The Legends (3 page)

The day the two great lovers were buried was dark and overcast, a perfect reflection of the feeling of the hundreds of people who came to mourn their deaths. Many people stood to present testimonials to the fallen hero and his wife. Conall another great hero announced that the cycle of Cúchulainn’s life on earth was complete because he had avenged the death. Conall opened a bloody bag disclosing the heads of not only Lugaid, son of Curoi who threw the fatal spear, but several others who participated in the planning and execution of the plot. Those killed in revenge included a son of Maeve herself whose hatred of Cúchulainn resulted in the young man’s death. Conall announced that the heads of these fallen enemies were to be lined up near the grave creating an honor guard that would escort the great hero into the next world.

And thus the life of Ireland’s greatest hero ended. Cathbad, the greatest of all druids and Cúchulainn’s grandfather presided at the burial on that cold, wet and miserable day. The couple’s bodies were laid to rest and the bards and poets created their songs and stories, which would be passed on to the generations to come. When Cúchulainn first took up arms as a young boy in the court of Conchubar, he knew that although he would be a legendary champion, his life would be short and he had accepted the one with the other. Now, there would be no more legendary feats. Cúchulainn was dead, but the stories of his deeds would be passed from one generation to the next for as long as Irish people respected honor and valor. Just as Cúchulainn announced when he took his last breath, the great champion’s body was dead but his spirit would live forever.

Seemingly lost amidst the grief and mourning accompanying the death of ones so young and so famous, the cycle of life, and indeed Cúchulainn’s legacy, continued in a far less abstract manner. Unknown to many, shortly before her own death, Emer gave birth to identical twin boys, Cúchulainn’s sons. One of the great disappointments of Cúchulainn’s life was that his great love for Emer had not produced a child but now, at the end of their lives, two miracle children had been born to the couple.

The babies were called Ferdia, after the great champion and Cúchulainn’s best friend who was killed during the war with Maeve, and Fergus, after the great champion who first trained Cúchulainn. The twins were barely a week old when Cúchulainn was slain and they were already orphans. In the flurry of activity surrounding the death of their parents, the infants were placed in the caring hands of an old woman called Mairéad and wet-nurses were appointed to feed the babies. The children were then largely ignored until the death rituals were completed.

And so, the cycle of life continued and the great Cúchulainn’s blood flowed through the bodies of two new lives. Like their father before them, Fergus and Ferdia boasted an extraordinary lineage. They were, after all the sons of Cúchulainn and Grandsons of the deity Lugh of the Long Hand. On their grandmother’s side, they were also descendents of the great god Dagda and the great-grandsons of Cathbad the greatest of all druids.

There was a time many years earlier when Maeve, Queen of Connaught was quite beautiful. She had been tall and slender with long blonde hair, dark almond shaped eyes, and a face, not unlike Helen of Troy’s, which could probably have launched a thousand ships. Unlike some beautiful women, Maeve was neither shy nor self-conscious about her appearance rather she was vain and conceited. Maeve knew that she was beautiful and since she had also been born into great wealth she was quite particular about selecting the man who would be lucky enough to become her husband. Maeve craved wealth and power and with her looks she knew that few men would refuse her.

Maeve first choice was Conchubar; unquestionably the wealthiest and most powerful man in Ireland. It came as no surprise when she was successful in landing Ulster’s great king. Keeping him, however, was another thing entirely. Shortly after their wedding, Conchubar decided that despite her great beauty, he could not tolerate Maeve’s disagreeable personality and so the marriage ended badly. To add insult to injury, Conchubar then married Maeve’s sister Ethne who was nearly as beautiful but significantly easier to live with. He later married a second sister called Clothra while a third was, from time to time, his mistress. As a result of the divorce and his subsequent relationships with her sisters, Maeve not only acquired an ex-husband but also declared that he was her mortal enemy. Conchubar was amused but not particularly concerned.

Maeve’s next choice for a partner was Ailell the King of Connaught who, along with Conchubar, was also among the most powerful men in Ireland. Ailell also represented the right combination of wealth and prestige. Maeve quickly claimed her second husband.

Unlike Conchubar, Ailell was totally infatuated with his bride and would do anything to please her, even tolerate her nasty disposition. Since she was running out of wealthy and powerful kings, Maeve was far more calculating with her second husband and treated him with a bit more respect. She was still quite prepared, however, to take full advantage of Ailell’s devotion. The marriage of the two consolidated the great families of Connaught and they ruled jointly, as king and queen of that powerful province. Their stronghold was located at Cruachan near the present day village of Tulsk in County Roscommon.

It did not take long, however, for Maeve to take effective control of the province. While Ailell was content to administer and consolidate his power, Maeve was greedy and she thirsted for even more power and more wealth. To this end, she established an army of great champions equipped with the best chariots and equipment as she looked for her opportunity to bring all of Ireland under her control. Recognizing her superior strength, Munster and Leinster entered alliances with Maeve rather than risk destruction. Soon Ulster, the ultimate jewel in her greedy eyes, stood alone against her. Since the province was ruled by Conchubar, her despised former husband, victory would be particularly sweet. Maeve’s undoing, however, was not a result of a calculated battle against her adversary to the north; rather it started with a silly domestic discussion.

In a bit of friendly banter over breakfast, Ailell suggested to his wife that he brought more wealth to Connaught than she. In her greed and vanity Maeve could not accept that her husband was correct, even by the slightest of margins – one great bull. To correct the imbalance, she initiated a cattle raid that turned into a war with Ulster and made Cúchulainn a legend.

And so it was that Maeve’s once beautiful face became twisted with rage and hatred each time she recalled that her plan of conquest was foiled by a mere child. Her once melodious voice was replaced by a snarl as she had sent champion after champion against Cúchulainn only to hear that they had been defeated. She even saw three of her own sons, including Orlám, die at his hand and her hatred, now clearly etched in her face, knew no bounds.

In the end, she captured the great bull, which coincidentally was immediately killed by another bull, so she crawled back to Cruachan with any chance of taking Ulster, a distant dream. In time, her once beautiful face reflected the years of anger, greed and despair. It seemed to be twisted into a permanent snarl and few people, not even her husband the king, dared look her in the eye. She vowed, however, that no matter how long it took, or by whatever means foul or fair, she would kill Cúchulainn.

One might have thought that her snarl would turn a smile of triumph when she finally succeeded in causing the death of her arch nemesis. Although it took several years, she trained the sons of a man called Curoi – who Cúchulainn had also killed. Since she knew that training was not enough, she ordered that a spell be cast to protect them from the fear that would cause them to run when they confronted the great champion. She also ordered that their weapons be tipped with poison so that the slightest scratch on the great champion would be fatal. Maeve then sent them out to complete their foul mission and they had been successful, Cúchulainn was dead.

But any show of triumph at the news of the great champion’s death was to be short-lived. No sooner had the messenger arrived with that news than a second messenger rode into Cruachan and knelt before her on trembling knees.

Maeve pointed a long and bony finger at the unfortunate man and demanded, “What news have you to bring your queen?”

The messenger, having ridden for many miles in the pouring rain croaked in a voice wracked with fever and fear, “Maine Mathremail …. your son…. killed.”

Maeve’s face turned red with rage as spittle leaked from the sides of her mouth. Maine was her favorite son and the apple of her eye. He had been tall, blonde and very attractive, like she had once been, and well known for his skill in training horses. “How?” she growled.

The messenger, whose face was nearly to the ground replied in a voice that could hardly be heard, “Conall…. Revenge… Cúchulainn.”

One might have expected a mother to mourn her son’s death, but mourning was a weakness that Maeve had long since abandoned as a waste of her time and energy. In response to the news her distorted features reflected only fury as she ordered that the messenger be killed for daring to bring her such tidings.

While the messenger was being taken away, Maeve called a meeting of her chief druid and nobles. Since they knew well that when such a meeting was called, their lives depended on their immediate attendance, it was only a matter of minutes before her advisors were gathered.

“I must avenge my son,” Maeve announced, each word venomously spat out.

“But Cúchulainn has no sons or daughters,” one of the nobles pointed out.

“So at least kill his wife,” Maeve scowled.

The suggestion may well have brought a look of horror to the faces of advisors in another court but those gathered at Cruachan knew better than to express dissent so they said nothing, and lowered their heads as the queen looked around for a response.

In the back of the room an armed soldier whispered something to one of the nobles and the exchange caught Maeve’s attention. “Well…” she roared.

The noble cleared his throat before speaking up, “I am informed by this young man that our recently departed messenger, before he was put to the sword, reported that Cúchulainn’s wife died when informed of her husband’s death.”

Maeve became more furious, if that was possible, and screamed, “But I must have revenge.”

Raising a finger in the air, the noble continued with a wry smile, “…and, it seems that Cúchulainn left a couple of whelps after all. Twins it would appear called Ferdia after your late great champion who you will recall Cúchulainn also killed and Fergus after Conchubar’s old champion.”

The news obviously pleased Maeve and what could arguably be called a smile crossed her twisted face. “Perfect,” she said. “And where are these children?”

The noble answered, “The messenger came from Dundalk, where Cúchulainn lived, and the children were in the care of nurses when he rode out.”

“I see,” Maeve said as she considered the situation. “Organize twenty of our best champions and tell them to ride immediately for Dundalk. When they find the children, kill them. That shouldn’t be any problem. Dundalk is hardly fortified and even my miserable champions should have no problem with a bunch of wet-nurses.”

“They may be moved,” one of the advisors suggested. “There can be little doubt but that Conchubar would expect you to avenge the death of your son.”

Knowing Conchubar as she did, Maeve had to agree, “Yes, Yes, of course. Make sure several messengers join the champions and if the brats have been moved, send a messenger back and I will give further orders.”

Noting that Maeve agreed with something offered by a councilor, an increasingly rare event, another noble rose and said, “With total respect to your royal wishes, isn’t Conchubar likely to become rather upset if we kill the infant sons of his greatest champion?”

The queen’s immediate reaction was to roar at the noble, “You think I care about Conchubar’s feelings? He is a useless old man and will be joining his champion very soon now.” But then it dawned on her that the advisor was not talking about feelings at all. If Conchubar decided to fight her army was ill equipped to defend against any sustained attack. Turning her head to one side, Maeve stared blankly as she considered the situation.

After a few minutes of silent thought she announced, “Yes. I think that I would prefer that the children be brought to me, rather than killed. Conchubar won’t attack while the whelps are held hostage because he knows that I wouldn’t hesitate to put them out of their misery. And then they are Cúchulainn’s sons, so someday they are bound to be worthy champions. I think it would suit me quite well if I reared them as my own sons, almost as replacements for Maine, and then I will turn them against Ulster. Now that would be sweet revenge indeed.”

The advisors said nothing. This was just the sort of thing they might have expected from their queen. If it were Ailell who sought their counsel, they might have suggested that Connaught was still weak from its defeat by Cúchulainn and the Ulster champions. As a result perhaps it might not be such a good idea to incur the wrath of Conchubar, hostage or no hostage. But Maeve was giving the orders. She didn’t really want or seek their advice, rather she would listen to any information that might have and expect them to agree with everything she said. In the end it was better for their personal health to potentially incur that wrath of Conchubar rather than subjecting themselves to the certain anger of Maeve.

Meanwhile Maeve looked around at the silent gathering. “Well” she eventually shouted, “is there something you don’t understand? What are you doing milling about like a flock of sheep? If Conchubar is moving the brats, there is no time to lose. I want our little expedition moving before the sun sets.”

There could be no doubt that Maeve’s wish was her court’s command and before the sun set twenty champions in full battle regalia were lined up in their war chariots accompanied by their drivers and grooms. Wagons loaded with supplies stood ready and several mounted messengers were included to keep Maeve informed concerning their progress. Although a single horseman might complete the journey in less than a day, the entourage would take at least a couple of days as they crossed the midlands through the present day counties of Longford, Cavan and Meath.