Part 3

“You gravell me entirely when you ask about men,” said the ass. “I don’t know much about them. They live to themselves and I live to myself. Their houses are full of smoke and it blinds my eyes to go in. There used to be green fields here and high grass that became hay, but there’s nothing like that now. I think men have given up eating what grows out of the ground. I see nothing, I smell nothing, but fish, fish, fish.”

The gray-headed crow had a vicious eye fixed on the ass all the time he was speaking. “You’re saying all that,” said she, “because they let the little horse stay all night in the house and beat you out of it.”

“My friend,” said the seal, “it is evident that men deceive you by appearances. I know men. I have followed their boats and have listened to the wonderful sounds they make with their voices and with instruments. Do they not draw fish out of the depths by enchantments? Do they not build their habitations with music? Do they not draw the moon out of the sea and set it for a light in their houses? And is it not known that the fairest daughters of the sea have loved men?”

“When I’m awake long o’ moonlit nights I feel like that myself,” said the ass. Then the recollections of these long, frosty nights made him yawn. Then he brayed.

“What it is to live near men,” said the seal in admiration. “What wonderful sounds!”

“I’d cross the water and rub noses with you,” said the ass, “only I’m afraid of crocodiles.”

“Crocodiles?” said the gray-headed crow.

“Yes,” said the ass. “It’s because I’m of a very old family, you know. They were Egyptians. My people never liked to cross water in their own country. There were crocodiles there.”

“I don’t want to waste any more time listening to nonsense,” said the gray-headed crow. She flew to the ass’s back and plucked out some of the felt. “I’ll take this for my own habitation,” she said, and flew back to the cliff.

The ass would have kicked up his heels only two of his legs were fastened with the straw rope. He turned away, and without a word of farewell to the seal went scrambling up the bank of the island.

The seal stayed for a while moving his head about intelligently. Then he slipped into the water and paddled off. “One feels their lives in music,” he said; “great tones vibrate round the island where men live. It is very wonderful.”

“That,” said the King’s Son, “is the first story in ‘The Breastplate of Instruction,’--‘The Ass and the Seal.’ And now you must tell me a story while we are crossing the field of blue flowers.”

“Then it will be a very little story,” said Fedelma. They crossed a little field of blue flowers, and Fedelma told

The Sending of the Crystal Egg

XI

The Kings of Murias heard that King Atlas had to bear The world upon his back, so they sent him then and there The Crystal Egg that would be the Swan of Endless Tales That his burthen for a while might lie on his shoulder-scales Fair-balanced while he heard the Tales the Swan poured forth--North-world Tales for the while he watched the Star of the North; And East-world Tales he would hear in the morning swart and cool, When the Lions Nimrod had spared came up from the drinking pool; West-world Tales for the King when he turned him with the sun; Then whispers of magic Tales from Africa, his own.

But the Kings of Murias made the Crane their messenger--The fitful Crane whose thoughts are always frightening her She slipped from Islet to Isle, she sloped from Foreland to Coast; She passed through cracks in the mountains and came over trees like a ghost; And then fled back in dismay when she saw on the hollow plains The final battle between the Pigmies and the Cranes.

Where is the Crystal Egg that was sent King Atlas then? Hatched it will be one day and the Tales will be told to men: That is if it be not laid in some King’s old Treasury: That is if the fitful Crane did not lose it threading the Sea!

They were not long going through the little field of blue flowers, and when they went through it they came to another field of white flowers. Fedelma asked the King’s Son to tell her another story, and thereupon he told her the second story in “The Breastplate of Instruction.”

The Story of the Young Cuckoo

XII

The young cuckoo made desperate attempts to get himself through the narrow opening in the hollow tree. He screamed when he failed to get through.

His foster-parents had remained so long beside him that they were wasted and sad while the other birds, their broods reared, were vigorous and joyful. They heard the one that had been reared in their nest, the young cuckoo, scream, but this time they did not fly towards him. The young cuckoo screamed again, but there was something in that scream that reminded the foster-parents of hawks. They flew away. They were miserable in their flight, these birds, for they knew they were committing a treason.

They had built their nest in a hollow tree that had a little opening. A cuckoo laid her egg on the ground and, carrying it in her beak, had placed it in the nest. Their own young had been pushed out. They had worn themselves to get provision for the terrible and fascinating creature who had remained in their nest.

When the time came for him to make his flight he could not get his body through the little opening. Yesterday he had begun to try. The two foster-parents flew to him again and again with food. But now their own nesting place had become strange to them. They would never go near it again. The young cuckoo was forsaken.

A woodpecker ran round the tree. He looked into the hollow and saw the big bird crumpled up.

“Hello,” said the woodpecker. “How did you get here?”

“Born here,” said the young cuckoo sulkily.

“Oh, were you?” said the woodpecker and he ran round the tree again.

When he came back to the opening the young cuckoo was standing up with his mouth open.

“Feed me,” said he.

“I’ve to rush round frightfully to get something for myself,” said the woodpecker.

“At least, someone ought to bring me food,” said the young cuckoo.

“How is that?” said the woodpecker.

“Well, oughtn’t they to?” said the young cuckoo.

“I wouldn’t say so,” said the woodpecker, “you have the use of your wits, haven’t you?” He ran round the trunk of the tree again and devoured a lean grub. The young cuckoo struggled at the opening and screamed again.

“Don’t be drawing too much attention to yourself,” advised the woodpecker when he came to the opening again. “They might take you for a young hawk, you know.”

“Who might?” said the cuckoo. “The neighbors. They would pull a young hawk to pieces.”

“What am I to do?” said the young cuckoo.

“What’s in your nature to do?”

“My nature?” said the young cuckoo. “It’s my nature to swing myself on branches high up in a tree. It’s my nature to spread out my wings and fly over pleasant places. It is my nature to be alone. But not alone as here. Alone with the sound of my own voice.” Suddenly he cried, “Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!”

“I know you now,” said the woodpecker. “There’s going to be a storm,” he said; “trust a woodpecker to know that.”

The young cuckoo strove towards the big sky again, and he screamed so viciously that a rat that had just come out of the ditch fastened his eyes on him. That creature looked bad to the young cuckoo. Rain plopped on the leaves. Thunder crashed. A bolt struck the tree, and the part above the opening was torn away.

The young cuckoo flung himself out on the grass and went awkwardly amongst the blue bells. “What a world,” said he. “All this wet and fire and noise to get me out of the nest. What a world!” The young cuckoo was free, and these were the first words he said when he went into the world.

That was the last story the King’s Son told from Maravaun’s book, “The Breastplate of Instruction.” They had another little field of blue flowers to cross, and as they went across it Fedelma told the King’s Son

THE STORY OF THE CLOUD-WOMAN

XIII

The Cloud-woman, Mor, was the daughter Of Griann, the Sun,--well, and she Made a marriage to equal that grandeur, For her Goodman was Lir, the Sea.

The Cloud-woman Mor, she had seven Strong sons, and the story-books say Their inches grew in the night-time, And grew over again in the day.

The Cloud-woman Mor,--as they grew in Their bone, she grew in her pride, Till her haughtiness turned away, men say, Her goodman Lir from her side;

Then she lived in Mor’s Home and she watched With pride her sons and her crop, Till one day the wish in her grew To view from the mountain-top All, all that she owned, so she Traveled without any stop.

And what did she see? A thousand

Fields and her own fields small, small! “What a fine and wide place is Eirinn,” said she, “I am Mor, but not great after all.”

Then a herdsman came, and he told her That her sons had stolen away: They had left the calves in the hollow, With the goose-flock they would not stay:

They had seen three ships on the sea And nothing would do them but go: Mor wept and wept when she heard it, And her tears made runnels below.

Then her shining splendor departed: She went, and she left no trace, And the Cloud-woman, Mor, was never Beheld again in that place.

The proud woman, Mor, who was daughter Of Griann, the Sun, and who made A marriage to equal that grandeur, Passed away as a shade.

XIV

And that was the last story that Fedelma told, for they had crossed the Meadows of Brightness and had come to a nameless place--a stretch of broken ground where there were black rocks and dead grass and bare roots of trees with here and there a hawthorn tree in blossom. “I fear this place. We must not halt here,” Fedelma said.

And then a flock of ravens came from the rocks, and flying straight at them attacked Fedelma and the King of Ireland’s Son. The King’s Son sprang from the steed and taking his sword in his hand he fought the ravens until he drove them away. They rode on again. But now the ravens flew back and attacked them again and the King of Ireland’s Son fought them until his hands were wearied. He mounted the steed again, and they rode swiftly on. And the ravens came the third time and attacked them more fiercely than before. The King’s Son fought them until he had killed all but three and until he was covered with their blood and feathers.

The three that had escaped flew away. “Oh, mount the Slight Red Steed and let us ride fast,” said Fedelma to the King’s Son.

“I am filled with weariness,” he said. “Bid the steed stay by the rock, lay my sword at my side, and let me sleep with my head on your lap.”

“I fear for us both if you slumber here,” said Fedelma.

“I must sleep, and I pray that you let me lay my head on your lap.”

“I know not what would awaken you if you slumber here.”

“I will awaken,” said the King’s Son, “but now I must sleep, and I would slumber with my head on your lap.”

She got down from the Slight Red Steed and she bade it stay by a rock; she put his sword by the place he would sleep and she took his head upon her lap. The King’s Son slept.

As she watched over him a great fear grew in Fedelma. Every hour she would say to him, “Are you near waking, my dear, my dear?” But no flush of waking appeared on the face of the King of Ireland’s Son.

Then she saw a man coming across the nameless place, across the broken ground, with its dead grass and black rocks and with its roots and stumps of trees. The man who came near them was taller than any man she had seen before--he was tall as a tree. Fedelma knew him from what she had heard told about him--she knew him to be the King of the Land of Mist.

The King of the Land of Mist came straight to them. He stood before Fedelma and he said, “I seek Fedelma, the daughter of the Enchanter of the Black Back-Lands and the fairest woman within the seas of Eirinn.”

“Then go to her father’s house and seek Fedelma there,” said she to him.

“I have sought her there,” said the King of the Land of Mist, “but she left her father’s house to go with the King of Ireland’s Son.”

“Then seek her in the Castle of the King of Ireland,” said Fedelma.

“That I will not. Fedelma is here, and Fedelma will come with me,” said the King of the Land of Mist.

“I will not leave him with whom I am plighted,” said Fedelma.

Then the King of the Land of Mist took up the King of Ireland’s Son. High he held him--higher than a tree grows. “I will dash him down on the rocks and break the life within him,” said he.

“Do not so,” said Fedelma. “Tell me. If I go with you what would win me back?”

“Nothing but the sword whose stroke would slay me--the Sword of Light,” said the King of the Land of Mist. He held up the King of Ireland’s Son again, and again he was about to dash him against the rocks. The blue falcon that was overhead flew down and settled on the rock behind her. Fedelma knew that what she and the King of the Land of Mist would say now would be carried some place and told to someone. “Leave my love, the King’s Son, to his rest,” she said.

“If I do not break the life in him will you come with me, Fedelma?”

“I will go with you if you tell again what will win me back from you.”

“The Sword of Light whose stroke will slay me.”

“I will go with you if you swear by all your vows and promises not to make me your wife nor your sweetheart for a year and a day.”

“I swear by all my vows and promises not to make you my wife nor my sweetheart for a year and a day.”

“I will go with you if you let it be that I fall into a slumber that will last for a year and a day.”

“I will let that be, fairest maid within the seas of Eirinn.”

“I will go with you if you will tell me what will take me out of that slumber.”

“If one cuts a tress of your hair with a stroke of the Sword of Light it will take you out of that slumber.”

The blue falcon that was behind heard what the King of the Land of Mist said. She rose up and remained overhead with her wings outspread. Fedelma took the ring off her own finger and put it on the finger of the King of Ireland’s Son, and she wrote upon the ground in Ogham letters, “The King of the Land of Mist.”

“If it be not you who wakens me, love,” she said, “may it be that I never waken.”

“Come, daughter of the Enchanter,” said the King of the Land of Mist.

“Pluck the branch of hawthorn and give it to me that I may fall into my slumber here,” said Fedelma.

The King of the Land of Mist plucked a flowering branch of hawthorn and gave it to her. She held the flowers against her face and fell into slumber. For a while she and the King of Ireland’s Son were side by side in sleep.

Then the King of the Land of Mist took Fedelma in his arms and strode along that nameless place, over the broken ground with its dead grass and its black rocks and its stumps and roots of trees and the three ravens that had escaped the sword of the King of Ire-land’s Son followed where he went.

XV

Long, long after Fedelma had been taken by the King of the Land of Mist the King of Ireland’s Son came out of his slumber. He saw around him that nameless place with its black rocks and bare roots of trees. He remembered he had come to it with Fedelma. He sprang up and looked for her, but no one was near him. “Fedelma, Fedelma!” He searched and he called, but it was as if no one had ever been with him. He found his sword; be searched for his steed, but the Slight Red Steed was gone too.

He thought that the Enchanter of the Black Back-Lands had followed them and had taken Fedelma from him. He turned to go towards the Enchanter’s country and then he found what Fedelma had written upon the ground in Ogham letters

____II_____________\/______//___ IIII /\

“The King of the Land of Mist”

He did not know what direction to take to get to the dominion of the King of the Land of Mist. He crossed the broken ground and he found no trace of Fedelma nor of him who had taken her. He found himself close to the Wood of Shadows. He went through it. As he went on he saw scores and scores of shadows. Nothing else was in the wood--no bird, no squirrel, no cricket. The shadows had the whole wood to themselves. They ran swiftly from tree to tree, and now and then one would stop at a tree and wait. Often the King of Ireland’s Son came close to a waiting shadow. One became like a small old man with a beard. The King’s Son saw this shadow again and again. What were they, the shadows, he asked himself? Maybe they were wise creatures and could tell him what he wanted to know.

He thought he heard them whispering together. Then one little shadow with trailing legs went slowly from tree to tree. The King of Ireland’s Son thought he would catch and hold a shadow and make it tell him where he should go to find the dominion of the King of the Land of Mist.

He went after one shadow and another and waited beside a tree for one to come. Often he thought he saw the small old man with the beard and the little creature with trailing legs. And then he began to see other shadows--men with the heads of rooks and men with queer heavy swords upon their shoulders. He followed them on and on through the wood and he heard their whispering becoming louder and louder, and then he thought that as he went on the shadows, instead of slipping before him, began to turn back and go past and surround him. Then he heard a voice just under the ground at his feet say, “Shout--shout out your own name, Son of King Connal!” Then the King’s Son shouted out his own name and the whispers ceased in the wood and the shadows went backward and forward no more.

He went on and came to a stream within the wood and he went against its flow all night as well as all day, hoping to meet some living thing that would tell him how he might come to the dominion of the King of the Land of Mist. In the forenoon of another day he came to where the wood grew thin and then he went past the last trees.

He saw a horse grazing: he ran up to it and found that it was the Slight Red Steed that had carried Fedelma and himself from the house of the Enchanter. Then as he laid hold of the steed a hound ran up to him and a hawk flew down and he saw that they were the hawk and the hound that used to be with him when he rode abroad from his father’s Castle.

He mounted and seeing his hound at his heel and his hawk circling above he felt a longing to go back to his father’s Castle which he knew to be near and where he might find out where the King of the Land of Mist had his dominion.

So the King of Ireland’s Son rode back to his father’s Castle--

His hound at his heel, His hawk on his wrist.

WHEN THE KING OF THE CATS CAME TO KING CONNAL’S DOMINION

I

The King of Ireland’s Son was home again, but as he kept asking about a King and a Kingdom no one had ever heard of, people thought he had lost his wits in his search for the Enchanter of the Black Back-Lands. He rode abroad every day to ask strangers if they knew where the King of the Land of Mist had his dominion and he came back to his father’s every night in the hope that one would be at the Castle who could tell him where the place that he sought was. Maravaun wanted to relate to him fables from “The Breastplate of Instruction” but the King’s Son did not hear a word that Maravaun said. After a while he listened to the things that Art, the King’s Steward, related to him, for it was Art who had shown the King’s Son the leaden ring that was on his finger. He took it off, remembering the betrothal ring that the Little Sage had made, and then he saw that it was not his, but Fedelma’s ring that he wore. Then he felt as if Fedelma had sent a message to him, and he was less wild in his thoughts.

Afterwards, in the evenings, when he came back from his ridings, he would cross the meadows with Art, the King’s Steward, or would stand with him while the herdsmen drove the cattle into the byres. Then he would listen to what Art related to him. And one evening he heard Art say, “The most remarkable event that happened was the coming into this land of the King of the Cats.”

“I will listen to what you tell me about it,” said the King’s Son. “Then,” said Art, the King’s Steward, “to your father’s Son in all truth be it told”--

The King of the Cats stood up. He was a grand creature. His body was brown and striped across as if one had burned on wood with a hot poker. Like all the race of the Royal Cats of the Isle of Man he was without a tail. But he had extraordinarily fine whiskers. They went each side of his face to the length of a dinner-dish. He had such eyes that when he turned one of them upward the bird that was flying across dropped from the sky. And when he turned the other one down he could make a hole in the floor.