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72

THE FOURTH DUAN. THE RED KING.

‘With the three traitor Sons of Usna, and their Clan
Deirdrè is fled from thee.’ This word to Conchobar
Came suddenly as he sat with Shancha, the great judge
In a sage court of Bards, Ollavs, and Shanachies;
Laying on the conquered Kings his law. Sternly he read
The secret message,

This refers to a mode of sending messages in which the meaning was conveyed by the manner in which twigs or rushes were knotted or interwoven.

tied by Fergus in the twine
Of knotted rushes, tore, and cast it from his hand,
Without a word; nor stayed the business of the court
Till all was fairly done; then gave command to strike
The camp that hour, for a forced march, back to the North.
Fierce was his wrath; for deep the passion that possessed
His lonely soul, wherein Deirdrè's young beauty dwelt,
A hidden sorceress, singing ever a magic song
That mingled in the hum of busy thoughts. And now
His house of dreams was like a house of fallen Kings,
Ruined and full of gloom, and through the gloom he heard
Memory reword the saw that Cathvah darkly spake
O'er Deirdrè's new-born head—each word burnt in his brain:
‘Hold her, O King, thou hast dominion in thy band;
Lose her, and with her goes thy glory and thy power.’
And the Banshee, Despair, came wailing round his heart:
‘Lost! lost!’ even as he rode amidst the armed clang
Of marching men whose feet devoured the way like fire.
By day men went in fear of the King's face; and never
Twixt him and Fergus passed words of such bitter sting
As now; till Fergus wept for sorrow and for shame;
Yet open breach as yet was none between the two.
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And Lavarcam, the Dame of honeyed lips, was fain
To grovel at his feet like a whipt hound; but naught
Availed her honeyed words; and banished from the Court
A year in solitude she pined, and black disgrace.
But night alone beheld his lonely rage, and heard
His moan, like some strong wòunded beast's, boding his foes
Danger. Great was his heart, great its wound, great its groan:
‘Laughter is in my ears this night, shame on my cheek!
I have done great deeds in vain; in vain my walk of power
Has been with Druids hoar, and Ollavs sage in law;
In vain I have made the Bards of Erin rich as Kings,
Gathered them round me, filled with the desire of hearts
Their Pot of Avarice!

When a Bard, or company of Bards, visited a King, a vessel called the ‘Pot of Avarice’ was presented to him, to receive his gifts. If he were generous, they praised him, if stingy, they satirized him; and the Bard's satire had the power of producing sickness, or even death.

Now, in every mouth of gold
Mocked shall I be. My name of glory shall be made
The quarry of the world, hunted by currish tongues,
Slain by a jesting word, mangled about the court
Of Kings it frighted. Red, red are the wings of shame
Above me! Red sit shame, for this, upon your brows,
Usna's three traitor Sons; red be the bed of your death,
Bloody the day ye meet the hounds of my revenge!
Glad shall the carrion kites be for thy sake, that day,
Naisi; thy cheeks that feed a woman's wanton lips
Shall have the crows for kissers. Day shall be scant of light
For your fleeing, night of gloom to hide you from my hate.
‘And she, Deirdrè, O she—closer she bound my heart
Than binds my loins with power the belt of royalty!
From Erin's budding skies the sun fled, when she fled;
Gloomy she leaves the woods, stumbling of feet she plants
In the firm ways of a king; whereby to earth must come
Many fair heads. For her I'll flood the silver streams
Of Banba with men's blood, the best of all my realm,
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But I must have her back! Bloody in sooth shall be
Our wooing, Flower of the Woods, Flower of the World—salt tears
Flow at our bridal! Songs more fierce and stern than songs
Of satirists shall be made about us; but the King
Will have his own, or lose his kingdom with his bride.’
Thus moaned his mighty heart, as in the sleepless hours
About his lonely bed paced still, with pallid lips
Murmuring in slakeless thirst, the wraith of his revenge.
Deirdrè, meanwhile, with Usna's Sons, roamed thro' the land,
A waif, tost on the sea of Conchobar's great wrath;
For none durst shelter long the exiles, hunted still
From Easroe in the West even to that eastern bay
Where looks Ben Edar o'er the strait of Manannàn.
Yet happy was her life, keen with the bliss of her love
For Naisi—strong the love she kindled in his heart,
Making the youth a man, the man a king of men:
And Naisi's brothers were like brothers of her blood.
And merrily lived the four, mocking the gusts of fate;
Sweet rang their harps, and sweet their songs roved thro' the land.
But ease never they had, because of Conchobar,
Till, finding on the coast five galleys, swift of sail,
They shipped for Alba, weighed in a fair wind, and sped
Northward, 'twixt shore and shore; gay was their cheer, as fast
Their galleys o'er the sea raced by the druid Isle
Of Manannàn; and soon, over the foaming prow,
Blue rose the mountain crests of Alba of the Lakes,
And safe they came to port, and safely won the shore.
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There, in the upland wilds, a space of forest land
They found, where on a hill they built a mighty dun,
Ditched round for their defence; and merrily bayed their hounds
And far afield they ran in that brisk mountain air,
And none to say them nay, in forest or on fell.
There, in her Alban home, a mother, ere the dream
Of motherhood well had woke to startle in her breast
The girlhood lingering there, young Deirdrè gazed with awe
Into her first-born's face—a lusty boy, she named
Gaier, ‘the Hound,’ strong whelp of the strong Race of Hounds
His father came of. Thus the Clan lived by the chase,
And when their board was scant of venison, from their hill
They fell upon the plains, and took a spoil of cows.
Then came the men of the plain together, many spears,
To drive the spoilers out; but Naisi and his Clan,
Leaping among them, fierce as wolves among the flocks,
Did on them terrible deeds. Many they slew, and drove
The remnant in dismay for succour to their King.
To him they came, and said: ‘Strangers are in the land,
Who rage like hungry wolves among us, and will soon
Devour us all. On high they have set their mighty dun,
Whence, when desire of meat grows sharp in them, they swoop
Upon our flocks and herds; and we ourselves are naught
But sheep before the wolf, against them; for in deeds
They are terrible; their might is greater than the might
Of the men of Alba. Fierce they are, and run to war
As neighing colts to grass, the shrieking of their spears
Kills us before they strike, the wind of their swift swords
Before they fall. O King, give us thy help to drive
These spoilers from our land, or dead men are we all!’
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Much marvelled then the King to hear this dolorous tale,
Thinking: ‘What men are these? If on the crest of war
Their valour sit so high, great luck it were to gain
For my behoof the might and glamour of their swords.’
Wherefore he sent to them a Druid and a Bard,
To ask their names and race, and give them peace or war.
To Naisi straightway came the heralds of the King,
The Druid and the Bard. And Usna's Sons in peace
Met them upon the sward before their dun; and first,
Grave salutation past on both sides, spake the Bard,
Asking: ‘What men are ye, and wherefore are ye come,
Like roving wolves of the sea, to spoil our peaceful vales?’
Quoth Naisi: ‘Usna's Sons are we, of the warlike race
Of Rury Mōr. Full well, at feasts, the Red Branch House
Knows us; though, twelve months told, blank of our painted shields
We have left its walls, flying the wrath of Conchobar,
Our King, who seeks our lives. No prowlers of the sea
We are; but warriors, girt like men with trusty swords,
To keep our heads, win land, or take a spoil at need,
When Famine's ugly face comes scowling round our doors;
And, bring ye peace or war, we shall abide it still
With the fixed mind of men who fear no frown of Fate.’
These words, wherein they saw Naisi had spoken well,
Pleased them; wonderful too the beauty of the three
Seemed in their eyes. They drank the rushing mountain air
With the deep lungs of stags, lithe were their brawny arms,
And o'er the sward they stepped with the free port of Kings.
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The Druid made reply: ‘Whether in peace or war
We come to you, is yours to choose. Over these vales
May no man range at will, save one, from whom we come,
Our King; whose power in wrath could sweep your valiant clan
Into the hungry sea. But why should reckless war
Between us raise this day his bloody crest? Our King
Loves a good sword at need, no less than Conchobar,
And rich he is, more land has he than Conchobar,
Lands of the chase, cornland and pasture-land, to fee
Good swords that earn his grace. If therefore noble war
Ye love, come ye to him; your spears, whose deadly thirst
Ye have basely slaked in blood of these poor hinds, shall drink
Delight of battle. Lands lack ye? Your swords ere long
Shall win you land enough, serving our warrior King.’
Good seemed the Druid's words to Naisi; for the Clan
Were tired of outlawry. ‘Brothers,’ he said, ‘how looks
This offer, freely made unto us, in your eyes?
Shall we go serve this King, and wet our spears once more
In dew of glorious war?’ Said Ainli: ‘If this King
Be of good faith herein, he is a King, I trow,
Worth talking with.’ So all agreed upon a day
When—the King pledging first in hostage his two sons—
On a broad river's banks, at either side a ford,
The Chiefs might meet in peace, and come to fuller speech
Touching this compact. Then, their embassy achieved,
Back to their King returned the Druid and the Bard.
Soon came the trysting-day, when Ainli at the ford
Received the King's two sons, young boys, and to the dun,
Seated like sons of kings with honour in his car,
Bore them, while with their guard crossed Naisi and Ardàn.
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In a swift war-car, drawn by battle-snuffing steeds—
Two coal-black stallions foaled amid the wealthiest plains
Of Laigen of the Steeds, fiercer than fire that roars
Under the dun west-wind,

The Bards gave colours to the winds; to the east wind, crimson; to the south wind, white; to the north wind, black; to the west wind, dun; to the intermediate winds, intermediate colours.

in Autumn, through the furze—
The brothers crossed the stream. Ardàn, with hands of skill
Grasping the reins ashine with silver studs, controlled
The coursers as they rushed in thunder through the ford;
While with his planted spear stood Naisi, like the mast
Of a King's ship, that sways with its own springy strength
To every gust of the gale, feels all, yet never yields.
So through the ford they rushed, up the steep bank, and stood
A breathing while. Then slow, the fiery steeds in chafe
Champing their silver bits, till from their lips the foam,
Flecking their shaggy breasts, gleamed like the foam that gleams
On the dark waves of Moyle when the black north-wind blows,
O'er the firm thymy turf they moved to meet the King.
Glorious they moved, as when, gladdening the grass with light,
Walks on a day of cloud a sun-burst o'er the plains;
And tall they towered as clouds, still giants of the East,
Their heads with sunset crowned; tall o'er their car, agleam
With bronze and silver: bronze the champion-crushing wheels
And sides of the great car, with silver bossed. The guard
Marched on each hand; their shirts were yellow as the flower
Of the sovarchy; green as the green mane of a brook
In Spring, their woollen cloaks. Long were the swords they bore,
Stout their shield-piercing spears. A lance-flight from the King
Ardàn drew up; lightly the brothers from their car
Leaped, and a-foot went on, a space before their guard.
They came before the King. A burly man was he,
Red was his face and broad, wide-mouthed and little-eyed,
Blemish of baldness none upon him. Round his helm
Red stood his bushy hair, red was the beard that curled
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Close round his chin. In strength tough as a bull was he.
He stared upon the chiefs of the Red Branch, and marked
Their well-strung height, their grace, the splendour of their dress,
Their gait, their easy poise and carriage of their arms.
Striding abreast they came; and thus, that day of the days
Long with the days long dead, they looked, their youth's full flower
Upon them. Champions trained, beautiful, fleet and strong
As deer-hounds in the house of a great King, they looked.
Brown were their faces, brown their sinewy arms, the blood
Rich under their clear skins; brown were their eyes and clear,
And full of lurking light as the deep crystal pool
In Glendalough, that shines below the gleaming fall
Of Poul-an-ass: none clearer shines on the ridge of the world;
But Naisi's held most light. Black as the blackbird's wing
His hair, in two thick braids, hung to his breast; on each
An apple of bright gold danced blithely to the tune
Of his marching feet; and black upon his cheek and chin
His beard of manhood showed. Upon his head he wore
A catbbarr of white bronze inlaid with beaten gold;
The crest of gold bore high two falcons' wings outspread.
His dark-blue shirt, of wool broidered with threads of gold,
Hung to his knee, below the leathern tunic, bright
With scales of bronze. In folds from his broad shoulders fell
His mantle of soft wool, crimson in hue: well-boiled
With alder-twigs, to make the madder's gorgeous blood
Bite in the dipping-vats the staple well, that day
Ailve his Mother, bent on household mysteries, fast
Shut herself with her maids into her Sunny House,
Lest eye of man should fall unlucky on the vats
And spoil her dyeing. Bronze the brooch was at his breast,
Wrought by the elfin hand of Culann, the great smith.
80

The sword upon his thigh had a great name in war,
Famous as any King's; steel was the blade, long since
Tempered in magic baths under the eastern moon,
Set in a hilt of jade shaped to the grip. That sword
Given to old Usna once by mighty Manannàn,
Grey wizard of the sea, held in its magic blade
Demons of speech whereby the sword could tell its name,
‘Helmbiter’ and the blade held in its edges twain
Demons of sharpness, keen even to divide a hair
On the flowing of a stream. Three were the swords renowned
In Ireland that same day: Cuchullin's sword, the sword
Of Fergus, and the sword of royal Conchobar;
And of those three that sword hanging at Naisi's thigh
Was worthy battle-mate, and o'er the din of war
The demons of that sword had often raised their cry,
Answering the battle-cries of the demons of the three.
A stout rib-sheltering shield, defier of the dart,
Bore Naisi, rimmed and bound with bronze inlaid with gold;
And in his hand he held a mighty spear. Of bronze
Was the broad-pointed head, casting upon the earth
A shadow like the gloom of death, and long and broad
As a man's grave. And so came Naisi to the King.
Garbed like a charioteer Ardàn strode at his side;
A golden fillet, bound about his brow, held back
His long hair from his eyes, a spiral of soft gold
Confined it at the poll. A linen shirt he wore,
Warm from his mother's loom, and by her loving hand
Broidered at neck and hem and the short sleeves. His arms,
Sinewy and brown, were bare. Short from his shoulder hung
His cape of wool, and glowed fresh from his mother's vats
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With crimson rich and deep as in October woods
Dyes on their sunny cheeks the clustered crab-apples.
A double stud of gold in eyelets at the breast
Held it. His kilt, below his deer-skin apron's point
Fell to his supple knees in parti-coloured folds.
His whip and goad of bronze his grooms kept in the car,
Thrown by for nobler arms: lightly in his right hand
He bore three hunting-spears, with blades of gleaming bronze
And ashen shafts, the grip well bound with hempen cord.
Behind the brothers came twelve serving-men, and each
Held in the leash a hound, tall as a calf, and swift
As any stag, a torc of gold on every hound
Worth two young cows new-calved, each with her calf; each hound
Worth many a cow. This gift brought Naisi to the King.
Great was the joy the King had in those Irish hounds
Of Naisi's gift. And there, on the broad river-plain
Pleasant with grass, in peace he met the Red-Branch chiefs.
There, after greeting done between them, Naisi's men
Dug with their spears the turf, and raised upon the sward
A sodded seat, whereon sat like an Irish chief
Naisi in state, to close his compact with the King.
Great was the ale-feast made for Naisi by the King,
Great was the joy he had of those two brothers there,
And great his praise of them. For curious were the games
Of war they showed him, each more wondrous than the last.
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Feats of the spear they showed. The swallow could not shun
The spear from Ardàn's hand, so swift his casting. Now
He played with one, now two, now three: the third would leave
His hand while still the first sang in the air, and none
But hit its mark. The spear that left his hand, his hand
Would catch before it fell, so swift his running. Bars
A champion's height he cleared, and bars low as his knee
He dived beneath, at speed; still ever to the King
Saying: ‘All this and more does Ainli, Swift of Foot.’
Feats of the sword they shewed; and Naisi gaged his blade
Against the twelve best blades of Alba. Then did blade
Ring shrewdly upon blade. The demons of the swords
Raged in the screaming air, and Naisi's blade became
A dragon in his hand. The sword it saw, it bit;
The blade it bit, it broke; till never a sword durst show
Its teeth against it. Work did Naisi make that morn
For the Alban smiths; yet ne'er a sword's tooth of them all
Had gapt his blade. And next he challenged helms and shields
To meet its flashing swoop; and never a helm nor shield
Abode a second stroke but three, a third but one,
Saving the King's. From his the sword leaped screaming back,
And would not bite, such guile of courtesy it could use.
Then turned, for finer play, Naisi its tireless teeth
Of sharpness on the woof of soft and yielding things.
A man's sleeve from his shirt with one swift whirling stroke
He shore, nor razed the skin: a feather in the air,
Met by the hissing steel, floated in twain. Amazed
The men of Alba stood. Ne'er had they seen till now
Such sorceries in a sword. And still, in Naisi's hand,
Such was the subtlety and valour of the sword.
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Feats of the car they showed, Usna's two sons, strange feats
Too long to tell. They took the fancy of the King
So captive by their skill that day, that wild he was
To buy their service. Lands he gave them, broad and fair,
Hunting-lands, pasture-lands: to hold, even to the breast
Of Time Eternal, by the reaping of their swords,
And their sons' swords, in all wars of the King and wars
Of his sons after him. And so they left their dun
And raised on their broad lands a greater dun; whereto
They came with all their train: their Bard and Harpers three,
War-men, and serving-men, women and household gear,
Horses and hounds. By night they moved, lest prying eye
Should light on Deirdrè's face, and rumour's flying tongue
Stir in the Red King's heart the demons of desire.
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