG E N
There was once a famous blacksmith among the Ulstermen

named Eccet Salach. A son was born to him named
Amairgen. For fourteen years Amairgen did not speak a
word. The young man’s belly grew until it was the size of
a small house and snot ran from his nose without ceasing.
His skin was black and his feet had crooked toes. His eyes
were red and sunken, while his hair was rough and prickly.
His back was bony and his skin covered with scabs. He had
neglected to move for so long that his own excrement piled
up around him. His favorite foods were boiled curds, sea
salt, unripe berries, burnt ears of grain, bunches of garlic,
and nuts, which he played with on the floor.
Athairne, the chief poet of Ulster, one day sent his ser-
vant Greth to Eccet Salach the smith to order an axe. Greth
saw the monstrous figure of Amairgen sitting on the floor in
the house and was terrified. Eccet’s daughter was there alone
with the boy, looking after him.
Suddenly Amairgen spoke: “In n-ith Greth gruth?—Does
Greth eat curds?”
The boy repeated the words twice more and added: “A
fair bush, a foul bush, bunches of garlic, hollow of pine—In
n-ith Greth gruth?”
Greth ran away from the house as fast as he could and
returned to his master Athairne. He told the poet what the
boy had said.
Soon Eccet returned home and his daughter told him the
words her brother had spoken. Eccet knew immediately that
Athairne would come to kill Amairgen, for a boy who spoke
such perfect words of poetry after saying nothing for fourteen
years would certainly become the greatest poet in Ireland.
116
Eccet made a likeness of his son out of clay and put it

into the boy’s bed. Then Athairne and Greth came that night
and saw what they thought was the boy sleeping. Athairne
took his axe and brought it down on the head of the figure in
the bed. Then they fled from the house. There was an outcry
raised behind them.
Eccet and his men chased Athairne back to his fort
and captured the poet inside. The judges of the Ulstermen
decided that Athairne would have to pay Eccet the value
of seven slave women as restitution, along with the black-
smith’s own honor-price. In addition, Athairne would have
to take Amairgen as his apprentice and teach him the art
of poetry. Thus in time Amairgen became the chief poet of
Ulster.
BR ICCR IU ’S FE AST
Briccriu Poison Tongue of the Ulstermen decided once to

host a great feast for his tribe. He ordered a magnificent feast-
ing hall to be built that surpassed any dwelling in Ireland for
beauty and expense. Gold and silver decorations covered the
walls and a royal dining couch was set up in the front of
the house for Conchobar, the king of Ulster. Briccriu built a
chamber for himself looking down on the hall since he knew
the Ulstermen would never let him join them.
When Briccriu had finished the building, he fur-
nished it with beds and blankets, food and drink, and set
out for Emain Macha, the royal capital of Ulster, to invite
Conchobar and his nobles to his feast.
It happened that Briccriu arrived at Conchobar’s hall on
a day when all his warriors were gathered there. He was made
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welcome and addressed the assembly: “Men and women of

Ulster, come to my feasting hall to share a banquet with me.”
“Gladly,” said Conchobar, “if my people agree.”
“We do not!” shouted Fergus mac Roich. “If we accept
his invitation Briccriu will cause strife among us so that the
dead will outnumber the living.”
“If you don’t come,” said Briccriu, “I will stir up worse
trouble for you here. Warrior shall fight warrior, father
shall fight son, mother will quarrel with daughter, and the
breasts of women will strike against each other until they
are destroyed.”
“Let us take counsel together,” said Sencha, the wisest of
the Ulstermen.
The Ulstermen then decided to take hostages from
Briccriu to guarantee his good behavior while they feasted
at his hall. In addition, they would assign eight swordsmen
to remove him from his hall as soon as the feast was ready.
“To that,” said Briccriu, “I gladly agree.”
The king and men of Ulster set out at once for the feast
with Briccriu among them, with their ladies soon to follow.
The trickster couldn’t help but stir up strife on the way. He
approached Lóegaire Buadach the Victorious as they rode
along the path.
“Hail now, Lóegaire,” cried Briccriu. “It is an honor
to accompany such a fine man as yourself to my feast. I’ve
always thought you should claim the honor of being the
greatest of Ulster warriors. I wonder if you might take some
advice?”
“I will if it is good,” said Lóegaire.
“Then tonight at my feast,” said Briccriu, “claim the
champion’s portion of the meal for yourself. It is certain you
deserve it.”
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“I will do that,” said Lóegaire, “and men will die if they

stand in my way.”
Briccriu next went to Conall Cernach and said the
same. When Conall had agreed to seek the champion’s por-
tion, Briccriu went to Cú Chulainn to urge him to claim the
choicest portion of the meal.
“By the god of my tribe,” declared Cú Chulainn, “I will
do it. If any man stands in my way he will lose his head.”
The king and his company arrived at last at the house of
Briccriu and took their seats. Half of the hall was set aside
for Conchobar and his warriors, while the other half was
reserved for the wives of Ulster.
Briccriu spread a fabulous feast before them all, then was
ordered to leave. As he was passing out the door he turned
and said to the crowd: “Enjoy yourselves—and give the cham-
pion’s portion of the roasting pig to the hero you honor most.”
The charioteer of Lóegaire rose to claim the finest cut of
meat for his lord, but the charioteers of Conall Cernach and
Cú Chulainn did the same. A fight arose among the three
heroes with swords and shields that threatened to destroy
the feasting hall.
“Enough!” shouted Conchobar. “Sencha, you are wisest
of us all. What should we do?”
“Let us,” said Sencha, “divide the champion’s portion
among every warrior here in equal shares. When the feast is
done, let the three heroes travel to King Ailill in Connacht
to judge among them who is the greatest.”
This suggestion was acclaimed by all. Soon the meat was
apportioned to the banqueters and everyone was in high
spirits once again.
From outside the hall Briccriu saw what had hap-
pened and was furious that his plan had been ruined. But
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when he saw the ladies of Ulster approaching the feast,

he had an idea and ran to greet them before they reached
the door.
“Fedelm,” said Briccriu, “daughter of King Conocha,
wife of the glorious hero Lóegaire Buadach, welcome to
my hall. It is only right that you among the ladies of Ulster
should enter my hall first.”
After that Lendabair, wife of Conall Cernach, drew near.
“Greetings to you, radiant Lendabair,” said Briccriu,
“fairest of the women of Ulster and wife of our greatest hero.
You must enter the hall first.”
Then came forward Emer, the wife of Cú Chulainn.
“Hail to you, Emer of the Fair Hair,” said Briccriu. “As
the sun surpasses the stars of heaven, so do you outshine the
women of Ulster in beauty and wisdom. Of course, it is you
who must enter the hall first.”
As the three women drew near the door of Briccriu’s
house, they began to walk faster—and then they ran. They
lifted their dresses up above their thighs as they raced to
reach the entrance first. There was so much shouting and
commotion that the men inside the hall thought they were
being attacked by enemies. They sprang to arms and began
to swing their swords as they ran to the door.
“Stop!” shouted Sencha. “You fools are going to kill us
all. It is your wives at the door, stirred up, I would guess, by
the poison tongue of Briccriu. Shut the door, now.”
And so the guards closed and barred the doors against
the women outside.
Conchobar then declared that there would be a war of
words, not weapons, by the wives to see who might enter
first. The women took turns declaring why they were most
worthy to enter first. When they had finished, Lóegaire and
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Conall each rose up and declared his own wife the win-
ner. They knocked away two posts of the hall and let their
wives in through the holes. But Cú Chulainn simply lifted
up the side of the house to let Emer inside. The ground
shook and Briccriu along with his wife fell into the mud
with their dogs.
But it was still not decided who among the three heroes
was the greatest in Ulster. They went first to Connacht to
be judged by Ailill, but after many trials to test the heroes,
Lógaire and Conall Cernach would not accept Ailill’s judg-
ment that Cú Chulainn was the best of the three. After this
they went south to the wise and magical Cú Roí in Munster,
but he also decided for Cú Chulainn. The other two rejected
his decision as well, so that all three warriors started home
to Emain Macha with no one satisfied.
While Lóegaire, Conall Cernach, and Cú Chulainn were
journeying back to the Ulster capital at Emain Macha, the
rest of the warriors of Conchobar were gathering in the hall
of the king for a great feast. As they were eating and the wine
was flowing like water, suddenly a man entered the hall. He
was enormous in size and his appearance was ugly and hor-
rible to gaze at. About his shoulders he wore an old ox hide
and in his left arm was a club the size of a small tree. His eyes
were yellow and his fingers were as thick as another man’s
wrist. In his right hand was an axe larger than any man had
ever seen and so sharp that it would cut in half a hair the
wind blew against its blade.
Then the giant spoke: “Neither in Ireland nor in Britain
nor across the whole world have I found a man on my quest
who would play my contest fairly.”
“State your quest,” said Fergus mac Roich. “The men of
Ulster are known to be honorable above all others.”
121
“Then,” spoke the giant, “let one of you come forward so

that I may cut off his head tonight, then he may cut off mine
tomorrow.”
The warriors all shouted that this was absurd.
“Let me cut off your head,” laughed one called Fat Neck,
“then you can cut off mine tomorrow.”
“That is not my bargain,” said the giant. “But if there is
no man brave enough to meet my terms, then I will do as
you say. But whoever cuts off my head must swear to let me
cut off his tomorrow.”
“Fine,” said Fat Neck. “I swear that if you survive, you
may cut off my head tomorrow.”
All the warriors mocked the giant as a fool and cheered
as Fat Neck took his axe from him. The giant then lay his
head on the chopping block. Fat Neck brought down the axe
so hard that the giant’s head was completely severed from
his body and blood spilled across the hall.
The warriors all shouted in triumph—but then the giant
rose up, lifted his bloody head, and walked silently out of the
hut. Conchobar and his men stared in disbelief, but none
more so than Fat Neck.
The next evening, the giant, with his head back on his
body, returned to the king’s hall and demanded that Fat
Neck fulfill his bargain.
“No!” he shouted in fear. “It was a trick. I cannot keep
my word.”
“This is shameful!” shouted Lóegaire, who had returned
to the feasting hall that night with Conall Cernach and Cú
Chulainn. “I will let you cut off my head tomorrow if I may
cut off yours tonight.”
And so Lóegaire decapitated the giant. But when the
man returned the next evening, Lóegaire ran away. Conall
122
Cernach rose and likewise pledged to let the giant cut off his
head tomorrow if he would let him sever his that night. But
when the giant agreed and the deed was done, Conall hid in
his own home the next night.
On the fourth night the giant returned and was
furious.
“You cowards!” he declared. “You think you are so brave
and you fight to claim the hero’s portion of a feast, but you
break your word and run away like children. Even you, Cú
Chulainn, are afraid to die.”
With that Cú Chulainn sprang toward him and grabbed
the axe from his hand. The young warrior cut off the giant’s
head with a single stroke. The giant arose, took up his head,
and walked away.
The next night Cú Chulainn returned to the hall to face
the giant. The men and women of Ulster sang a lamentation
for him. Some of the warriors urged him to run away.
“I would rather die,” said Cú Chulainn, “than live in
dishonor.”
It was then that the giant entered the hall.
“Where is Cú Chulainn?” he asked.
“I am here,” said the warrior.
“Your voice is quaking tonight,” said the giant, smiling.
“Are you afraid to die?”
Cú Chulainn went in silence to the chopping block and
laid his neck across it.
“Stretch out your neck, boy,” said the giant. “I want to
get a clean cut.”
“Why do you torment me?” asked Cú Chulainn. “I have
kept my word. Do what you will do quickly.”
The giant raised his axe until it reached the roof beams
of the feasting hall, then waited. At last, he brought it down
123
to Cú Chulainn’s neck— but the axe was turned to the

blunt side.
The giant laughed and threw back his cloak, revealing
himself as Cú Roí, the man to whom the three heroes had
gone to be judged.
“Cú Chulainn,” he declared, “of all the warriors of
Ulster and Ireland, none has been found who can compare
with you in courage and honor. You are the greatest hero
of Ireland.”
And from that day forward, all the Ulstermen agreed
that Cú Chulainn should receive the champion’s portion at
every feast.
T H E I N T OX IC AT ION OF
THE ULSTERMEN
When the sons of Míl came from Spain to Ireland, they

defeated the magical tribe of the Tuatha Dé Danann. The
bard Amairgen then divided Ireland in two, so that the sons
of Míl received the portion above ground and the Tuatha
Dé ruled beneath the earth. The Tuatha Dé went into the síd
mounds of Ireland, but they left behind five of their tribe in
each province to stir up trouble. In the days of Conchobar,
the Tuatha Dé in the land of Ulster divided the province
into three parts. One part they gave to Conchobar to rule,
one part to the prince Fintan mac Néill, and the third to Cú
Chulainn.
For a year the province of Ulster was divided this way,
then on Samain, Conchobar held a great feast at Emain
Macha. He set out one hundred vats of ale and invited every-
one to join him at his hall, including Fintan and Cú Chulainn.
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Sencha the Wise welcomed both men to Conchobar’s home

and asked a favor of them in exchange for his lord’s hospi-
tality. His request was that they give Conchobar the rule of
their thirds of Ulster for a year. Both men agreed and joined
the feast.
At the end of the year, there was such prosperity
throughout Ulster that Fintan and Cú Chulainn agreed to
let Conchobar henceforth rule the whole province as king.
Both warriors decided to hold a feast for Conchobar and his
men at their homes to celebrate the new reign, but by chance
they chose the same nights for their feasts. The two arrived
at Emain Macha at the same time to invite the king to their
halls and neither, because of their pride, would change his
plans. They were about to come to blows when Conchobar’s
counselor Sencha intervened:
“Let us spend the first half of the night with Fintan and
the latter half with Cú Chulainn.”
This plan seemed good to everyone, and so the feasts
were prepared. All the warriors, wives, and servants of Ulster
went that night first to the feasting hall of Fintan. Abundant
food and drink was laid out on the tables, music filled the
air, and songs of praise resounded through the hall. Soon the
whole crowd was roaring drunk.
Midway through the night, Cú Chulainn rose and bade
all present to follow him to his feasting hall. Stumbling and
groggy with ale, the nobility made their way to their chariots
and set off with Cú Chulainn leading the way.
Over hills and through valleys the drunken procession
traveled through the darkness. Soon, however, they realized
that they were lost. To make matters worse, a heavy snow
began to fall that covered all the familiar landmarks.
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“Lóeg,” Cú Chulainn said to his charioteer at last,

“Where on earth are we?”
“I have no idea, my lord,” he said, “but I don’t think
we’re in Ulster anymore.”
“This looks,” said Cú Chulainn, “like the province of
Munster and the land of Cú Roí. The fort of Temair Luachra
is nearby. Let’s make our camp there.”
Now it happened that on that very night King Ailill and
Queen Medb of Connacht had traveled to Munster to the
lands of Cú Roí so that he might be foster father to their new
son. They had all gathered by chance at Temair Luachra for a
feast, along with Cú Roí and many nobles from the province
of Munster. Two druids stood guard on the walls of the fort
and saw the host of Ulster nearing.
“Are those birds approaching?” asked one of the druids.
“No, you fool, those are deer—or maybe cattle,” said
the other.
“I’m not sure,” said the first. “I think they might be men.”
They argued for a long time until at last they went into
the feasting hall and told the lords and ladies gathered there
what they had seen.
“You idiots,” said Queen Medb, “those are the Ulstermen.
Come, let us welcome them. This is an opportunity to destroy
them that we cannot let pass.”
The company rose and welcomed Cú Chulainn,
Conchobar, and the nobles of Ulster to Temair Luachra.
They were led to the largest and finest building in the settle-
ment—a house made of iron. Servants lit a fire for them and
brought in the finest food and drink. As the night drew on,
the servants of Medb stole away one by one and finally shut
the door behind them.
126
The Ulstermen were drunk or asleep when chains were

put on the door. Seven chains of new iron were made fast on
the entrance to the hall and seven stone pillars were placed
against the door. Then three times fifty smiths came forth
and built a fire surrounding the house. With bellows they
stoked the fire until it was blazing hot. A shout from the host
outside stirred the Ulstermen—and then they realized they
were trapped.
“Cú Chulainn,” shouted Briccriu over the roar of the
flames, “you have led us into a cage to be destroyed by our
enemies!”
The Ulstermen threw themselves against the door,
but it would not budge. At last Cú Chulainn kicked a hole
in the door with all his might. But before the Ulstermen
could escape, the warriors of Munster charged through the
entrance and attacked them. Trapped and outnumbered, the
men of Ulster picked up the edge of the iron house and over-
turned it on their enemies, killing three hundred of them.
The battle that followed lasted through the next day, until
Cú Chulainn broke through the lines with the surviving
Ulster warriors and left Temair Luachra far behind. At last
they went to the fort of Cú Chulainn and stayed there forty
days, feasting and honoring Conchobar as king.
T H E WA S T I N G S I C K N E S S O F C Ú
C H U L A I N N A N D T H E O N LY
JE A LOUSY OF E M ER
Each year the nobles of Ulster held a festival for seven days
on Samain, at the beginning of winter. The celebration
would be full of feasting and entertainment for all. There
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was also a chance for each warrior to rise and boast of his
brave deeds against the enemies of Ulster. These men would
collect the tongues of their slain foes in a bag to show the
crowd, though some were known to include cow tongues to
raise their count.
On this Samain, everyone in Ulster had gathered
together except the warriors Conall Cernach and Fergus
mac Roich. The assembled crowd wanted to begin the fes-
tival without them, but Cú Chulainn would not allow it, for
Conall was his foster brother and Fergus his foster father.
While they were entertaining themselves and waiting
for the two men, a flock of birds settled on the lake near
them. No one had ever seen birds so beautiful, so that all
the women of Ulster wanted their feathers to decorate their
clothing, hoping that this might make Cú Chulainn notice
them more. One of the women went and asked Cú Chulainn
to kill the birds for them.
“Have I nothing better to do than chase birds for the
preening wives of Ulster?” he asked.
“It’s your fault,” she replied. “They all want to look beau-
tiful for you.”
“Yoke the chariot, Lóeg,” he said with a sigh. “We’re
going to hunt birds.”
Cú Chulainn set out after the flock and killed them all
quickly. He then gave a pair to each woman, but he came to
his wife Emer last and had no birds left to give her.
“I’m sorry, my love,” he said. “Are you angry?”
“No,” said Emer. “After all, it was for love of my husband
that the birds were given away. Every woman of Ulster gives
you a share of her love, but my love is for you alone.”
“Don’t worry,” said Cú Chulainn. “The next pair of
beautiful birds that come near I will give to you.”
128
Not long afterwards, the people of Ulster saw two gor-

geous birds bound by a golden chain flying over the lake.
The pair sang a beautiful song and sleep fell upon everyone
there except Cú Chulainn and Emer.
“I will get those birds for you,” said Cú Chulainn.
“No, please,” she replied. “Those birds have some kind of
magic. There will be other birds.”
“I will not be denied,” he answered. He then ordered
Lóeg to ready for the hunt.
Cú Chulainn chased the birds in his chariot and cast a
stone at them from his sling, but he missed. He cast a second
stone but missed with that as well. When he threw his spear,
it only grazed the wing of one of the birds.
“I am doomed,” he said to his charioteer. “For since
I took up arms I have never missed my target.”
Cú Chulainn walked away from the lake in anger and
sat down with his back against a standing stone. Suddenly
sleep overcame him and he saw two women approaching.
One wore a green cloak and the other a red cloak. They
smiled at him and began to beat him with a horsewhip. They
struck him so hard and so long that there was scarcely any
life left in him. Then they went away.
The Ulstermen came near while he slept and saw that he
was in a terrible state. They started to wake him, but Fergus
mac Roich said to not disturb him, for it was clear he was
having a vision.
When Cú Chulainn awoke at last, he was unable to speak.
He was taken to An Téte Brec, the Place of the Twinkling
Hoard, and put in a sickbed. For a year he lay there on the
edge of death without speaking to anyone.
At the end of the year when the festival of Samain had
come again, the Ulstermen were gathered together and
129
came to the bed of Cú Chulainn. Fergus was sitting by the

wall, Conall Cernach by the bed, Lugaid Réoderg by his pil-
low, and Emer at his feet. As they sat there, a man entered
the house.
“Who are you and what do you want?” asked Conall.
“I am Óengus son of Áed Abrat. I have come to speak
to the man lying there,” said the stranger. Then he began
to sing:
Cú Chulainn, sick as you are,

they will help you.
Standing beside Labraid Lúathlám,
Lí Ban has spoken.
She says Fand wishes to lie with you
and that were you to come to her land,
he would have gold and silver.
Lí Ban will come to you when you wake.
Suddenly Cú Chulainn sat up in bed.

“It’s about time,” said the Ulstermen gathered there.
“What has happened to you?”
“I had a vision last year at Samain,” he said. Then he told
them what he had seen.
“You must go back to that stone,” they said.
Cú Chulainn left the hut and walked until he reached
the standing stone. There he saw the woman in the green
cloak from his dream.
“This is good,” said the woman.
“It wasn’t so good for me last year,” he replied.
“We didn’t come here last Samain to harm you,” she
said, “but to seek your friendship. I have come here again
from the Otherworld to speak with you about Fand, the
130
daughter of Áed Abrat and wife of Manannán son of Ler.

Manannán has left her and now she desires you. My name
is Lí Ban and I bear a message from my husband, Labraid
Lúathlám. He will send Fand to you if you will come to
him in our world and battle for a single day against his
three enemies: Senach Síaborthe, Echu Íuil, and Éogan
Indber.”
“I am in no shape to fight anyone,” said Cú Chulainn.
“I’ll send my charioteer Lóeg to you instead to see what is
happening there.”
Then Cú Chulainn returned to his bed.
And so Lí Ban took Lóeg into her land to see Fand. They
came to the side of a lake facing an island. There they saw a
bronze boat coming toward them. They entered the boat and
went to the island, where they found a doorway. Lí Ban led
Lóeg inside, where they found three fifties of couches with
three fifties of women lying on them. He went into a cham-
ber apart from it and was welcomed by Fand, who was the
most beautiful woman Lóeg had ever seen.
As they stood in the chamber, they heard the sound of
Labraid’s chariot coming near. Battle-scarred and silent he
was, but Lí Ban welcomed him. She presented Lóeg to him
and told how Cú Chulainn would soon come to fight their
enemies. Labraid was relieved and sent Lóeg back to his
world to fetch Cú Chulainn as soon as he could.
And so Lóeg went back to Ulster and told Cú Chulainn
all that he had seen.
Cú Chulainn sent Lóeg to Emer to tell her what had
happened, but she rebuked him for not bringing back a
cure for his lord from the Otherworld. She then went to Cú
Chulainn and rebuked him for lying in bed weakened by the
love of women when he had the power to raise himself. Cú
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Chulainn sighed and passed his hand over his face. In an

instant he was healed and got out of bed.
He went to the standing stone and saw Lí Ban approaching.
“Where does your husband Labraid dwell?” he asked.
“Come and see,” she replied, “for Fand is waiting for you
and the battle is this very day.”
Then Cú Chulainn went with Lóeg and Lí Ban to the
Otherworld.
Labraid was waiting there ready for battle and welcomed
Cú Chulainn. He showed him the enemy arranged on the
plain before them, an innumerable host armed for war.
Cú Chulainn joined in battle with the enemies of Labraid
and routed the entire host, killing many of them in his rage.
He was so overcome with his battle fury that when he returned
to Labraid, Lóeg told them to throw him in three vats of cold
water. They did so and the first vat boiled over, the second
became too hot to touch, and the third only grew warm.
Cú Chulainn stayed with Fand for a month and slept
with her. At the end of that time he bade her farewell. But
he arranged to meet her again in his world at a secret place.
Emer welcomed Cú Chulainn back—but there are no
secrets from women. She learned of Fand and the secret
place of rendezvous Cú Chulainn had arranged. When the
day of their meeting came, she went there with fifty of her
women armed with very sharp knives.
Cú Chulainn was there resting after making love
with Fand.
“Look behind you,” said Fand. “There are many clever
and able women coming with sharp knives in their hands
and gold on their breasts. Your wife Emer is their leader.”
“Do not worry,” said Cú Chulainn. “I will speak to her so
that no harm will come to you.”
132
He went to Emer and pleaded with her. “My dear,” he

said, “please put down your weapons. I cannot fight with
your, the woman I love.”
“If you love me so,” she replied, “why have you dishon-
ored me before the women of Ireland? If you are planning to
leave me for her, you might not succeed.”
“Emer, why can’t I be with Fand as well as you?” Cú
Chulainn asked. “She is pure and modest, beautiful and
clever, and a woman truly worthy of a king. She lacks noth-
ing a man could want. And if you leave me, you won’t find
another man as handsome and brave as I am.”
“Perhaps,” said Emer, “you will find in time that this
woman is no better than me. What’s new is bright, while
familiar things seem dull. The unknown is honored, the
known neglected. We were happy once, you and I. We could
be again if I still pleased you.”
“Emer, my love,” he said, “by my word, you do please me
still and will as long as you live.”
“Cú Chulainn,” said Fand, “you should be with Emer
and leave me behind.”
“No,” said Emer, “Fand is a worthy woman. You should
leave me.”
“Not so,” said Fand, and she began to cry:
Emer, this man is yours.

Good woman, may you enjoy life with him.
But what I cannot hold in my arms,
I can still desire.
Manannán, the husband who had left her, came then

and stood before her, but only Fand could see him.
133
“Well, woman,” he said, “what will you do? Will you stay
with Cú Chulainn or come with me?”
“In truth,” she said, “I would prefer Cú Chulainn, but he
loves another. I will go with you.”
Manannán then took his cloak and shook it between Cú
Chulainn and Fand, so that they might never meet again.
And so Fand left Cú Chulainn behind.
When he realized that Fand was gone, Cú Chulainn ran
away to the mountains in his grief. He neither ate nor drank,
but slept each night without shelter in the cold.
Emer went to Conchobar and told him of Cú Chulainn’s
suffering. The king sent warriors to bind him in his sorrow
and bring him home. The druids of Conchobar chanted
over him and gave him a drink of forgetfulness. When he
had tasted it, he forgot about Fand. Then Emer took the
cup and drank deeply so that she might also forget her pain
forever.
T H E DE AT H OF C Ú C H U L A I N N
The warrior Lugaid mac Con Roí had always hated Cú

Chulainn because the hero had slept with his mother
Bláithíne. Many times he had tried to kill him, but had
always failed.
One day Lugaid gathered his men near Emain Macha
to lure Cú Chulainn from the fort with magic. His druids
caused a great cloud of magical smoke to fall on the Ulster
capital so that the weapons of those inside were useless. Cú
Chulainn knew then that he would have to go forth and
defend his tribe no matter the cost.
134
Niam, the wife of Conall Cernach, tried to dissuade him

from going, along with all the other women of Ulster, but he
would not relent.
“Woman,” he said, “I know I am doomed, but my honor
is at stake. I am not afraid of death.”
Cú Chulainn ordered his charioteer Lóeg to make ready
for battle. He then leapt into his chariot with his weap-
ons and set forth from Emain Macha. But as he went, one
of his chariot horses turned to the left three times, for the
Mórrígan, the goddess of war, had broken the chariot the
night before to keep Cú Chulainn from going forth, for she
knew he would die. But Cú Chulainn did not turn back.
As he drove across the plain, he came upon three
witches, each blind in the left eye, beside the road. They were
roasting a small dog on a spit of holly. It was a geis of Cú
Chulainn that he could not pass a cooking fire without eat-
ing something from it, but it was also a geis to him that he
could not eat the flesh of a dog, his own namesake.
“Stop and visit with us,” said one of the witches.
“I cannot,” said Cú Chulainn.
“We are roasting a little cú—a hound—for you, Cú
Chulainn,” she said. “You must take it.”
Cú Chulainn then stopped and the witch gave him the
dog’s shoulder. He took it in his hand and hid it under his
left thigh, but from that point on he lost the strength in that
hand and thigh.
Cú Chulainn continued down the road until he came
to the army of Lugaid. There was a great battle there and Cú
Chulainn slew many men. But Lugaid took one of his three
spears and cast it at his chariot, striking his charioteer Lóeg
so that he fell dead on the floor. Cú Chulainn drew out the
spear and laid his friend on the ground.
135
“Now I am both warrior and charioteer,” he said.

One of Lugaid’s men, Erc son of Cairpre, took the second
spear and threw it at Cú Chulainn’s chariot as he charged,
but it struck and wounded Liath Macha, his favorite horse.
Cú Chulainn drew it out and released the beloved steed from
the yoke. He then put the yoke on himself to pull the chariot
and charged forward.
Lugaid took his third spear and cast it with all his might
at Cú Chulainn, so that it struck him and the entrails of the
Ulster warrior spilled out of him. He came to a stop in the
middle of the plain, wounded beyond hope of living.
Lugaid and his men gathered around Cú Chulainn for
the kill.
“Let me first,” gasped Cú Chulainn, “go to that lake for
a drink of water.”
“You have my leave,” said Lugaid, “if you promise to
return to us.”
“If I cannot come,” said Cú Chulainn, “I will call you
to me.”
Cú Chulainn made his way slowly to the lake, pressing
his hand on his belly to hold his entrails in. He then drank
and bathed his wounds as best he could, but he did not have
the strength to return to Lugaid and his men. Instead, he
crawled to a stone pillar and strapped himself to it with his
belt so that he might die standing up. Holding his sword in
his hand, he called to his foes to come and face him.
Lugaid and his men came, but they were afraid to come
close even as Cú Chulainn was drawing his final breath.
When at last he died, a crow came and sat on his shoulder.
Lugaid approached him, then with sword raised struck
off Cú Chulainn’s head. But Cú Chulainn’s sword fell from
his lifeless hand and severed Lugaid’s arm.
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Conall Cernach and Cú Chulainn had each sworn to

avenge the other if he were slain, so the Ulster warrior came
looking for Lugaid when he heard of Cú Chulainn’s death.
Conall found Lugaid on the plain, sitting by his chariot.
“You have slain my friend,” said Conall. “It is time for
you to die.”
“I will fight you,” replied Lugaid, “but I have only one
arm. Bind yours behind you so that it will be a fair contest.”
“Done,” said Conall. And the two began to battle with
swords.
Neither man could gain the advantage, so Conall sig-
naled to his warhorse Derg Drúchtach. The horse came up
behind Lugaid and took a bite out of his side so that his
entrails spilled about his feet.
“Unfair!” cried Lugaid.
“Not so,” said Conall. “I promised you only a fair fight
with me. I said nothing about animals.”
With that Conall Cernach struck off the head of Lugaid.
He fixed the head upon a pole and it was forgotten there.
When Conall returned to Emain Macha, there was
great mourning for Cú Chulainn. Some say the spirit of Cú
Chulainn appeared in the air above the fort in a phantom
chariot, chanting to them as he rode into the heavens.
Liath Macha, the wounded horse of Cú Chulainn, made
his way back to the home of Cú Chulainn and found Emer,
the slain hero’s wife, crying there. The horse walked three
times sun-wise around her and laid his head in her lap,
yielding his final breath to her.
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6
✦
STORIES OF THE IRISH
OTHERWORLD
THE CELTIC OTHERWORLD IS A strange and supernatural

place of gods and spirits. Sometimes it is identified as the
bountiful land of the dead, but more often it exists as a par-
allel world alongside our own that mortals enter at their own
peril if not invited by those who dwell there. In Irish tradi-
tion, the doorway to the Otherworld is often a síd (plural
síde), one of the many pre-Celtic burial mounds throughout
the island that became an integral part of Irish mythology.
At other times the entry to the Otherworld can be found
in caves or beneath lakes or by sailing to distant islands in
the western sea. But however mortals enter this realm, they
must beware, as time and space do not function the same
as in the human world, sometimes with disastrous conse-
quences for those who try to leave.
T H E A DV E N T U R E OF N E R A
One night at the autumn festival of Samain, Ailill and Medb

of Connacht were gathered together with all their warriors
in their fort at Cruachan. They had hanged two prisoners
138
the day before and were now sitting about a boiling cauldron
full of meat waiting for dinner to be ready.
While they were waiting and drinking, Ailill arose and
challenged his men:
“Whoever among you ties a supple twig around the foot
of one of the dead prisoners on the gallows will have what-
ever he wishes from me as a reward, even my gold-hilted
sword.”
Samain was a fearful night for even the bravest of war-
riors, for horror and spirits roamed throughout the land.
Each of the men rose in turn and said he would take the
risk—but each returned to the safety of the hall before mak-
ing it to the gallows.
“I will go out,” said the young warrior Nera, “and win
that reward.”
Then Nera left the hall and made his way through the
darkness to where the bodies of the prisoners were hanging.
Three times he tied a supple twig around the foot of one of
the prisoners, but each time it came off.
“You have to put a special spike into the twig,” said the
dead prisoner, “otherwise it won’t hold.”
So Nera put a spike into it.
“Well done, Nera,” said the prisoner. “Now by your
honor as a warrior, would you do me a favor? I was terribly
thirsty when I died. Would you carry me to get a drink?”
“Of course,” replied the young warrior.
Nera carried the man on his back to the nearest house.
But there was a lake of fire surrounding that place.
“My drink is not here,” said the prisoner. “The hearth is
always raked in this house. Move on to the next.”
Nera carried him to the second house, but there was a
lake of water around it.
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S tories of the I rish O therworld | 139
“Do not go to that house,” said the prisoner. “There is

never any water left in the tub there after washing and bath-
ing. Move on to the next.”
When they reached the third house, the prisoner entered
and took a drink from each of the tubs there that had left-
over water. Then he spat a mouthful at the faces of the people
who lived there so that they died. This is why it is not good to
leave water from washing or bathing in a tub after washing
or to leave a hearth fire that has not been raked.
Nera then took the dead man back to the gallows. But as
he returned to the hall of Ailill and Medb, he saw a strange
thing—the fort of Cruachan was on fire and the heads of all
inside had been heaped into a pile by enemy warriors.
And so Nera followed the warriors who had killed his
people into the cave of Cruachan.
But as the troop entered the síd, one of them said, “There
is a human with us.”
“Yes,” said another, “I can feel his heaviness.”
They passed the news down the line of marching war-
riors until they all knew that Nera was among them.
When they reached the hall of the king of the síd, the
ruler called Nera forward.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“I came with your army,” said Nera.
“Go to that nearby house,” said the king. “A woman lives
there alone. Tell her I have sent you to stay with her. In pay-
ment for my kindness, you are to bring me a bundle of fire-
wood here every day.”
Nera went to the house and told the woman what the
king had said. She welcomed him there.
For three days as Nera carried his bundle of wood to the
king’s hall, he saw a blind man with a lame man on his back
140
coming out of the royal house. They would go to the edge of

a spring in front of the house and stop.
“Is it still there?” asked the blind man.
“It is indeed,” answered the lame man. “Let us go back.”
Nera asked the woman he was staying with why the two
men went to the spring every day.
“They do so,” she said, “to see Brión’s crown, which is in
the spring. It is a golden diadem that belongs to the king.”
“Why do those two go there?” Nera asked.
“The king appointed them to do so,” she answered.
“He blinded one and made the other lame so they could be
trusted to carry out this task.”
Nera pondered this, then continued to question her.
“When I came into this síd,” he said, “I saw the fort of
Cruachan burning and all its people slain. How did this
happen?”
“What you saw,” she said, “was a vision of the future. But
it will come to pass unless you warn your people. Go now and
tell them. They are still gathered around the hearth fire and
it is still Samain evening there. My king will send his men to
destroy them, for it has been foretold that Ailill and Medb
will ravage our síd and carry off Brión’s crown.”
“But,” asked Nera, “how will I convince them that I have
gone into the Otherworld?”
“Bring with you the fruit and flowers of summer,” she
answered. And she gave him wild garlic, primroses, and
buttercups.
“Send me warning,” she told Nera, “when the Connacht
warriors are coming to destroy the síd. For I am pregnant
and will bear you a son. I will tell my king that you are sick
and will take him the firewood myself every day.”
141
Then Nera went back to Cruachan and found his people

still sitting around the fire waiting for him, as if no time had
passed at all. He told Ailill and Medb all that he had seen
and heard, and showed them the fruit and flowers as proof
that he had been to the Otherworld.
Nera remained at the court of Ailill and Medb for
a whole year, until the next Samain festival. Then Ailill
sent him back to the síd to fetch his wife, son, and all that
belonged to him. When he arrived there, she welcomed him.
“Here is your son,” she said. “Now go to the court and
take a bundle of firewood. The king is waiting for you.”
Nera did as he was told. The king was not pleased that
he had slept with the woman without his permission, but he
sent Nera away without punishment.
The warriors of Ailill and Medb then attacked the síd
and ravaged it, taking the crown of Brión and other trea-
sures with them back to Cruachan. But they left Nera in the
síd along with his family. There he will remain until the end
of the world.
T H E A DV E N T U R E OF C OR M AC
One day Cormac, king of Ireland, son of Art and grandson

of Conn, was at the Hill of Tara when he saw an old warrior
by himself approaching him across the grass yard of the for-
tress. In the hand of the man was a branch of gold with three
apples hanging from it. When the man shook it, it made the
sweetest sound in the world, so that all would be at peace
and without care. Even women in labor and men who were
wounded would fall asleep at the sound.
142
Cormac was overcome with a desire to possess that

branch and told the warrior he would give him the three
best gifts in Ireland in exchange for it. The man agreed, with
a promise from Cormac that he would give him those gifts
whenever he might ask for them.
A year later the warrior returned to Cormac. The first
gift he asked for was Ailbe, Cormac’s daughter. Reluctantly,
Cormac gave the man his daughter. Then the women of
Ireland wept and wailed until Cormac shook the branch and
they all fell asleep.
A year later the warrior returned again and asked
Cormac for his second promised gift. This time he demanded
Cormac’s son Cairpre. The men of Ireland raised an uproar
at this, but Cormac shook the branch and they all fell asleep.
At the end of another year, the warrior returned for
the third time and asked for Cormac’s wife Eithne. With
many tears Cormac gave the man his wife, for he had given
his word.
But as the warrior was taking Eithne away, Cormac was
overcome with jealousy and went after the man to get his
wife back. Suddenly a great mist fell between them so that
Cormac could not find the man or Eithne.
Cormac wandered through the mist and found himself
in the middle of a great plain. Before him was a fortress on
the plain with a silver wall around it. The house inside was
half of gold and half the roof was made of the wings of birds
gathered by troops of horsemen from the Otherworld. The
wings were always falling off, so the horsemen were forever
putting them back on.
Cormac also saw a warrior there kindling a fire. The
man would fetch a whole tree and put it on the fire, then go
and bring another. By the time he returned, the first tree was
143
consumed. It was his duty to keep the fire burning, so he

could never stop.
Cormac came at last to the central stronghold. A hand-
some king and beautiful queen were seated there on thrones.
The feet of the king were washed, then in came a man with
a pig on his back, a staff in one hand and a hatchet in the
other. The man with the pig greeted Cormac by name and
welcomed him. He slew the pig with the hatchet and cut it up
into the cauldron, then chopped up his staff to feed the fire
beneath the cauldron.
“This pig,” the man said, “will not be cooked until each
of the four of us tells a true tale.”
“You first,” the king said to the man. “Tell us a tale about
your pig.”
“Indeed, I will,” said the man. “When first I came here,
your household and property, my king, consisted of six
cows, an ox, and myself as your servant. I plowed a single
field of wheat with that ox. The farmer next to us owned
many cattle that would stray onto your field, so I held
them until the farmer gave me the pig, hatchet, and staff.
As the farmer instructed me, every night since then I have
killed the pig and burned the staff beneath the cauldron to
feed many men, but the pig and staff are always whole the
next day.”
Then a quarter of the pig was cooked.
“On the one day a year when we plow,” said the king, “I
sow without horse or man to help me. In one hour, the grain
is ripe. When I go to harvest it the next day, there are already
three stacks in the middle of the field. When I go to bring it
home the day after, I find it already inside my fortress where
it never spoils.”
Then half the pig was cooked.
144
“Now it is my turn,” said the queen. “I have seven cows

and seven sheep. The milk of the seven cows is enough for
everyone here in the Land of Promise. And the sheep pro-
vide enough wool to clothe everyone in the kingdom.”
Three-quarters of the pig was then cooked.
Then Cormac told the story of what had happened to
him since the mist fell upon him.
“What you have seen,” said the king, “is the present
world. The horsemen you saw thatching the house are the
skilled men of the world who labor continuously, but all of
their work vanishes in time. The man kindling the fire is the
noblemen and farmers of the world, who consume all they
find and must always search for more. This fortress, how-
ever, is the home of the lord of the Land of Promise. I am the
one who brought you the branch at Tara and asked for the
three gifts. I am Manannán son of Ler.”
Then the pig was cooked.
A portion of the animal was set before Cormac to eat,
but he said he would not eat of it until fifty others joined
him. Then Manannán sang a song to him and he fell asleep.
When he awoke, there were fifty others at the table, includ-
ing his daughter, son, and wife. He rejoiced greatly to
see them.
A cup was brought to him made of refined red gold.
“That cup,” said Cormac, “is the one treasure I desire
most in the world, but it seems very easy to break.”
Manannán gave the cup a blow so that it fell into three
pieces.
“It is a great shame,” Cormac said, “that the cup is now
broken.”
“It is a cup of truth,” said Manannán. “If I speak the
truth, it will be restored. And so I say to you that from the
145
day I took them, your wife and daughter have not been
touched.”
And the cup became whole again.
Then Manannán gave the cup to Cormac and sent him
and his family to bed. When they awoke the next morn-
ing, they were back in Tara and the Land of Promise had
vanished.
T H E A DV E N T U R E OF C ON L A
Conla of the Red Hair, son of Conn of a Hundred Battles,

was with his father and his men at Uisnech in the center of
Ireland one day, when he saw a woman in strange clothing
coming toward him.
“Woman, where have you come from?” asked Conla.
“I have come from the Land of the Living,” said the
woman, “where there is neither death nor evil. We enjoy
everlasting feasts there and have joy without strife. We live
in a great síd and thus are called the people of the síd.”
“Who are you talking to?” Conn asked his son. For no
one except Conla could see the woman.
“He speaks,” said the woman, “to a beautiful young
noblewoman who will face neither age nor death. I have
fallen in love with Conla of the Red Hair and I invite him to
the Plains of Delight, where the triumphant Boadach rules
forever in a land without weeping or sorrow. Come away
with me, Conla, and you will never die.”
When he heard what the woman said, Conn turned to
his druid, Corann.
“I beg you, Corann, stop this deceitful woman from
stealing away my son with the magic of women.”
146
The druid then sang a charm against the woman so that

no one could hear her voice and Conla could see her no lon-
ger. But as the woman was fading away, she threw an apple
to Conla.
For the next month, Conla wanted no food except
the apple, which grew no smaller no matter how much he
ate of it.
Then a great longing seized Conla to see the woman
again.
A month later, as he was walking with his father by the
sea, he saw the same woman coming toward him.
“Conla sits on the high throne of the ghostly dead,” she
said to him. “He waits fearfully for death. But those who
dwell in the Land of the Living bid you come to us.”
When Conn heard the woman’s voice, he called for
the druid.
“Conn of the Hundred Battles,” said the woman, “do
not rely on the magic of druids. For soon a man named
Patrick will come to this island who will prove their teach-
ings false.”
“Conla, my son,” said Conn, “do not listen to this woman.”
“I love my people, father,” said Conla, “but longing for
her has seized me.”
“Come away with me, Conla,” said the woman. “Leave
behind your struggles and cares. Away we will go in my crys-
tal boat. There is another world, more beautiful than this
land of shadows. It is far, but we can reach it by nightfall.”
Then Conla ran away from his father and went with the
woman into the crystal boat on the shore. Conn could only
watch in sorrow as his son sailed away across the sea, never
to be seen again.
147
T H E A DV E N T U R E S OF T H E S ON S
OF EOCHAID MUGMEDÓN
There was once a king of Ireland at Tara known as Eochaid

Mugmedón who frequently raided Britain and brought back
captives to serve as his slaves. One of these slaves was Cairenn,
daughter of the Saxon king Saxall Balb. Cairenn bore Eochaid
a son named Niall. Both the child and his mother were hated
by Mongfhind, the wife of Eochaid and mother of his other
four sons, Brian, Ailill, Fiachra, and Fergus.
When Cairenn was pregnant with Niall, Mongfhind
forced her to draw heavy buckets of water from the well in
hope that she would miscarry. Even when she was in labor,
Mongfhind forced her to do this, so that she gave birth on
the grass of Tara next to her bucket. Because of Mongfhind,
Cairenn could not touch the baby and was forced to leave him
on the ground, exposed to the birds. Even the bravest warriors
would not help the child, for they greatly feared Mongfhind.
Torna the poet happened to pass by that day and saw the
birds attacking the baby on the ground. He took the boy into
his arms and rescued him, foretelling in song that he would
become a great king. Torna then raised the child as his own
foster son.
One day years later, Niall saw his mother drawing water.
He urged her to stop, but she could not because of the anger
of Mongfhind. He then took his mother to the palace and
clothed her in purple.
Mongfhind was furious at this and at the warriors of
Eochaid who whispered that Niall would one day be king.
She told her husband to declare publicly which of his sons
would become king.
148
“I will not,” said Eochaid, “but I will let Sithchenn the

druid decide.”
Sithchenn gathered the five sons of Eochaid inside a
blacksmith’s house and set it on fire, to judge what the boys
would bring out.
Brian came out bearing the blacksmith’s hammers
with him.
“Brian shall be a warrior on battlefields,” said Sithchenn.
Fiachra brought out a bucket of ale and the bellows.
“Fiachra shall be known for his beauty and skills,” said
Sithchenn.
Ailill came forth with a box of weapons.
“Ailill shall be a force of vengeance,” said Sithchenn.
Fergus came out with a bundle of withered sticks.
“Fergus will wither away,” said Sithchenn.
And last, Niall came out with the blacksmith’s anvil.
“Niall shall be firm like an anvil and shall rule them all,”
said Sithchenn.
Mongfhind could not accept the judgment of the druid,
so she ordered her sons to take Niall hunting and kill him
deep in the woods.
The boys all went hunting and feasted that night on
what they had killed. But they were terribly thirsty and sent
Fergus to find them water. He came upon a well, but there
was an old woman there who was hideous to look upon. Her
eyes were black, her nose crooked, her teeth green, her bow-
els runny, and her feet twisted.
“Let me draw water from the well,” Fergus said to
the hag.
“Only if you kiss me first,” she replied.
“I would rather die of thirst,” said Fergus. Then he went
back and told his brothers what had happened. Each of them
149
in turn went to the well, but none would dare to kiss the
hideous old woman.
“I will go,” said Niall. And so he went and found the well.
“Give me a kiss and you shall drink,” said the hag to Niall.
“Not only will I kiss you,” he said, “but I will make love
with you as well.”
He lowered himself on the ground with her and kissed
her passionately—but as he looked at her, she became the
most beautiful woman he had ever seen, clad from head to
toe in purple clothes.
“Who are you?” asked Niall in amazement.
“I am the sovereignty of Ireland,” she replied. “And that
sovereignty will belong to you and your descendants because
you were willing to kiss me.”
Niall then drew water from the well and returned to his
brothers, but he would not let them drink until they had
pledged their loyalty to him. They then returned and told
Eochaid and the rest of the court all that had happened.
“My decision is confirmed,” said Sithchenn the druid.
“The kingship of Ireland will belong to Niall and his descen-
dants from this day forward.”
T H E VOYAG E O F B R A N
Once when Bran the son of Febal was alone near his strong-
hold, he heard strange music behind him. He turned to see
where it was coming from, but wherever he turned the music
was always to his back. The sounds were so sweet that at last
he fell asleep.
When he awoke, Bran found beside him a silver branch
with white blossoms. He picked up the branch and took it
150
inside his royal hall. There he and his men saw a woman
in strange clothing standing suddenly in the middle of the
room. She began to sing:
I bring a branch of an apple tree to you

from a distant land.
Branches of silver are on it
and crystal blossoms.
There is a distant island,
a delight to the eyes.
Let Bran hear and begin a voyage.
Perhaps he may reach that land.
The silver branch sprang from the hand of Bran, for he could
not hold it. It flew into the hand of the woman—and then
she disappeared.
Bran gathered together three companies of nine men
each and set out upon the sea in search of the land the
woman had spoken of. When he had been on the water for
two days and two nights, he saw a man in a chariot coming
toward him over the waves. The man said he was Manannán
son of Ler. Then he began to sing:
Bran thinks he sails the clear sea,

a beautiful place, in his little coracle,
but to me in my chariot
it seems like he traverses a flowery plain.
Let Bran row steadily onward.
He is not far from the Island of Women,
a place with many hues of hospitality.
He will be there before the setting of the sun.
151
Bran soon came to an island, but it was not the Island

of Women. On the shore was a crowd of people laughing as
they looked at him and his men in their boat. They would
not speak to Bran, but only laughed without ceasing. He
sent one of his men to the island, but as soon as he landed
on the shore he too began to laugh. Bran called to him to
come back to the boat, though it was no use. His companion
had lost all interest in them, so they left him there on the
island and sailed away. The name of this place is the Island
of Joy.
It wasn’t long after this that they came to the Island of
Women. The leader of the women called out to him from the
shore: “Bran son of Febal, your coming is most welcome.”
But Bran was reluctant to land on the island. Then the
woman threw a ball of yarn at Bran while holding the end of
the thread in her hand. The yarn stuck to his hand and could
not be removed. Then the woman pulled his coracle to shore.
The women of the island welcomed Bran and his men
to their home. They took them to a large house where there
were three times nine beds ready, one for each of the men to
share with one of the women of the island. A feast was made
ready and placed before them. But as much as the men ate,
the food and drink never diminished.
They stayed there for what seemed to them only a year,
but in fact many years had passed. They had everything they
might desire there and wanted for nothing.
At last a longing for home seized one of them, a man
named Nechtan. He begged Bran many times to return to
Ireland with him. After countless pleadings, Bran agreed
and the men prepared to leave. The women of the island
warned them, however, that they would regret returning
home. When Bran wouldn’t listen, they warned him to
152
at least not touch the land with his feet when he came to
Ireland.
Bran and his men left the Island of Women and sailed to
the Island of Joy to bring their companion back with them.
Then they sailed from there and came at last to Ireland. They
saw a gathering of men there on the shore.
“I am Bran son of Febal,” he shouted to the men on
the beach.
“That’s impossible,” shouted back one of the men. “The
voyage of Bran who left this land is one of our ancient
tales.”
Nechtan, the companion of Bran, could not wait any
longer. He leapt from the boat and swam to shore. But as
soon as he stepped onto the land, he turned into a pile
of dust, as if he had been buried in the ground for many
centuries.
When Bran saw what had happened, he stayed in the
boat with his men and told those on the shore all of his
adventures. Then he bade them all farewell and sailed away,
never to be seen again.
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7
✦
FINN THE OUTLAW
IN EARLY IRELAND, LIFE CENTERED on the tuath or tribe

to which a person belonged. Outside the civilized world of
the tribe lay the wild and dangerous realm of the outlaws
who lived by their own means and rules. This was the land
of the famous outlaw leader Finn, who was a matchless war-
rior, a gifted poet, and a celebrated lover. Finn has much in
common with other Irish heroes, especially Cú Chulainn,
but he always lives on the margins of society rather than as
part of the normal social structure. His tales, two of which
are presented here, were among the most popular in medi-
eval Ireland and survived in the folklore tradition until
modern times.
T H E B OY HO OD DE E D S OF F I N N
Once there was a war between Cumall son of Trénmór and

Uirgriu son of Lugach Corr over who should rule the out-
law bands of Ireland. One of Uirgriu’s allies was Morna,
whose son Goll killed Cumall in battle, taking his head and
weapons as trophies. Thus, for ever after there was conflict
between the family of Cumall and the sons of Morna.
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Cumall died with his wife Muirne pregnant. She then

gave birth to a son she named Demne, and gave him to two
druid warrior-women to be raised, for the sons of Morna and
their allies sought to kill the child. The names of the women
who raised Demne were Bodbmall and Gray. They took him
deep into the forests near Slieve Bloom and reared him there
in secret, training him in the arts of war and magic until he
was ready to become a warrior.
One day while Demne was still a young boy, he was
hunting by himself and saw some ducks on a nearby lake.
He cast his spear at one of the ducks so that it shaved all the
feathers off the bird and made it faint. Then he took the limp
bird back with him to the hut of the two druidesses where he
lived. That was the first hunt of Demne.
Another time Demne went away with a group of poets
who were fleeing from the sons of Morna. While he was
with them, he developed scurvy and his hair fell out, so that
they called him Demne the Bald. An outlaw named Fiacal
attacked them and killed them all except Demne. The two
druidesses who were raising Demne came looking for him
and found him in Fiacal’s house. They asked for the boy and
he was returned safely to them.
On another day Demne was wandering as far as the
plain near the Liffey River when he saw a group of boys play-
ing hurley in front of a fort there. He joined in the game, but
the boys were not pleased. When he returned the next day
they sent a quarter of their number to attack him, but he
defeated them all. The next day they sent a third, but he beat
them as well. The following day they all went against him,
but he fought and won against the whole band.
“What is your name?” they asked him at last.
“Demne,” he replied. The boys then went in to the lord of
the fort and told him what had happened.
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F inn the O utlaw | 155
“Kill him,” said the man.

“We can’t,” they cried. “He is too strong and fast.”
“What is he like?” asked the lord.
“He is handsome and fair [finn],” they replied.
“Then let him be called Finn from now on,” said the man.
A week later the lad went back to the same fort and saw
the boys swimming in a nearby lake. The boys dared him
to try and dunk them, so he jumped in and held nine of
them under the water until they begged for mercy. Then he
returned to the forest.
“Who dunked these boys?” the people asked.
“Finn!” they all cried. And so that was his name from
that day forward.
One time Finn was hunting in the forests of Slieve Bloom
with his foster mothers when they saw a herd of red deer on
the hillside.
“It’s a shame we can’t capture one of those,” they said.
“I can!” yelled Finn. And so he ran after the herd and
caught two deer by the horns. He brought them back to the
hunt and did all the hunting for them thereafter.
One day the two women who had raised him told him
that it was time for him to leave. The sons of Morna were
drawing near to kill him, and they could not protect him any
longer. He therefore went to the king of Bantry and offered
him his services as a hunter, but he did not tell the king his
name. Finn was the greatest hunter they had ever seen.
“If Cumall had a son,” said the king to Finn, “he would
be you.”
Finn left the king of Bantry then, and went to Kerry to
serve the king there. The king taught the boy to play fidchell
and Finn promptly won seven games in a row.
“Who are you?” asked the king.
“I am nobody,” said Finn, “just a boy from the woods.”
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“No, you’re not,” said the king. “Someone with your skill
must be the son of Cumall. Get out of here before the sons of
Morna kill you in front of my eyes.”
Finn left there and went to Cullen, where he stayed with
Lochan the blacksmith. Lochan had a beautiful daughter
named Cruithne who fell madly in love with Finn.
“Even though I don’t know who you are,” said Lochan to
Finn, “I’ll give you my daughter to sleep with.”
And so Finn and the girl slept together.
Lochan made Finn a spear and bade him farewell, with a
warning to beware of a terrible pig near his lands.
“Don’t follow the path of the sow,” warned Lochan. “She
is called the Live One and is a monstrous beast who laid
waste to all of Munster.”
But of course that’s the path that Finn followed. When
he found the sow, he cast his spear through her so that she
died. He brought the head back to Lochan the smith as a
bride price for his daughter Cruithne. From that day for-
ward the mountain there was called Slieve Mucc, or Sow
Mountain.
Finn left there and went to Connacht, where he came
upon a lone woman crying in the woods. Her eyes were
full of blood that dripped down her face so that her mouth
was red.
“Why are you crying?” Finn asked.
“Because my son was killed,” said the woman, “by a
huge and ugly warrior.”
“I will avenge you,” said Finn.
The lad then tracked the warrior and killed him. Among
the warrior’s possessions was a bag of treasures taken from
Finn’s own father, Cumall, in battle. Finn went on and found
some of his father’s old outlaw band hiding in the woods of
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Connacht. He gave them the bag of treasures and told them

all that had happened to him.
Finn then left Connacht and went to the Boyne River
to earn poetry from Finnéces the poet, for he did not dare
to remain in Ireland to face the sons of Morna without the
power of poetry.
Finnéces was an old man who had been sitting on the
banks of the Boyne for seven years trying to catch a salmon
at Féc’s Pool. For it had been foretold that whoever could eat
the salmon of Féc would know all things.
Finnéces caught the salmon at last and gave it to Finn
to cook for him, warning the young man not to eat any of it.
After it was cooked, he brought the fish to the poet.
“Did you eat any of the salmon, boy?” asked Finnéces.
“No,” he replied, “but I burned my thumb on the fish
and put it in my mouth without thinking.”
“What is your name?” asked Finnéces.
“Demne,” said the boy.
“No longer,” the poet declared. “From now on it is
Finn, for it was for you the fish was intended. You are the
true Finn.”
From that day on, whenever Finn needed to know
something, he stuck his thumb in his mouth and chanted
magic spells. When he did this, what he needed to know was
revealed to him.
After this Finn went to Cethern son of Fintan to con-
tinue his study of poetry with him. Cethern would leave
Finn every Samain to go off to the síd mound of Éle, the
most beautiful of the fairy women of Ireland. Men went
to her mound every Samain to woo her, for it was only on
that day that the síd mounds of Ireland were open and the
Otherworld touched our own. But every year when men
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would go to her, one of each company would be killed, for

none could win the heart of Éle.
Finn left Cethern and traveled to the house of Fiacail the
warrior. He told Fiacail about all that had happened and the
deaths that took place at the fairy mound each year. Fiacail
told him to go and hide himself on the next Samain between
the two mountains of Munster, known as the breasts of the
goddess Anu.
“At the Paps of Anu,” said Cethern to Finn, “you will see
a wonder.”
On Samain, Finn hid himself in the valley between the
Paps of Anu and waited. When the sun had set, he saw the
blazing fires inside the doorways of the two fairy mounds
there, for on that night they lay open to our world.
Finn saw a man coming out of one of the mounds car-
rying a tray of food to the other mound. On the tray was a
live pig, a cooked calf, and wild garlic. As he passed, Finn
threw his spear at the man in the darkness in revenge for his
friends slain at the fairy mound of Éle.
Finn heard wailing and lamentation from the women of
the fairy mounds. He rushed at one of them and captured
her. He made her promise to return his spear before he let her
go back to her mound, which she did. And after this, Finn
was honored by the people of the fairy mounds of Ireland.
THE PU RSU IT OF DIAR MU ID

AND GRÁINNE
Early one morning when Finn was an old man, his son Oisín
and his friend Diorruing found him sitting on a grassy
hillside.
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“Why are you up so early?” asked Oisín.

“I haven’t slept well since my wife Maignis died,” said
Finn. “A man without a woman beside him tosses and turns
all night.”
“I know the perfect woman for you,” said Diorruing.
“Her name is Gráinne, the daughter of Cormac mac Airt,
the high king at Tara. She is the most beautiful woman in
all the world.”
“Diorruing,” said Finn, “you know Cormac and I have
never been friends. I won’t ask him for his daughter’s hand
just so he can turn me down.”
“Leave that to us,” said Oisín.
Oisín and Diorruing traveled to Tara while Cormac was
holding a grand feast. They were welcomed by the king, who
took them aside, for he could see they had come on impor-
tant business.
“What can I do for you, my friends?” said Cormac. “If it
is in my power, it is yours.”
“We have come,” said Oisín, “on behalf of Finn to ask for
the hand of your daughter in marriage.”
“Not likely,” answered Cormac. “Finn and I have had
our quarrels, but that isn’t the problem. My daughter has
rejected every proposal I have brought to her, offers from
the finest men in the land. Ask Gráinne herself if she will go
with Finn, then he won’t blame me when she says no.”
The king called for his daughter and Oisín presented to
her the offer from Finn.
“Father,” she said, “if you think Finn would make a good
husband, then that is good enough for me.”
Cormac was surprised at her answer, but he sent Oisín
and Diorruing back to Finn with word for him to come to
Tara on a certain day to celebrate his wedding to Gráinne.
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The weeks passed until at last the day of the marriage

arrived. Finn and his men arrived at Tara and were wel-
comed by Cormac and Gráinne. They all sat down for a
grand feast at Cormac’s hall, with Gráinne placed next to a
druid named Dáire.
“Who is that man next to Oisín?” Gráinne asked
the druid.
“That is Oscar,” he replied, “the son of Oisín and the
grandson of Finn.”
“And beside him?”
“Caoilte, the fastest runner in Ireland.”
“And beside him?”
“Goll mac Morna, a fierce warrior.”
“And who is that handsome man at Oisín’s left hand?”
she asked.
“That is Diarmuid son of Duibne, the most skilled lover
of women in Ireland. He is a friend of Óengus of the Tuatha
Dé Danann.”
“Is that so?” said Gráinne. “I would like to meet this
man alone.”
Gráinne sent one of her women to her room for a spe-
cial goblet of gold studded with jewels. Gráinne filled it with
wine and handed it to Finn, bidding him and the rest of the
company there to drink deeply. As the cup made the rounds
of all the guests, they began to fall asleep at the table. Only
Oisín and Diarmuid had not yet drunk when the cup ran
empty. Gráinne went to sit between them.
“Oisín,” said Gráinne, “I’m surprised you asked for my
hand for an old man like your father. Wouldn’t you rather
have me for yourself?”
“My lady, I cannot!” exclaimed Oisín. “I would never
dishonor my father so.”
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She turned to face Diarmuid.

“What about you, Diarmuid?” she asked. “Would you
like to marry me?”
“Never!” he proclaimed. “You are beautiful beyond mea-
sure, but I cannot take a wife from her husband on her wed-
ding night.”
“Is that so?” said Gráinne. “Then I place a geis on your
head as a curse, Diarmuid. Unless you take me away as
your wife this very moment, disgrace and destruction shall
follow you.”
Diarmuid cried aloud in anguish and asked Oisín what
he should do. His friend told him the geis was unfair, but
since it had been placed on him it would be best to take
Gráinne away. But he warned Diarmuid to beware of the
deceits of Finn, who would never stop pursuing him.
The couple ran from the feasting hall and found horses
in a nearby field. They rode as fast as they could away from
Tara and didn’t stop until they came to the Shannon River.
“These horses make it easy for Finn to track us,” said
Diarmuid.
“Then we’ll go on foot from here,” answered Gráinne.
They waded across a ford on the Shannon and came at
last to a forest of oak in Connacht, where Diarmuid made a
bed of birch boughs for Gráinne to sleep on.
Finn arose from his stupor the next morning and dis-
covered what had happened. He sent out men to track
Diarmuid, but Oisín sent his best hound ahead of them to
find Diarmuid and warn him that Finn was on his trail. The
dog found him and Gráinne in the woods, and pushed his
muzzle into Diarmuid’s neck to wake him.
“This is a warning from Oisín,” Gráinne said to Diarmuid.
“We must flee.”
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“I will not run,” declared Diarmuid. “It is better to face

Finn here.”
Finn meanwhile had led his band of outlaws to
Connacht, where he surrounded the woods and trapped the
couple with no way of escape.
A cold wind suddenly blew through the trees around
Finn and his men. It reached the center of the woods where
Diarmuid stood holding Gráinne.
Then out of the wind appeared Óengus of the Tuatha Dé.
“You are in trouble again, my friend?” said Óengus to
Diarmuid. “Why is it always a woman?”
“Óengus,” said Diarmuid, “please take Gráinne to safety.
I will stay and fight Finn.”
Óengus put Gráinne beneath his cloak and flew through
the air, leaving Diarmuid to face Finn and his men. The
young warrior rushed the old outlaw and jumped above his
head, running onward through the plains and hills until he
found Óengus and Gráinne roasting a pig in a hut. He told
them all that had passed as they ate their fill. Then he took
Gráinne and went to bed.
Finn was furious, but none of his men were eager to pur-
sue Diarmuid.
“It is best to let him go,” Oisín said to his father. “Let him
have the girl. There are other women.”
“Never!” declared Finn. “Diarmuid has insulted my
honor. I will not let him live.”
Over mountains and through caves, across lakes and
rivers, for years Finn chased Diarmuid and Gráinne across
Ireland without ceasing. Finn hired mercenaries from across
the sea to help him, since his own men were reluctant to
find their friend Diarmuid. Always on the run, Diarmuid
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guarded Gráinne with his life and lay with her in love every
night. Even when she became pregnant, they could not cease
from running.
At last, after many seasons had passed, the men of
Ireland persuaded Finn to cease the pursuit of Diarmuid
and Gráinne. Finn grumbled and cursed, but finally agreed.
The lovers then made a home for themselves and lived in
peace and happiness, raising four sons and a daughter.
One day when their children were almost grown,
Gráinne asked Diarmuid if she could invite Finn to their
home for a feast, hoping to make peace between him and
Diarmuid. Her husband was wary, but agreed at last.
When Finn came, he and Diarmuid went together
to hunt a great boar that was terrorizing the countryside
around Ben Bulben. But during the hunt the beast gored
Diarmuid and left him for dead.
Finn and his men found him on the ground still breathing.
“I wish Gráinne and the women of Ireland could see you
now,” said Finn with a smile. “You’re not the handsome man
you were.”
“You can heal me, Finn,” gasped Diarmuid. “When you
tasted the salmon at the Boyne as a boy, you were given the
gift of healing along with your poetry. If you bring water to
an injured person in the palm of your hands, the person will
recover.”
“Grandfather,” said Oscar to Finn, “you must heal him.
Diarmuid is one of us and a man of honor.”
Finn was silent for a long time, then walked to a nearby
well and scooped up the water in his hands. But as he walked
back to Diarmuid, he thought of Gráinne and let the water
slip through his fingers.
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Twice more his grandson sent him back for more water,
but each time he let the water pass through his hands. By the
third time, Diarmuid was dead.
When Gráinne heard of her husband’s death, she told
their grown sons that Finn had let their father die. A bloody
war of vengeance between the families followed, until at last
Gráinne made a pact with Finn and married him to spare the
lives of her children. Then Gráinne and Finn lived together
in peace for the rest of their days.
165
8
✦
WELSH MYTHOLOGY—THE
MABINOGI
THE FOUR LOOSELY CONNECTED MEDIEVAL tales that

make up the Mabinogi are fascinating and sophisticated sto-
ries that stand on their own as part of the broader European
tradition of the time, but their roots stretch back into ancient
Celtic traditions and have much in common with early Irish
literature.
P W Y L L PR I NC E OF DY F E D
A prince named Pwyll once ruled over the kingdom of Dyfed

in Wales. One day when he was in his court at Arberth, he
decided to go hunting in a part of his realm called Glyn
Cuch. He set off on horseback with his hounds and com-
panions and came to that place, but while he was there he
became separated from his friends and dogs. He heard the
barking of his hounds in the distance, but he also heard the
sounds of another pack coming toward his own. He soon
came to a clearing and found his pack, but saw there the
other pack dogs chasing a stag to the ground.
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Never had he seen dogs like these before. They were

shining white in color with red ears that stood out against
the paleness of their bodies. He drove away the strange pack
that had killed the stag and fed his own hounds upon it.
While his dogs were feeding, a horseman wearing gray
hunting clothes came into the meadow on a large gray horse.
“I know who you are, but I will not greet you,” said the
man to Pwyll.
“Perhaps,” said Pwyll, “you are of such high rank that
you need not greet me.”
“That isn’t it,” said the man. “It is because you have been
so discourteous to me. My hounds killed this stag, yet you
drove them off to feed your own. I will not take revenge on
you now, but I will have my poets satirize you to the worth
of a hundred stags.”
“My lord,” answered Pwyll, “I beg your pardon. What I
did was wrong. Will you make peace with me?”
“You may if you do me a service,” said the horseman. “I
am Arawn, king of Annwfn. There is a king named Hafgan
in my land who makes war on me continually. If you deliver
me from this man, I will pardon your transgression today.”
“I will gladly do so,” said Pwyll, “but how can this
be done?”
“I will trade places with you,” said Arawn, “and give
you my appearance and manner. You shall become king of
Annwfn in my place for a year and have my queen to sleep
with you every night. I have arranged with Hafgan to meet
him in battle a year from tonight, but you shall be there in
my place. Give him only a single blow and he shall not sur-
vive. Though he beg you to give him another and finish him
off, do not do it. A single blow will kill him, but many blows
will make him stronger.”
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W E L S H M Y T H O L O G Y—T H E M A B I N O G I | 167
“But what shall I do with my own kingdom for a year?”

asked Pwyll.
“I shall rule there in your form,” said Arawn. “No man
or woman there will know I am not you.”
“Agreed,” said Pwyll.
Arawn then changed the appearance of Pwyll and sent
him to his court in Annwfn. Pwyll entered the magnifi-
cent halls and chambers of Arawn and was greeted there
as if he had always been lord over the place. The queen was
the fairest woman he had ever seen. They conversed over a
sumptuous dinner, then went to bed. But as soon as they
had crawled beneath the covers, Pwyll turned his back to
the queen and did not speak a word to her until morning.
He was pleasant and kind to her every day, but every night
for the next year he did the same as he had done the first
night.
When a year had passed, Pwyll went to the appointed
place to challenge Hafgan to single combat. They met in the
middle of a ford and with the first blow Pwyll sent the king
tumbling to the ground, wounded with a mortal blow.
“Kill me now,” demanded Hafgan, “you have defeated me.”
“Find someone else to slay you,” answered Pwyll. “I will
not do it.”
“My death is at hand, then,” said Hafgan. “There is now
no king in Annwfn but you.”
Pwyll received the homage of Hafgan’s nobles, then rode
away to the meadow where he had first met Arawn.
“Greetings, Pwyll,” said Arawn. “How do you fare?”
“Well, my lord,” he answered. “I have done as you asked
of me.”
“You have my thanks,” said Arawn, “and my friendship
forevermore.”
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Arawn changed Pwyll back to his previous form, then

returned to his palace in Annwfn. He embraced his queen
and took her to bed at once, making love with her through
the night. When she asked him the next day why he had
waited a year to take pleasure with her, he was amazed at the
continence and friendship Pwyll had shown. He then told
his queen of the whole adventure.
Pwyll meanwhile returned to Arberth in his own king-
dom in Dyfed and learned that it had been ruled in justice
and honor while he was gone. He revealed to his nobles what
had happened during the last year and who had ruled over
them in his place.
From that day forward Pwyll and Arawn were the best
of friends. Because of his excellent rule over Arawn’s realm
for a year, Pwyll came to be known thenceforth not as Pwyll
Prince of Dyfed, but as Pwyll King of Annwfn.
One time after this, Pwyll was in his court at Arberth
holding a grand feast with his men. When dinner was over,
Pwyll went forth to a nearby place called the Mound of
Arberth.
“My lord,” said one of his nobles, “it is well known that
whoever sits on this mound will either suffer a grave injury
or see a marvel.”
“I am not afraid,” said Pwyll.
As he sat there, he suddenly saw a woman in a golden
silk brocade riding past on the road below him on a majestic
pale white horse. To all who watched her, the horse seemed
to have a slow and gentle gait.
Pwyll was struck by the beauty of the woman.
“Go down and find out who she is,” said Pwyll.
One of his nobles did as he said and ran to meet her on
the road, though somehow she passed him before he arrived
169
there. He ran after her as quickly as he could, but the more

he hastened, the farther away she was, even though she
looked for all the world as if she were barely moving. The
man returned to Pwyll and told him it was impossible to
catch up to the woman.
Pwyll then sent one of his men to chase her on a horse,
but again no matter how fast the man rode, he could not
reach her. The woman then disappeared and Pwyll went
back to his court with his men.
Pwyll returned to sit on the Mound of Arberth the next
day with the swiftest horse in the kingdom. The woman
on the white horse appeared again on the road, so Pwyll
sent his best young rider after her on his horse. She rode
at the same slow and steady pace as the day before, but
the lad could not catch her, no matter how fast he pressed
his mount.
Pwyll and his men returned again to his feasting hall
to spend the night in song and drink, but the next day
the prince returned to the mound with his own horse and
saddle. He had scarcely been there a moment when the
same woman appeared again riding her horse slowly on
the road below him. Pwyll mounted his horse and set out
after her, but he had no more success in catching her than
did his two men.
At last in desperation he called out to the woman:
“Madam, for the sake of the man you love most in the world,
please wait for me.”
She stopped then and looked at him.
“I will gladly wait for you,” she said, “but it would have
been easier on your horses if you had asked me earlier.”
“Your pardon, my lady,” said Pwyll, “but who are you
and why do you travel this road?”
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“I am Rhiannon daughter of Hyfaidd Hen,” she

replied. “I travel this road to see you. I have watched you
for my whole life and love only you. I come to you to ask
a favor.”
“If it is in my power,” Pwyll said, “I will do anything
in the world for you. For I swear that of all the women in
the world I have ever seen, none do I desire to be with more
than you.”
“My favor, then,” said Rhiannon, “is that you set a date
to marry me.”
“The sooner, the better,” said Pwyll, “and let it be wher-
ever you like.”
“Good, my lord,” she answered. “Let it be a year from
tonight in the court of my father Hyfaidd Hen. I will arrange
a feast to be ready when you arrive. Remember to keep your
promise.”
“I pledge with all my heart that I will,” he answered, and
then they parted.
A year later, Pwyll set out from his court with a hundred
horsemen for the palace of Hyfaidd Hen. The king and his
daughter welcomed him warmly and sat down on either side
of him for the wedding feast.
When dinner was over, a large nobleman in silk brocade
came into the hall and greeted Pwyll.
“I would ask a favor of you, my lord,” said the man to
Pwyll.
“I will gladly do you anything you ask,” he replied.
“You fool,” said Rhiannon to Pwyll. “Why did you give
him that answer?”
“Ah, but he did so, my lady,” said the suppliant, “in the
presence of the whole court.”
“But what is it you want?” said Pwyll.
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“Not too much,” said the man, “only that you give me
Rhiannon as my bride.”
Pwyll sat in silence, unable to speak.
“Never has a man been more feeble-witted than you,”
said Rhiannon to Pwyll. “That man is Gwawl son of Clud,
who has long sought to marry me. Now you must give me to
him or face dishonor.”
“But how can I do that?” asked Pwyll.
“Just agree,” she said. “I will see that he never has me.”
Pwyll agreed to give Rhiannon to Gwawl to sleep with
a year from that day. But Rhiannon gave Pwyll a small bag
and told him to return in a year dressed as a beggar. He was
then to ask Gwawl to fill the bag with food. After this she
sent Pwyll back to Dyfed.
A year later, Pwyll and his warriors returned to the
court of Hyfaidd Hen for the wedding banquet of Gwawl
and Rhiannon. He wore rags on his body and torn boots on
his feet. After the dinner was finished and Gwawl was about
to take Rhiannon to bed, Pwyll came alone before him and
asked if he would fill his small bag with food.
“Of course, my good man,” answered Gwawl, “that is a
modest request.”
He ordered the servants to fill the bag with the best food
in the hall. But no matter how much they put into the bag, it
was never full.
“That is a wondrous bag,” said Gwawl. “Will it ever be
filled?”
“No, my lord,” answered Pwyll, “unless a great noble-
man such as yourself stands on top of it and pushes the food
down.”
Gwawl rose and put his feet in the bag, but he immedi-
ately fell deep inside it. Pwyll quickly tied the bag at the top
172
and called his men from hiding. He ordered them to beat

the bag with sticks. Gwawl shouted and cried for mercy, but
Pwyll and his men did not stop until he agreed not to marry
Rhiannon nor seek vengeance against Pwyll. He was then
released and left the court of Hyfaidd Hen forever.
Pwyll took the place of the bridegroom at the table next
to Rhiannon. Afterward he went to bed with her and spent
the night in pleasure and love. In the morning Pwyll arose
and took his new queen back to his court at Arberth.
Pwyll and Rhiannon ruled the land of Dyfed together
in happiness for the next three years, but the nobles of the
kingdom began to grumble that it was not fitting for their
lord to be without an heir. They urged him to take another
wife so that he might have a son to rule after him. Pwyll
urged them to be patient and give Rhiannon another year to
become pregnant, to which they finally agreed.
Just before the year was done, Rhiannon gave birth to a
son and the land was filled with great joy. Six women were
brought to the palace to help the queen care for the boy. But
one night while they were watching over the child, all six fell
asleep. When they awoke, there was no sign of Pwyll’s son.
“We will be slain by the king for neglecting our duty,”
they said.
“No,” said one of the women. “There were puppies born
in the court last night. Let us kill them and spread the blood
over the queen while she still sleeps and say she killed her
own son. That way we will escape punishment.”
They all agreed and did so. When Rhiannon awoke she
asked for her son, but the women in tears said she had killed
him in the night. The queen knew this was not true, but the
tale of the women spread throughout the kingdom so that
Pwyll was forced to punish his wife. She was tried by the
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elders of the land and condemned to sit on the mounting

block beside the gate of Arberth for seven years, and tell all
that passed that she had murdered her own child. Moreover,
she was forced to offer to carry visitors on her back like a
horse from the gate to the great hall of the palace, though
only rarely did a man allow himself to be carried.
At that time Teyrnon Twrf Liant ruled over the eastern
Welsh kingdom of Gwent Is Coed, but he and his wife were
childless. He had a beautiful mare in his household that
gave birth to a foal on the eve of every May Day, but the foal
would always disappear without anyone knowing what hap-
pened to it. That year, Teyrnon himself guarded the mare to
discover why her foals disappeared. When the horse brought
forth the foal, immediately Teyrnon saw a giant claw reach-
ing for it from the nearby window. Teyrnon drew his sword
and cut off the arm with the claw with a roar and wailing
from the creature outside. He chased the monster, but when
he returned because of the darkness he found a baby boy
with yellow hair wrapped in silk inside the house next to the
foal. Teyrnon took the child to his wife and they named him
Gwri Golden-Hair. They gave him the colt born on the same
night as a gift.
Teyrnon and his wife meanwhile heard the news of
Rhiannon and her son. They looked closely at their child and
saw that he was the very image of Pwyll, so they reluctantly
took Gwri to Dyfed to return him to his parents and spare
Rhiannon the shame of her punishment.
They went to the court of Pwyll and were welcomed
there. Teyrnon told the king and queen all that had hap-
pened and the boy was received with great joy.
“You have greatly relieved my pryder, my anxiety,” said
Rhiannon.
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“Lady,” said Pwyll, “that shall be the name of our son—

Pryderi son of Pwyll.”
After this Pwyll swore friendship and alliance with
Teyrnon and his kingdom. Pryderi grew into a fine man and
in time he became lord of the seven cantrefs of Dyfed and
ruled the kingdom thereafter.
B R A N W E N DA U G H T E R O F L L Y R
When Bendigeidfran, the largest of all men, was king of

Britain, one day he was sitting on the shore along with
his brother Manawydan and his half-brothers Nisien and
Efnisien. Nisien was a fine fellow who could bring peace
between the worst of enemies, but Efnisien could make the
most loving of brothers turn on each other.
As they were sitting on the shore, they saw thirteen ships
on the western sea sailing swiftly toward them from Ireland.
“Tell the men of my court to arm themselves,” said
Bendigeidfran. “We don’t know what the business is of the
men on those ships.”
The warriors of Bendigeidfran gathered with him on the
shore to wait for the ships to draw near. They had never seen
such splendid craft as these, with silk pennants streaming
from their masts. They also saw a man on the lead ship turn
his shield up as a sign of peace.
“May God prosper you,” said Bendigeidfran when he
drew up to the shore. “Whose ships are these and who rules
over them?”
“My lord,” their herald replied, “these are the ships of
Matholwch, king of Ireland, and he is here with us. He seeks
an alliance with you and the hand of your sister Branwen,
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the fairest lady in the world, in marriage so that our lands

might be united.”
“Well,” said Bendigeidfran, “let him come ashore and we
shall take counsel together.”
There was a great feast that night in the halls of
Bendigeidfran, and it was decided by the king to give
Branwen to Matholwch. They set a date to meet at his castle
at Aberffraw so that Matholwch might sleep with his bride.
The next day Efnisien, who had not been at the feast, saw
the horses of the guests outside the hall and asked whose
they were. When he was told they belonged to Matholwch
king of Ireland and that his sister Branwen had been given
to Matholwch as his bride, Efnisien was furious.
“He gave away my own sister without my permission?
This is a great insult to me which shall not stand.”
Efnisien then took his blade and cut the lips of the king’s
horses to the teeth and their eyelids to the bones. He also cut
off their ears and tails so that they would be disfigured and
no use could be made of them.
When word of this mutilation came to Matholwch, the
king of Ireland was angry and disgraced. He gathered his
nobles and made for their ships to sail back to their island.
Bendigeidfran heard what had happened and raced to meet
him before he could board.
“Why have you done this?” asked Matholwch.
“It was not my doing,” swore Bendigeidfran. “My half-
brother Efnisien did this foul deed. I would punish him
gravely for it, but he is my own blood. However, I shall make
all right by you and give you fine new horses along with your
honor-price in silver and gold. I will also give you a cauldron
of rare property, so that if you cast a dead warrior into it, the
next day he shall live again, except that he shall not be able
176
to speak. I acquired it in your own land from Llassar Llaes

Gyfnewid and his giantess wife Cymidei Cymeinfoll.”
“I know them,” said Matholwch, “I drove them out of
my land. But I welcome the gifts and would make peace with
you on your terms.”
When the gifts had been given to Matholwch, he took
his bride Branwen and returned home with the blessings of
Bendigeidfran.
In Ireland there was great rejoicing and a warm welcome
was made for Branwen. All the nobles of the island came to
pay their respects and none went away without a gift of a
brooch or a ring from Branwen. After a proper time a son
was born to her and the name he was given was Gwern son
of Matholwch.
But in the second year a murmuring arose among the
men of Ireland over the humiliation Matholwch had received
in Britain with the disfiguring of his horses. The warriors
and brothers of Matholwch reproached him until he could
have no peace without taking action. The vengeance he took
was to drive his wife Branwen from his chamber and force
her to cook as a lowly servant for his court. He also had his
butcher come with bloody hands each day and give her a
blow on the ears.
Matholwch gave orders that no one from Ireland was
to go to Britain lest the kinsmen of Branwen discover what
shame had befallen her.
During that year of punishment, Branwen raised a
starling chick at her kneading trough. She taught the bird
speech and told it what to look for to recognize her brother
Bendigeidfran. Then she wrote a note describing her dis-
honor and attached it to the bird’s wing, after which she sent
it across the sea to Britain.
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The starling came at last to the court of Bendigeidfran

and landed on his shoulder. He recognized that this was
no ordinary bird and saw the note on its wing. He read it
and immediately mustered all his warriors from throughout
Britain, including his brothers and half-brothers, along with
Pryderi the son of Pwyll and Rhiannon.
In those ancient days the sea between Ireland and Britain
was not deep, so Bendigeidfran walked across the bottom
with his head just above the waves as his ships followed him.
The swineherds of Matholwch were standing on a hill in
Ireland when they saw a strange sight coming toward them
from across the sea. They rushed to their king and described
what they had seen: “My lord, we saw a large mountain next
to a forest moving across the sea. There was a high ridge on
the mountain with two lakes beside it on either side.”
Matholwch sent for Branwen and asked her what might
be coming to them from Britain.
“It is the men of my land coming to rescue me,” she said.
“The forest is the masts of their ships and the mountain is
my brother, whom no ship could ever hold. The ridge they
saw was his nose and the two lakes his eyes.”
Matholwch was in a panic at this news and ordered
his men to retreat west across the great River Shannon. He
destroyed every bridge over the river so that Bendigeidfran
and his warriors might not reach him.
When Bendigeidfran came to the banks of the Shannon,
his men told him there was no way across, for all the bridges
had been destroyed.
“Then I myself will be a bridge,” he answered.
After he had lain down across the river, planks were put
on his back so that his men could cross. Then the messengers
of Matholwch came swiftly to him to ask for peace.
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“My lord,” they said, “Matholwch regrets his actions

against your sister and will make amends. He abdicates his
throne immediately in favor of his son, your nephew Gwern,
son of your sister Branwen. The king moreover places him-
self in your hands.”
Bendigeidfran sent the messengers back to Matholwch
while he considered the king’s offer. But the counsel-
ors of Matholwch urged the king to prepare a trap for
Bendigeidfran. They told him to build a special house for
Bendigeidfran, for up till then no building had been able to
hold him. They would then hide warriors there to slay him
when he came into the house.
The Irish built the house, but Bendigeidfran’s half-
brother Efnisien entered it first to make sure all was ready.
He saw along the walls a hundred hide bags each hanging on
a peg. Inside each one, the Irish lords had hidden an armed
warrior to burst forth and kill Bendigeidfran at the right
moment.
“What is in these bags?” Efnisien asked his hosts.
“Only flour,” they answered.
Efnisien then went to each bag and squeezed it in turn so
that the heads and brains of the Irish warriors were crushed.
When he had finished, the Irish king and noblemen
entered on one side of the house while Bendigeidfran and
the British warriors came in the other side with a roaring
fire between them. Peace was declared and the kingship of
Ireland was given to Gwern, son of Branwen and nephew of
Bendigeidfran.
Then Efnisien arose and stood next to his nephew Gwern.
“I swear,” he said, “that what I am about to do will seem
an outrage, even to my own family.”
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He then grabbed Gwern by the feet and before anyone

could stop him he thrust him into the fire. Branwen leapt
up and tried to save him, but it was too late. The warriors
of Ireland shouted for blood and seized their weapons. The
men of Britain likewise took up arms, so that a great slaugh-
ter began which lasted for days.
During the battle the Irishmen kindled a fire beneath the
magical cauldron of rebirth they had received as a gift from
Bendigeidfran. Whenever a man on their side was slain, they
threw his corpse into the cauldron so that the next day he
was alive again, though unable to speak.
Efnisien saw what the Irish were doing and hid himself
among their corpses. Then when he was thrown into the
cauldron, he stretched out his limbs and shattered the ves-
sel, though it meant his death as well.
Bendigeidfran was wounded in the battle by a poisoned
spear. He fled from the house with his sister Branwen, his
brother Manawydan, Pryderi the son of Pwyll, and five
other of his men who were still alive.
Mortally wounded, Bendigeidfran told his men to cut
off his head, then carry it to the white mount in London to
be buried so that it might protect the island from invasion.
His men did as he asked and decapitated their king, then
crossed the sea back to Britain.
When they landed on the shore, the heart of Branwen
broke and she died. They made a grave for her there and
traveled on to Harlech, the court of Bendigeidfran. In their
grief and weariness they began to feast and drink, so that
they forgot their sorrow. The head of Bendigeidfran spoke
and laughed and was as good a companion as when he had
been alive. The magical birds of Rhiannon also came to them
180
there and sang, so that they forgot their sorrows and lost all
sense of time, though seven years passed.
At the end of seven years, they set out again to go to
Gwales, a great castle that looked out across the water to
Cornwall. But the door that faced Cornwall was kept closed.
They feasted and drank with the head of Bendigeidfran until
they lost track of the passing of time, though eighty years
passed by.
One day, however, one of the men opened the door of
the hall facing Cornwall—and all the memories of sorrow
and loss returned to the company. They immediately set out
for London and buried the head of Bendigeidfran as he had
instructed, so that he might serve his land as a protector
even in death.
M A N AW Y DA N S O N O F L L Y R
After the companions of Bendigeidfran buried the head of

their king in London, Manawydan, the brother of the king,
despaired because his brother was dead and another king
now ruled Britain in his place.
Pryderi son of Pwyll spoke to him: “Lord, I hold in my
possession the seven cantrefs of Dyfed, the finest land in all
of Britain. My wife Cigfa is there with my mother Rhiannon,
who is still beautiful. Come with me and I will give her to
you to be your wife.”
This seemed good to Manawydan, so they went to
Arberth, the chief court of Dyfed. Rhiannon welcomed
them and prepared a feast for all. Pryderi told her of his
plan to give her to Manawydan in marriage, and she was
well pleased with the idea. When the wedding was over and
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Rhiannon had slept with Manawydan, Pryderi and his wife

Cigfa joined them on a circuit of Dyfed to see their kingdom
and take their pleasure in hunting.
When they returned home, they went one evening to the
Mound of Arberth with their lords and ladies. As they sat there,
a thick mist arose so that they could not see each other. When
the mist lifted, there was no one the four could see except each
other. All the members of the court along with all the people,
cattle, and homes of the land had vanished. Only the buildings
of the palace of Arberth remained, but those were empty.
“Dear Lord God,” said Manawydan, “where has every-
one gone? Let us go and search the land for them.”
And so the four companions searched the land of Dyfed
far and wide but could not find a single soul.
The two couples ate and drank in the court of Arberth
for many days until there was nothing left, then they took to
hunting and fishing to feed themselves. They passed a year
in this way until one day Manawydan called them together.
“We cannot live like this,” he said. “Let us go to England
and take up a craft.”
So they traveled to England and found a town named
Henffordd filled with people. They took up the craft of mak-
ing saddles there. Manawydan had never done such work
before, but he was soon making the best saddles in all the
land and driving the other saddlers out of business. The
craftsmen of the town then met together and decided to kill
Manawydan and his companions. When Pryderi heard of
this, he advised his friends to fight.
“I swear to God,” he said, “we should kill these peasants
who plot against us.”
“No,” said Manawydan, “it will only cause trouble. Let
us go to another town and take up a different trade.”
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The four of them then went to a different town and

became makers of shields. But their shields were the best
anyone had ever seen so that no one would any longer buy
from the other armorers. These craftsmen thus plotted to
kill them as well.
“I will not take this from such villains,” declared Pryderi.
“We should fight.”
“No,” said Manawydan, “I don’t want to upset anyone.
Let us move on and begin a different trade.”
And so they went to yet another English town and
became shoemakers. But in a short time no one would buy
shoes from the other shoemakers of the town since those of
Manawydan and his companions were so much better than
the rest. These men also decided to kill the newcomers.
“This is too much,” said Pryderi. “Now we must stand up
against these thieving churls.”
“No,” said Manawydan. “Let us leave England and
return to Dyfed. Perhaps the people of the land have returned
by now.”
The four companions journeyed back to Dyfed, but
when they arrived they saw that nothing had changed. There
were no people or cattle or houses in the whole land. Thus
the four stayed again in the palace at Arberth and hunted
every day for their food.
One morning as Manawydan and Pryderi were hunt-
ing with their hounds, the dogs ran ahead of them and
went into a thicket of trees. Soon, however, they ran out
in a panic. A great white wild boar followed them and led
the men on a chase to a lofty fortress they had never seen
before. Pryderi was determined to explore this great struc-
ture, but Manawydan urged him not to enter for he feared
the power of magic. Pryderi nonetheless entered the gates
183
and found at the center of the courtyard a marble slab and

golden basin secured by four chains that reached up to
the sky. As soon as Pryderi stood on the marble slab and
touched the basin, his hands and feet were stuck and he
could not speak.
Manawydan waited for him outside the fortress until
evening, then returned to the castle at Arberth.
“Where is my son?” Rhiannon asked.
Manawydan told her all that had happened.
“God knows,” said Rhiannon, “that you have been a
poor friend.”
She then rushed through the woods to the lofty fortress
and found Pryderi stuck to the basin and mute. She tried
to free him, but she too became trapped and stricken with
silence. Then a mist descended on the whole fortress and it
disappeared.
When Manawydan learned what had happened, he
despaired. He swore to Pryderi’s wife Cigfa that he would
watch over her and would never take advantage of her.
He began to hunt again and planted a field of wheat
nearby so that they might have bread. But one day he saw
that the stalks of grain had been broken and eaten by a hoard
of mice. He thus devised a trap for the mice and caught one
of their number who was too large to escape. He brought the
creature to Cigfa.
“I caught this thief stealing our grain,” he said.
“Tomorrow I will hang the villain.”
“That hardly seems worth the trouble,” Cigfa answered.
“Still, this thief will pay,” he said.
The next day he went to the Mound of Arberth and built
a small gallows. He was getting ready to hang the mouse
when he saw a scholar approaching on the road. It had been
184
seven years since he had seen anyone besides the four of

them in the land of Dyfed.
“Greetings, lord,” said the scholar. “May I ask what
you’re doing?”
“Hanging a mouse who is a thief,” said Manawydan.
“That hardly seems like a business worthy of a noble-
man,” the man said. “For the sake of your honor, let me ran-
som the creature for a pound.”
“No,” said Manawydan. “This mouse must pay for the
crimes of its fellows.”
The scholar then rode away, but soon Manawydan saw a
priest approaching.
“Greetings, my lord,” said the priest. “You seem very
busy with the small vermin I see before you. What are you
doing?”
“Hanging someone who stole from me,” said Manawydan.
“This is beneath you,” said the priest. “I will give you
three pounds for the mouse to save your honor.”
“No,” he said. “This thief must die.”
The priest rode away, but soon Manawydan saw a bishop
and his entourage approaching on the road.
“May God bless you,” said the bishop. “What sort of
work are you doing here?”
“Hanging a thief,” said Manawydan.
“It’s a good thing I came along, then,” said the bishop.
“I would not see a lord such as yourself gain a reputation for
foolishness. I will pay you seven pounds in ransom for the
fat little mouse.”
“No,” said Manawydan.
“Twenty-four pounds, then,” said the bishop.
“That is not enough,” said Manawydan.
185
“What is it you will accept, then,” asked the bishop, “to

let this poor creature go?”
“You must free Rhiannon and Pryderi,” answered
Manawydan. “Then you must lift the curse from this land.”
The bishop was silent for a time, then he spoke: “It will
be done. Now, for the love of God, please free this mouse.”
“First,” said Manawydan, “tell me who you are and why
you did this.”
“I am Llwyd son of Cil Coed, brother of Gwawl,” he said,
“whom Pryderi’s father Pwyll trapped in a bag and beat in
Annwfn. I have done all this for the honor of my family and
to avenge my brother. That mouse is my pregnant wife. We
came in the form of mice to destroy your crops. But every-
thing will be restored as it was and we will leave you in peace
forevermore.”
Manawydan then gave the mouse to the bishop.
Pryderi and Rhiannon suddenly appeared before them,
while all the people, cattle, and houses of the land were
restored. Pryderi embraced Manawydan and told him he had
been kept as a servant by Llwyd and his mother Rhiannon
had been forced to wear the collar of an ass around her neck
and carry hay for his court. But all was made right in the
end and the four companions lived in peace thereafter in the
castle of Arberth in Dyfed.
M AT H S ON OF M AT HON W Y
When Pryderi son of Pwyll ruled over Dyfed, the lord of

Gwynedd in the north of Wales was Math son of Mathonwy.
Unless he was engaged in a war, this king could only live while
186
his feet rested in the lap of a maiden. The virgin who held
his feet at that time was Goewin daughter of Pebin, and she
was the most beautiful young woman in all the land. The two
nephews of Math, Gilfaethwy and Gwydion the sons of Dôn,
were valued advisers in the retinue of their uncle the king.
Gilfaethwy fell in love with the maiden Goewin, but as
she was always with his uncle he could never be alone with
her. His health began to fail and he grew more pale each day
as his love consumed him. His brother Gwydion realized
what was wrong and vowed to help him get the virgin alone.
To do so he knew he must start a war.
Gwydion went to Math and told him that Pwyll, the lord
of Dyfed, had brought a new kind of creature to their land
called a pig, the flesh of which was sweeter than beef. He had
received these pigs as a gift from his friend Arawn the king
of Annwfn. Gwydion told his uncle that they should get the
pigs for themselves.
“How can we do this without starting a war?” asked Math.
“Leave it to me,” said Gwydion.
He and his brother Gilfaethwy disguised themselves as
bards and went with ten other men to the court of Pryderi.
This lord welcomed them and Gwydion entertained them
with songs, for he was a great poet. When he was done,
Pryderi was pleased and asked what reward he might like.
Gwydion asked for his pigs.
“I cannot give them to you,” said Pryderi, “for they are
of great value to my people.”
“Then let us strike a bargain,” said Gwydion. “I will
trade you twelve horses with golden saddles and twelve fine
hunting dogs with golden collars in exchange for the pigs.
You may then tell your people that you exchanged them for
something even better.”
187
Pryderi agreed to this arrangement, so that night

Gwydion took wild mushrooms from the forest and
transformed them through his magic into the horses
and hounds he had promised. The next day they gave the
animals to Pryderi and rode swiftly from the court with
the pigs.
“My friends,” said Gwydion to his companions, “we
must make haste. The enchantment I placed on the mush-
rooms will last only for a day.”
They drove the pigs quickly back to their court in
Gwynedd with the army of Pryderi close behind them. Math
was angry at what they had done, but he received them and
mustered his own troops to face the forces of Pryderi. He
rose from the throne and took his feet away from the lap of
the maiden Goewin, for he was now at war.
When Math had led his troops out of the castle in
Gwynedd, Gwydion and his brother Gilfaethwy went to his
chamber. Gilfaethwy took the virgin Goewin by force and
raped her there.
A great massacre befell the armies of both Math and
Pryderi so that countless men from both sides perished in
battle. At last Gwydion came to the king and proposed to
meet Pryderi as his champion in single combat, as he was the
man who had wronged him. Pryderi agreed, but Gwydion
used his magic and enchantments against the good king so
that Pryderi son of Pwyll was slain.
Peace was made and the armies of the south returned
home without their lord. Math also returned to his own
court and called Goewin so that he might rest his feet in the
maiden’s lap.
“My lord,” she said, “you must seek a new virgin to hold
your feet, for I have been shamed. Your nephews Gwydion
188
and Gilfaethwy forced their way into your chamber and

Gilfaethwy raped me there in your bed.”
Math consoled the girl and declared that she would be
his lawful wife and queen from that day forward. Then he
sent for his nephews.
Gwydion and Gilfaethwy came before the king to sub-
mit themselves for punishment. Math arose and struck them
with his staff of enchantment. At once Gwydion became a
stag and Gilfaethwy a female deer.
“Since you two have been beasts,” Math said to them, “I
curse you with the punishment of being in the shapes and
manners of animals for a cycle of the seasons. You shall be
driven in shame to mate with each other and bear an off-
spring. Return to me here in one year.”
At the end of that year, the hounds of the court were
heard barking at something outside. The king looked from
his window and saw a stag and a hind with a fawn between
them. He rose and went down to them with his staff of
enchantment.
“The one of you that has been a female this year,” he told
them, “shall now become a male for the year ahead. In the
manner of the pigs you are you shall breed again and pro-
duce an offspring. Return here again in a year.”
He struck them with his staff so that Gwydion, who had
been a stag, became a sow, and Gilfaethwy, who had been
a hind, became a boar. The two them ran off into the for-
est. Math took their fawn and changed him into a little boy,
named him Hyddwn, and had him baptized. He was raised
after that in the court of the king.
At the end of the year the hounds of Math’s court began
to bark. The king went forth outside the gate and found a
wild boar there with a sow and a good-sized piglet. He took
189
his magic staff and struck the boar, changing it into a wolf
bitch, and the sow he changed into a wolf.
“Let your nature once again match your spirits,” said the
king. “You shall go out into the wild and breed with each
other again. In one year, return here.”
The two animals that were Gilfaethwy and his brother
Gwydion then ran off into the woods. Math touched the pig-
let they left behind with his staff and changed him into a
boy, then gave him the name Hychdwn. He had him bap-
tized and raised him in his own household.
At the end of the year the dogs of court began to howl
again. Math went to the gate and saw there a wolf, his mate,
and a young cub. The king touched the cub with his staff
and changed him into a handsome young boy, to whom he
gave the name Bleiddwn. He then struck the two wolves
with his staff and changed them back into their human
shape.
“Men,” said the king, “you have been punished enough.
You have borne the shame of bearing each other’s child. Go
now, bathe and put on clothing, then join me in my hall.”
When Gilfaethwy and Gwydion were properly arrayed,
they came to the king.
“Advise me,” he said to them. “I need a new maiden to
hold my feet. Who should it be?”
“Lord,” said Gwydion, “the choice is easy. It should be
Arianrhod your niece, daughter of your sister.”
The king called for the girl.
“Are you a virgin?” he asked.
“I do not know that I may not be,” she said.
Then he took his magic staff and laid it on the floor.
“Step over this,” he told the girl. “If you are not a maiden,
I will know.”
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The girl stepped over the rod and suddenly a fine, yellow-
haired baby boy fell from her womb. The girl was ashamed
and ran toward the door, but as she went another small thing
fell from her womb onto the floor. Before anyone could see,
Gwydion took it and wrapped it in a bundle of brocaded silk,
then hid it away in a chest at the foot of his bed.
The king picked up the yellow-haired boy.
“Well,” he said, “I will have this one baptized and his
name shall be Dylan.”
As soon as the boy was baptized, he made for the nearby
sea and leapt into the waves. His form changed and he began
to swim better than any creature of the ocean. There he
remained.
One day after this, Gwydion was lying in his bed when
he heard a cry from the chest at his feet. He opened it and
unwrapped the silk brocade. There he saw a baby boy crying
and flailing his arms. Gwydion found a woman to nurse the
child and he raised the boy himself, loving him as his own
son, though the child did not have a name.
Gwydion and the boy went together on a journey to the
home of the child’s mother, Arianrhod. She was happy to see
Gwydion but was filled with shame when she saw the boy.
“Why did you bring him here?” she asked.
“You have no reason to be ashamed of such a fine lad,”
he replied.
“You disgrace me nonetheless,” she said. “I therefore put
a curse on him that he shall not have a name until I give him
one, though I never will.”
Still,” said Gwydion, “the boy will have a name and it
will be you who gives it to him.”
Gwydion went away from the home of Arianrhod in
anger. The next day he went down to the shore and began to
191
gather seaweed. With his magic he turned the seaweed into

a small boat and conjured excellent leather, which he sewed
into fine shoes. He put the boy in the ship and they sailed
to the home of Arianrhod. While they were in the ship, he
changed their appearance so that they became shoemakers.
From a window at her home Arianrhod asked one of her
servants who the men were who had arrived by sea.
“They are shoemakers,” said the maid.
“Go and see what sort of work they do,” said Arianrhod.
“Take the measurements of my feet. If their work is good,
have them make me a pair of shoes.”
The maid came and was impressed by the quality of their
craftsmanship. She asked Gwydion to make a pair of shoes
for her mistress, but he deliberately made them too large.
“These do not fit,” said Arianrhod to her maid. “Have
him make me another pair.”
Gwydion did so, but this time he made them too small.
When the maid returned to Gwydion to demand another
pair, he told her that her mistress must come herself so that
he could measure her feet himself. When she arrived, she
greeted the shoemaker but did not know who he really was.
At that moment a wren perched on the deck of Gwydion’s
little boat. The boy cast a stone at it and struck it on the leg.
“That was a fine cast,” said Arianrhod. “It is with a skill-
ful hand (llaw gyffes) that the fair-haired one (lleu) has hit
the bird.”
“Well,” said Gwydion. “you have given him a name.
From now on he shall be called Lleu Llaw Gyffes.”
At that moment the boat and all its belongings changed
back into seaweed.
“That was an evil trick, Gwydion,” said Arianrhod. “But
you shall not defeat me. I now curse the boy so that he shall
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never take up arms until I give him weapons myself—and

I never will.”
“I swear by God himself,” declared Gwydion, “that you
will give him arms.”
Gwydion returned home and trained the boy in every
type of horsemanship. When the lad was ready to be a
warrior, Gwydion took him back to the stronghold of his
mother. Before they arrived, however, he changed their
shape and appearance so that they seemed to be bards on a
circuit around the country.
Arianrhod welcomed them and hosted them that night
at a feast in which they entertained the guests with song and
story. The next morning Gwydion used his magic to cre-
ate the sound of trumpets and turmoil, as if the castle were
being attacked by an army.
Arianrhod rushed to their chamber and asked them to
help defend her palace. She gave them arms and helped the
boy dress for war. It was then that Gwydion smiled.
“Lady,” he said, “have your men stand down and put
away their weapons. There is no army storming your gates.”
At that he caused the roar of battle to cease and changed
their appearance. Arianrhod was furious.
“You have made a fool of me twice,” she exclaimed, “but
I will have my revenge. I curse him and swear he will never
have a wife from any race of women on this earth.”
Gwydion and the lad left her then and went to the hall of
Math the king. They told him all that had happened.
“Well,” said Math, “we will find a wife for this young
man in any case.”
Math and Gwydion then took flowers and formed the
fairest and most beautiful woman anyone had ever seen.
They baptized her and named her Blodeuedd, then gave her
193
to Lleu to sleep with. Math also gave him a fine piece of land
to rule over with his bride.
One day Blodeuedd was visiting the castle of Math with
her husband Lleu when she saw a handsome man hunting
with his retinue. She asked who he was and was told he was
Gronw Pebyr, the lord of Penllyn. Blodeuedd invited him to
dine with her that night. When she gazed at him her whole
body was filled with longing and love. After all the house-
hold was asleep that evening, she went to his chamber and
the two made love together until the morning.
The same thing happened the next two nights, then
Blodeuedd told Gronw Pebyr that they must kill her hus-
band Lleu so that they could be together.
“My lady,” he said, “how can that be done? He is pro-
tected by great enchantments.”
“I will discover his weakness,” she said, “so that you can
slay him.”
Blodeuedd went to her husband in tears the next day.
“My lord,” she cried, “I am so afraid that you might die
before me. I could not bear to lose you.”
“Do not fear, my dear,” he consoled her. “It is not easy
to kill me.”
“But I cannot be at peace unless I am sure you are safe,”
she said. “Tell me how hard it would be for someone to
slay you.”
He then assured her that to kill him a man would have
to spend a year working on a poison spear that could only
be shaped while people were at prayers on Sunday. He then
revealed that he could not be hurt in a house or outside, on
a horse or on foot. To kill him a man would have to make a
bath for him on the riverbank and construct a wood frame
above the tub. Then he himself would have to stand with one
194
foot on a billy goat and the other on the edge of the tub while
a man cast the poisoned spear at him.
“Well, thank God for that,” she said. “That is not likely
to happen.”
She sent word to Gronw Pebyr telling him everything
her husband Lleu had said. When the year had passed,
Blodeuedd spoke to her husband again: “My lord, I was
thinking about what you told me a year ago concerning the
manner in which you could be killed. I cannot conceive of
what you have said. Would you show me what you meant?”
Lleu was gracious to his wife and built a structure on the
riverbank above a tub. Then he found a billy goat to stand
near as he bathed in the tub. When he was finished, he stood
with one foot on the tub and another on the goat.
Blodeuedd had sent word to Gronw to hide nearby with
the spear. Just as Lleu mounted the tub, Gronw cast his spear
at him so that he was struck through his side. Lleu let forth
a horrible scream and took to the air in the form of an eagle,
flying away until he was no longer seen. Gronw then took
possession of his kingdom and shared the bed of Blodeuedd.
The news of what had befallen Lleu reached Math and
Gwydion.
“Lord,” Gwydion said to Math, “I will never rest until
I find Lleu.”
Gwydion set forth and searched all the land, but he
could not find Lleu. At last he came to the home of a peasant
in the forest and stayed the night there. The man kept a fine
sow that he let out into the woods every morning to forage
for food. Gwydion was struck by the eagerness of the sow
to leave her pen, and so followed her the next morning into
the forest. He found her under an oak tree feeding on rotten
flesh and maggots.
195
When he looked up into the tree, he saw a gravely

wounded eagle in the branches. When the eagle stirred,
the rotten flesh would fall from its body onto the ground
and the sow would eat it. He knew then that the eagle
was Lleu.
Then Gwydion began to sing:
There’s an oak that grows in the woods

that holds a prince in its branches.
If I sing the truth,
Lleu will come down to me.
The eagle flew down from the branches and rested its head
in Gwydion’s lap. He touched the bird with his magic rod
and the eagle changed back into Lleu. But never had anyone
seen a man in more wretched shape, with scarcely any flesh
remaining on his body.
Gwydion took him to the palace of Math where they
cared for Lleu and restored him to strength.
At the end of a year, Gwydion mustered his men and
went to the castle of Blodeuedd. The woman made from
flowers fled, but Gwydion caught her at last. He did not kill
her, but turned her into an owl, a bird hated by all others,
whose face is in the form of a flower.
As for her lover Gronw Pebyr, he sent a message to Lleu
suing for peace. Instead of land or gold, Lleu demanded the
man face him on the shore of the same river where he had
struck him with a spear. There Lleu said he would cast a
spear at Gronw Pebyr in return.
“My lord,” said Gronw, “the evil I did was the fault of
a woman. I will face your spear, but let me place a stone
between me and the blow.”
196
Lleu granted his request, but when he cast the spear at

Gronw, it broke through the stone and pierced his body so
that he died.
Lleu then took possession of his lands and ruled there-
after in justice and peace.
197
9
✦
WELSH STORIES AND SAGAS
THERE ARE MANY OTHER EARLY Welsh stories that con-

tinue the themes found in the Mabinogi. Like those stories,
these are set in the sophisticated life of the medieval Welsh
courts, but they also draw on elements that stretch into the
distant past of Celtic mythology. The tale of Culhwch and
Olwen also stands out as one of the earliest stories of King
Arthur.
L L U D D A N D L L E U E LY S
Once there was a king of all Britain, Beli Mawr, who had four
sons, named Lludd, Caswallawn, Ninniaw, and Lleuelys.
When Beli died, his kingdom passed to Lludd as the eldest
son. Lludd was a worthy ruler who rebuilt the walls of his
capital city with countless towers and filled it with excellent
homes for his people. He loved this city more than all others
in his kingdom. It was named for him as Caer Lludd, and
then Caer Llundein, but in time the people began to call it
London.
The favorite brother of Lludd was Lleuelys, who was a
wise and thoughtful man. When Lleuelys heard that the
king of France had died without an heir save for a daughter,
198
he went to that land to ask for the crown and was given it
along with the king’s daughter in marriage.
After a number of years, the island of Britain suffered
three terrible oppressions. The first was the coming of an
evil people known as the Coraniaid, who could hear every
word and whisper spoken throughout the land so that no
one could ever do them harm. The second oppression was
a cry that came on the eve of every May Day that terrified
every creature and left all the women and cattle of the island
barren. The third oppression was that once a year all the
food of the king’s court would mysteriously vanish except
for what his nobles could eat on that single night.
Lludd did not know what to do to save his kingdom, so
he took a ship and went to his brother Lleuelys to seek his
advice. His brother met him on the sea and the two took
counsel on what they might do to save Britain. They spoke
through a long brass horn so that the Coraniaid could not
hear them, but their words were confused by a demon who
lived in the horn so that they could not understand each
other. Lleuelys then took wine and poured it through the
horn so that the demon was driven away.
The wise Lleuelys then advised his brother on how to
drive away the oppressions that plagued his land. Lleuelys
said to invite all his people and the Coraniaid to a great
assembly. He should then mix into everyone’s drink a pow-
der made from mice which Lleuelys would give him to breed.
The powder would not harm his own people, but it would
poison the Coraniaid so that they all would die.
Lleuelys told his brother that the second oppression was
a British dragon uttering a horrible scream as it fought a
foreign dragon. The way to stop the terrible sound was to
measure the length and breadth of Britain to find the exact
199
W elsh S tories and S agas | 199
center of the country, then dig a hole there and fill it with
mead covered by a silk brocade. He would then see the two
dragons fighting in the forms of various animals. When they
assumed the shape of dragons and were tired of fighting in
the air, they would fall in the shape of pigs onto the silk cov-
ering and sink to the bottom of the hole. They would then
drink all the mead and fall asleep, so that they could be put
in a stone chest and hidden in the ground. As long as they
remained there, no oppression would come to Britain from
beyond its borders.
The third oppression was a powerful magician who put
everyone to sleep with music and stole all the food from the
court. Lludd was to wait for him on the appointed day in
a vat of cold water to keep himself awake, then defeat the
magician in a fight with swords.
Lludd returned to his kingdom and did all his brother
had said. The Coraniaid came to the feast and drank the
poisoned water so that they all died. The center of the coun-
try was found and the dragons were captured, so that they
were held in a stone chest ever after. Finally the magician
was defeated when Lludd alone kept awake in the vat of cold
water, and was forced to restore all that he had taken.
Thus did Lludd ward off the three oppressions from
the Isle of Britain and ruled the land in peace for the rest of
his life.
G W IO N BAC H A N D TA L I E S I N
In the days when Arthur ruled over Britain, there was a

nobleman of the land named Tegid Foel, who had a wife
named Ceridwen who was skilled in magic, enchantment,
200
and divination. She and Tegid had a son who was terribly
ugly. They named him Morfran, the Great Crow, but also
called him Afagddu, or Utter Darkness.
Ceridwen loved and pitied her son, so she determined to
give him the gift of prophecy to counter his hideous looks.
She discovered that by certain herbs and cunning she could
make a potion that would give him this special knowledge.
The mixture had to be cooked in a great cauldron of water
for a year and a day. At the end of that time, three drops
containing the virtue of prophecy would spring forth from
the cauldron.
Ceridwen found an old blind man to stir the cauldron
for her. This man was led about by a small boy named
Gwion Bach, who also fed kindling into the fire beneath
the cauldron.
As the time neared at last, Ceridwen placed her son
beside the cauldron so that the three drops would land on
him when the potion was done. Then, exhausted from her
labor, she sat down to rest.
She was asleep at the moment the three drops sprung
from the cauldron. When they did, Gwion Bach shoved
Morfran out of the way so that the drops landed on him
instead. Then the cauldron uttered a terrible cry and shat-
tered. Ceridwen awoke from her sleep and saw that little
Gwion had received the gift of the drops instead of her son.
She determined to destroy the boy and took out after him
as he fled from her house. Through the power of magic he
had received, Gwion turned himself into a hare to escape
Ceridwen, but she changed into a greyhound and chased
him. From place to place they ran across the country, each
turning into different creatures along the way. At last Gwion
ran into a barn and changed himself into a grain of wheat to
201
hide. But Ceridwen knew what he had done and changed

herself into a black hen and swallowed the lad.
She carried him nine months inside of her until she gave
birth to him as a baby boy. When she saw him, she could
not bring herself to harm him, so she wrapped the child in
swaddling clothes and placed him into a hide-covered bas-
ket, then put him out to sea.
Forty years later, there was a wealthy lord named
Gwyddno Garanhir who had a kind but spendthrift son
named Elphin. When Gwyddno’s money at last ran out,
his son was forced to end his days of lavish spending.
But his father did grant that he could have all the salmon
caught in his fishing weir on All Hallows’ Eve. When that
day came, Elphin went to the weir and saw only a single
salmon there. Elphin was in despair, but he saw in the weir
also a small basket covered in hide. He took his knife and
cut open the hide only to see the shining forehead of a
baby boy.
“Behold, such a radiant forehead” (tal iesin), said Elphin.
And thus the boy’s name became Taliesin.
Elphin took the basket with the child and put it on his
horse. Then the baby began to sing:
Fair Elphin, do not weep.

No fish caught in Gwyddno’s weir
was ever as good as tonight.
Though I am small, I am gifted.
When Elphin reached his home, he gave the boy to his wife
to care for. She raised him with great love and affection.
From the day that Taliesin came into his home, the for-
tunes of Elphin increased and he prospered greatly. He was
202
honored by the nobles of the land and invited to the court of

the king Maelgwn to celebrate the feast of Christmas. While
he was their, the men of the king curried his royal favor by
extolling Maelgwn and saying he was more blessed in every
way—his power, his warriors, his virtuous wife, his poets—
than any man of the land.
Elphin joined in praising the king, but then he
boasted: “Indeed, Maelgwn in blessed in every way more
than all, except regarding his wife and his poets. My wife
is more chaste than any woman of the land and no poet can
compare to my bard Taliesin.”
The king was angry when he heard what Elphin said and
was determined to prove him wrong. Maelgwn threw Elphin
into prison and sent his son Rhun to test the faithfulness of
Elphin’s wife. For it was said that no man in the world was
more lusty or charming than Rhun. No woman or maiden
ever came away from an evening with him with her virtue
intact.
But as Rhun was hastening to Elphin’s home to despoil
his wife, Taliesin already knew what was coming to pass.
He told the lady what was planned for her and urged her to
switch clothes and places with a fair young housekeeper of
their manor. The wife did this and even gave her finest ring
to the serving girl to wear. Then she placed the girl in her
own chamber and waited on her.
When Rhun arrived and was welcomed for supper in the
lady’s chamber, Rhun greeted her pleasantly and beguiled
the maid with his charm and seductive talk. Rhun made
sure the young woman drank too much, even giving her a
powder to make sure she didn’t wait. He cut off her finger
with the ring and wrapped it in his handkerchief. Then he
had his way with the young woman and left.
203
Rhun returned to his father the king and told him all
that had happened, while Elphin was forced to stand nearby
to listen. Maelgwn declared that Elphin was a fool to think
his wife was chaste when the proof of her infidelity was the
ring in front of them.
“With your permission, my lord,” said Elphin, “I think
I can prove you wrong. This finger is rough from kneading
dough and the nail is untrimmed—not like my wife’s fingers
at all. In addition, this finger is so large that the ring was
forced over the knuckle, unlike my wife’s fingers, which are
fine and dainty. The woman your son seduced was not my
wife.”
The king was so angry at Elphin that he threw him back
in prison until he at least made good on his second boast—
that his poet was the greatest bard in the land.
Taliesin knew all that had passed, so he made his way
to Maelgwn’s court. When he arrived in the busy hall, he
found a quiet place in the corner by the door to sit without
attracting attention. When the chief bards of the kingdom
filed into the hall, Taliesin put his finger to his puckered lips
and whispered a sound like blerum blerum as they passed.
The poets all approached the king on his throne and
bowed before him, but when they tried to sing his praise, the
only sound that came from their mouths was blerum blerum.
The king thought they had been drinking and ordered one of
his nobles to strike the chief bard over the head with a silver
platter so that he fell on his backside before the whole court.
“My lord, it is not our fault!” cried the chief bard. “We
sound like fools because some evil spirit in the guise of a
man is sitting in the corner there and has confounded us.”
The king ordered Taliesin brought before him to be
questioned.
204
“Who are you?” asked Maelgwn.

And Taliesin answered in song:
Chief poet to Elphin am I.

My home is the land of the angels.
I was with the Lord in the heavens
when Lucifer fell.
I was in the ark with Noah
and survived the fall of Troy.
I was atop the cross
of the merciful son of God.
Johannes the prophet called me Merlin,
but now kings call me Taliesin.
I am the chief poet of the West.
Now release Elphin from his chains.
A mighty rushing wind then swept into the court so that

the king and the people feared the walls would fall down
on them. Maelgwn therefore ordered that Elphin be released
from prison immediately.
Taliesin then told Elphin to wager with the king that
he had the fastest horse in the land, which his master did.
When the day of the race came, Taliesin came there with
twenty-four sticks of holly, one for each of the horses in
the race save for Elphin’s. He told the lad riding his mas-
ter’s horse to take the sticks and strike each of the horses
on the rump with a single stick as he overtook them, then
throw it on the ground. Taliesin also told him to throw his
cap on the ground when he finished the race. The boy did
as he was told, threw his cap on the ground, and won the
race for Elphin, with the king and his nobles conceding
defeat.
205
When everyone had gone, Taliesin told Elphin to dig

where the cap lay on the ground. When he did, he found a
huge cauldron of gold there.
“Elphin,” said Taliesin, “here is your payment for saving
me from the sea and raising me to this day.”
After this, Elphin was highly honored among the nobil-
ity of the land, while Taliesin was celebrated ever after as the
greatest bard in Britain.
C U L H W C H A N D O LW E N
Cilydd son of Celyddon Wledig wanted to marry a woman as

noble as himself. He set his heart on Goleuddydd daughter of
Anlawdd Wledig, and she agreed to marry him. After their wed-
ding she became pregnant, but at the time of the conception she
went insane and wandered the country avoiding people. When
it was time to deliver the child, her senses returned and she
found that she was near a pigsty with a swineherd and his pigs.
Goleuddydd was so frightened of the pigs that she immediately
gave birth. The swineherd took the woman and the baby to the
court of her husband Cilydd. The child was named Culhwch
the pig boy because of where he had been born. But he was of
noble blood and a cousin to King Arthur himself. The boy was
then given out to a noble couple in fosterage, as was the custom.
After the birth of Culhwch, his mother Goleuddydd
became ill and knew that she would die. She called her hus-
band Cilydd to her and told him that he should remarry
when she was gone, but to wait until a briar was growing on
her grave. When he left, Goleuddydd summoned her tutor
and told him to tend her grave so that nothing would ever
grow on it. Then she died.
206
Every morning after his wife’s death, the king sent a boy
to examine her grave to see if anything was growing there.
However, the queen’s tutor faithfully tended the grave and
cleared it of all growth, until one day he forgot. The king
was out hunting then and went to visit his wife’s grave. He
saw a briar growing there and decided to marry right away.
“I know a woman who would suit you well,” said one of
his men. “She is the wife of King Doged.”
Cilydd and his men therefore killed King Doged and he
took the woman for himself in marriage, along with his land.
One day this woman was out walking when she met a
toothless old hag. The wife of Cilydd asked the hag where his
children were.
“Cilydd has no children,” she said, “except one son
named Culhwch who is away in fosterage.”
She returned to Cilydd and asked to meet his son
Culhwch, so he was sent for and came to his home. When she
met Culhwch, she decided to take vengeance on Cilydd for
killing her husband and taking her, so she cursed the boy: “I
swear that you shall not touch the flesh of a woman until you
get for your wife Olwen the daughter of Ysbaddaden lord of
the giants. And I curse you to fall in love with her.”
The boy blushed and suddenly felt a love for the girl
enter every limb of his body, though he had never seen her.
He was determined to have Olwen for his wife, so he asked
his father how he might win her.
“Go to your cousin Arthur,” Cilydd said, “Ask him to
help you make the girl your own.”
Culhwch rode off on his steed to the court of Arthur, but
the porter stopped him at the gate.
“Knife has gone into food and drink into horn,” the por-
ter told him. “No one except the son of a king or a craftsman
is allowed inside.”
207
“If you don’t let me in,” said Culhwch, “I will satirize

both you and your Lord Arthur. I will also raise a shout that
will make pregnant women miscarry and all other women
barren for the rest of their lives.”
“Let me talk with Arthur,” said the porter.
He went inside the gate and told his lord that there was
a man at the gate more noble than he had ever seen. Arthur
ordered him to be allowed inside, though it was against his
custom.
Culhwch rode into the feasting hall on his horse and
demanded a gift from the king. If he did not receive it, he
said, he would satirize him throughout the land.
“By my sword Caledfwlch and my wife Gwenhwyfar,”
said Arthur, “you shall have whatever you wish. But tell me
who you are.”
“I am Culhwch son of Cilydd and I am your cousin.”
“I welcome and bless you, boy,” said Arthur. “Now tell
me what it is you desire.”
“Your help,” answered Culhwch, “so that I may have
Olwen daughter of Ysbaddaden the chief of all the giants as
my wife.”
“Well,” said Arthur, “I have never heard of this maiden
or her father, but I will send messengers to seek her out.”
For a year the heralds of Arthur roamed the land in
search of news about Olwen, but they could learn nothing.
Arthur then summoned all his knights with all their skills
to join him on a quest with Culhwch for the maiden Olwen.
Culhwch and the band of Arthur’s knights road forth
from his castle with Arthur’s man Cei and traveled the land
in search of Ysbaddaden’s daughter. At last they came to an
open plain and saw the most splendid fort in the world before
them. There was a large flock of sheep in the field before the
castle and a shepherd clad in skins with them.
208
“Whose sheep do you guard?” asked one of Arthur’s men.

“Those of the lord of yonder castle,” answered the shep-
herd, “Ysbaddaden chief of the giants.”
“We are here with Arthur to ask for Olwen, his daughter.”
“God help you!” said the shepherd. “No man who has
made that request of my master has ever come away alive.”
Culhwch and Arthur’s men went back with the shepherd
to his hut and the man’s wife welcomed them. She told them
the girl they were seeking came there every Saturday to wash
her hair and would come if she were sent for, which she did.
When Olwen arrived she was wearing a silk robe as red
as flame and a gold torque studded with jewels. Her hair was
as yellow as flowers of the field and her skin and breasts were
whiter than the foam of the ocean. No hawk that ever flew had
brighter eyes than the girl. Her cheeks were as red as rubies and
wherever she walked white clover would spring up in her path.
She came into the house and sat beside Culhwch.
“Maiden,” he said, “I have loved you and sought you
throughout the land. Leave with me and be my wife, so that
no one can accuse me of doing wrong.”
“I cannot,” said Olwen. “I have pledged to my father
that I would never leave him without his blessing, for he
can only live until I take a man as my husband. But if you
truly love me, go to him and ask for my hand. Do whatever
he asks of you and you shall have me. But if you hesitate, I
will never be yours and you will not escape with your life.”
“I will do so,” said Culhwch, “and I will win you as my
bride.”
Olwen left before them, then Culhwch and his compan-
ions made their way to the castle of Ysbaddaden. The king of
the giants was seated on an enormous throne at the front of
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his hall. He was so large that his eyelids had to be lifted by

his servants with giant forks.
“Greetings, my lord,” said Culhwch. “I come to seek
your blessing to marry your daughter Olwen.”
“Hmph,” muttered Ysbaddaden. “We shall see about
that. If you want to marry my daughter you must accom-
plish the tasks I set before you.”
“I shall do whatever you ask,” said Culhwch.
“Don’t be so sure,” said the giant. “The tasks are many
and not easily done.”
Ysbaddaden then laid out an endless list of impossible
labors for Culhwch, from fetching the birds of Rhiannon to
entertain him to hunting the great and terrible boar Twrch
Trwyth. To each demand, Culhwch answered that he would
accomplish it, with the help of his cousin Arthur.
His first task was to seek out Mabon son of Modron,
who had been stolen from his mother when he was only
three nights old. No one had seen him since.
To find out where Mabon was, Arthur and the men
sought out the aged Blackbird of Cilgwri to ask for his help.
“When I first came here,” said the blackbird, “there was
a smith’s anvil in this place. No work was ever done on it, but
I only rested my beak on it at night. That was so long ago that
today there is only a piece of the anvil the size of a nut that
hasn’t worn away. I am old, but I know nothing of Mabon.
Seek out the Stag of Rhedynfre.”
They came then to the ancient Stag of Rhedynfre and
asked if he knew where Mabon was.
“When I first came here,” said the stag, “there was a
sapling oak. It grew over the ages into a mighty tree with a
hundred branches. Today nothing is left of it but a stump.
210
I know nothing of the man you seek. But search out the Owl
of Cwm Cawlwyd who is older than me. Perhaps he knows.”
Arthur and his companions came then to the Owl of
Cwm Cawlwyd and asked for his help.
“If I knew where Mabon was,” said the owl, “I would tell
you. When I came here this valley was empty. Then a forest
grew here over the centuries, then men finally came and cut
it down. A second forest grew, then a third, yet in all that
time I have heard nothing of the man you seek. You should
go to the oldest of all the creatures on the earth and the one
who has wandered farthest, the Eagle of Gwernabwy.”
The men finally found the Eagle of Gwernabwy and
asked if he knew of Mabon.
“When I first came here,” said the eagle, “I rested on a
mountain so high I could touch the stars at night. Today that
mountain is only the size of a fist. Yet in all that time I have
heard nothing of Mabon. The only creature that may know
something is the Salmon of Llyn Llyw.”
Arthur at last found the Salmon of Llyn Llyw and asked
if he knew of Mabon.
“As much as I know,” said the salmon, “I will tell. With
every tide I go up the river to Caer Loyw. There I have heard
weeping and grieving the likes of which you have never
heard.”
The men went up the river to Caer Loyw and there heard
weeping from behind the castle walls. They came to the
sound and called out to the man on the other side.
“What man cries out in this stone prison?” they asked.
“I am Mabon the son of Modron,” the voice said.
“We will rescue you,” they cried.
Then Arthur and his men stormed the castle and freed
Mabon from his prison. They took him back to the hall of
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Ysbaddaden and showed him to the giant to prove they had

done the deed.
With the help of Arthur and his men, Culhwch
rode across the land and beyond the sea, doing all
that Ysbaddaden asked of him, impossible though the
tasks were.
At last only one labor remained. They must bring to
Ysbaddaden the blood of the pitch-black witch, daughter of
the white witch, who lived in a cave in the northern lands in
the darkest part of the earth.
Arthur sent two men into the witch’s cave, but they
barely escaped with their lives. He sent more men into the
darkness, but they too were driven away. At last Arthur
himself entered into the cave and slew the witch with
his own blade. They took the witch’s blood as they had
been told.
When all was done, Culhwch, Arthur, and his men
returned to the castle of Ysbaddaden to claim Olwen.
“Is your daughter mine now?” asked Culhwch.
“She is,” said the giant, “but you should thank Arthur
for that. Now the time has come to end my life.”
Then Culhwch’s companion Goreu seized the giant
by the hair and cut off his head. They stuck it on a post in
the courtyard of the castle and Culhwch took possession
of Ysbaddaden’s kingdom. Culhwch slept that night with
Olwen as his wife, then the next day Arthur and his men
returned home.
212
213
10
✦
CHRISTIAN MYTHOLOGY
THE COMING OF CHRISTIANITY TO Ireland did not mean

the end of mythological stories, as the ancient themes of
Celtic mythology were blended with Christian traditions,
especially in the lives of the famous Irish saints Patrick,
Brigid, and Brendan.
Two short letters written by Patrick himself in the
fifth century survive in the manuscript tradition. They are
remarkable documents that reveal a very human figure work-
ing to spread the Christian gospel in the face of opposition
from both the non-Christian Irish and his Christian superi-
ors in Britain. The mythic and imaginative life of Patrick by
the Irish churchman Muirchú on which this section is based
was composed two centuries after Patrick’s death.
We know almost nothing about the historical Saint
Brigid except that she probably lived in the generation after
Patrick and founded a monastic church for both men and
women at Kildare west of Dublin. There are three early
lives of Brigid in Latin and Old Irish, but the story in this
chapter is based on that composed by the Irish churchman
Cogitosus, who lived in the seventh century.
The historical Brendan, about whom we know very little,
lived in southwest Ireland and was probably a contemporary
of Saint Brigid. The tale of his voyage, dating to perhaps the
214
late seventh century, was a medieval bestseller copied and

read throughout Europe. Although it is a metaphor for the
journey of the Christian life, it may contain elements of real
voyages across the North Atlantic by Irish sailors.
S A I N T PA T R I C K
Patrick was born in Britain, across the sea from the shores of
Ireland. When he was sixteen years old, he was kidnapped
from his family’s villa by Irish pirates and taken to Ireland to
be sold as a slave. He was bought by a druid named Miliucc
and set to work tending his sheep in hunger, cold, and rain.
When he had nowhere else to turn, he found again his child-
hood faith and the spirit burned inside him. He prayed a
hundred times each day and the same again each night ask-
ing God to save him.
One night after six years of captivity, Patrick heard a
voice telling him to flee from his master and make his way to
a ship that was waiting for him. Patrick listened to the voice
and ran away. They sailed for three days and three nights
on the sea and landed in a wilderness with nothing to eat
or drink. Like the children of Israel, Patrick and the crew
wandered through the deserted land. Finally, Patrick prayed
to God for deliverance—and the Lord heard his prayer.
A herd of wild pigs came near them and the crew killed and
ate them.
Patrick returned at last to his family in Britain and was
received with joy. While he was back in his home, he had
many visions telling him to return to Ireland and preach the
gospel. Thus, he determined to train as a priest and return to
the land where he had been enslaved.
215
C hristian M ythology | 215
Patrick crossed the sea to Gaul on his way to Rome, but

in the city of Auxerre he discovered a holy bishop named
Germanus, and stayed with him a long time training in the
ministry of God.
When the time was right, God sent an angel named
Victoricus to Patrick to tell him it was time for him to return
to Ireland. With the blessing of Germanus and ordination
as a bishop, he traveled back to Britain and then on to the
island of his enslavement accompanied by his companions
Auxilius, Iserninus, and other helpers.
Now at this time in Ireland a great and mighty pagan
king named Lóegaire ruled at Tara. He surrounded himself
with druids and sorcerers who were masters of every sort
of evil. There were two druids among his counselors named
Lochru and Lucet Máel, who were able to see the future by
the dark arts of the devil. They had predicted to the king that
one day a man would arrive from across the sea who would
destroy his kingdom and the gods themselves if he allowed
it. Many times they proclaimed:
There will come a man with a shaved head

and a stick curved at the top.
He will chant evil words
from a table at the front of his house.
And his people will say: “Amen, let it be so.”
This Lóegaire was ruling at Tara as king when Patrick

arrived on the shore of Ireland at Inber Dee in Leinster. He
then sailed north along the coast to Inber Sláne near the
Boyne River and hid his boat there. He wanted to find his
former master Miliucc and buy his freedom, for under Irish
law he was still a slave.
216
A swineherd found Patrick and his men near their boat

and went to tell his master Díchu. This man thought they
were thieves or pirates and set out to kill them, but he was
a man of natural goodness and the Lord turned his heart
when he saw Patrick. The new bishop of Ireland preached to
Díchu and won him to the faith, the first of his many con-
verts in Ireland.
Patrick then traveled across the land to the mountain of
Sliab Mis, where he had once been a slave. But when Miliucc
heard that Patrick was on his way, he was prompted by the
devil to kill himself lest he be ruled by a man who had once
served him. Miliucc gathered together all his possessions in
his house and set the structure on fire with himself inside.
Patrick saw the smoke in the distance and knew what
Miliucc had done. He stood there for hours watching in
silence while he wept.
“Why did you do this, Miliucc?” asked Patrick. “You
submitted yourself to fire rather than to God. Therefore
none of your sons will rule after you and your descendants
will serve others.”
Patrick left the lands of Miliucc and traveled around
the nearby plain preaching the gospel. It was there the faith
began to grow.
Now at that time Easter was drawing near and Patrick
talked with his companions about where they might cel-
ebrate the holy festival in that land for the first time. He
decided at last that they should celebrate Easter on the Plain
of Brega near Tara, for this place was the center of paganism
and idolatry in Ireland.
At the same time the heathens of the island were cele-
brating their own pagan festival with incantations, demonic
rites, and idolatrous superstitions. Nobles and druids of the
217
land had gathered at Tara to light a sacred fire. For it was an

unbreakable law that no one could kindle a fire before the king
had lit the holy fire on that night. But that evening Patrick
kindled his fire before the king in full view of the Hill of Tara.
The king called his druids together and demanded to
know who had lit a fire before him. He ordered that the man
be hunted down and killed at once. The druids declared that
they did not know whose fire it was, but they warned the
king that unless he extinguished the fire that very night it
would grow and outshine all the fires of Ireland, driving
away the gods of the land and seducing all the people of his
realm forever.
When Lóegaire heard these things he was greatly trou-
bled and all of Tara with him. He declared that he would
find the man responsible for the forbidden fire and slay him.
He ordered his warriors to prepare their chariots for battle
and follow him out of his fortress.
They found Patrick nearby and summoned him before
the king. His chief druid Lochru mocked the holy man and
the faith he taught, but Patrick looked him in the eye and
prayed to heaven that he might pay for his impiety. The
druid was then lifted up into the air and cast down on a rock,
splitting his skull into pieces.
The pagans were all angry and afraid, so that the king
ordered his men to seize Patrick. But darkness suddenly
fell on them all and an earthquake struck the warriors.
The horses were driven onto the plain and all the men died
except for the king, his wife, and two of his men.
“I beseech you,” said the queen to Patrick, “do not kill
my husband. He will fall before you on bended knee.”
Lóegaire was furious and still planned to kill Patrick, but
he knelt before him to save his life. Patrick, however, knew
218
what was in the heart of Lóegaire. Before Lóegaire could

gather more warriors, Patrick turned himself into a deer and
went into the forest. The king then returned to Tara with his
few followers who had survived.
The next day King Lóegaire and his men were in his
feasting hall at Tara brooding about what had happened
the evening before. Suddenly holy Patrick and his follow-
ers appeared in the midst of them, even though the doors
were closed. The king and his men were astonished. Lóegaire
invited Patrick to sit and eat with them so that he might test
him. Patrick, knowing what was about to happen, did not
refuse.
While they were eating, the druid Lucet Máel placed a
drop of poison in Patrick’s cup while the holy man’s eyes
were turned. Patrick took the cup and blessed it, so that the
liquid froze like ice. He then turned the cup upside down
and the drop of poison fell out. Patrick blessed the cup again
and the wine turned to liquid once more.
After dinner, the druid challenged Patrick to a duel of
miracles on the plain before Tara.
“What kind of miracle would you like me to do?” asked
Patrick.
“Let us call down snow on the land,” the sorcerer replied.
“I do not wish to do anything contrary to God and
nature,” said Patrick.
“You are afraid you will fail,” exclaimed Lucet Máel.
“But I can do it.”
The druid uttered magic spells and called down snow
from the sky so that it covered the whole plain up to the
depth of a man’s waist.
“We have seen what harm you can do,” said Patrick.
“Now make the snow disappear.”
219
“I do not have the power to remove it until tomorrow,”

said Lucet Máel.
Patrick then raised his hands and blessed the whole
plain so that the snow disappeared in an instant. The crowd
was amazed and cheered for the holy man. But the druids
were very angry.
Next, the druid invoked his evil gods and called down
darkness on the whole land. The people were frightened and
begged him to bring back the light, but he could not. But
Patrick prayed to God and straightaway the sun shone forth
and all the people shouted with joy.
After these contests the king told both Patrick and the
druids to throw their books into the water to test whether
they would be damaged. Patrick agreed to do this, but the
chief of the druids said he did not want to be judged by water,
for water was sacred to the holy man—for he had heard that
Patrick baptized in water.
“Then throw your books into fire,” the king said.
Patrick agreed, but again the druid said he would not,
for fire was also sacred to the Christian.
“This is not true,” said Patrick to the druid. “I challenge
you to go into an enclosed house along with one of my young
followers. You wear my robe while my boy wears yours. Then
set the house on fire and be judged by the Most High.”
The druid agreed to this, so that a house was filled wet
and dry wood. Holy Patrick sent his young disciple Benignus
into the part of the house with dry wood wearing the robe of
the druid. The druid entered the half with wet wood wearing
Patrick’s robe. The building was then sealed and set on fire
while all the people watched.
Through the prayers of Patrick, the flames completely con-
sumed the druid and the house, but left Benignus untouched.
220
The robe of Patrick, however, was not harmed, while the gar-
ment of the druid burned away.
The king was very angry, but Patrick spoke to him:
“Unless you believe now, you will die. For the fury of the
Lord has fallen upon your head.”
King Lóegaire then called together his counselors to ask
what he should do.
“It is better to believe than die,” they told him.
So the king came reluctantly to Patrick to be baptized.
“You come to me now,” said Patrick to Lóegaire, “but it
would have been better for you if you had believed me right
away. You shall remain as king, but because of your disbelief
your descendants will not rule after you.”
Patrick then went forth and preached the gospel across
Ireland, baptizing all who believed in the name of the Father,
Son, and Holy Spirit, and confirming the power of the Lord
with miracles and wonders.
At this time there was across the sea in the pagan land of
Britain a young woman named Monesan who was the daugh-
ter of a king. She was inspired by the Holy Spirit to refuse all
offers of marriage. Even though her parents frequently beat
her and drenched her in water to persuade her to change her
mind, she would not yield. She would always ask who it was
who had made the world and the lights of the heavens, for she
was seeking through nature the creator of all creation.
Her parents did not know what to do with her, so when
they heard of Patrick and his wondrous work in Ireland,
they journeyed there with her to speak with him.
“Do you believe in God?” Patrick asked Monesan.
“I do with all my heart,” she said.
Then Patrick baptized her with water and the Holy
Spirit.
221
Immediately she fell down dead.

She was buried there in Ireland where she died. Twenty
years later her remains were carried with honor to a nearby
chapel, where her relics are adored to this day.
During these days there was a wicked British king
named Corotic who was a great persecutor and murderer of
Christians. Patrick wrote to him to urge him to follow the
way of truth, but Corotic only laughed at him.
When this was told to Patrick, the holy man asked
the Lord to expel the king from his presence, then and
forevermore.
One day not long after this, Corotic heard the sound of
music and a voice singing to him that it was time for him to
leave his throne. Then all his family and followers burst into
the same song. Suddenly, in the midst of them all, Corotic
was changed into a fox and ran out of his palace. After that
he was never seen again.
In these days there lived in Ulster a wicked, murderous
pagan named Macc Cuill moccu Graccae who was so sav-
age he was called the Cyclops. One day he was sitting on a
hill looking for travelers to rob and kill when he saw Patrick
coming down the road. Macc Cuill recognized the holy man
and decided to test him before slaying him. He had one of
his men pretend to be gravely ill and brought the man before
Patrick to be healed.
“If he had truly been sick,” Patrick said, “then you
wouldn’t be surprised by his current condition.”
Macc Cuill pulled back the sheet covering the man and
saw that he was dead. The outlaw was struck with sorrow
and guilt over what he had done.
“Forgive me, Patrick,” he said. “I confess my wickedness
and submit myself to the judgment of your God.”
222
Patrick baptized him and told him that to be forgiven by

the Lord he must go down to the sea and cast himself from
shore in a small boat with no food, water, or oars. He must
let God take him where he would, whether to death or to life.
“I will do as you have said,” replied Macc Cuill.
He went down to the sea and fettered his feet in chains
and threw away the key. Then he set out to sea as he had been
told. The north wind blew him for days until he came to an
island. There he found two righteous priests who trained
him in the way of the faith. He spent the rest of his life on
that island, and in time became a bishop famous for his holi-
ness and wisdom.
One day Patrick was preaching by the sea on a Sunday
when he was troubled by the noise of some pagans digging
a ditch around a fort. He ordered them not to work on the
Lord’s day, but they ignored him.
“Mudebroth!” he shouted. “You will gain nothing from
your labor.”
The next day a great storm arose and destroyed all the
work the pagans had done, just as Patrick had said.
Once there was a wealthy and honored pagan in Ulster
named Dáire. Patrick asked him if he would grant him some
land for a church on a hill, but Dáire gave him a piece of low
ground instead, which Patrick graciously accepted.
One day Dáire sent one of his horses to graze on
Patrick’s land, so that the holy man was offended. The next
day Dáire’s servants found the horse dead. Dáire then told
his men to kill Patrick.
But as they were leaving Dáire’s house, the wealthy man
fell down dead. Two of his servants went to Patrick and
begged him to give them something to help Dáire. Patrick
blessed a cup of water and told them to sprinkle it on the
223
dead horse. The servants did this and revived the horse, but
they also sprinkled the water on Dáire as Patrick knew they
would and brought their master back to life.
Dáire went to Patrick and thanked him, granting him
the hill that he had first asked for, where now stands the holy
city of Armagh.
On another day Patrick passed by a cross at a grave on
the side of the road, but he didn’t see it. When he found out
later from his charioteer that he had passed it by, he was
troubled, for it was his custom to always pray at whatever
cross he came near.
Patrick immediately left the house where he was staying
and made his way through the night to the grave. Through his
miraculous powers granted by God, he asked the dead man
buried there how he had died and whether he was a Christian.
“I was a pagan when I was buried here,” said the dead
man. “But a Christian man from another province died here.
When his mother came to erect a cross for him, she mistook
my grave for his and so placed the cross above my body.”
Patrick said he had not seen the cross at first because
it marked the grave of a pagan. He then ordered the cross
to be moved to the burial place of the dead Christian and
returned to the house where he was staying.
It was the custom of Patrick not to travel on Sunday. He
was spending the night in a field one Lord’s day when a great
rain came upon the land and soaked all the ground except
where Patrick was sleeping.
Patrick’s charioteer told him in tears that the storm had
driven away their horses and he could not find them in the
darkness.
“God always hears us in our time of need,” Patrick told
the man.
224
Then Patrick rolled up his sleeve and drew out his hand.
He raised his five fingers into the dark sky and they sud-
denly shone with a bright light. The charioteer ceased from
weeping and found the horses with the help of Patrick’s
miraculous light.
When the time came for Patrick to die, an angel came to
him and told him that God would grant him four petitions
that he had sought.
The first was that his authority would ever after be in the
city of Armagh. The second was that whoever sang his hymn
would have the penance for their sins decided by him. The
third was that the descendants of Díchu, who had first wel-
comed him to Ireland, would be granted mercy and would
not perish. And the final petition was that all of the Irish
would be judged by him at the end of the world.
And so on the seventeenth of March, in the one hundred
and twentieth year of his life, Patrick passed from this life
into the hands of God.
SAIN T BR IGID
Holy Brigid was born in Ireland to noble Christian parents.

Her father was named Dubthach and her mother Broicsech.
From childhood she was full of self-restraint and modesty,
and always desired to do good.
One day when Brigid was old enough, her mother told
her to churn milk to turn it into butter. But being a kind girl
wishing to obey God, she gave away all that she had made to
the poor and homeless. When her mother came at the end
of the day to collect the butter, the girl was very much afraid
of her anger. God, however, heard the prayers of Brigid and
225
miraculously restored the butter she needed. Everyone saw

the great wonder God had done and praised the great faith
in the heart of this virtuous maiden.
Not long after this her parents decided it was time to
marry her to a man, as was the custom. But Brigid was
determined to remain a chaste virgin and so went to a holy
priest named Mac Caille to receive the veil of a nun. When
he placed the veil on her head, she fell to her knees before the
altar of the church and touched the wood at the base of the
altar with her hand. Even today the place where she touched
the wood remains green and heals the sickness of the faith-
ful who touch it.
Once when Brigid was cooking bacon in a cauldron for
visitors, she felt sorry for a begging dog and gave him some.
But when the meat was taken from the cauldron and divided
among the guests, there was no less to eat than when she had
started. The guests marveled at this woman so blessed by
God and unmatched in faith.
One day when Brigid was harvesting grain in her fields,
the clouds began to gather and threatened a torrent of rain.
Indeed, throughout the province floods of water fell from
the sky and overflowed the glens and gullies of the land.
Only Brigid’s fields remained dry, by the power of God, so
that she and her laborers were able to harvest from sunrise
to sunset.
On a day when Brigid was tending her sheep and grazing
them in a grassy field, she was soaked by a fierce downpour
of rain from the heavens. She went inside a nearby house
wearing her wet clothes. As she entered the dark home, she
was blinded by a single ray of sunlight shining into the hut
through a small opening. Thinking the light was a slanting
beam built into the house, she hung her wet clothes on it and
226
they remained there as if it were a solid piece of wood. When

the owners of the home saw this miracle, they praised God
and the woman so blessed by him.
When Brigid was in the field on another day tending her
sheep, a young outlaw came to her to test her generosity. He
sought her out seven times that day wearing different clothes
each time and asking for a sheep to feed his family, which
Brigid gladly gave him. But when the flock was driven back
to the fold that night and counted, the sheep were no less in
number than they had been that morning.
The lad who saw all this was struck by the power of God
working through this woman and he returned the seven
sheep she had given him. But when the sheep were counted
again, there were still the same number as she had started
with that morning.
One day lepers came to Brigid asking her for beer, but
she had none to give them. But seeing water prepared for a
bath, she blessed it and by the power of faith turned it into
beer. She then drew out the drink in abundance and gave it
to the thirsty lepers.
There was a certain young and beautiful nun who had
taken a vow of virginity, but by human weakness had given
in to youthful desire and slept with a man. She became preg-
nant and her womb began to swell. She came to Brigid to seek
her forgiveness and help. Drawing on the potent strength of
her matchless faith, holy Brigid blessed the young woman
so that the fetus disappeared and she became a virgin again.
One day a twelve-year-old girl and her mother came
to visit Brigid. The girl had not been able to speak a word
since birth. Brigid welcomed them to her home and talked
with the mother warmly, then asked the girl to come to her.
The holy woman took her hand and asked what it was she
227
wished to do with her life. The mother spoke up and said

the girl could not answer, but Brigid replied that she would
not let go of the girl’s hand until she herself spoke. Then the
girl opened her mouth and said that she wished to be a vir-
gin of God like Brigid. From that day forward she was able
to speak.
Evil men from another province who feared neither God
nor man came one day and stole the cattle of Brigid from her
field. But on their return journey they had to cross a shallow
river. Suddenly the river rose like a towering wall and over-
whelmed the thieves. It dragged them away and drowned
them, but did not harm the cattle, who returned to their field
by themselves.
One day when Brigid was in the forest with her pigs, a
wild boar ran into the middle of the herd. The boar was ter-
rified, but Brigid came to him and blessed him so that he lost
his natural fear and was content to stay with the holy woman.
There was a certain foolish man who came once to the
fort of a nearby king and saw a fox walking through the
grounds. He thought it was a wild animal and killed it, but it
was a tame fox valued highly by the king for its tricks.
The people of the king were horrified and brought him
before their ruler. The king declared that he would kill the
man and all his family unless he could produce another fox
able to perform tricks as skillfully.
When holy Brigid heard of the man’s plight, she was
filled with compassion and came to the court of the king.
There she prayed earnestly to the Lord, who sent a wild fox
to her from the forest. The animal performed all the tricks
the previous fox had done. When the king saw this he was
overjoyed and released the condemned man from his chains
and sent him away.
228
Brigid then returned home, but the clever fox ran away
from the fort and back to his den in the forest, with the king’s
men chasing him all the way.
Once, when Brigid was preaching the gospel among the
people of her province, she saw nine men in diabolical dress
making noises as if they were filled with madness. They
were part of an evil cult that served the devil. They swore
they would commit murder and butchery in his dark service
before the end of that month.
The most holy and kind Brigid talked with them and
tried to turn them from their wicked ways, but they would
not listen to her. When they left her, they seemed to see a
man before them and they killed him, stabbing him repeat-
edly with their swords and cutting off his head. Then as if in
a triumphal parade, they carried the head and their blood-
covered weapons back through the fields for all to see.
But the Lord had worked a miracle. At the prayer of
Brigid he had created a phantom for the men to kill and thus
fulfill their evil vows. The men were filled then with shame
at what they had done and turned their hearts in repentance
to the Lord.
There was in the days of Brigid a lustful and wealthy lay-
man who burned with desire for a beautiful young woman,
but she would have nothing to do with him. He plotted how
he might have sex with her by guile, and therefore entrusted
to her a certain precious silver brooch for safekeeping, which
she accepted.
The wicked man secretly stole the brooch from her and
threw it into the sea, then demanded she return what he had
entrusted to her. When she could not find it, he declared that
he would take her as his slave so that he might satisfy his
most disgraceful desires with her.
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The chaste maiden went to Brigid and begged her for

help. The holy woman listened to her story and before they
had finished speaking, one of Brigid’s men came into the
house with a fish he had caught in the river. Brigid told
him to cut the fish open. When he did, he found inside the
entrails the same silver brooch the evil man had thrown into
the sea.
Thus when the wicked man brought the young maiden
to trial before the people and demanded she be given to him
as his slave, she took the brooch from Brigid’s hands in the
presence of all and gave it back to him.
The man fell on his knees before Brigid and confessed
his crime. The young maiden gave thanks to God for this
great miracle and returned to her home.
One time the king of the country in which Brigid lived
ordered all the clans of his people to come together to build
a road through his kingdom. They were to lay a foundation
of sturdy logs and rocks across his land, no matter if it were
dry field or bogs, so that it could bear the weight of wagons
and horsemen.
The most difficult section of the road by a swampy river
was given by lot to Brigid’s clan, which had fewer people than
all the others. They asked a larger and more powerful clan to
trade sections of the road with them, but the other clan only
laughed and sent them away. The people of her own clan
then came to holy Brigid for help, but she dismissed them,
saying that the Lord himself had power over his creation.
The next morning when all the people of the clan arose,
they found that the course of the river had moved from its
ancient route away from their land and across the territory
of the nearby tribe that had mocked them. Thus God exalted
the meek and brought the mighty low.
230
Even after Brigid died, she still worked miracles through

her divine power.
Once the abbot of her monastery asked his workers
to cut a millstone from the summit of a nearby mountain
and bring it to him. The laborers found and cut the stone
from the quarry with no difficulty, but they had no way to
bring such a heavy burden back down the steep slope of the
mountain.
The abbot told them they could not give up after so much
work and asked them to roll the stone down the mountain to
the bottom. He then prayed to Brigid that the stone would
not break on its way. The workers pushed the millstone to the
edge of the slope and sent it crashing down the mountain.
Sometimes it swerved away from other rocks and other
times it jumped over them, but finally it made it to the bot-
tom unharmed. From there the laborers were able to drag
the stone to the mill with oxen.
Once the new millstone was in place, the people of the
monastery were able to grind their grain to eat. But when a
druid who lived nearby sent his grain with a Christian man
to be ground at the mill, the stone refused to move. When
the workers there discovered the grain was from a druid,
they replaced it with wheat from the monastery fields and
the stone moved again.
The mill later burned and destroyed all inside, but the
millstone from the mountain remained unharmed. It was
set up before the door of the church where people gath-
ered to venerate the miracles of holy Brigid. To this day
those who touch the stone are cured of disease and sick-
ness through their faith and the miraculous power of most
blessed Brigid.
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S A I N T B R E N DA N
Holy Brendan the son of Findlug was born in Munster and

was the spiritual father of countless monks.
Once he was praying in a meadow when a certain priest
named Barrind came to him in the evening. This man began
to cry and fell onto the ground until Brendan raised him
from the earth and kissed him, asking him what troubled
his soul.
Barrind told him of a hermit named Mernoc who had
sailed out to sea and discovered a place called the Island of
Delight. Barrind went to visit him there and found many
monks living in individual huts and cells, but who all came
together to eat and offer a sacrifice of praise to God. Barrind
said while he was there he and Mernoc found a little boat on
the shore and set off to search for the Land Promised to the
Saints, a place God would give to his people at the end of the
age. After a short time, they were surrounded by a fog and a
great light shone all about them. They landed, then, on the
shore of an island green and fruitful. They discovered a river
on the island and found a man standing near it clothed in
light. He told them to rejoice, for they had found the land
for which they were searching. He welcomed them, but told
them they could not stay and sent them back to the Island
of Delight. The monks there rejoiced to see them return and
marveled at the lingering odor of paradise on their clothing.
Barrind told Brendan all this, then left him.
The next day Brendan called together fourteen brother
monks from his community and proposed that they all seek
out the Land Promised to the Saints. The brothers responded
that they had left behind their families and fortunes to follow
232
Brendan and they would continue to do so to the ends of

the earth.
Brendan and the brothers went down to the sea in the
westernmost part of Munster to build a boat for the voyage.
They made a frame of wood and covered this with cowhides
tanned with oak bark, then greased all the seams with fat.
They fixed a wooden mast in the center and placed food for
forty days inside the boat.
Just as Brendan and his men were about to cast off into
the sea, three monks arrived and begged to join them on the
journey. Brendan, by the wisdom of God, knew that the late-
comers would suffer judgment on the voyage, but he granted
them leave to enter the boat. They then raised the sail and set
off toward the setting sun.
After fifteen days the wind ceased, so the monks took up
their oars and began to row. After a time Brendan spoke: “My
brothers, bring in the oars and rudder. Roll up the sails and
let God lead his servants and his ship where he wishes.”
After forty days of sailing the ocean their food was gone.
A high and rocky island then appeared before them to the
north, and they drew near to it. From the tops of its soar-
ing cliffs streams of fresh water poured down into the sea,
but they could not reach the water nor were they able to
find a place to land. The monks were tormented by hunger
and thirst. Brendan then told them not to fear, for in three
days the Lord would show them a place to bring their boat
to shore.
Just as Brendan had said, three days later they found a
landing place barely big enough for a single boat. They went
onto the shore and found a dog there who ran up to them.
He led Brendan and his men inland to a grand hall lined
with beds and seats. In the hall was also a grand table with
233
freshly baked bread, fish, and wine. On the walls were beau-
tiful decorations, along with the bridles of horses covered
with silver.
“Take care not to be tempted by these riches,” Brendan
said, “and pray for the soul of the man who gives in to Satan.”
The brothers sat down in their chairs and gave thanks
to God for the food and drink before them. When the meal
was over and the worship of God complete, Brendan told the
brothers to sleep and rest their weary bodies.
But when the monks were in bed, Brendan saw the devil
at work. He was in the form of a small Ethiopian boy talking
with one of the brothers who had come late to the voyage.
Brendan could do nothing except fall to his knees in prayer
for the brother.
After the morning service, the brothers began to go
down to their boat, but a table suddenly appeared before
them full of food and drink. So they stayed there for three
days and three nights as God prepared a table before them
each day for his servants.
When after three days they were ready to leave, Brendan
warned them not to take anything of value from the island.
“We would never do such a thing,” they all replied.
“One of you already has,” said Brendan, turning his face
to the brother who had been speaking with the devil.
The man fell on his knees before Brendan: “I have sinned,
Father. Forgive me and pray for my soul lest I perish.”
Holy Brendan raised the brother up and they all saw a lit-
tle Ethiopian boy leap from his chest crying and flying away.
Brendan turned to the sinful brother and told him he
would soon die. So after the man had received the Eucharist,
his spirit left his body and was taken to heaven by the angels
of light and his body was buried in that place.
234
As the monks were preparing to leave, a young man ran

up to them carrying a basket of bread and a jar of water. He
told Brendan that they had a long journey ahead of them,
but they would not lack food or water before Easter. Holy
Brendan accepted the gift with thanks and sailed away into
the ocean. They ate every other day as their little boat was
carried here and there across the sea.
One day they saw an island not far from them. A favor-
able wind arose and the boat found a landing place. Walking
around the island, they saw many sheep, all shining white.
There were so many animals they could scarcely see the
ground. Brendan ordered them to take from the flock a spot-
less sheep, which they prepared for their meal.
Suddenly a man appeared before them with a basket of
bread and everything else they needed. He fell flat on his face
three times before Brendan. The holy man raised him to his feet
and welcomed him among them. The man then told them they
would celebrate Holy Saturday on that island, but they would
sail to a nearby island for Easter. When Easter was over, they
would then sail to another island called the Paradise of Birds,
where they would remain until eight days after Pentecost.
Brendan asked the man how the sheep of his island grew
so large, for they were as big as cattle. The man replied that
there was no one on the island to milk them and that winter
did not reach that land.
When Brendan and his monks set off in their boat
toward the nearby island to celebrate Easter, they ran
aground before it reached that place. The monks all climbed
out of the boat and spent the night where they had landed,
but Brendan remained aboard since he knew what kind of
island it was. When morning came he told the men to sing
the holy service, then build a fire to smoke some of the fish
235
they had with them. But as soon as they built the fire, the
ground began to shake. Brendan ordered them to hurry
into the boat and push away. While they did this, the island
began to move off deeper into the ocean.
Brendan spoke to the frightened brothers: “My friends,
do not be afraid. This was not an island, but the greatest
fish that lives in all the seas. His name is Jasconius and he
is always trying to bring his tail to his head—but he cannot
since he is so large.”
They sailed then to the island called the Paradise of
Birds and found at last on the southern side of that island
a small river flowing from a spring where they could land.
There was hanging above the spring an enormous tree with
its branches covered by white birds.
Brendan sat down by the spring and gazed up at the
birds. One of the creatures left the branches and flew down
to stand beside him. The sound of its wings was like the
chiming of bells. It stretched forth its wings as if making a
sign of joy and spoke to the holy man.
“You wonder who we are and where we came from. We
were angels once, but in the great rebellion of heaven we
sided neither with Lucifer nor with God. For this reason God
sent us here, unpunished but separated from those angels
who stood with him. We wander through the firmament as
spirits, but on holy days and each Sunday we take the form of
the birds you see to sing and praise the creator. Holy father,
you should know your voyage has just begun. You have six
more years ahead of you. When that time is done, you will
find the place you seek—the Land Promised to the Saints.”
Brendan and his company stayed there until after
Pentecost listening to the beautiful songs of the birds. Then
they unfurled the sails and set off again into the ocean.
236
The little boat was blown across the wide sea for three
months, so that the men inside saw nothing but water and
sky. One day just as they were running out of food, an island
appeared on the horizon, but a wind kept them from its
shores. After three days of fasting and praying, they found a
narrow inlet and landed the boat.
An old man with hair as white as snow met them there
and embraced all of them. Brendan spoke to the man, but
he indicated with signs that they should be silent for a time.
When they came to a monastery, the abbot who had greeted
them led them inside where his monks washed their feet and
led them to a dining room with abundant loaves of bread.
The abbot then broke his silence and told Brendan they
were an order of twenty-four monks cared for by the grace
of the Lord. Each day twelve loaves of bread appeared on the
table. For eighty years, since the days of holy Patrick, they
had lived on the island, never growing old or weak.
Brendan and his brothers stayed there many days, then
accepted provisions from the monks of the island and set out
again into the ocean. They were blown in a circle for twenty
days, then God sent to them again a favorable wind.
For years Brendan and his monks were blown across
the sea to many islands. One of these was called the Island
of Strong Men, where one of the monks who had come late
to the boat remained. Another was a land of red grapes as
big as apples. They also found in the middle of the ocean a
towering column of crystal higher than the sky. They also
found a place called the Island of Smiths populated by large
and brutish men who threw molten chunks of metal at
their boat.
One day a high mountain appeared before them on the
sea covered with a great smoke coming from the summit.
237
The cliffs of this island were steep and the color of coal. The
last of the monks who had come late to the boat suddenly
jumped out and swam to shore, as if not by his own will.
He cried out to Brendan and the monks in the boat, but
they were not able to help him, since a multitude of demons
appeared and set him on fire as punishment for his sins.
Brendan and his brothers sadly sailed away from that island,
looking back on that land as it glowed in the night like a
mountain in flames.
When they had sailed away from the Island of Fire for
seven days, they came upon a man sitting on a rock in the
sea battered by the crashing waves.
Holy Brendan asked him who he was and how he came
to be there.
“I am Judas,” the man answered. “And I am here by the
mercy of Jesus Christ. This is not a place of punishment for
me but of relief in honor of his resurrection. After sunset
apart from Sundays and holy days, I burn like molten lead
in the mountain you saw as punishment for betraying my
Lord. But by his mercy, I ask that you beseech God to let me
stay here until sunrise tomorrow.”
Brendan agreed, but that evening demons came to take
Judas away.
“Go away, man of God,” they said. “We cannot take this
man until you leave.”
“By the power of our master Jesus Christ,” said Brendan,
“you shall not touch him until sunrise.”
“How can you invoke the name of the Lord to protect
this wicked man?” they asked. “He is the very one who
betrayed him.”
“Nonetheless,” warned Brendan, “you shall not touch
him until the new day begins.”
238
The demons cried out and gnashed their teeth, but they
did not touch Judas until the sun rose. Then they carried
him away, screaming and cursing, to the Island of Fire while
Brendan and his brothers sailed away.
Three days later the boat came to a small island of bare
rock that looked like flint. They found a landing place there
and came ashore. A man named Paul was waiting for them
there. He was a hermit clothed only in the white hair that fell
over his entire body from his head and beard. Paul greeted
them all by name and told them of how he had come to that
island long ago from the monastery of holy Patrick. He lived
there in a cave, nourished only by the water from a little
spring. He told Brendan that his voyage was at last coming
to an end and he would soon reach the Land Promised to
the Saints.
Not long after, Brendan and his brothers left that
island and sailed for forty days into a great fog. When the
sky grew clear, Brendan saw that he was near a wide and
beautiful land filled with a great light. They came ashore
and wandered about the island, marveling at trees filled
with fruit. Even though they passed much time there, the
land never grew dark, for the Lord Jesus himself was the
light of the place.
They came at last to a river swift and cold that flowed
from the center of the island. A young man appeared to
them there and told them they could not cross that river.
He told Brendan that he must instead return to the land of
his birth and sleep with his fathers, for that land was not yet
for him.
Brendan and his brothers sadly left that island and
sailed back through the fog in little time to the Island of
239
Delight from where they had begun their journey, for the
Land Promised to the Saints had never been far from them.
From there they journeyed back to Munster and returned
to the monastery where their brothers were still waiting for
them. They were greeted with joy and wept when Brendan
told them all he soon must die.
Thus after the holy man had settled his affairs and par-
taken of the divine sacraments, he passed into the hands of
the Lord, to whom are honor and glory from ages past to
ages yet to come.
240
241
NOTES
Introduction: Who Were the Celts?
Over two thousand years ago: The brief story of the twin gods from
Timaeus is preserved in Diodorus Siculus Geography 4.56.
We first hear of a people called the Keltoi: Translations of many
of the Greek and Roman passages on the ancient Celts along with
some inscriptions translated from the early Celtic languages may
be found in my War, Women, and Druids: Eyewitness Reports and
Early Accounts of the Ancient Celts.
I, however, who have copied this history: From the end of the
Book of Leinster version of the Táin.
Chapter 1: The Earliest Celtic Gods
The greatest of the gods of ancient Gaul was Mercury: Julius Caesar

Gallic War 6.17–18. Excellent discussions of the ancient Celtic
gods and their possible equivalents in Ireland and Wales are in
Mac Cana, Celtic Mythology, 20–53; and Aldhouse-Green, The
Celtic Myths.
The Roman poet Lucan: Civil War 1.444–446.
a practice mentioned by Caesar himself: Gallic War 6.16.
Maximus of Tyre: Sayings 8.8.
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Pompeius Trogus: via the Epitome (43.4) of Justin.

Salvianus of Marseille: De Gubernatione Dei 6.60.
Gregory of Tours: De Miraculis 17.5.
Bishop Eligius: Vita Sancti Eligii 2.16.
Ogmios: Lucian Hercules 1–6.
Artemidorus: Strabo 4.4.6.
Andraste: Dio Cassius 62.7.1–3.
Posidonius: Strabo Geography 4.4.5.
Chapter 2: The Book of Invasions
The three stories of the Book of Invasions, the short tale of Tuán,
and the war of the Cath Maige Tuired form a continuous tale and
are combined in this chapter. The standard edition of the Book
of Invasions is that of Macalister. The best version of the tale of
Tuán is from Carey, “Scél Tuáin meic Chairill,” 93–111; and Koch
and Carey, The Celtic Heroic Age, 223–225. The story of the battle
between the Formorians and the Tuatha Dé Danann is taken from
Grey, Cath Maige Tuired.
Chapter 3: The Wooing of Étaín
The Wooing of Étaín is found at least in part in the late medieval

manuscript collections known as the Book of the Dun Cow and the
Yellow Book of Lecan, but the story dates from an earlier period,
perhaps the eighth or ninth century. It was translated by Gantz,
Early Irish Myths and Sagas, 37–59; and appears in Koch and
Carey, The Celtic Heroic Age, 146–165.
for all of time is day and night: In another early Irish story
called De Gabail in t-Síde (The Taking of the Síd) found in the
twelfth-century Book of Leinster and translated in Koch and
Carey, The Celtic Heroic Age, 145, it is the Dagda himself whom
Óengus tricks in the same way into giving up possession of the
Bruig na Bóinne. The Bruig na Bóinne is usually identified as the
reconstructed tomb of Newgrange on the Boyne River north of
Dublin which dates to c. 3000 b.c.e.
a purple butterfly: In some versions simply a fly.
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Chapter 4: Cú Chulainn and the Táin Bó Cuailnge
The best Irish text of the Táin is O’Rahilly, Táin Bó Cuailnge:

Recension I. Recent translations of the Táin with excellent intro-
ductions and notes include Kinsella, The Táin, and Carson,
The Táin.
At last one night a young poet named Emine: There are other
versions of the recovery of the Táin, including one in which Senchán
goes for help to St. Colm Cille, who leads him to the grave of Fergus.
The story begins with a young woman named Nes: There
is more than one version of this early story, called in Irish the
Compert Conchoboir, including a later and more elaborate version
in which Nes is a warrior princess who becomes pregnant after
being forced to swallow two worms.
One of the noblemen of Conchobar was Cruinniuc mac
Agnomain: The story of Macha is included here to explain why the
Ulstermen are incapacitated during much of the Connacht attack
in the Táin. There are actually three women named Macha in Irish
legend, all of whom have supernatural qualities, and they may be
seen as aspects of the same goddess.
Conchobar and the warriors of Ulster were gathered together
for a feast: The story of the Exile of the Sons of Uisliu (Longes mac
n-Uislenn) is a fore tale (rémscel) of the Táin and answers the ques-
tion in the epic of why so many warriors of Ulster were fighting
in the armies of Ailill and Medb of Connacht. The story survives
in many versions and is the inspiration for modern Irish retellings
such as Yeats’s play Deirdre and Synge’s Deirdre of the Sorrows.
The story of Cú Chulainn’s birth: Taken from the tale known
in Irish as Compert ConCulainn, in which the details of the
story vary according to different versions. In one Deichtine is
Conchobar’s sister, in another his daughter.
to change in form and appearance: This is the first instance of
the famous ríastrad or battle fury, also called a warp spasm, of Cú
Chulainn which overtakes him before the heat of combat. This and
the following stories are taken from the first recension of the Táin.
One night far away in Connacht, when the royal bed was pre-
pared for Ailill and Medb: This introductory section to the Táin
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proper comes from the twelfth-century manuscript of the Book

of Leinster. Medb—whose name means “one who intoxicates”—
is seen by many scholars as the survival of an Irish goddess of
sovereignty who bestows her blessing on rulers by means of her
sexuality.
imbas forasnai: The imbas (“great knowledge”) forasnai (“that
illuminates”) is described in the tenth-century Cormac’s Glossary
as a poetic and prophetic ritual in which a poet chews the raw
flesh of a pig, dog, or cat, chants over a flagstone to the gods, then
lies in bed undisturbed with his hands on his cheeks waiting for a
supernatural vision.
Ogam script: An ancient Irish writing system of lines carved
usually on the edge of a stone, representing consonants and vow-
els. Such writing is known from the end of Roman times until the
medieval period and came to have magical associations, though
in origin it was used primarily for names on memorial stones.
Chapter 5: Tales from the Ulster Cycle
The Story of Mac Da Thó’s Pig: In Irish, Scéla Muicce Meic Dá Thó.
The oldest version of the tale is preserved in the twelfth-century
Book of Leinster. The standard edition is Thurneysen, Scéla Muicce
Meic Dá Thó, with translations in Gantz, Early Irish Myths and
Sagas, 179–187; and Koch and Carey, The Celtic Heroic Age, 68–75.
The Cattle Raid of Fróech: This eighth-century tale filled
with common folklore motifs is an antecedent to the Táin Bó
Cuailnge—in which Fróech is killed by Cú Chulainn in single
combat—but stands on its own as a story of a handsome young
man seeking his princess, the slaying of a monster, the recovery of
a magic ring, and an unrelated journey to the Alps to recover his
cattle and family. In the conclusion of the original tale—which in
origin is certainly a separate story—t he men who steal his cattle
also take Fróech’s previously unmentioned wife and three sons.
The text of The Cattle Raid of Fróech was edited by Byrne and
Dillon in 1933 and by Meid in 1974, and is translated by Gantz,
Early Irish Myths and Sagas, 113–126.
The Destruction of Dá Derga’s Hostel: In Irish, the Togail
Bruidne Dá Derga, an odd name for a story in which the hostel is
never actually destroyed. Composed in perhaps the eighth or ninth
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century, the text is preserved in the Book of the Dun Cow and the
Yellow Book of Lecan. This story is traditionally part of the Ulster
Cycle even though much of the action takes place in the south-
ern province of Leinster. The story begins with a continuation of
the Wooing of Étaín and focuses on the king Conaire Mór, a man
who, like Oedipus of Greek myth, is pursued by relentless fate. The
text was edited by Whitley Stokes in 1901 and by Eleanor Knott
in 1936. Translations include Gantz, Early Irish Myths and Sagas,
60–106; and Koch and Carey, The Celtic Heroic Age, 166–184.
Athairne and Amairgen: This story is found in the Book of
Leinster and is translated in Koch and Carey, The Celtic Heroic
Age, 65–66.
Briccriu’s Feast: The Irish Fled Bricrenn is a rambling story of
heroic contests, Otherworld visitations, humor, and parody, with
noticeable similarities in the final section to the English tale of Sir
Gawain and the Green Knight. The text is presented in Koch and
Carey, The Celtic Heroic Age, 76–105.
The Intoxication of the Ulstermen: The comic and loosely
organized tale known in Irish as the Mesca Ulad is preserved in
the Book of Leinster and the Book of the Dun Cow, but the sto-
ries in the two manuscripts are notably different from each other.
The abridged story preserved here combines elements from both
manuscripts, with the long passages of personal and place names
omitted. The tale is published in Watson, Mesca Ulad; Gantz,
Early Irish Myths and Sagas, 188–218; and Koch and Carey, The
Celtic Heroic Age, 106–127.
The Wasting Sickness of Cú Chulainn and the Only Jealousy
of Emer: Known in Irish as the Serglige Con Culainn agus Óenét
Emire, this strange and beautiful story, found in the Book of the
Dun Cow, is a combination of two earlier tales, causing some
serious incongruities in the narrative. For example, in the first
part of the text Cú Chulainn is married to Eithne Ingubai, who
changes abruptly to Emer in the second half. (For the sake
of narrative continuity I have made Emer his wife through-
out.) The standard Irish text is Myles Dillon, Serglige Con
Culainn. The story is translated in Gantz, Early Irish Myths and
Sagas, 153–178.
The Death of Cú Chulainn. There are various stories of Cú
Chulainn’s death, some involving Queen Medb of Connacht and
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others the battle goddess Badb who is angry at Cú Chulainn for

killing her father. This account is adapted from the Book of Leinster
version. See Tymoczko, Two Death Tales from the Ulster Cycle, and
Koch and Carey, The Celtic Heroic Age, 134–143.
Chapter 6: Stories of the Irish Otherworld
The Adventure of Nera: The Echtra Nera text is translated in

Koch and Carey, The Celtic Heroic Age, 127–132. The cave at
Cruachan features regularly in early Irish stories as a passage to
the Otherworld. I have omitted from the story a secondary tale
of Nera’s bull calf, which he brings out of the síd and which loses
a fight with the White Bull found in the Táin Bó Cuailnge.
The Adventure of Cormac: Texts of the Echtra Cormaic are
found in several medieval manuscripts. It is translated by Koch
and Carey, The Celtic Heroic Age, 184–187.
The Adventure of Conla: The Echtrae Conli is translated in
Jackson, A Celtic Miscellany, 143–145.
The Adventures of the Sons of Eochaid Mugmedón: The Echtra
Mac nEchach Muigmedóin is an eleventh-century tale found in
the Yellow Book of Lecan and the Book of Ballymote. The story is
translated in Koch and Carey, The Celtic Heroic Age, 203–208. The
theme of an ugly woman transformed into beautiful sovereignty is
a motif found in Chaucer’s “Wife of Bath’s Tale” in the Canterbury
Tales and elsewhere in medieval literature.
The Voyage of Bran: The Imram Brain is an early story found
in several manuscripts, including the Book of the Dun Cow and
the Book of Leinster. The original story contains extensive verse
segments, most of which I have omitted. The text was edited and
translated by Meyer, The Voyage of Bran.
Chapter 7: Finn the Outlaw
The Boyhood Deeds of Finn: The Macgnímartha Finn is one early

tale in the large and widespread corpus of stories about Finn. The
best edition is Meyer, “Boyish Exploits of Finn.” For Finn in gen-
eral, the best study is Nagy, The Wisdom of the Outlaw.
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The Pursuit of Diarmuid and Gráinne: The most famous nar-

rative in the Fenian Cycle, the texts of the story date only from
modern times, though parts of the tale are much older. The best
edition and translation is Ní Sheaghdha, Tóraidheacht Dhiarmada
agus Gráinne.
Chapter 8: Welsh Mythology—The Mabinogi
The Mabinogi: The sources of the Mabinogi are primarily two

manuscripts written around the late 1300s to early 1400s and
housed in the National Library of Wales and in Oxford’s Bodleian
Library. A standard Welsh edition is Williams, Pedair Keinc y
Mabinogi, with recent translations by Davies, The Mabinogion,
and Ford, The Mabinogi and Other Medieval Welsh Tales.
Chapter 9: Welsh Stories and Sagas
The tale of Lludd and Lleuelys (Welsh Cyfranc Llud a Llefelys) is

translated in Ford, The Mabinogi and Other Medieval Welsh Tales,
111–117. Gwion Bach and Taliesin is translated in Ford, 159–181.
The eleventh-century Culhwch and Olwen is edited by Bromwich,
Culhwch ac Olwen, and translated by Ford, 119–157.
Chapter 10: Christian Mythology
Saint Patrick: The best scholarly edition in the original Latin of

these is Ludwig Bieler, Libri Epistolarum Sancti Patricii Episcopi.
The Latin text of Muirchú along with translation is found in Bieler,
The Patrician Texts in the Book of Armagh, 62–123. Both Patrick’s
letters and Muirchú are translated in my World of Saint Patrick.
a wicked British king named Corotic: Patrick names this
British king as Coroticus in his Letter to the Soldiers of Coroticus.
In this document Patrick describes how Coroticus had kidnapped
or killed some of his Irish converts, then ignored Patrick’s pleas
to release them.
Mudebroth: This is probably a corrupted phrase of Patrick’s
native language of British meaning “by the judgment of God.”
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Saint Brigid: There is not yet a proper scholarly edition of

the life of Brigid by Cogitosus, but a complete translation can be
found in my World of Saint Patrick, 95–128.
Saint Brendan: The Latin text and scholarly discussion is
found in Selmer, Navigatio Sancti Brendani Abbatis. The story is
translated in O’Meara, The Voyage of Saint Brendan, and in my
World of Saint Patrick, 129–197.
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GLOSSARY
Adsagsona A Gaulish goddess invoked by a cult of women in the

first-century a.d. tablet from Larzac in southern France.
Áed Abrat The Otherworld father of Fand and Óengus.
Aericula Divine consort of Dis Pater in ancient Gaul.
Afagddu (Welsh, “utter darkness”) An alternate name for Morfran.
Aife Along with her rival Scáthach, a skilled woman warrior of
Britain. She sleeps with Cú Chulainn and is the mother of his
only son, Conla.
Ailbe (1) Famous dog of Mac Dá Thó, sought by the kings of Ulster
and Connacht. (2) Daughter of Cormac in the Adventure of
Cormac.
Ailill (1) Husband of Medb and king of Connacht. (2) Son of
Eochaid Mugmedón who yields authority to his half-brother
Niall. (3) Father of Étaín. (4) Lovesick brother of Eochaid who
longs for Étaín.
Albiorix Gaulish epithet for Mars.
Alisanos Gaulish god, perhaps associated with rock.
Amairgen (1) Son of Míl Espáine, poet who invokes the forces of
nature against the Tuatha Dé Danann. (2) Born a hideously
ugly son of Eccet Salach, he becomes chief poet of Ulster.
Andraste British goddess invoked by Boudicca with the sacrifice
of a hare.
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Annwfn Welsh name for the Celtic Otherworld.

Anu Irish mother goddess; the breast-shaped mountains called
the Paps of Anu in Munster are named for her.
Apollo Greek and Roman god of healing, his name is given to a
Gaulish god of similar function known by various epithets,
such as Apollo Belenus.
Arawn King of Annwfn, the Welsh Otherworld, and friend
of Pwyll.
Arberth Royal residence of Pwyll in the Welsh land of Dyfed.
Arianrhod Mother of Dylan and Lleu Llaw Gyffes, she fails a vir-
ginity test to be a foot-holder for Math.
Armagh Site in northern Ireland near the Ulster capital of Emain
Macha; the church and town were traditionally founded by
Saint Patrick.
Arthur Famous king of Britain and uncle of Culhwch.
Athairne Chief poet of Ulster until replaced by Amairgen.
Balor Evil-eyed king of the Formorians killed by Lug.
Banba Irish goddess whose name, along with those of Fódla and
Ériu, is associated with Ireland.
bard A poet and singer of high status throughout the Celtic world.
Barrind Monk who tells Saint Brendan of the Land Promised to
the Saints.
Bé Chuille Magical woman of the Tuatha Dé Danann.
Bé Find Magical woman of the Otherworld, mother of Fróech,
sister of Bóand.
Belenus Ancient Celtic healing god known from Italy, Gaul, and
Britain.
Beli Mawr King of Britain, father of Lludd and Lleuelys.
Belisama (Gallo-British, “brightest”) Water goddess of Gaul and
Britain equated with Minerva.
Beltaine Irish spring festival of May 1, associated with fire.
Bendigeidfran (Welsh, “The Blessed Crow”) Son of the sea god
Llyr, brother of Branwen and Manawydan.
Benignus Young apprentice of Saint Patrick.
Bith Son of Noah and father of Cesair in the Book of Invasions.
Blaí Briuga A foster father of Cú Chulainn and Ulster warrior
known for his hospitality.
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Blodeuedd (Welsh, “Flower Face”) Woman created from flowers

by Gwydion and Math, she betrayed Lleu Llaw Gyffes and
later was transformed into an owl.
Boadach Ruler of the otherworldly Land of the Living.
Bóand (Irish, “White Cow”) Goddess of the Boyne River, mother
of Óengus by an affair with the Dagda.
Bodbmall Druidess and warrior who trains the young outlaw Finn.
Book of Invasions (Irish, Lebor Gabála Érenn) Mythological his-
tory of the conquests of Ireland.
Book of Leinster (Irish, Lebor Laignech) Manuscript compiled
in the late twelfth century, a major source of Irish myth and
legend.
Book of the Dun Cow (Irish, Lebor na hUidre) Manuscript of the
early twelfth century containing early versions of many Irish
myths and epics.
Borvo (Gaulish, “boiling”) Gaulish god of healing springs.
Boudicca Historical queen of the Iceni tribe of eastern Britain
who led a rebellion against the Romans.
Branwen Daughter of Llyr, sister of Bendigeidfran, given to
Matholwch king of Ireland as his bride.
Brega Broad plain between the Boyne and Liffey rivers in eastern
Ireland.
Brendan Irish saint who sails with his monks to the Land
Promised to the Saints.
Breogon A leader of the Milesians in the Book of Invasions who
built a tower on the northern coast of Spain from which his
son Íth first saw Ireland.
Bres Beautiful son of the Tuatha Dé Danann woman Ériu and the
Formorian king Elatha, he leads the Formorians against the
Tuatha Dé in the second battle of Mag Tuired.
Bresal Druid and foster father of Fuamnach who gave her the
spells to drive Étaín from Midir.
Briccriu Evil-tongued warrior among the Ulstermen who delights
in making trouble.
Brigantia British goddess equated with Minerva.
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Brigid (1) Triple goddess of fertility, medicine, and poetry among

the Irish. (2) Early Christian saint who founded a monastery
at Kildare.
Brixianus Epithet for Gaulish god Jupiter.
Brown Bull of Cuailnge (Irish, Donn Cuailnge) Ulster bull stolen
by Medb in the Táin Bó Cuailnge.
Bruig na Bóinne Large Neolithic passage tomb of Newgrange
in the Boyne River valley north of Dublin. It became in Irish
mythology the Otherworld residence first of the Dagda, then
of Óengus.
Bull Feast (Irish, Feis Temro) Also known as the Bull Sleep, a
magical ritual in which a man drank the broth of a bull and
dreamed of the proper choice for the new king.
Cailb Female seer who foretells the death of Conaire in the
Destruction of Dá Derga’s Hostel.
Cairenn Wife of Eochaid Mugmedón and mother of Niall of the
Nine Hostages.
Caledfwlch Name for Arthur’s sword, the later Excalibur.
Camall Doorkeeper of the Tuatha Dé in the Second Battle of Mag
Tuired.
Caswallawn Son of Beli Mawr, he conquers Britain in Bendi
geidfran’s absence.
Cathbad Druid in the court of Conchobar mac Nessa featured
frequently in the Ulster Cycle of tales.
Caturix (Gaulish, “battle king”) Epithet of Gaulish Mars.
Ceridwen Mother of Morfran who brews the magical drops of
poetry stolen by Gwion Bach.
Cernunnos (Gaulish, “horned”) Gaulish god of nature and animals.
Cesair Granddaughter of Noah and leader of the first settlement
of Ireland according to the Book of Invasions.
Cet Connacht warrior in the Story of Mac Dá Thó’s Pig who is
bested by the Ulsterman Conall Cernach.
Cethern Connacht warrior in the Ulster Cycle and teacher of
Finn in the Fenian Cycle.
Cigfa Wife of Pryderi in the Mabinogi.
Cilydd Welsh king, husband of Goleuddydd and father of Culhwch.
Conaire King of Ireland beset by conflicting prohibitions in the
Destruction of Dá Derga’s Hostel.
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Conall Cernach Leading warrior and hero in many tales of the

Ulster Cycle.
Conchobar mac Nessa Ulster king who rules at Emain Macha
and is prominent in many tales of the Ulster Cycle.
Condere Ulster warrior who is the first to face Cú Chulainn’s son
Conla.
Connacht Province of western Ireland ruled by Ailill and Medb
in many Ulster Cycle tales.
Conn Cétchathach (Irish, “Conn of the Hundred Battles”)
Famed Irish king and father of Conla (2).
Conla (1) Son of Aife and Cú Chulainn, he is killed by his father.
(2) Son of Conn of a Hundred Battles who follows a magical
woman into the Otherworld never to return.
Coraniaid Evil, magical race who harass Britain in Lludd and
Lleuelys.
Cormac (1) Cormac mac Airt, legendary king of Ireland at Tara.
(2) Son of the Ulster king Conchobar.
Corotic British king who harasses Christians in the legendary
story of Saint Patrick and is changed into a fox; he is based on
the historical king Coroticus in Patrick’s Letter to the Soldiers
of Coroticus.
Cruachan Capital of the province of Connacht and site of a cave
which serves as an entrance to the Otherworld.
Cruinniuc Wealthy but foolish farmer of Ulster who marries
Macha.
Cú Chulainn Born Sétanta, the most famous of Irish warriors,
hero of the Táin Bó Cuailnge and the Ulster Cycle tales.
Culann Owner of the hound slain by Cú Chulainn from which
the hero took his name.
Culhwch Hero of the Welsh Arthurian tale of Culhwch and
Olwen who wins as his bride Olwen, daughter of the giant
Ysbaddaden.
Cumall Irish outlaw leader and father of Finn.
Cunomaglus Gaulish epithet of the god Apollo.
Cú Roí Magical hero and judge of Munster.
Cymidei Cymeinfoll Giantess and previous owner of a magical
cauldron in Branwen, the second branch of the Mabinogi.
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Dagda (Irish, “the good god”) Also known as Eochaid Ollathair

(“father of all”), a leader of the Tuatha Dé Danann.
Damona Gaulish goddess and consort of the god Borvo.
Deichtine Sister of King Conchobar of Ulster and mother of Cú
Chulainn.
Deirdre Tragic heroine beloved by Noíse in the Exile of the Sons
of Uisnech.
Demne Boyhood name of the outlaw Finn.
Dianann A woman weaver of magic among the Tuatha Dé
Danann.
Dian Cécht Physician among the Tuatha Dé Danann.
Diarmuid Hero and lover of Gráinne in the Fenian Cycle.
Díchu First convert of Saint Patrick in Ireland.
Dis Pater Roman name for the god of the dead in Gaulish religion.
Dôn Mother of Gilfaethwy and Gwydion.
Donn Irish god of the dead, also identified with a son of Míl of
the Milesians.
Donn Cuailnge Brown Bull of Ulster sought by Medb in the Táin
Bó Cuailnge.
druid A member of the priestly class in pre-Christian Celtic
religion.
Dubthach (1) Ulster warrior. (2) Father of Saint Brigid.
Dunatis Gaulish god of fortified places.
Dyfed Province in southwestern Wales ruled by Pwyll and later
Pryderi.
Dylan Son of Arianrhod.
Éber Donn Son of Míl Espáine.
Eccet Salach Ulster blacksmith and father of poet Amairgen.
Efnisien Malevolent brother of Nisien and half- brother of
Branwen.
Eithne (1) Mother of Óengus by an affair with the Dagda. (2) In
some stories, a wife of Cú Chulainn. (3) Wife of Cormac, king
of Ireland.
Elatha Formorian king who fathered Bres with Ériu.
Elcmar Original lord of the Bruig na Bóinne who is tricked out of
his holding by Óengus.
Éle Most beautiful of the fairy women in the Fenian Cycle.
Elphin Spendthrift son who discovers baby Taliesin in a fish weir.
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Emain Macha Capital of Ulster and seat of its kings.

Emer Wife of Cú Chulainn.
Eochaid (1) Eochaid Ollathair, alternate name for the Dagda. (2)
Eochaid Mugmedón, father of Niall of the Nine Hostages. (3)
Eochaid mac Eirc, king of the Fir Bolg. (4) Eochaid Airem,
king of Ireland and husband of Étaín.
Eochu (1) Eochu Feidlech, king of Ireland and father of Medb.
(2) Son of Erc, early ruler of Ireland.
Éogan Warrior who killed Noíse when he returned to Ireland.
Epona Gaulish horse goddess.
Ériu Tuatha Dé Danann mother of Bres, the poet Amairgen
agreed to give her name to Ireland.
Esus Important Gaulish god depicted as a woodcutter.
Étaín (1) Beautiful woman who is beloved by Midir in the
Wooing of Étaín. (2) Étaín Óg (“Étaín the Young”), daughter
of Étaín (1).
Étar Ulster king whose wife gives birth to reborn Étaín (1).
Eterscél Father of Conaire Mór by his own daughter Étaín (2) or
in the Destruction of Dá Derga’s Hostel, by her stepdaughter.
Fand Wife of Manannán and Otherworld lover of Cú Chulainn.
Fedelm Prophetess of Connacht.
Fedlimid Chief storyteller of Ulster and father of Deirdre.
Fer Caille Deformed man with a hideous wife who greets Conaire
in the Destruction of Dá Derga’s Hostel.
Ferdia Foster brother of Cú Chulainn who is slain by him in the
Táin Bó Cuailnge.
Fergus mac Roich Former king of Ulster, leader of the Ulster
exiles in Connacht.
Fer Loga Charioteer of Ailill and Medb.
Fiacha Son of Conchobar slain while protecting Noíse.
fidchell Early Irish board game.
Finn Finn mac Cumhaill, outlaw leader and hero of the Fenian
Cycle.
Finnabair Daughter of Ailill and Medb.
Finnbennach Medb’s white bull in the Táin Bó Cuailnge.
Finnchaem Sister of Conchobar.
Finnéces Seer who unwittingly helps the boy Finn gain the power
of divination.
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Fintan mac Néill Ruler of one-t hird of Ulster.

Fir Bolg Early settlers of Ireland.
Fir Domnann Early settlers of Ireland.
Follamain Son of Conchobar who dies leading the boy troop
against Connacht invaders.
Forgall Monach Father of Emer who opposes her marriage to Cú
Chulainn.
Formorians Sometimes monstrous but powerful early race of
Ireland who oppress and battle the Tuatha Dé Danann.
Fótla One of three goddesses who gave her name to Ireland.
Fróech Connacht warrior and hero of the Cattle Raid of Fróech.
Fuamnach First wife of Midir who seeks to destroy Étaín.
gae bolga Unstoppable spear of Cú Chulainn.
Gaels Name for the Irish, often associated with the Milesian
invaders of the Book of Invasions.
Galatia Area of Asia Minor invaded and settle by Celts in the
third century b.c.e.
Galeóin Mighty warriors of Leinster whom Medb sought to kill.
Gaul Ancient name for what is roughly modern-day France.
geis (plural, gessa) Irish word for a prohibition or taboo placed
on a person.
Gilfaethwy Brother of Gwydion who rapes Goewin in the fourth
branch of the Mabinogi.
Goewin Virgin foot-holder of Math raped by Gilfaethwy, later
wife of Math.
Goibniu Smith of the Tuatha Dé Danann.
Goleuddydd Wife of Cilydd and mother of Culhwch in Culhwch
and Olwen.
Gráinne Daughter of Cormac mac Airt who elopes with Diarmuid
to escape marriage to Finn.
Grannus Epithet of Gaulish Apollo.
Greth Servant of the poet Athairne.
Gronw Pebyr Welsh hunter who has affair with Blodeuedd.
Gundestrup Cauldron Large and ornate silver cauldron from
antiquity found in peat bog in Denmark, decorated with
scenes that seem to depict Celtic mythology.
Gwawl Rival suitor for Rhiannon defeated by Pwyll.
Gwenhwyfar Wife of King Arthur.
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Gwern Son of Branwen and Matholwch.

Gwion Bach Young servant who steals the gift of poetic inspira-
tion from Ceridwen and becomes Taliesin.
Gwri Son of Rhiannon and Pwyll, later renamed Pryderi.
Gwydion Son of Dôn and brother of Gilfaethwy transformed by
Math as punishment for raping Goewin.
Hafgan Otherworld rival of King Arawn of Annwfn.
Hercules Greek and Roman hero of supernatural strength
equated with the Gaulish god Ogmios.
Ibor Charioteer of Conchobar.
imbas forasnai Irish magical ritual in which a poet chews the
raw flesh of a pig, dog, or cat to gain prophetic knowledge.
Ír Son of Míl Espáine who drowns during the invasion of Ireland.
Island of Women Female-only island in the Voyage of Bran.
Íth Milesian leader who first sailed from Spain to Ireland, where
he was killed.
Jasconius Enormous sea creature in the Voyage of Brendan.
Judas Betrayer of Christ found undergoing punishment in the
Voyage of Brendan.
Jupiter Chief Roman deity, identified with a Gaulish god by Julius
Caesar.
Kildare (Irish, “church of the oak”) Monastic site west of modern
Dublin founded by Saint Brigid.
Korneli Cornish saint whose cult may continue elements of the
Gaulish god Cernunnos.
Labraid Lúathlám Otherworld Irish king who sends his wife Lí
Ban to seek the help of Cú Chulainn.
Ladicus Epithet of Celtic god Jupiter found in Spain.
Land Promised to the Saints Christian island paradise with
many elements of the Celtic Otherworld in the Voyage of
Saint Brendan.
Leborcham Woman poet and satirist in the Exile of the Sons of
Uisliu.
Leinster Province in southeast Ireland.
Lenus Epithet of Mars in Gaul and Britain.
Ler Irish sea god, father of Manannán.
Lia Fáil Magical stone on the Hill of Tara that proclaims a true
king of Ireland.
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Liath Macha Favorite horse of Cú Chulainn.

Lí Ban Otherworld woman, sister of Fand, who invites Cú
Chulainn to her land to help her husband Laibraid Lúathlám.
Liffey River in eastern Ireland.
Llassar Llaes Gyfnewid Original owner of the magical cauldron
of rebirth.
Lleu Llaw Gyffes Son of Arianrhod aided by Gwydion.
Lleuelys Wise brother of Lludd and king of France.
Lludd Son of Beli Mawr and brother of Lleuelys who delivers
Britain from three plagues.
Llyr Father of Manawydan, probably related in origin to the Irish
sea god Ler.
Llwyd Brother of Gwawl who yields to Manawydan and restores
the land of Dyfed.
Lochan Blacksmith who gives his daughter to Finn.
Lochru Druid of King Lóegaire defeated by Saint Patrick.
Lóeg Charioteer of Cú Chulainn.
Lóegaire (1) Lóegaire Búadach, Ulster hero. (2) Lóegaire mac Néill,
pagan king of Tara defeated and converted by Saint Patrick.
Lucet Máel Druid of King Lóegaire defeated by Saint Patrick.
Lug Tuatha Dé Danann hero and divine father of Cú Chulainn.
Lugaid mac Con Roí Slayer of Cú Chulainn.
Lughnasa Holiday on August 1 in celebration of the god Lug.
Lugus Ancient Celtic god probably identical with Caesar’s Mercury.
Mabinogi Masterwork of medieval Welsh literature in four
branches composed in perhaps the twelfth century but draw-
ing on older traditions.
Mabon Son of mother Modron, rescued by Arthur in Culhwch
and Olwen.
mac Irish “son”
Mac Dá Thó Keeper of a hostel and owner of the dog Ailbe fought
over by the leaders of Connacht and Ulster.
Macha Otherworld woman who, after giving birth to twins after
being forced to race by Conchobar, curses the Ulstermen with
the debilitating pain of childbirth when attacked.
Mac Cécht Loyal companion of Conaire in the Destruction of Dá
Derga’s Hostel.
Macc Cuill moccu Graecae Murderous pagan converted by Saint
Patrick.
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Mac Óg (Irish, “the young son”) Alternate name for Óengus.
Mac Roth Messenger of Queen Medb.
Madron Mother of Mabon, related to Gaulish mother goddess
Matrona.
Maelgwn King of Gwynedd in northern Wales.
Mag Tuired Plain of uncertain location where multiple battles
were fought in Irish mythology.
Manannán Son of Ler, sea god of the Irish.
Manawydan Son of Llyr, Welsh hero of the third branch of the
Mabinogi, husband of Rhiannon.
Maponos Gaulish and British divine youth, often linked to Apollo.
Mars Roman god of war and healing, linked to the Gaulish god
Teutates.
Math Lord of Gwynedd and uncle of Gwydion in the Mabinogi.
Matholwch King of Ireland in the second branch of the Mabinogi.
Matrona Gaulish mother goddess who gave her name to the
Marne River.
Medb Wife of Ailill, queen of Connacht and foe of Ulster.
Mercury Roman name given by Julius Caesar to the chief Gaulish
divinity, probably Lugus.
Mernoc Hermit who discovered the Island of Delight in the Voyage
of Brendan.
Midir A king of the Tuatha Dé Danann and husband of Étaín.
Míl Eponymous ancestor of the Milesian people who invaded
Ireland and defeated the Tuatha Dé Danann.
Milesians Descendants of Míl Espáine who were the final invad-
ers of Ireland.
Miliucc Druid and owner of Saint Patrick when he was a young
slave in Ireland.
Minerva Roman goddess and name given to the only female
Gaulish divinity named by Julius Caesar.
Modron Mother of the abducted Mabon in Culhwch and Olwen.
Monesan British girl of natural inclination to God, converted by
Saint Patrick.
Mongfhind Wife of Eochaid Mugmedón and jealous stepmother
of Niall of the Nine Hostages.
Morann Druid adviser of Conchobar who predicts birth of Cú
Chulainn.
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Morfran Also known as Afagddu, ugly son of Ceridwen cheated

out of his poetic gift by Gwion Bach.
Morna Clan who killed Finn’s father and sought to kill Finn
as well.
Mórrígan Irish goddess of war.
mudebroth Curse uttered by Saint Patrick which may be his
native British for “by the God of judgment.”
Mugain Wife of Conchobar.
Muirgen Poet to whom the phantom of Fergus mac Roich recites
the Táin Bó Cuailnge.
Muirne Mother of Finn.
Munster Province in southwestern Ireland.
Nantosvelta Gaulish and British goddess associated with ravens.
Nechtan A companion of Bran in his voyage across the sea.
Nechta Scéne Father of the first three warriors to face and be
slain by Cú Chulainn.
Nehalennia Gaulish goddess perhaps associated with seafarers.
Nemed Leader of the third group of invaders of Ireland in the
Book of Invasions.
Nemedians Early invaders of Ireland led by Nemed.
Némglan Otherworld king of birds in the Destruction of Dá
Derga’s Hostel.
Nera Young Connacht warrior who dares to face the forces of the
Otherworld on Samain.
Nes Mother of King Conchobar.
Niall Niall of the Nine Hostages (Niall Noígiallach), son of
Eochaid Mugmedón and British slave Cairenn, he rises to
become high king of Ireland.
Nisien Kindly brother of Efnisien.
Noíse Warrior and lover of Deirdre.
Nuadu Nuadu Airgetlám (“silverarm”), king of the Tuatha Dé
Danann.
Óengus Also known as Mac Óg, son of the Dagda and god of
youth among the Tuatha Dé Danann.
Ogam Early native form of Irish script of lines and notches used pri-
marily for grave markers but also having magical associations.
Ogma God of poetry among the Tuatha Dé Danann.
Ogmios Gaulish god of eloquence associated with Hercules.
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Oisín Son of Finn, warrior and poet.

Olwen Daughter of giant Ysbaddaden sought by Culhwch.
Oscar Son of Oisín, grandson of Finn.
Otherworld Supernatural Celtic world of gods and spirits often
entered through an ancient síd burial mound, a cave, or a dis-
tant island.
Paradise of Birds Island encountered by Saint Brendan on his
voyage.
Partholón Leader of the second mythic invasion of Ireland.
Partholonians Followers of Partholón who were early settlers of
Ireland.
Patrick Historical saint of the fifth century who preached
Christianity in Ireland.
Posidonius Greek philosopher who traveled to Gaul in the first
century b.c.e. and recorded accounts of Gaulish culture.
Pryderi Son of Pwyll and Rhiannon, the only continuous charac-
ter in the Mabinogi.
Pwyll Prince of Dyfed, husband of Rhiannon, and father of
Pryderi.
Rhiannon Otherworld wife of Pwyll and Manawydan, mother of
Pryderi.
Rhun Son of Maelgwn sent to seduce Elphin’s wife.
Rosmerta Gaulish goddess of prosperity frequently paired with
Gaulish Mercury.
Sainrith Father of Macha.
Samain Annual Irish harvest feast on November 1, when
Otherworld encounters often take place.
Saxons Germanic people who invaded Celtic Britain beginning
in the fifth century a.d.
Scáthach Woman warrior of Britain who trains Cú Chulainn.
Sémión Descendant of Nemedian invaders of Ireland who trav-
eled to Greece and whose own descendants returned to
Ireland.
Sencha Chief judge of Ulster under Conchobar.
Senchán Torpéist Chief bard of Ireland whose visit to King Gúaire
of Connacht prompts the rediscovery of the Táin Bó Cuailnge.
Sequana Gaulish goddess of the River Seine.
Sétanta Boyhood name of Cú Chulainn.
262
262 | G lossary
síd (plural, síde) Ancient Irish burial mound and frequent

entrance to the Otherworld.
Sithchenn Druid at the court of Eochaid Mugmedón.
Sliab Fúait Mountain in County Armagh.
Sliab Mis (1) Mountain on the Dingle peninsula where the Gaels
first battled the Tuatha Dé Danann. (2) Mountain in County
Antrim where young Patrick was traditionally held in slavery.
Sreng Fir Bolg warrior who cuts off the hand of Nuadu.
Sualdam Mortal father of Cú Chulainn.
Sucellus Gaulish god often depicted with long beard and ham-
mer in his hands.
Sulis British goddess of healing.
Táin Bó Cuailnge Central Irish epic of a cattle raid by Connacht
rulers Ailill and Medb on Ulster to obtain a prized bull.
Taliesin Born Gwion Bach, he is reborn as the greatest poet of
Welsh tradition.
Tara Hill north of Dublin that was the traditional seat of the high
king of Ireland.
Taranis Important Gaulish god associated with thunder.
Tarvos Trigaranus Gaulish god pictured in sculpture with bull
and cranes.
Temair Luachra Royal residence of Munster kings.
Teutates Important Gaulish god whose victims were sacrificed by
drowning.
Teyrnon Twrf Liant Lord of Gwent Is Coed who discovers child
Pryderi.
Tír Tairngaire Otherworldly Land of Promise in Irish tradition
associated with sea god Manannán.
Torna Poet who rescues baby Niall.
Triath Boy of the Fir Bolg who prompts Óengus to discover his
true father.
Tuán mac Cairill Sole survivor of the Partholonian invaders of
Ireland who is reborn in animal form repeatedly until the
time of Saint Patrick.
tuath (plural, tuatha) Irish “tribe.”
Tuatha Dé Danann Also known as the Tuatha Dé, magical invad-
ers of Ireland defeated at last by the Milesians and driven
underground to become the fairy people of Ireland.
263
G lossary | 263
Twrch Trwyth Ferocious boar hunted by Culhwch and his

companions.
Uathach Daughter of Scáthach and lover of Cú Chulainn.
Uisliu Father of Noíse and his brothers.
Uisnech Hill in County Westmeath considered in Irish mythol-
ogy to be the ritual center of the island.
Ulaid Ulster tribesmen of northern Ireland.
Ulster Northern province of Ireland.
Ulster Cycle Series of stories recounting the adventures of Ulster
heroes.
Victoricus Angel who helps Saint Patrick.
Yellow Book of Lecan Important Irish manuscript collection
compiled in late fourteenth century.
Ysbaddaden Welsh giant and father of Olwen.
264
265
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Aldhouse-Green, Miranda. The Celtic Myths: A Guide to the

Ancient Gods and Legends. London: Thames and Hudson, 2015.
Bergin, Osborn, and R. I. Best. “Tomarc Étaíne.” Ériu 12 (1938):
137–196.
Bieler, Ludwig. Libri Epistolarum Sancti Patricii Episcopi.
Dublin: Royal Irish Academy, 1993.
Bieler, Ludwig. The Patrician Texts in the Book of Armagh. Dublin:
Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies, 1979.
Bromwich, Rachel. Culhwch ac Olwen. Cardiff: University of Wales
Press, 1992.
Byrne, Mary, and Miles Dillon. Táin Bó Fraích. Dublin: Dublin
Institute for Advanced Study, 1933.
Carey, John. “Scél Tuáin meic Chairill.” Ériu 35 (1984): 93–111.
Carson, Ciaran. The Táin. New York: Penguin, 2007.
Davies, Sioned. The Mabinogion. Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2007.
Dillon, Myles. Serglige Con Culainn. Dublin: Dublin Institute for
Advanced Studies, 1953.
Ford, Patrick. The Mabinogi and Other Medieval Welsh Tales.
Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008.
Freeman, Philip. War, Women, and Druids: Eyewitness Reports
and Early Accounts of the Ancient Celts. Austin: University of
Texas Press, 2002.
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Freeman, Philip. The World of Saint Patrick. New York: Oxford

University Press, 2014.
Gantz, Jeffery. Early Irish Myths and Sagas. New York: Penguin, 1981.
Grey, Elizabeth A. Cath Maige Tuired. Dublin: Irish Texts Society,
1982.
Jackson, Kenneth. A Celtic Miscellany. New York: Penguin, 1971.
Kinsella, Thomas. The Táin. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969.
Koch, John, and John Carey. The Celtic Heroic Age. Aberystwyth,
Wales: Celtic Studies Publications, 2003.
Macalister, R. A. Stewart. Book of Invasions. London: Irish Texts
Society, 1993.
Mac Cana, Proinsias. Celtic Mythology. New York: Peter Bedrick
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Meid, Wolfgang. Táin Bó Fraích. Dublin: Dublin Institute for
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Tymoczko, Maria. Two Death Tales from the Ulster Cycle. Dublin:
Dolmen Press, 1981.
Watson, J. Carmichael. Mesca Ulad. Dublin: Dublin Institute for
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Cymru, 1996.
â•‡ 267
INDEX
Adam, 15 Aristotle, xi
Adsagsona, 12 Artemidorus, 10
Aericula, 7 Arthur, 206–â•‰211
Afagddu, 200 Athairne, 115–â•‰116
Agnoman, 17
Aife, 73–â•‰74 Balor, 24
Ailbe, 92 Banba, 26
Ailbe, daughter of Cormac, 142 bards, xii
Ailill, king of Connacht, 57, 77, Barrind, 231
84, 90–â•‰91, 92–â•‰94, 97, 98–â•‰103, Bé Chuille, 23
118, 125, 137–â•‰141 Bé Find, 98
Ailill, king of Ulster, 33–â•‰34 Belenus, 4
Ailill Anguba, 38–â•‰40 Beli Mawr, 197
Albiorix, 4 Belisama, 6
Alisanos, 12 Beltaine, 4
Amairgen, chief poet of Ulster, 60, Bendigeidfran, 174–â•‰180
115–â•‰116 birds, 7–â•‰8, 12, 58, 70, 75, 106–â•‰107,
Amairgen, son of Míl, 25–â•‰27, 123 127–â•‰128, 147, 154, 176, 179
Andraste, 12 Bith, 16
Anluán, 96 Blaí Briuga, 60
Annwfn, 166 Bleiddwn, 189
Apollo, 3–â•‰4 Blodeuedd, 192–â•‰193
Aranrhod, 189–â•‰194 Boadach, 145
Arawn, 166–â•‰168 Bóand, 98
268
268 | I ndex
Bodbmall, 154 Cilydd, 206
Borvo, 4 Cochar Cruibne, 73
Boudicca, 12 Coipre, 23
Bran, 149–152 Conaire, 106–113
Branwen, 174–179 Conall Cernach, 58, 68, 76, 96–97,
Brendan, St., xiv, 231–239 103–104, 114, 118–119,
Breogan, 25 121–122, 127, 136
Bres, 19–20, 22–26 Conchobar, 48–67, 71, 80, 89, 92,
Bresal, 34–36 116–117, 121, 123–124, 133
Briccriu, 58, 60, 75, 94, Condere, 75
116–120, 126 Conla, son of Conn, 145–146
Brigantia, 12 Conla, 74–76
Brigid, goddess, 12 Conn of the Hundred Battles, 146
Brigid, St., xiv, 12, 224–230 Coraniaid, 198–199
Brión, 140 Corann, 145
Brixianus, 5 Cormac, king of Ulster, 105–106
Bruig na Bóinne, 29–31, 34–35, 58 Cormac, son of Art, 141–145,
Buddha, 8 159–160
Bull Feast, 107 Cormac, son of Conchobar, 56–57
bulls, 78, 91 Corotic, 221
butterfly, 35–36 Cruachain, 77, 91, 98, 101, 137, 139
Cruinniuc mac Agnomain, 50
Caesar, Julius, xi, 1, 4–7, 10 Cruithne, 156
Cailb, 112 Cú Chulainn, 2, 46, 57–91,
Cairell, 28 118–123, 127–136, 153
Cairenn, 147 Culann, 65–66
Cairpre, son of Cormac, 142 Culhwch, 205–211
Camall mac Riagail, 21 Cumall, 153, 156
Caswallawn, 197 Cumscraid, 96
Cathbad, 48, 52, 66–67, 75 Cunomaglus, 4
Caturix, 4 Cú Roí, 120, 123, 125
Cei, 207 curse, 51
Celtchair, 95 Cymidei Cymeinfoll, 176
Ceridwen, 199–200
Cerna, 108 Dá Derga, 110–111
Cernunnos, 8 Dagda, 18, 20, 22–23, 29–35
Cesair, 14, 16 Dáire, 222–223
Cethern, 157 Dáire mac Fiachna, 79–80
Cet mac Mágach, 94–96 Damona, 4
Cichuil, 111 Deichtine, 58–59
Cigfa, 180 Deirdre, 53–57
269
I ndex | 269
Demeter, 10 Epona, 11
Demne, 154, 157 Ériu, 19, 26
Dianann, 23 Esus, 7
Dian Cécht, 21, 23–24, 33 Étaín, 29–45, 105
Diarmuid, 160–164 Étar, 37, 105
Díchu, 216, 224 Eterscél, 106–107
Diodorus, x Eve, 15
Diorruing, 158–159
Dis, 7 fairies, 15
Donn, 7 Fand, 129–133
druids, xii, 13, 22, 28, 34, 60, 79, Fannall, 68–69
125, 133, 145, 148–149, 154, Fedelm, seer of Connacht, 80–81
215–219 Fedelm, wife of Lóegaire, 119
Dubthach, 56–57 Fedlimid mac Daill, 52
Dunatis, 12 Fer Caille, 111
Dylan, 190 Ferdia, 73, 86–89
Fer Gar, 107
Éber Donn, 26 Fergus mac Roich, 47–48, 56,
Eccet Salach, 115 60, 63, 75, 81–82, 90, 117,
Efnisien, 174–176, 178 120, 127
Egypt, x Fer Le, 107
Eithne, 29–30 Fer Loga, 97–98
Eithne, wife of Cormac, 142 Fer Rogain, 107
Elatha, 19–20 Fiacail, 158
Elcmar, 29–32 Fiacha, son of Fergus, 56
Éle, 157 Fiachal, 154
Elphin, 201–205 fidchell, 41–42, 155
Emain Macha, 48, 51, 56–57, 61, Finn, 153–164
70, 91, 97, 116, 123, 133 Finnabair, 98–99
Emer, 72, 74–76, 119–120, 127, Finnchaem, 60
131–132, 136 Finnéces, 157
Emine, 47 Fintain mac Néill, 123
Eochaid Airem, 37–45 Fir Bolg, 15, 17–19, 30
Eochaid Feidleach, 104–106 Fir Domnann, 17
Eochaid mac Eirc, 18 flood, 14–16
Eochaid Mugmedón, 147 Fóill, 68–69
Eochaid Ollathair, 29–30 Follomon, son of
Eochaid Sálbuide, 48 Conchobar, 61, 84
Eochu, 18 Forgall Monach, 72–73
Eogan mac Durthacht, 56–57, 63 Formorians, 15, 17, 19–20, 22–25
Éogan Mór of Ulster, 95 Fótla, 26
270
270 | I ndex
Fróech mac Fidaig, 82–83 Imbolc, 12

Fróech son of Idath, 98–104 Ingcél Cáech, 109, 112–113
Fuamnach, 34–36, 39 Ír, 25–26
Island of Delight, 231
gae bolga, 73, 76, 88 Island of Joy, 151
Gaels, 25–28 Island of Smiths, 236
Gaile Dána, 86 Island of Strong Men, 236
Galatians, xi Island of Women, 150–151
Galeóin, 81 Íth, 25
Gardens of Lug, 72
Gaul, xi, 1–13 Jasconius, 235
geis, (plural gessa), 56, 107, Judas, 237–238
110–112, 134, 161 Jupiter, 3, 5
Germanus, 215
Gilfaethwy, 186–188 Keltoi, x
gods, xii, 1–13, 15 Korneli, 8
Goewin, 186–187
Goibniu, 23 Labraid Lúathlám, 129–130
Goleuddydd, 205 Ladicus, 5
Goll, 153 Lám Gabuid, 95
Gráinne, 159–164 Lámraige, 41–42
Grannus, 4 Land of Promise, 144
Gray, 154 Land of the Living, 145
Greth, 115–116 Land Promised to the Saints, 231,
Gronw Pebyr, 193–195 235, 239
Gúaire, 47 Larzac, 12
Gundestrup, 5 Leborcham, 53
Gwawl, 171–172, 185 Le Fer Flaith, 110
Gwern, 176, 178–179 Lendabair, 119
Gwion Bach, 200–201 Lenus, 4
Gwri Golden-Hair, 173 Lewis, C. S., x
Gwydion, 186–195 Lia Fáil, 18
Liath Macha, 136
Hades, 7 Lí Ban, 129–130
Hafgan, 166–168 Llassar Llaes Gyfnewid, 176
heads, xi, 49, 69, 121–123, Lleuelys, 197–199
153, 179 Lleu Llaw Gyffes, 3, 191–196
Hercules, 9 Llud, 197–199
horses, 11, 50–51, 58, 136, Llwyd, 185
168–169, 173 Lochan, 156
Lochru, 215–216
Ibor, 68–70 Lóeg, 130, 134
imbas forasnai, 80 Lóegaire, king at Tara, 215–218
271
I ndex | 271
Lóegaire Buadach of Ulster, 94, Miliucc, 214–216

117–118, 121 Minerva, 3, 6–7, 10
Lomna Drúth, 113 Monesan, 220–221
Lucan, 5, 7 Mongfhind, 147
Lucet Máel, 215–219 Morann, 60
Lucian, 9 Morfran, 200
Lucifer, 15, 18, 204, 235 Morna, 153
Lug, 2–3, 21–25, 35, 59, 83–85 Mórrígan, 22, 90, 134
Lugaid mac Con Roí, 133–135 mother goddess, 10–11
Lugaid Réoderg, 129 Mugain, 71
Lughnasa, 3 Muirgen, 47–48
Muirne, 154
Mabinogi, xii, 165–196 Muirthemne, 61
Mabon, 4, 209–210 Munremar, 95
Macc Cuill moccu Graccae,
221–222 Nantosvelta, 8
Mac Cécht, 110, 113–114 Nechtan, 151–152
Mac Dá Thó, 92–98 Nechta Scéne, 68
Macha, 11, 50–51, 80 Nehalennia, 12
Mac Óg, 30 Nemedians, 15, 17
Mac Roth, 78–79 Némglan, 107
Maelgwn, 201–204 Nera, 138–141
Mag Tuired, 18, 23–25 Nes, 48–49
Maine, 109 Niall, son of Eochaid
Manandán, son of Ler, 130, Mugmedón, 147
132–133, 144–145, 150 Nimrod, 25
Manawydan, 174, 179–185 Ninniaw, 197
Maponos, 4 ninth wave, 27
Marbán, 47 Nisien, 174
Mars, 3–4 Noah, 14–16, 25
Massalia, 6 Noíse, 53–57
Math, 185–196 Nuadu, 18–19, 21
Matholwch, 174–177
Matrona, 11 oak, 5
Maximus of Tyre, 5 ocean, ix
Medb, 57, 77–91, 92–94, 97, Odin, 7
98–103, 125, 137–141 Óengus, 30–35, 162
Mend, 95 Óengus, son of Áed Abrat, 129
Mercury, 1, 8 Óengus of Ulster, 94
Merlin, 204 Ogam, 8, 82
Mernoc, 231 Ogma, 8, 10, 20, 22–23, 35
Midir, 29–45 Ogmios, 8–10
Míl, 15, 25, 123 Oisín, 158–161
272
272 | I ndex
Olwen, 206–211 slavery, xiii, 33, 105, 116, 214

Oscar, 163 Sliab Fúait, 68
Otherworld, xiii, 98, 101, 105, 110, Sliab Mis, 26
129, 131, 137–152, 157 Solinus, 6
Sreng mac Sengainn, 19
Paps of Anu, 158 Sualdam, 59
Paradise of Birds, 234–235 Sucellus, 8
Partholonians, 15–16 Sulis, 6
Patrick, St., xiii, 28, 213–224, 238
Paul, St., xi Taliesin, 201–205
pigs, 17 Tara, 18, 21, 27, 37–40, 108, 141,
Poeninus, 5 159, 215
Pompeius Trogus, 6 Taranis, 5
Posidonius, xi–x ii, 13 Tarvos Trigaranus, 7
Pryderi, 174, 179–187 Teutates, 5
Pwyll, 165–174, 186–187 Teyrnon Twrf Liant, 173–174
Timaeus, ix
reincarnation, x Tolkien, x
Rhiannon, 11–12, 170–174, Torna the Poet, 147
179–185, 209 Triath, 30
Rhun, 202–203 Túachell, 68–69
ring, 20, 100 Tuán, 15–18, 25, 28
Rosmerta, 2 tuath, 153
Tuatha Dé Danann, 14–15, 18–28,
sacrifice, 5, 7, 12 29, 33, 35, 123, 162
Sainrith mac Imbaith, 51 twins, ix, 51, 190
salmon, 26, 100, 102, 157 Twrch Trwyth, 209
Samain, 22, 31–32, 110, 123,
126–128, 137–138, 158 Uathach, 73
samildánach, 2 Uirgriu, 153
Scáthach, 72–74 Uisnech, 26, 31, 109, 145
Sémión, 17
Sencha, 52, 60, 117–118, 124 Victoricus, 215
Senchán Torpéist, 47–48
Sequana, 12 wolves, 114
Sétanta, 58–66
shape-shifting, 15, 17–18, 28, 35, Xenophon, xi
37, 43, 59, 188–189, 200
síd, 29, 31, 43, 58, 83, 98, 101, 105, Ysbaddaden, 206–211
123, 137, 139, 145, 157, 168, 181
Sithchenn, 148–149 Zeus, 5
273
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i

OTHER TITLES BY PHILIP FREEMAN

The World of Saint Patrick

Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in

You must not circulate this work in any other form

CIP data is on file at the Library of Congress

Introduction: Who Were the Celts? ix

1. The Earliest Celtic Gods 1

5. Tales from the Ulster Cycle  92

Saint Brigid 224

Over two thousand years ago, someone on the cold and

the centuries, so that his words are preserved only in a few

sacrificed human captives by burning them alive in wicker

Cornwall, and for a time, in the native British kingdoms of

on parchment. The monks of Ireland soon became famous

I, however, who have copied this history—​or more accu-

more enjoyable project than writing this book to introduce

The ancient Celtic languages of Roman times are pro-

Anyone who has studied a little Latin in school will have no

xviii | P ronunciation G uide

and no letters are silent; c is always hard (k, not s or ch), as is

Medieval Welsh is related to Gaulish, but its spelling and

Like its linguistic cousin Welsh, medieval Irish evolved rap-

P ronunciation G uide | xix

becomes the sound of the final consonant in English bathe

THE GODS OF THE ANCIENT Celts are a mystery. Even

2 | C eltic M ythology

boundaries of life in every aspect. It might seem strange that

T he E arliest C eltic G ods | 3

modern Carlisle in southern Scotland. By no coincidence,

4 | C eltic M ythology

inscriptions, such as Belenus, Cunomaglus, and Grannus.

T he E arliest C eltic G ods | 5

a goose, a sentry animal known for its aggressiveness. The

6 | C eltic M ythology

lightning in his hands, as he tramples a giant, serpent-​legged

T he E arliest C eltic G ods | 7

the fifth and sixth centuries. As late as the seventh century,

8 | C eltic M ythology

ancient relief from Trier dedicated to Mercury, which shows

T he E arliest C eltic G ods | 9

The Greek writer Lucian, who lived during the time of

10 | C eltic M ythology

among the ancient Celts is a quality attested by several clas-

T he E arliest C eltic G ods | 11

only to be enticed back by sacrifice and worship to usher in

12 | C eltic M ythology

horse as punishment. Rhiannon’s birds were also known to

T he E arliest C eltic G ods | 13

solve. Their worship disappeared over time with the victory

THERE WAS PRESERVED IN EARLY Ireland a remarkable

T he B ook of I nvasions | 15

Partholonians arrive, but they in turn die in a plague save for

On the first day of creation, God made unformed matter

16 | C eltic M ythology

5. Tales from the Ulster Cycle 92

I, however, who have copied this history—or more accu-

lightning in his hands, as he tramples a giant, serpent-legged

Beautiful, for every beautiful creature in Ireland—be they

A heavy mist descended suddenly on Muirgen—and out of