Cuchulain, the Hound of UlsterCeltic MythologyLegend / Oral TraditionOld and Middle Irish (retold in English)ShareCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXVIIHull (1909) - EnglishMoreVersion - 1 availableHull (1909)LanguageEnglishEspañol‹Cuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter ICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter IICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter IIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter IVCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter VCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter VICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter VIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter VIIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter IXCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XIIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XIVCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XVCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XVICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XVIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XVIIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XIXCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXIIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXIVCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXVCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXVICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXVIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXVIIICuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXIXCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXX›The Fight of Cuchulain with his son ConlaCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXVIIListenPlay this chapter in spoken English.Save chapterListen to chapterWhen Cuchulain was yet a youth in Shadowland, living with Scáth, and learning feats of her, there had come from afar another woman-warrior to make war upon Scáth, a terrible, fierce princess named Aiffe, who had under her many mighty men. Sore was the war between them, and of Scáth’s warriors a great multitude were slain and her two sons also fell in battle. Then Scáth called Cuchulain and persuaded him to go in embassage to Aiffe to induce her to make terms of peace and to withdraw her troops into her own country. Cuchulain went on that embassage, and he pleased Aiffe, and she said that she would return into her own country if he would go with her and tarry awhile, and aid her in her wars. So Cuchulain went with her and Aiffe delighted in him and they were wedded, and for a short time they were happy in each other’s company, and waged wars together; but soon Cuchulain wearied of her, when he saw her cruelty and fierceness, and that nothing of a woman’s gentleness was known to her. And though she besought him not to leave her, he bade her farewell, and returned to Scáth to finish his training, for the time drew near when he must go back to Ireland. When he bade Aiffe farewell, he told her that if a son should be born to him, she was to send him to Ireland at the end of seven years to seek his father. He gave her a golden arm-ring to keep for the child, and he said that as soon as the arm-ring should fit his wrist, the lad was to come. He laid upon her, too, three stipulations for the child. First, that he should be called Conla, but that he never was to make known his name to any; secondly, that if any man offered him single combat, he must on no account refuse; and thirdly, that he must never turn back from any journey that he had undertaken, no matter what perils stood in his way. Cuchulain prayed Aiffe also to send his son to learn feats of arms with Scáth, as he himself had done. And Aiffe promised him all these things. Seven years passed away, when, one day in summer, the men of Ulster were holding an assembly beside the seashore, at the place that is called “The Strand of the Track.” Their business over, they were amusing themselves along the beach, until they saw coming towards them over the waves a skiff of bronze, light and swift-moving, rowed by two golden oars. Within the skiff, as firmly as though he were on dry land, there stood a little lad playing at games of skill. At his feet was a heap of stones and in his hand a sling, and as the boat moved on, he would take a stone in his hand and fit it to the sling, launching it at the wild sea-birds that soared above his head in the deep, unclouded sky. So cleverly did he hit them that the birds fell at his feet unhurt, and he would throw them up again, and shoot another stone and so bring them down a second time alive. When he tired of this strange feat, he played the apple-feat upon his breath, sending little golden apples into the air, by the blowing of his mouth, so high that the eye could not discern them, first one and then the other until they danced and sparkled in the sun. Each golden ball was of a different size, and he would tune his voice to different notes, the balls dancing up and down, in answer to his singing, each to its own note. And the men of the Gathering watched him with surprise as he drew near. “Alas!” said the King, who was passing by, “there is woe to the land to which that little boy comes. For, if a child like that can do such feats, of what sort must be the men of the land from which he comes? They would grind us all to powder if they came to fight with us. Let one of you go and speak with the boy, but let him not land on our shores at all.” “Who shall go to meet him?” said they; for not one of them wished to approach the little boy, so greatly had his skill put them in dread. “Let Condere go,” said the King, “he is ready in speech and wise in argument, and he will find excuses for us, why the stranger should not land.” And Condere was content to go. As the boy drew near the shore, he was about to leap upon the beach when Condere accosted him. “Stay,” said he, “thou hast come near enough, good lad, for us to hear who thou art, and from what people and country thou dost come.” “I make not myself known to any,” replied the boy; “but, if there is a man here who would fight me, ready am I to meet him, for never have I turned back from any combat.” “Thou canst not land here,” persisted Condere, “until thou hast made thyself known to us.” “Then needs must I return whence I have come, though it is not my wont to turn back from a journey,” said the boy, and he made as though he would move away again. When Condere saw that, he was sorry, for the child was fair and brave and had an open face, and the high look of a prince upon him; so he changed his words quickly, and called after him, “Come back, come back, brave boy; no doubt the King himself will take you under his protection, Conor the valiant son of Ness shall be your guard. Or Amergin the poet will take you to his care, or Conall Cernach will be your protector; and he whom Conall shall protect is ever welcome to the men of Ulster. No one dare go against an unripe beardless boy when under Conall’s safeguard; for he himself would avenge the deed. Pay therefore the tribute of the Bridge, which all who come from far must pay to Ulster; then will the men of Ulster make welcome to you here.” “Kindly hast thou spoken,” said the lad, “nor do I doubt that thou dost mean me well; yet, not to seek protection of Conall the Victorious, nor of Amergin your poet, nor even of the king himself, did I seek out this land; nor yet to hear myself dubbed, ‘an unripe beardless boy,’ did I come hither. If therefore thou wilt don thy arms, and come to meet me in single combat at the Bridge, thou there wilt get thy answer; though the might of a hundred were in thy arms, no tribute will I pay, unless in fair fight I first be overthrown.” But when Condere saw the spirit of the lad, he grew afraid, for though he was an orator and spoke brave words, he had no mind to face the boy in fight. “Well, well, my boy,” thought he, “I will let some better warrior than myself go and speak with thee in words of war, since words of peace do not suffice thee.” Then the King commanded that warriors of good renown should go down and speak to the boy in the battle-speech of arms and combat. And a goodly company of men went down to withstand the stranger. When the little lad saw that, the power of a full-grown fighting-man came upon him, and he donned his arms, and one after another as they came to the waterside, he fell upon them, and stretched them, dead or dying, on the beach. “This must not be,” exclaimed the King, “fetch Conall Cernach here and let him make an end of this presumptuous youth.” While they went for Conall Cernach, the little lad, instead of sitting down to rest, betook himself straight to his games again. One would have thought he had no other end in life but to perfect himself in games of skill, and that to bring a hundred foes into the agonies of death was but an interruption to his game. When Conall came above the cliff that over-looked the water’s edge, and saw the boy practising his feats, he stopped awhile and watched him; but when he saw his cleverness, and how the balls rose in the air upon his singing voice: “One only other than this boy,” he said, “can do a trick like that, even Cuchulain, Ulster’s Hound; and indeed, I know not whether he can do it quite so well.” And Conall was astonished, but he would not let the lad perceive his admiration or his fears. “Thy play is pretty, my good boy,” said Conall, as he came down to meet him on the beach. “Dost thou find it so?” said the child; “then I play now against thee.” With that he put a stone, larger than all the others, in his sling, and shot it up into the air with the force of a great thunder-bolt and with the noise of thunder; and Conall was taken unawares and fell upon his back with the suddenness of the commotion, as though he had been dead. Before he could rise again, the boy had leapt ashore and with the strap of his shield he bound him where he lay, so that he could not move. When the host of the Ulstermen saw Conall bound, a wail went up from them, for never since the day that Conall the Victorious first took arms had any man been able to overthrow him, though he had fought with the most famous warriors of the world. With one voice they cried, “Send for Cuchulain here, for the honour of Ulster is at stake before this child. Now that Conall lies bound in fetters, Cuchulain alone can retrieve our honour.” And the King said: “It is well; send now for Cuchulain.” Cuchulain was in his own fort at Dundalgan when the messengers arrived. But he refused to go with them, saying, “Where Conall Cernach falls there is no hope for me; bravest and best of all the warriors of Ulster is Conall the Victorious, and skilled in every feat of championship. Who then is this stranger who has come, and what is his name and lineage? where has he learned arts to fright the men of Ulster?” For in his own mind Cuchulain thought, “There is but one who can have learned those feats which Scáth teaches only to her most valiant pupils; what if it be my son who comes?” So, on that account, he was unwilling to go with the men. But the messengers urged him, saying, “The honour of Ulster is at stake; the king also commands thee and thy people wait for thee. Wilt thou that Ulster be put to shame before her foes?” When Cuchulain heard that the honour of Ulster was at stake, he said, “Go on before me, I will but don my fighting-gear, and I will come.” For he thought on Conall Cernach lying bound upon the beach, and he remembered their old love and pledge of ancient friendship; for they had sworn in youth that if either of the twain were in any trouble or peril, the other should go forth to his aid, wherever he might be, and thinking on this, he put on his fighting array, and took his massive broad-sword in his hand, and the terrible spear, the Gae Bolga, which no man could withstand, and that moved like a living thing upon the water to find its enemy. But for all that, Cuchulain’s heart was sad, for he thought on Aiffe, and on Scáth, and on the child that was to be born to him. Then when the men of Ulster saw Cuchulain coming towards them, clad in all the panoply of war, and his shield and massive two-edged sword held in his hand, their grief was turned to gladness, and their weakness to power, and their fear to courage. And they cried, “Welcome Cuchulain, Welcome, Hound of Ulster! With thee the honour of Ulster is secure! Lo! thy comrade and thy lasting friend is bound before thy eyes; lo! the glory of Ulster is laid low. Welcome, Cuchulain!” But Cuchulain came on slowly, and his head was bowed, for his mind was troubled within him, and he liked not the combat of that day. And he thought to put it off a while, so he stood and watched the boy, who was gone back to his games again. He took no heed of Cuchulain nor of the hosts; nor did any sign of weariness appear on him, though he had bound a hundred of the foe, and Conall the Victorious with them. Then Cuchulain said: “You make delightful play, my boy. Who are you yourself? what is your name? what your nation and people, that we may know?” But the boy said: “I came not over-seas to tell my name or to give tidings of my people; never shall any man get such news from me. It is not to tell my name that I am come, but to get peaceful landing here; and if I get not peaceful landing in this place, I will give combat to any that resists me, for this is the condition that is laid upon me, that I should never turn back from any journey, and that I refuse not combat with any man that offers combat to me. Willingly would I now do battle and combat with thee, O noble warrior, save that I like thy face and mien, and thy person is as the person of a prince of men, and not with good-will would I do hurt to thee. Moreover, thou hast brought with thee no strong comrade and warrior to protect thee from my blows.” Now when Cuchulain heard the little fellow talk like that, he laughed, and all the men of Ulster sent up one shout of mirth and of derision. “It would have been necessary for me to bring with me a tiny boy, or a wee baby in my arms,” said the Hound, “if I were to fight without odds with thee. However, lad, no warrior or little boy can pass this bridge unless the toll be paid and unless the stranger tell his name and whence he comes. Therefore stand upon thy guard. And as I wish no harm to thee, come thou on shore and we will wrestle with each other.” Then the lad left his currach, his little boat of bronze, and stood upon the shore. But when he came beside Cuchulain he reached not up to his knees. “This will never do,” said the little fellow, “I cannot reach thy belt to wrestle with thee; set me up upon two stones that I may come on a level to fight with thee.” Then Cuchulain helped him up on two large stones, and he thought to play with him gently, but the lad planted his feet so firmly on the rock that Cuchulain could not move him the smallest hair-breadth from his place; while before ever he was aware of what was happening, the child had caught him, and thrust him backward between two standing pillar-stones, so that he was wedged between them, and could not free himself. And the men of Ulster groaned aloud when they saw their champion used like that. “Come down to the water, now,” said the boy, “and we will see which can pull the other under.” And they went into the sea, and swam out a good space from the land, and they caught each other and each tried to hold the other down beneath the waves to drown him. And twice the stranger-boy got the head of Cuchulain down and held him there, so that he was like to loose his breath, and to be suffocated in the sea. Then all his fury and his red battle-anger came upon Cuchulain, because he was being made game of, and because his comrade and his ancient friend Conall was lying bound and helpless on the beach. He knew, too, that the honour of Ulster was at stake, and he could do nothing with this youth to hold it from dishonour. Therefore he loosed his belt that had in it the deadly weapon, from which no mortal could escape, and he set it on the water towards the stranger-boy, and the weapon moved of its own will across the waves of the sea, and it struck the lad and entered him, and the water of the ocean was stained with his blood. “Now this was what Scáth never taught me,” cried the lad, for he knew it was the Gae Bolga, from which he could not escape alive. “Alas!” said Cuchulain, “it is true”; and he took the lad tenderly in his arms and carried him out of the water, and laid him down upon the beach. And as he carried him, he saw upon his wrist the golden ring that he had left with Aiffe to give the lad, and he knew it was his son. “Here is my son for you, O men of Ulster,” said Cuchulain, for they gathered round to see. And when they heard that it was his own son that he had slain for the honour of Ulster, a wave of grief and of mourning went through the host, and they were silent with shame and said no word, grieving for Cuchulain and his son. Then Cuchulain said, “Alas! Alas! my son,” and he drew the Gae Bolga gently from his wounds, and he sat down beside him and staunched the blood, and he began to call upon Aiffe, that she might comfort and support his son. But Conla said, “Grieve not, Cuchulain, Hound of Ulster, by whom the honour of Ulster is avenged to-day. Call not on Aiffe, O my father, for through her wiles it was that I came hither to do combat with thee; evil and cruel is that woman, and her ways are evil; for it was to avenge herself on thee because thou hadst left her that she sent me hither, that I might bring thee to death or die myself in the attempt. I am Conla thy son, indeed; yet, until to-day, has no man known my name; as thou didst lay command upon me, never have I refused combat to any man, nor have I turned back from any journey, or revealed my name to any. And now, O Father, first of Heroes, it is well for me that I have fallen by thy hand. No shame it is to fall by the hand of the Guardian of Ulster, but to have fallen by a lesser hand, that, O Father, would have been unworthy thee and me. And yet it is woe that I must die so young, for had I been but five years beside thee, I would have vanquished the champions of the world for the honour of Ulster and for thy honour, and I would have made thee king of the world as far as the walls of Rome. Since I must needs die, and my strength is passing fast away, lose not this little space in grief, but point me out the heroes of Ulster of whom Scáth used to tell, that I may take leave of each before I die.” Then the heroes of Ulster drew near, and Cuchulain named them all, and Conall Cernach amongst them, and the boy put his arms round the neck of one hero after the other, and kissed them, and then once more he put his arms round the neck of his own father, and with that he died. When Cuchulain saw that his son was dead, he laid him on the earth, and he stood up, and a burst of anguish like the breaking of a heart came from him. And he cried aloud: “The end is come indeed for me: “‘I am a man without son, without wife, I am the Father who slew his own child, I am a broken, rudderless bark, Tossed from wave to wave in the tempest wild; An apple blown loose from the garden wall, I am over-ripe, and about to fall.’” Then the men of Ulster came about Cuchulain and tried to comfort him, and they raised the body of Conla on a shield, as it is wont to do with heroes, and they made for him a noble grave, and buried him there, with a pillar-stone to mark the spot, and his name and his deeds written thereon. And all Ulster wept for him, and the King commanded that for three days no merriment or feasting should take place within the borders of Ulster, as is wont to be done on the death of a king. ‹Previous chapterCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXVINext chapterCuchulain, the Hound of Ulster Chapter XXVIII›Similar passagesBy tradition and source labelFind similarCompare selectedCompare with similarAsk Deep ThoughtSelect passages to search for parallels.Tap any verse to select it, then compare selected passages or ask Deep Thought. Public domain