Myths and Legends of the Celts (Penguin Reference) (24 page)

Two very old themes dominate the sometimes humorous ninth-century narrative of
Scéla mucce Meic Dathó
[The Story of Mac Da Thó’s Pig]. The first is the incalculably ancient enmity between Ulster and Connacht. The second is the violent contest over the ‘champion’s portion’ [Ir.
curadmír
], the favoured cut of pork given to the strongest man at a table. Posidonius (first century
BC
) described a similar competition among the ancient Gauls. This story is one of the very few in the Ulster Cycle where Cúchulainn does not make an appearance, even though thirty other heroes are cited.

Mac Da Thó [son of two mutes(?)] is a wealthy landowner in Leinster, who delights in his ownership of two animals. The greater of these is the mighty hound, Ailbe, who musters the ferocity of ten armies and can defend all of Mac Da Thó’s properties by himself. Second is a huge, tame boar that has been reared for seven years and seven days on milk so that it may someday furnish a year-long feast when it is slaughtered. Interest in Ailbe, the fighting hound, prompts a bidding contest between two forces who despise each other, Ailill and Medb of Connacht on one hand, and Conchobar mac Nessa of Ulster on the other.

Mac Da Thó’s graciousness as a host is abruptly challenged when the two forces offer favours to him simultaneously to gain possession of the hound. Medb and Ailill will provide 160 prime dairy cows, and a prize chariot drawn by the two best horses in the western province, and these gifts will be repeated each year through the lives of his children and grandchildren. Not to be outdone, Conchobar responds with offers of jewellery, warm friendship and a secure alliance, and an offering of fresh cattle every year for ever. At the same time, Mac Da Thó senses a threat. If Medb and Ailill do not get what they want, they could easily assassinate Mac Da Thó and his wife, and if Conchobar is insulted by the host’s response, he will surely attack as well.

Mac Da Thó finds the dilemma perplexing and thus scrambles for a solution. Although he has been cautioned (unwisely) never to share his secrets with a woman, he does speak of his difficulties with his wife, who hits upon a simple and deft solution: give the dog Ailbe to both parties and let them fight out the ownership between themselves.

To carry out this strategy Mac Da Thó acts with cool mendaciousness in a humorous passage meant to invite the reader’s admiration. As the two delegations arrive in different coloured finery, Mac Da Thó greets them separately and keeps them from seeing one another. When Ulster and Connacht confront each other in the hall, Mac Da Thó feigns surprise, followed by bland indifference to the electric tensions of the occasion. He asks the parties to sit on opposite sides of the hall in anticipation of the sumptuous feast he is about to present. The magnificent pig, now slaughtered, is ready for the table.

At that moment the door crashes open, and in strides Conall Cernach, one of the three greatest Ulster warriors, who demands that Cet back away from the roast pig on the table. Never has he spent a day without slaying a Connachtman, he trumpets, never spent a night without plundering their property, and never slept without having a Connachtman’s head beneath his knee. A bit shaken by Conall’s thunder, Cet acknowledges that the Ulsterman may indeed be a better fighter but that his brother Anluan is greater still, and he if were present he would prove it. ‘But he is,’ Conall roars, throwing Anluan’s severed head to Cet’s chest with such force that blood gushes from his mouth. Flushed with his own bravado, Conall then proceeds to carve the pig, keeping the choicest portions for himself, and leaving only the forelegs to the humiliated westerners.

Enraged at this insult, the men of Connacht descend upon the men of Ulster, and soon bodies are heaped upon the floor and blood is flowing through the doorway. At just this moment of mayhem, Mac Da Thó decides to reintroduce Ailbe, the fighting hound at the centre of the current conflict between north and west. The host wants to see which side Ailbe will choose, and as the hound sees Conchobar’s forces in the lead, he takes the side of Ulster. His rapacious teeth bared, Ailbe tears into the flesh of the Connacht fighters, giving Ailill and Medb such a fright that the royal couple take flight with their charioteer, Fer Loga.

In a startling reversal of expectations, the Connacht charioteer strikes a fatal blow against the hound as forceful as ten armies. Fer Loga uses a chariot pole to decapitate the majestic beast, letting the body fall to one side but keeping the head on his pole. At this point the storyteller adds that this episode lends itself to two place-names:
Mag nAilbe
[Ailbe’s plain], in the valley of the River Barrow, where the action is taking place, and
Ibar Cinn Chon
[yew tree of the hound’s head], a bogus etymology for ‘Connacht’ itself.

Seeking one last advantage for his province, Fer Loga lies in wait in the heather, ready to roll Ailbe’s severed head into the roadway. His ambush succeeds as he springs into Conchobar’s chariot and seizes the king by the throat. Realizing his disadvantage, Conchobar bargains for his freedom on Fer Loga’s terms. Pausing, the charioteer thinks of a wish he would like fulfilled.

‘I would like to see the women of Emain Macha and their young daughters sing choruses around me every evening for a year, with the words, “Fer Loga is my darling.” ’

Conchobar grants the request. He and Fer Loga proceed to Emain Macha where the maidens are obliged to follow the king’s command. After a happy year, Fer Loga with a gift of two of Conchobar’s horses returns to the west, fording the Shannon at Athlone.

Troublemaking is ever Briccriu Neimthenga’s pleasure. His insidious suggestions about how the pork might be carved at Mac Da Thó’s dinner party are but a prelude to his grander shenanigans in the eighth-century story bearing his name,
Fled Bricrenn
[Briccriu’s Feast]. His prey this time are three Ulster heroes, Conall Cernach, Lóegaire Búadach and Cúchulainn and, through them, their wives. His tactic, simple but effective, is an appeal to vanity: Which of you shall rank first? Who should take precedence? Who deserves to cut the champion’s esteemed portion?

The story survives in four variant eleventh-century texts deriving from an eighth-century original, which in turn appears to have had antecedents of even earlier date. When coordinated, the entire narrative connects two barely related episodes: (a) Briccriu’s inciting of competition for the champion’s portion; and (b) the beheading contest or giant’s challenge. Despite the modest caesura in the action
Fled Bricrenn
is often seen as one of the most finished stories as well as one of the longest, after the imposing
Táin Bó Cuailnge
.

Briccriu quickly plays the same tricks on Conall and Cúchulainn – unctuous flattery followed by prickly goads about unappreciated feats of valour and heroism. Cúchulainn is the angriest of the three, swearing that he will have the head of anyone who takes the champion’s portion before him. At this Briccriu beams with satisfaction at his handiwork.

Thwarted in this, his first stratagem, Briccriu turns to the consorts of the three heroes, sure that he has readier prey this time. Observing that Fedelm Noíchrothach, wife of Lóegaire, is tipsy from too much wine, he praises her as the foremost woman of Ulster for her beauty, nobility and intelligence. Enjoying her rapt attention, he goads her to take precedence among the women by being the first to pass through the door of Briccriu’s residence, an act that will confirm her rank. In quick order he uses the same simple ploys with Lendabair, wife of Conall Cernach, and Emer, wife of Cúchulainn. When the three noble women and their entourages meet three ridges away from the hall, each believes that Briccriu has spoken only to her and so projects a studied calm about making her way to the banquet. Measured, stately steps give way to a faster pace as they pass from the third to the second ridge. Briccriu’s intrigue seems to be working as the parties draw closer to Dún Rudraige and each woman breaks into a run, hoisting her skirts and exposing her backside. Arriving at the door they compete in boasting contests over who has the more formidable husband, prompting Conall and Lóegaire to tear down the pillars so that Fedelm and Lendabair may enter. Cúchulainn takes more direct action, prising up an entire wall of the edifice, hefting it so high that stars in the sky are visible beneath the foundations. This allows Emer, unhurriedly, to step first into the house. Once she is in, Cúchulainn drops the wall, which crashes into the earth, sinking deeper than the length of a full-grown warrior. All this violence to the house’s physical integrity undulates through the rest of the structure, sending Briccriu’s balcony at a severe tilt, causing him and his wife to slide off and plop down farcically into a pile of slimy muck.

Briccriu’s challenge to the vanity of the Ulster heroes remains unsatisfied, of course, but he is not the immediate instigator of the third episode of the unfolding story. The Ulstermen themselves decide to take the question of who deserves the champion’s portion to their usual enemies, Queen Medb of Connacht and her consort Ailill in their fortress of Cruachain. Everyone concerned with the question, headed by King Conchobar mac Nessa, packs up and begins to head west. So massive and extensive is the entourage that the rumble of humans and animals in motion extends all the way to the household of Medb herself, who remarks to her daughter Finnabair how odd it is to hear thunder on such a sunny day.

Taking a high vantage point in the fortress, Finnabair calls out detailed and particular descriptions of the approaching heroes for her mother to identify. Lóegaire has long braided yellow hair, brown at the root, blood red in the middle and golden yellow at the tip. Long braided hair also adorns Conall Cernach, whose bright, glistening face is half-red and half-white. Finnabair saves her highest praise for the third rider, whom she judges to be the most beautiful man in all of Ireland, even though he is sad and dark. It is Cúchulainn. His clothing brightens his appearance, a scarlet tunic fastened with a gold, ornamented brooch over his white breast.

In an instant Medb knows each of the warriors from her daughter’s words but cautions that each of them could bring danger to the household. She orders that three vats of icy water be set aside to cool the battle fever of the three when they arrive.

Disgusted with her husband’s indecision, which she calls cowardly, Medb proposes her own plan to separate the men, who she says are as different from one another as bronze is to silver, and silver is to gold.

She then speaks to the Ulster heroes one by one, telling each a variation of the same story. She allows Lóegaire and Conall to think they are her favourites, giving a bronze cup with a silver bird on the bottom to Lóegaire and a silver cup with a gold bird on the bottom to Conall, asking both not to divulge their little secret. Cúchulainn, playing the boardgame fidchell with Láeg, is harder to coax. She puts her arm around him and whispers in his ear that he is the greatest hero in Ulster and most deserving of the champion’s portion. From under her garments she takes a splendid gold cup with a bejewelled bird at the base. As with the others, she asks him not to speak of this.

On their return to Emain Macha the three heroes are hosted at a banquet at which the champion’s portion is carved but not served to anyone. Dubthach Dóeltenga [chafer-tongued], a man as rancorous as Briccriu, snarls that the expedition to Cruachain settled nothing and the champion’s portion might as well be given to some hero other than the three current competitors. At that Lóegaire holds up his bronze cup to prove that he was Ailill’s and Medb’s choice, a secret until now. A startled Conall objects, brandishing his elegant silver cup, a sure sign that he had been favoured by the royalty of the west. Never one to be stampeded by the heat of the moment, Cúchulainn is slower to speak. Reaching into his cloak he produces his golden goblet, studded with jewels, and on the bottom the bird composed of precious gems. ‘This is the best token of all,’ he avows. ‘With justice the champion’s portion should be mine.’ His presumption provokes Lóegaire and Conall to draw their swords and all three are about to flail one another when Sencha intervenes once more, reminding the trio that Medb had duped all of them, not each one individually. Thus, once again the question of who deserved the champion’s portion is unresolved, and so the meat is cut up and distributed to the whole company.

Next, the three Ulster heroes seek the judgement of a wizard-warrior in the south, Cú Roí mac Dáiri of west Munster. He lives in a magical, impregnable fortress that revolves on its axis each night so that its entrance can never be found after sunset; it is identified with the Iron Age ruin of Cahirconree on the Dingle Peninsula, Co. Kerry. The host is away in far-off Scythia when the trio arrive; they are asked to keep watch at night until Cú Roí comes back. Lóegaire, the eldest, is keeping the first watch when a giant comes from the sea. Taking the Ulsterman up in one hand, the giant rolls him between his palms like a chess-piece turned on a lathe and then contemptuously throws him over the wall into the mud. Next night, Conall Cernach gets the same abusive handling. On the third night Cúchulainn fares better, overcoming attacks from nine warriors, a monstrous beast and finally the giant himself. When he enters the fortress the next morning, Cúchulainn sighs, to which the host’s wife, Bláithíne, responds that his sigh should be for victory and triumph. After a short interval, Cú Roí enters, carrying the spoils of earlier conquests that Cúchulainn had left outside, and declares that he alone among the three Ulstermen is most deserving of the champion’s portion. Cú Roí confirms his decision with a reward of gold and silver and promises, further, that Cúchulainn’s wife Emer will enjoy precedence over all the women of the province.

When the troupe returns to Emain Macha that night, the matter is anything but settled. Lóegaire and Conall deny that Cú Roí has awarded the champion’s portion to Cúchulainn as they did not witness what went on inside the fortress. Cúchulainn decides not to contend for his rightful prize as to do so would bring more sorrow than joy.

The final and crucial episode of the narrative is absent or illegible in the three recensions of
Fled Bricrenn
but survives in a separate manuscript found in Edinburgh. Determining the rightful claimant to the champion’s portion is still the dominant theme, but in this last action Briccriu has completely disappeared, his role taken with lesser stature by the evil-tongued Dubthach.