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112

THE SEVENTH DUAN. THE RED BRANCH HOUSE.

There bode they in the House of the Red-Branch, and well
The servants of the King welcomed them. On the board
All kinds of noble food, served for the honoured guests
Of a great king, they spread before them: savoury meats,
And mighty horns of ale, and cups of gold afoam
With strong nut-coloured mead. And all their folk were glad
And feasted, and forgot the weariness of the way.
But Deirdrè with the Sons of Usna sat apart
In wrath, and would not eat; and Naisi bade one bring
‘Fairhead,’ the royal board, the gift of Conchobar,
Inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and gold, and ivory;
Its men, of sea-horse tooth and agate, set with gems.
This board they brought, and ranged the pieces in array
For Naisi and his Queen; and there they played at chess,
Deirdrè and Naisi. And all their folk, feasting, drank deep.
Meanwhile the king's proud hear wrought like an eager tide
Vext by an adverse wind in a deep strait. He longed
To see once more the face of Deirdrè; for her voice
Was murmuring in his ear like a remembered tune,
And like a ghost her form seemed ever gliding near,
But a half-luminous cloud was ever on the face.
Anon he cried aloud: ‘O warriors, which of you
Will bring me faithful word if Deirdrè keep the form
She had when last in love I looked upon her face?
Keep she it still, no woman born of a woman breathes
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Whose form would, set by hers, not seem but mire to gold.’
Then Lavarcam, long since crept back to her old place
By the King's ear, burst out: ‘I claim that service, King!
None else shall go, myself will bring thee tiding true.’
Now thus it was with her, the gossip Lavarcam:
Naisi she loved beyond all men upon the earth,
And would have run the round of all the world, to taste
One kiss of his mouth; and Deirdrè, her child, she loved beyond
The tongue of Bards to tell. She would have given the drops
From her heart's vein to cure her child of any woe,
Counting it her good luck. So to the Red-Branch House,
At Conchobar's behest, she ran with eager feet.
There found she whom she sought, ‘Fairhead’ between the two,
And they two playing thereon. There in her aged hands
She took their heads beloved, and rained upon their cheeks,
And lips, and eyes, kisses—kisses of loyalty,
Kisses of love; and there her tears ran down like rain
Suddenly loosed from heaven, till all her breast was wet
With the rivers of her love, gushed forth to welcome them.
‘O children of my heart!’ she sighed. ‘How have ye fared
This many a day? Ochone! it is not well this night,
Not well for you to have between you there that thing
He was most loath to lose, next to yourself, my lamb,
Next to yourself, my girl! And ye here in his power,
Whom he most hates! And now, know ye why I am here?
I am sent to see if still my Deirdrè keep the form
She had upon her once; but I'll tear out my tongue
Ere what my old eyes have seen I tell to Conchobar:
The form upon her then was, to the form that shines
Upon her now, but as the beauty of a child
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To the beauty of a Queen! Ah! why, pulse of my heart—
Ah! why, pearl of my life, art thou come here to fill
Conchobar's veins with fire? O, never till this night
I knew what beauty was! What blame should any man,
Much less a mighty King, have, though he gave the fish
Of the nine rivers blood for water, for thy sake?’
‘O sad, sad is my soul for the deed they plot this night,
My jewels, against you all; for treachery and shame
And troth-break are this night come near to Conchobar.
And after this bad night will Eman never know
Any good hour again.’ Wherefore she made this lay:

LAVARCAM'S COMPLAINT FOR THE SONS OF USNA.

1

A long shame to my cheek
Is to-night's foul deed in Eman;
The shame of to-night shall sunder
The friendship of many friends.

2

None goodlier the earth's green breast
E'er nursed than the Sons of Usna;
To see them slain for a woman
Is death of joy to my heart.

3

Ardàn of the blackbird's voice,
And Ainli, Stag of the Mountain,
And Naisi, King of the Battle,
Their loss is death to my heart.
115

Then cried she: ‘Bar the doors, and shut the windows fast,
Set a good guard, and keep your weapons by your sides!
If they dare set on you, I know what bravery
Is in you. On your heads may victory sit, and good
Go with you where ye go! Fight well, and Fergus' sons
Fight well in your defence!’ And, weeping sore, she kissed
And bade them all farewell, then slowly sought the King.
‘Now, by thy tongue of truth, what news?’ cried Conchobar.
‘Good news, and bad,’ said she. ‘How so?’ said Conchobar.
‘Good, in that now thou hast, back in this realm, the three
Whose forms of manhood tower o'er all the world; the three
Whose spears are thunderbolts, whose brands are flames of war,
Whose feet on battle-fields are like the tempest's feet
Spurning the sea. Have these with thee, and let the world
Come with its five great fifths against thee, they shall be
Like timorous flocks of birds, like starlings that a shout
Scares from the stubble. Boys they went from us, and men,
Mighty men, come they back. The youngest of the three
In strength is greater now than the eldest that we knew:
And that is my best news. The worst I have in store
Is that the form thy bride took with her when she went
Is not upon her now. Ochone for my poor child!
You have had great hardship since, great hardship must you have had,
To come this changeling back! For every year, three years
Have laid their age on her: the light quencht in her eyes,
The bloom flown from her face; the withering of her flesh
Leaves her an autumn leaf, a sorrow, a thing unknown!’
Thus with her crafty words she lulled the jealous worm
Stinging the King to rage. He quaffed without a word
Cup after cup, brooding. Half he believed her, half
He feared her guile. ‘This hag,’ thought he, ‘winked at her flight,
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And now may lie like truth.’ Aloud he said: ‘Who now
Will go a second time, and tell me in what shape
Comes Deirdrè back?’ And thrice he asked; but no one spoke,
For all men feared to bring some evil on the Land.
Now there was one who sat at meat with him that night,
A stranger in the House of Conchobar, his name
Tren-dorn; to whom the King, taunting him, cried: ‘Tren-dorn,
Haply thy manhood keeps no memory of a wrong
Done to thy youth—or else thou shouldst but little love
The Sons of Usna. Ay, surely thou hast forgot
Who slew thy father, man?’ Thereat the man grew red,
Then suddenly pale, and took from next his heart a cloth
Stained with dark blood; and cried in a wild voice: ‘This blood
I bear about me keeps that memory fresher here
That its own colour, King! This is my father's blood,
By Naisi shed.’ ‘Up then,’ said Conchobar, ‘and see
If Deirdrè's beauty keep as freshly as thy wrong.
Thou wilt not lie to me to-night, if she be fair.’
Then went Tren-dorn, and came to the House of the Red Branch;
But when he found the doors and windows barred, came fear
Upon him, nor he durst, for aught the King might give,
Demand an entrance there. ‘There is no way,’ said he,
‘By which a man may come within the hall, and live:
Wrath is upon the Sons of Usna.’ Lingering there
Around the House, whose gloom frowned on him dauntingly,
With feet between two fears driven in two ways, he found
A window, left unbarred for air, whereto he climbed,
And peered within, and saw Deirdrè. But when he saw her,
As great as was his fear, yet greater was the charm
And witchery of her face: it held him in amaze,
Till, with a sense of eyes upon her, she looked up,
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And saw him. Naisi's foot she pressed and made him see
Eyes at the loop. He snatched a dead-man from the board,
And flung it with a cast so swift, an aim so true
It struck Tren-dorn; and stunned, one peering eye dasht out,
He dropped, and, mad with pain, yelled like a dog that feels
His master's lash; and so went back to Conchobar,
In rage and shame, one eye blind in his bleeding face.
‘This is my wage,’ he cried, ‘got in thy service, King!’
And many standing by mocked him. But Conchobar
Frowned on them, and replied: ‘This have they done to me.
Take comfort, for that shame great eric shalt thou have.’
‘But Deirdre? Hasthou seen? How looks she?’ And Tren-dorn
Answered: ‘To see her face is worth an eye. This world
Holds no such beauty, King, 'twixt sea and sea, as now
Shines on her. Blight of age durst never steal its bloom;
All women else are hags. Leave her in Naisi's arms,
And he is King of the world, as sure he deems himself,
Barring her in thy house, where now he sits at ease.’
Then Conchobar arose in wrath and jealousy,
Crying: ‘Ye see what shame the Sons of Usna heap
Upon me now, shaming the messenger I send,
Even while they feast in my house, even while they keep my Queen,
Barring the doors against me. Up, for they come in war,
Not peace, to mock my beard with scorning of their King!’
So, followed by the strength of all his men-at-arms,
He marched upon the House; and there they made three bands
And circled it about, and gave three mighty shouts
Of war around it, while with flaming brands they came,
And menace of assault. Then cried Illàn the Fair:
‘What men are ye, and wherefore come ye against this House?’
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They answered: ‘Conchobar and Ulla!’ ‘False the tongue
That slanders those proud names!’ cried he, ‘Against you stands
The surety Fergus gave.’ ‘Well the young cockerel crows,’
Said Conchobar. ‘But shame sits on your brows this night,
Keeping my wife with you; and save you bring her forth,
Great, by my troth, shall be the vengeance ye shall meet!’
When Deirdrè heard the voice of Conchobar, the heart
Grew sick within her breast, like a hidden bird that hears
The kestrel cry. ‘The pledge of Fergus is no pledge—
We are betrayed!’ she said. ‘Trust but your own good swords,
Forlorn are Usna's Sons!’ But Naisi frowning said:
‘Till it be broke I hold the pledge of Fergus good,
Play on!’ But Deirdrè knelt, weeping, by Gaier's bed,
And played no more. Then spake Buinè the Red: ‘Take heart!
Let Conchobar be false, but by my head, no shame
Of treachery rests on us;’ and forth he ran, with all
His warmen after him; for upon Eman's plain
The best men of his clan had met them as they came,
To be their body-guard. He rushed around the House,
And slew in that one rush three fifties, and put out
The fires, and trampled all the torches under foot.
And straight at Conchobar he made. Then cried the King:
‘What man art thou, who mak'st such mischief in my ranks?’
‘Buiné the Red,’ said he. Then loud laughed Conchobar:
‘Mad son of a mad sire! Wilt thou be rich by me?’
‘What riches should I have from thee?’ ‘Broad lands and good:
A cantred of the lands of Usna's traitor Sons.’
‘A good first word,’ said he. ‘Thereafter?’ ‘And withal
My private ear in council—turn but away thy sword!’
‘My sword is turned,’ said he. And so in perjury,
And bribed by Conchobar, he drew his band away
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But that same night fell storm on the plough-lands of the bribe,
And a lake rose in wrath, because of that foul wrong
To Usna's Sons; leaving its bed among the hills
It made those lands a marsh, desolate even to this day,
Well-named even to this day: ‘The Marsh of Buiné's Breach.’
Now Naisi played at chess with Ainli in the hall,
Heeding no whit the noise of strife on Eman's Green.
But when that paused, while spake red Buiné with the King,
Deirdrè cried out: ‘O Sons of Usna! It was truth
I spake to heedless ears: now is my dream come true.
This moment Buiné sells your heads to Conchobar.
By Fergus we are lost, the son false as the sire!’
‘By the red pulse of my heart!’ said Illàn, ‘while this hilt
Is friendly to my hand, though Fergus and his clan
Should leave you, yet will I myself fight to the death,
And never leave you.’ Then, his warmen at his back,
Shouting he rushed upon the Ulstermen, and thrice
Circled the Red Branch House, and slew in those three rounds
Three fifties and three more; leaving upon the Green
Three hundred of the best that stood by Conchobar,
Strong men, before that rush; and back unhurt he came
To the great hall, where still Naisi with Ainli played.
There for a while he breathed, and drank a mighty draught,
And snatching up a torch out of a sconce, he stood
In the great door, and sent a challenge to the host
Of Conchobar: ‘Who dares, let him stand, man to man,
Against me in fair fight; and vows be laid upon us
To fight unto the death, none aiding. Let him come
With casting-spear, and sword, and thrusting-spear! 'Tis I,
Illàn the Fair, the Son of Fergus. Come who dares,
Be it my brother, here no kinship let him claim!’
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‘By my sword,’ said Conchobar, ‘the brood of Fergus cast
A shame on me this night! Come here, Fiachra, my son!
This loud-tongued youth and thou are of one age: two cubs
Whelped in one hour. He wears his father's arms, go thou
And meet him in mine own.’ Then Fiachra took the arms
Of Conchobar. ‘Fight well, my son, for me this night!’
His father said, and kissed Fiachra, and sent him forth.
So Fiachra came where stood Illàn, who cried to him:
‘What man art thou who comest against me in those arms?’
‘One thou knowest well,’ said he, ‘the son of Conchobar,
Fiachra the Fair, thy friend.’ ‘In a bad cause, O Fiachra!
Comest thou in his arms against me,’ said Illàn.
‘Be that as it may,’ said he, ‘I am here to fight with thee.’
‘What is thy first weapon?’ ‘The casting-spear.’ ‘Come, then,
I am ready,’ said Illàn, ‘with that let us begin.
Yon moon will be the torch of valour for us both.’
They flung their arms about each other's necks and kissed.
Then was there fought between them a battle fierce and long,
The like whereof was ne'er beheld on Eman's Green,
Till that same night. And first, like hill-cats lithe and swift
They played with circling feints, to gain some vantage-ground,
Ere darted from their gripe the spears. Their singing spears
Flew from their hands through the air, like dragons of the air;
Swifter than swallow's flight over the sea. More swift
Than swallow's veering flight in the air, upon the Green
The Champions raced and veered, subtler than doubling hares.
But good as was their casting, better was their defence;
For either would they turn the strokes upon their shields,
Or leap aside, or catch the eager-screaming spears
In their strong hands, and hurl them, screaming like falcons, back.
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Then cried Illàn the Fair: ‘Enough of fair-day sport:
Hast thou no weapon else?’ Said Fiachra: ‘What thou wilt—
Spoil-winner snuffs the field.’ ‘Fair welcome,’ said Illàn,
‘To him and thee!’ They took their thrusting-spears, and each
Drove at the other. Fierce the fight grew, and the grass
Was trampled where they met with fence and thrust, their shields
Took many a dint and gash. At the third interchange
Spoil-winner through the shield of Fergus drove, and tore
Illàn's flesh from his ribs nearest the heart. Thereon
Young Fiachra, with a shout of: ‘Conchobar a-boo!’
Pressed on him. He gave ground. But Deirdrè, who looked forth,
Viewing the battle, cried a wild and woeful cry:
‘Think of me, Son of Fergus! Fight for my sake this night!’
Then taller grew the Son of Fergus at her cry,
And twice more strong, such rage of battle Deirdrè's voice
Put in her champion. ‘Swords!’ he cried to Fiachra, ‘Swords!
End we this battle!’ Fierce he drove at Fiachra, fierce
He hewed at him, till back he forced him, foot by foot,
Toward where the Red Branch House rose huge, darkening the moon.
But the great roaring shield of Conchobar kept still
His son from hurt; but now so near his danger drew
It roared loud as the seas in tempest, and its voice
Was answered on the coasts of Ireland by the voice
Of the three magic waves, the wave of Toth, the wave
Of Cleena, and the wave of Rury, roaring loud.
Now that same night within Dunseverick by the sea,
Lay Conall Carnach, Son of Amergin, and heard
The wave of Rury Roar, and thought: ‘This roaring bodes
Danger to Conchobar.’ In haste he took his arms,
Leaped on his fleetest horse and came to Eman Green.
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There on the Green he found hosts in array, and men
Dead on the Green, and two in combat by the House
Of the Red Branch—and one was down upon his knee;
For Fiachra then had ta'en a sword-wound in his thigh,
And over him was spread the shield of Conchobar,
Roaring under the moon. But no man of the host
Durst rescue him, because the vow was on them all.
He spurred amain, and drove, heedless of Deirdrè's shriek,
His blade through Illàn's back, driving it through and through
The basket of his breast. ‘Who strikes this coward's blow
To my wounding?’ said Illàn. ‘I, Conall. Who art thou?’
‘Illàn the Fair, the Son of Fergus,’ said the youth,
‘An ill deed hast thou done, slaying me; for I guard
The Sons of Usna here.’ Then Conall Carnach sprang
In anguish from his horse. ‘Is that the truth?’ said he.
‘A bad truth!’ said Illàn, and like a strake of corn
Caught in the reaper's hand, when the sharp sickle quells
The stiffness of the stalk, drooped his fair head. No strength
Was left in him to hold a weapon more, and faint
He sank in Conall's arms; and Conall laid him down
Gently upon the grass. Then terribly he grasped
The shield of Conchobar, and tore it from the grip
Of Fiachra as he crouched. ‘What man art thou?’ said he.
‘The Son of Conchobar, Fiachra, and for his sake
I think nigh death.’ ‘In that thou hast spoken a true word,’
Said Conall. ‘Conchobar shall never take thee now
Alive out of my hands.’ And at a blow he smote
His fair head from his trunk, and dead he left him there.
Then from the ground groaned out Illàn: ‘The hand of death
Lies heavily on me now. If thou be pitiful
Help me into the House, my arms upon me.’ And slow
They came to the great door. ‘Set me beside the post,’
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Said the dying man, ‘and now leave me in peace, and take
Forgiveness for my death.’ Then Conall Carnach leaped
Upon his horse, and rode in wrath, scattering the hosts,
Speaking no word, away, back to Dunseverick strand.
But on the door-post leaned Illàn, trembling and pale,
And gasped for breath. Anon with his last strength he flung
His shield into the hall, and tottering in, death-blind,
Fell on the floor, panting: ‘I am slain in your defence;
Do valiantly for yourselves.’ And all the floor was red
From the rivers of his veins; with every word he spoke
More blood came through the lips than breath. Then Naisi cast
The board away, crying: ‘Thou art the pick of three,
And thou hast done the work of three for us this night.
A champion's praise be thine; for better none could do.’
They raised him in their arms, and Deirdrè o'er him bent.
‘Faithful and true thou art, faithful and true!’ she said,
Weeping; and on his face, damp with the dews of death,
Rained her hot tears. She knelt, and with her warm soft mouth
Kissed his cold brow. Thereat with wistful glazing eyes
He stared on her. No speech was left him; but he smiled,
And dead they laid him down, that smile on his dead lips.
Conchobar, when he knew Fiachra lay slain, sent forth
His herald to bring back the body, with his arms;
And there he made great moan for his dead son, and said:
‘I have lost a precious thing, losing thee so, my son!
My valour's flame wast thou, my shield in war, the hope
Of morning to mine eyes; and now thou art gone from me,
Lost for a toy, a gawd, a woman's face! O, now
Would I had thee once more, and Deirdrè in her grave!’
And, arming straight, he came in rage against the House.
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Then ran the Ulster men with firebrands round the House
To burn it, with loud shouts of: ‘Conchobar a-boo!’
But valiantly Ardàn rushed on them, and hurled back
The press, and trampled out the fire, and with his men
Slew them in heaps: and so the first watch of the night
He kept the place. The like did Ainli after him,
Rushing among the hosts of Conchobar, he seemed
A wolf among the flocks; through them, and under them,
And over them he went: and so he held the place
The second watch of the night. Last went forth Naisi, and he
Raged like a furious elk among the hounds, and made
The Green of Eman red with slaughtering of the clans
Led on by Conchobar. And Conchobar himself
With his blade's flat he smote, and brought him to his knee
Beneath his roaring shield. Then to the Red Branch House
He came victorious back. So the third watch of the night
He held the place; and none durst come against it more.
By this the moon had set, the stars young in the sky
Like torches quencht by the sun were paling; and like stars
Paled by the dawn the torches flickered in the hall,
As Deirdrè in the door, with Gaier in her arms,
Met Naisi with her smile. Like a dawn-wakened bird,
The boy sang in her arms, for life's mere joy, and laughed
To greet his father. Tears shone soft in Deirdrè's eyes,
Even as she smiled, and fond the welcome was, she gave
Her champion come once more with victory back to her.
‘O, bravely have you done this night!’ she cried, ‘thyself,
And Ainli, and Ardàn. Said I not well to thee:
‘Beware of Conchobar? But never could I know,
No, not even I could know, such valour and such might
Was in you as this night ye have put forth for me.
Ye have abasht the world with valour!’ ‘Ah, my girl!’
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Said Naisi, as from her arms he took the boy, ‘this might
Thy beauty and thy love put in our hearts. For thee,
And for this boy, we fought.’ ‘But now,’ she said, ‘be ruled
This once by me. While now their army stands aloof
Let us go forth and seek Dundalgan by the sea,
And there find with Cuchullin rest from Conchobar.’
‘Even my own thought,’ said he. And with their linkèd shields
They fenced the women well, and marched in the pale dawn
Forth on the Green; and all the men of Ulster stood
Half-dazed and slaughter-sick, and little was their will
To stay their going. Then came Conchobar where stood
Cathvah the Druid. ‘See, Cathvah,’ said Conchobar,
‘Where Naisi goes, and now will he go safe, and rend
The Kingdom with new wars. Stay him with wizardry,
Or endless wreck will waste the Province we have made.’
Said Cathvah: ‘With what vow, if on them I should lay
Druidry, wilt thou bind thy Kingship that no hurt
Shall come upon their lives?’ ‘This vow,’ said Conchobar,
‘On the honour of a King, I ask but for my wife
Whom they have stol'n from me. Curse me, and curse this land,
If, Deirdrè in my arms, I do them any hurt.’
Then Cathvah on the Green kindled a Druid's fire,
And in the fire he cast magical herbs, that made
A smoke about the feet of Usna's Sons; and soon
The smoke about their feet spread like a sea, wherein
They seemed to wade in waves; and, struggling to uplift
Deirdrè above the waves, they battled on, to reach
The shore of their own isle in Alba, where it seemed
Before them full in view. But Deirdrè cried to them:
‘On, on! This is no sea, cast not your arms away,
To save me! Cathvah weaves this Druid spell, and winds
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The going of our feet with treachery.’ But her words
Went idly by their ears; for all their sense was dazed
With druidry. Madly they cast away their spears,
Their shields, and stretched their arms upon the druid smoke
Feebly, to swim upon it; and staggered to and fro,
Beaten by its waves; and soon with all their folk they lay
In heaps upon the sward, drowned in that druid sea.
And Deirdrè lay and wept on Naisi's arm, that strove
To save her to the last. Then came the Ulstermen,
At Conchobar's command, and bound them where they lay.
And so were Usna's Sons by treachery taken there.
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