Post by Fool Coyote on Mar 27, 2008 20:49:22 GMT -5
The Second Battle of Moytura: Author: [unknown]
The Tuatha Dé Danonn were in the northern isles of the world, learning lore and magic and druidism and wizardry and cunning, until they surpassed the sages of the arts of heathendom.
There were four cities in which they were learning lore and science and diabolic arts, to wit Falias and Gorias, Murias and Findias.
Out of Falias was brought the Stone of Fál, which was in Tara. It used to roar under every king that would take the realm of Ireland.
Out of Gorias was brought the Spear that Lugh had. No battle was ever won against it or him who held it in his hand.
Out of Findias was brought the Sword of Nuada. When it was drawn from its deadly sheath, no one ever escaped from it, and it was irresistible.
Out of Murias was brought the Dagdae's Caldron. No company ever went from it unthankful.
Four wizards there were in those four cities. Mór-fesae was in Falias: Esras was in Gorias: Uscias was in Findias: Semias was in Murias. Those are the four poets of whom the Tuatha Dé learnt lore and science.
Now the Tuatha Dé made an alliance with the Fomorians, and Balor, grandson of Nét, gave his daughter Ethne to Cian son of Dian-cecht, and she brought forth the gifted child, even Lugh.
The Tuath Dé came with a great fleet unto Ireland to take it perforce from the Fir Bolg. They burnt their barques at once on reaching the district of Corcu-Belgatan that is, Connemara today, so that they should not think of retreating to them; and the smoke and the mist that came from the vessels filled the neighbouring land and air. Therefore it was conceived that they had arrived in clouds of mist.
The first battle of Moytura was fought between them and the Fir Bolg; and the Fir Bolg were routed, and a hundred thousand of them were slain, including their king Eochaid son of Erc.
In that battle, moreover, Nuada's hand was stricken off—it was Sreng son of Sengann that struck it off him— so Dian-cecht the leech put on him a hand of silver with the motion of every hand; and Credne the brazier was helping the leech.
Now the Tuath Dé Danonn lost many men in the battle, including Edleo son of Alla, and Ernmas, and Fiachra and Turill Bicreo.
But such of the Fir Bolg as escaped from the battle went in flight unto the Fomorians, and settled in Arran and in Islay and in Mann and in Rathlin.
A contention as to the sovranty of the men of Ireland arose between the Tuath Dé and their women; because Nuada, after his hand had been stricken off, was disqualified to be king. They said that it would be fitter for them to bestow the kingdom on Bres son of Elatha, on their own adopted son; and that giving the kingdom to him would bind the alliance of the Fomorians to them. For his father, even Elatha son of Delbaeth, was king of the Fomorians.
Now the conception of Bres came to pass in this wise:
Eri, Delbaeth's daughter, a woman of the Tuath Dé, was one day looking at the sea and the land from the house of Maeth Sceni, and she beheld the sea in perfect calm as if it were a level board. And as she was there she saw somewhat. A vessel of silver was revealed to her on the sea. Its size she deemed great, save that its form did not appear to her. And the stream of the wave bore it on to land. Then she saw that in it was a man of fairest form. Golden-yellow hair was on him as far as his two shoulders. A mantle with bands of golden thread was around him. His shirt had trimmings of golden thread. On his breast was a brooch of gold, with the sheen of a precious stone therein. Two white silvern spears, and in them two smooth riveted shafts of bronze. Five circlets of gold on his neck. A golden-hilted sword with (inlayings) of silver and studs of gold.
The man said to her: ‘Is this the time that our lying with thee will be easy?’ ‘I have not made a tryst with thee, verily’, said the woman. ‘Come against the (trystings) ’, saith he.
Then they stretched themselves down together. Now the woman wept when the man would rise.
‘Why weepest thou?’ saith he.
‘I have two things for which I should lament’, saith the woman. ‘Severing from thee (however) we have met. The fair youths of the Tuatha Dea Danonn they have been entreating me in vain, and my desire is for thee as thou hast possessed me ’.
‘Thy anxiety shall be taken away from these two things’, saith he. He draws his golden ring from his middlefinger, and put it into her hand, and told her that she should not part with it, by sale or by gift, save to one whose finger it should fit.
‘I have another sorrow’, saith the woman. ‘I know not who hath come to me’.
‘Thou shalt not be ignorant of that’, saith he. ‘Elotha son of Delbaeth, king of the Fomorians, hath come to thee. And of our meeting thou shalt bear a boy, and no name shall be given him save Eochaid Bres, that is Eochaid the beautiful; for every beautiful thing that is seen in Ireland, whether plain or fortress or ale or torch or woman or man or steed, will be (compared) to that boy, so that men will say of it then ‘it is a Bres’.’
After that the man went back again by the way he had come, and the woman fared to her house, and unto her was given the famous conception.
Then she brought forth the boy, and he was named as Elotha had said, even Eochaid Bres. When a week after the woman's lying-in was complete the boy had a fortnight's growth; and he maintained that increase till the end of his first seven years, when he reached a growth of fourteen years.
Because of that contest which took place among the Tuath Dé the sovranty of Ireland was given to that boy; and he gave seven hostages to Ireland's champions, that is, to her chiefs, for restoring the sovranty if his own (misdeeds) should so give cause. His mother afterwards bestowed land upon him, and on the land he had a fortress built, even Dún Brese; and it was the Dagdae that built that fortress.
Now when Bres had assumed the kingship, Fomorians, even Indech son of De Domnann and Elatha son of Delbaeth, and Tethra, three Fomorian kings, bound their tribute upon Ireland, so that there was not a smoke from a roof in
Ireland that was not under tribute to them. The champions were also reduced to his service, to wit, Ogma had to carry a bundle of firewood, and the Dagdae was a rath-builder, wherefore he, the Dagdae, trenched Rath Brese.
So the Dagdae was weary at the work, and he used to (meet) in the house an idle blind man named Cridenbél, whose mouth was out of his breast. Cridénbel thought his own ration small and the Dagdae's large. Whereupon he said: ‘O Dagdae! of thy honour let the three best bits of thy ration be given to me!’ So the Dagdae used to give them to him every night. Large, however, were the lampooner's bits, the size of a good pig, this was the bit. But those three bits were the third of the Dagdae's ration. The Dagdae's (health) was the worse of that.
One day, then, as the Dagdae was in the trench, he saw the Mac Óc coming to him. ‘That is good, O Dagdae’, says the Mac Óc. ‘Even so’, says the Dagdae. ‘What makes thee look so ill?’ says the Mac Óc. ‘I have cause for it’, says the Dagdae. ‘Every evening Cridenbél the lampooner demands the three best bits of my portion’.
‘I have a counsel for thee’, says the Mac Óc. He puts his hand into his pouch, and takes thereout three crowns of gold, and gives them to him.
‘Put’, says the Mac Óc, ‘these three crowns into the three bits which thou givest at close of day to Cridenbél. These bits will then be the goodliest on thy dish; and the gold will turn in his belly so that he will die thereof, and the judgment of Bres thereon will be wrong. Men will say to the king: ‘The Dagdae has killed Cridenbél by means of a deadly herb which he gave him.’ Then the king will order thee to be slain. But thou shalt say to him: ‘What thou utterest, O king of the warriors of the Féne, is not a prince's truth. For I was watched by Cridenbél when I was at my work, and he used to say to me ‘Give me, O Dagdae, the three best bits of thy portion. Bad is my housekeeping tonight’.
So I should have perished thereby had not the three shillings which I found today helped me. I put them on my ration. I then gave it to Cridenbél, for the gold is the best thing that was before me. Hence, then, the gold is inside Cridenbél, and he died of it’’.
‘It is clear’, says the king. ‘Let the lampooner's belly be cut open to know if the gold be found therein. If it be not found, thou shalt die. If, however, it be found, thou shalt have life’.
After that they cut off the lampooner's belly, and the three crowns of gold were found in his stomach, and so the Dagdae was saved.
Then the Dagdae went to his work on the following morning, and to him came the Mac Óc and said: ‘Thou wilt soon finish thy work, and thou shalt not seek reward till the cattle of Ireland are brought to thee, and of them choose a heifer black-maned, black
[gap: meaning of text unclear/extent: one word]
’
Thereafter the Dagdae brought his work to an end, and Bres asked him what he would take in guerdon of his labour. The Dagdae answered: ‘I (charge) thee’, saith he, ‘to gather the cattle of Ireland into one place’. The king did this as the Dagdae said, and the Dagdae chose of them the heifer which the Mac Óc had told him to choose. That seemed weakness unto Bres: he thought that the Dagdae would have chosen somewhat more.
Now Nuada was in his sickness, and Dian-cecht put on him a hand of silver with the motion of every hand therein. That seemed evil to his son Miach. He went to the hand which had been struck off Dian-cecht, and he said ‘joint to joint of it and sinew to sinew,’ and be healed Nuada in thrice three days and nights. The first seventy-two hours he put it over against his side, and it became covered with skin. The second seventy-two hours he put it on his breasts. The third
seventy-two hours he would cast white [gap: meaning of text unclear/extent: one word] of black bulrushes when they were blackened in fire.
That cure seemed evil to Dian-cecht. He flung a sword on the crown of his son's head and cut the skin down to the flesh. The lad healed the wound by means of his skill. Dian-cecht smote him again and cut the flesh till he reached the bone. The lad healed this by the same means. He struck him the third blow and came to the membrane of his brain. The lad healed this also by the same means. Then he struck the fourth blow and cut out the brain, so that Miach died, and Dian-cecht said that the leech himself could not heal him of that blow.
Thereafter Miach was buried by Dian-cecht, and herbs three hundred and sixty five, according to the number of his joints and sinews, grew through the grave. Then Airmed opened her mantle and separated those herbs according to their properties. But Dian-cecht came to her, and he confused the herbs, so that no one knows their proper cures unless the Holy Spirit should teach them afterwards. And Dian-cecht said ‘If Miach be not, Airmed shall remain’.
So Bres held the sovranty as it had been conferred upon him. But the chiefs of the Tuath Dé murmured greatly against him, for their knives were not greased by him, and however often they visited him their breaths did not smell of ale. Moreover, they saw not their poets or their bards or their lampooners or their harpers or their pipers or their hornblowers or their jugglers or their fools amusing them in the household. They did not go to the contests of their athletes. They saw not their champions proving their prowess at the king's, save only one man, Ogma son of Etáin.
This was the duty which he had, to bring fuel to the fortress. He used to carry a bundle every day from the Clew Bay islands. And because he was weak from want of food the sea would sweep away from him two thirds of his bundle.
So he could only carry one third, and yet he had to supply the host from day to day.
Neither service nor wergild from the tribes continued, and the treasures of the tribe were not delivered by the act of the whole tribe.
Once upon a time the poet came a-guesting to Bres' house, even Corpre son of Etaín, poet of the Tuath Dé. He entered a cabin narrow, black, dark, wherein there was neither fire nor furniture nor bed. Three small cakes, and they dry, were brought to him on a little dish. On the morrow he arose and he was not thankful. As he went across the garth he said:
Without food quickly on a dish:
without a cow's milk whereon a calf grows:
without a man's abode under the (gloom) of night:
without paying a company of story-tellers, let that be Bres' condition.
‘So there is no amain in Bres’, saith he. Now that was true. Nought save decay was on him from that hour. That is the first satire that was made in Ireland.
Now after that the Tuath Dea went together to have speech with their fosterson, Bres son of Elatha, and demanded of him their sureties. He gave them the restitution of the realm, and he was not (well-pleased) with them for that. He begged to be allowed to remain till the end of seven years.
‘Thou shalt have this’, says the same assembly together, ‘but thou shalt come on the same security
[gap: meaning of text unclear/extent: one word]
every fruit
[gap: meaning of text unclear/extent: one word]
to thy hand, both house and land and gold and silver, kine and food, and freedom from rent and wergild until then’. ‘Ye shall have’, says Bres, ‘as ye say’.
This is why they were asked for the delay, that he might gather the champions of the Fairy-Mound, even the Fomorians, to seize the tribes perforce, provided that [gap: meaning of text unclear/extent: three words]. Grievous to him seemed his expulsion from his kingdom.
Then he went to his mother and asks her whence was his race? ‘I am certain of that’, saith she; and she went on to the hill whence she had seen the vessel of silver in the sea. She then went on to the strand, and his mother gave him the ring which bad been left with her for him, and he put it round his middle-finger, and it fitted him. For sake of no one had she delivered it, either by sale or gift. Until that day there was none of them whom it suited.
Then they went forward till they reached the land of the Fomorians. They came to a great plain with many assemblies therein. They advanced to the fairest of these assemblies. Tidings were demanded of them therein. They replied that they were of the men of Ireland. They were then asked whether they had hounds; for at that time it was the custom, when a body of men went to another assembly, to challenge them to a friendly contest. ‘We have hounds’, saith Bres. Then the hounds had a coursing-match, and the hounds of the Tuath Dé were swifter than the hounds of the Fomorians. Then they were asked whether they had steeds for a horse-race. They answered, ‘We have’; and their steeds were swifter than the steeds of the Fomorians.
They were then asked whether they had any one who was good at sword-play. None was found save Bres alone. So when he sets his hand to the sword his father recognises the ring on his finger, and inquires who was the hero. His mother answered on his behalf and told the king that Bres was a son of his. Then she related to him the whole story even as we have recounted it.
His father was sorrowful at him. Said the father: ‘What need has brought thee out of the land wherein thou ruledst?’ Bres replied: ‘Nothing has brought me save my own injustice and arrogance. I stript them of their jewels and treasures and their own food. Neither tribute nor wergild was taken from them till today’.
‘That is bad’, says the father. ‘Better were their prosperity than their kingship. Better their prayers than their curses. Why hast thou come hither?’ says his father.
‘I have come to ask you for champions’, saith he. ‘I would take that land perforce’.
‘Thou shouldst not gain it by injustice if thou gain it not by justice’, said the father.
‘Query, then, what counsel hast thou for me?’ says Bres.
Thereafter he sent him to the champion, to Balor grandson of Nett; the king of the Isles, and to Indech son of Déa Domnand the king of the Fomorians; and these assembled all the forces from Lochlann westwards unto Ireland, to impose their tribute and their rule perforce on the Tuath Dé, so that they made one bridge of vessels from the Foreigners' Isles to Erin.
Never came to Ireland a host more horrible or fearful than that host of the Fomorians. The man from Scythia of Lochlann and the man out of the Western Isles were rivals in that expedition.
Now as to the Tuath Dé, this is what is here dealt with.
After Bres, Nuada was again in sovranty over the Tuath Dé. At that time he held for the Tuath Dé a mighty feast at Tara. Now there was a certain warrior on his way to Tara, whose name was Samildánach. 1 And there were then two doorkeepers at Tara, namely Gamal son of Figal and Camall son of Riagall. When one of these was there he sees a strange company coming towards him. A young warrior fair and shapely, with a king's trappings, was in the forefront of that band.
They told the doorkeeper to announce their arrival at Tara. The doorkeeper asked: ‘Who is there?’
‘Here there is Lugh Lonnannsclech son of Cian son of Dian-cecht, and of Ethne daughter of Balor. Fosterson, he,
of Tallan daughter of Magmor king of Spain and of Echaid the Rough, son of Duach.’
The doorkeeper asked of Samildánach: ‘What art dost thou practise?’ saith he; ‘for no one without an art enters Tara.’
‘Question me’, saith he; ‘I am a wright.’ The doorkeeper answered: ‘We need thee not. We have a wright already, even Luchtae son of Luachaid.’
He said: ‘Question me, O doorkeeper! I am a smith.’ The doorkeeper answered him: ‘We have a smith already, even Colum Cualléinech of the three new processes.’
He said: ‘Question me: I am a champion.’ The doorkeeper answered: ‘We need thee not. We have a champion already, even Ogma son of Ethliu.’
He said again: ‘Question me’, saith he, ‘I am a harper.’ ‘We need thee not. We have a harper already, even Abhcán son of Bicelmos whom the Men of the three gods (chose) in the fairy hills.’
Said he: ‘Question me: I am a hero.’ ‘The doorkeeper answered:’ ‘We need thee not. We have a hero already, even Bresal Echarlam2 son of Echaid Baethlam.’
Then he said: ‘Question me, O doorkeeper! I am a poet and I am a historian.’. ‘We need thee not. We have already a poet and historian, even En son of Ethaman.’
He said: ‘Question me’, says he, ‘I am a sorcerer.’ ‘We need thee not. We have sorcerers already. Many are our wizards and our folk of might.’
He said: ‘Question me: I am a leech.’
The Tuatha Dé Danonn were in the northern isles of the world, learning lore and magic and druidism and wizardry and cunning, until they surpassed the sages of the arts of heathendom.
There were four cities in which they were learning lore and science and diabolic arts, to wit Falias and Gorias, Murias and Findias.
Out of Falias was brought the Stone of Fál, which was in Tara. It used to roar under every king that would take the realm of Ireland.
Out of Gorias was brought the Spear that Lugh had. No battle was ever won against it or him who held it in his hand.
Out of Findias was brought the Sword of Nuada. When it was drawn from its deadly sheath, no one ever escaped from it, and it was irresistible.
Out of Murias was brought the Dagdae's Caldron. No company ever went from it unthankful.
Four wizards there were in those four cities. Mór-fesae was in Falias: Esras was in Gorias: Uscias was in Findias: Semias was in Murias. Those are the four poets of whom the Tuatha Dé learnt lore and science.
Now the Tuatha Dé made an alliance with the Fomorians, and Balor, grandson of Nét, gave his daughter Ethne to Cian son of Dian-cecht, and she brought forth the gifted child, even Lugh.
The Tuath Dé came with a great fleet unto Ireland to take it perforce from the Fir Bolg. They burnt their barques at once on reaching the district of Corcu-Belgatan that is, Connemara today, so that they should not think of retreating to them; and the smoke and the mist that came from the vessels filled the neighbouring land and air. Therefore it was conceived that they had arrived in clouds of mist.
The first battle of Moytura was fought between them and the Fir Bolg; and the Fir Bolg were routed, and a hundred thousand of them were slain, including their king Eochaid son of Erc.
In that battle, moreover, Nuada's hand was stricken off—it was Sreng son of Sengann that struck it off him— so Dian-cecht the leech put on him a hand of silver with the motion of every hand; and Credne the brazier was helping the leech.
Now the Tuath Dé Danonn lost many men in the battle, including Edleo son of Alla, and Ernmas, and Fiachra and Turill Bicreo.
But such of the Fir Bolg as escaped from the battle went in flight unto the Fomorians, and settled in Arran and in Islay and in Mann and in Rathlin.
A contention as to the sovranty of the men of Ireland arose between the Tuath Dé and their women; because Nuada, after his hand had been stricken off, was disqualified to be king. They said that it would be fitter for them to bestow the kingdom on Bres son of Elatha, on their own adopted son; and that giving the kingdom to him would bind the alliance of the Fomorians to them. For his father, even Elatha son of Delbaeth, was king of the Fomorians.
Now the conception of Bres came to pass in this wise:
Eri, Delbaeth's daughter, a woman of the Tuath Dé, was one day looking at the sea and the land from the house of Maeth Sceni, and she beheld the sea in perfect calm as if it were a level board. And as she was there she saw somewhat. A vessel of silver was revealed to her on the sea. Its size she deemed great, save that its form did not appear to her. And the stream of the wave bore it on to land. Then she saw that in it was a man of fairest form. Golden-yellow hair was on him as far as his two shoulders. A mantle with bands of golden thread was around him. His shirt had trimmings of golden thread. On his breast was a brooch of gold, with the sheen of a precious stone therein. Two white silvern spears, and in them two smooth riveted shafts of bronze. Five circlets of gold on his neck. A golden-hilted sword with (inlayings) of silver and studs of gold.
The man said to her: ‘Is this the time that our lying with thee will be easy?’ ‘I have not made a tryst with thee, verily’, said the woman. ‘Come against the (trystings) ’, saith he.
Then they stretched themselves down together. Now the woman wept when the man would rise.
‘Why weepest thou?’ saith he.
‘I have two things for which I should lament’, saith the woman. ‘Severing from thee (however) we have met. The fair youths of the Tuatha Dea Danonn they have been entreating me in vain, and my desire is for thee as thou hast possessed me ’.
‘Thy anxiety shall be taken away from these two things’, saith he. He draws his golden ring from his middlefinger, and put it into her hand, and told her that she should not part with it, by sale or by gift, save to one whose finger it should fit.
‘I have another sorrow’, saith the woman. ‘I know not who hath come to me’.
‘Thou shalt not be ignorant of that’, saith he. ‘Elotha son of Delbaeth, king of the Fomorians, hath come to thee. And of our meeting thou shalt bear a boy, and no name shall be given him save Eochaid Bres, that is Eochaid the beautiful; for every beautiful thing that is seen in Ireland, whether plain or fortress or ale or torch or woman or man or steed, will be (compared) to that boy, so that men will say of it then ‘it is a Bres’.’
After that the man went back again by the way he had come, and the woman fared to her house, and unto her was given the famous conception.
Then she brought forth the boy, and he was named as Elotha had said, even Eochaid Bres. When a week after the woman's lying-in was complete the boy had a fortnight's growth; and he maintained that increase till the end of his first seven years, when he reached a growth of fourteen years.
Because of that contest which took place among the Tuath Dé the sovranty of Ireland was given to that boy; and he gave seven hostages to Ireland's champions, that is, to her chiefs, for restoring the sovranty if his own (misdeeds) should so give cause. His mother afterwards bestowed land upon him, and on the land he had a fortress built, even Dún Brese; and it was the Dagdae that built that fortress.
Now when Bres had assumed the kingship, Fomorians, even Indech son of De Domnann and Elatha son of Delbaeth, and Tethra, three Fomorian kings, bound their tribute upon Ireland, so that there was not a smoke from a roof in
Ireland that was not under tribute to them. The champions were also reduced to his service, to wit, Ogma had to carry a bundle of firewood, and the Dagdae was a rath-builder, wherefore he, the Dagdae, trenched Rath Brese.
So the Dagdae was weary at the work, and he used to (meet) in the house an idle blind man named Cridenbél, whose mouth was out of his breast. Cridénbel thought his own ration small and the Dagdae's large. Whereupon he said: ‘O Dagdae! of thy honour let the three best bits of thy ration be given to me!’ So the Dagdae used to give them to him every night. Large, however, were the lampooner's bits, the size of a good pig, this was the bit. But those three bits were the third of the Dagdae's ration. The Dagdae's (health) was the worse of that.
One day, then, as the Dagdae was in the trench, he saw the Mac Óc coming to him. ‘That is good, O Dagdae’, says the Mac Óc. ‘Even so’, says the Dagdae. ‘What makes thee look so ill?’ says the Mac Óc. ‘I have cause for it’, says the Dagdae. ‘Every evening Cridenbél the lampooner demands the three best bits of my portion’.
‘I have a counsel for thee’, says the Mac Óc. He puts his hand into his pouch, and takes thereout three crowns of gold, and gives them to him.
‘Put’, says the Mac Óc, ‘these three crowns into the three bits which thou givest at close of day to Cridenbél. These bits will then be the goodliest on thy dish; and the gold will turn in his belly so that he will die thereof, and the judgment of Bres thereon will be wrong. Men will say to the king: ‘The Dagdae has killed Cridenbél by means of a deadly herb which he gave him.’ Then the king will order thee to be slain. But thou shalt say to him: ‘What thou utterest, O king of the warriors of the Féne, is not a prince's truth. For I was watched by Cridenbél when I was at my work, and he used to say to me ‘Give me, O Dagdae, the three best bits of thy portion. Bad is my housekeeping tonight’.
So I should have perished thereby had not the three shillings which I found today helped me. I put them on my ration. I then gave it to Cridenbél, for the gold is the best thing that was before me. Hence, then, the gold is inside Cridenbél, and he died of it’’.
‘It is clear’, says the king. ‘Let the lampooner's belly be cut open to know if the gold be found therein. If it be not found, thou shalt die. If, however, it be found, thou shalt have life’.
After that they cut off the lampooner's belly, and the three crowns of gold were found in his stomach, and so the Dagdae was saved.
Then the Dagdae went to his work on the following morning, and to him came the Mac Óc and said: ‘Thou wilt soon finish thy work, and thou shalt not seek reward till the cattle of Ireland are brought to thee, and of them choose a heifer black-maned, black
[gap: meaning of text unclear/extent: one word]
’
Thereafter the Dagdae brought his work to an end, and Bres asked him what he would take in guerdon of his labour. The Dagdae answered: ‘I (charge) thee’, saith he, ‘to gather the cattle of Ireland into one place’. The king did this as the Dagdae said, and the Dagdae chose of them the heifer which the Mac Óc had told him to choose. That seemed weakness unto Bres: he thought that the Dagdae would have chosen somewhat more.
Now Nuada was in his sickness, and Dian-cecht put on him a hand of silver with the motion of every hand therein. That seemed evil to his son Miach. He went to the hand which had been struck off Dian-cecht, and he said ‘joint to joint of it and sinew to sinew,’ and be healed Nuada in thrice three days and nights. The first seventy-two hours he put it over against his side, and it became covered with skin. The second seventy-two hours he put it on his breasts. The third
seventy-two hours he would cast white [gap: meaning of text unclear/extent: one word] of black bulrushes when they were blackened in fire.
That cure seemed evil to Dian-cecht. He flung a sword on the crown of his son's head and cut the skin down to the flesh. The lad healed the wound by means of his skill. Dian-cecht smote him again and cut the flesh till he reached the bone. The lad healed this by the same means. He struck him the third blow and came to the membrane of his brain. The lad healed this also by the same means. Then he struck the fourth blow and cut out the brain, so that Miach died, and Dian-cecht said that the leech himself could not heal him of that blow.
Thereafter Miach was buried by Dian-cecht, and herbs three hundred and sixty five, according to the number of his joints and sinews, grew through the grave. Then Airmed opened her mantle and separated those herbs according to their properties. But Dian-cecht came to her, and he confused the herbs, so that no one knows their proper cures unless the Holy Spirit should teach them afterwards. And Dian-cecht said ‘If Miach be not, Airmed shall remain’.
So Bres held the sovranty as it had been conferred upon him. But the chiefs of the Tuath Dé murmured greatly against him, for their knives were not greased by him, and however often they visited him their breaths did not smell of ale. Moreover, they saw not their poets or their bards or their lampooners or their harpers or their pipers or their hornblowers or their jugglers or their fools amusing them in the household. They did not go to the contests of their athletes. They saw not their champions proving their prowess at the king's, save only one man, Ogma son of Etáin.
This was the duty which he had, to bring fuel to the fortress. He used to carry a bundle every day from the Clew Bay islands. And because he was weak from want of food the sea would sweep away from him two thirds of his bundle.
So he could only carry one third, and yet he had to supply the host from day to day.
Neither service nor wergild from the tribes continued, and the treasures of the tribe were not delivered by the act of the whole tribe.
Once upon a time the poet came a-guesting to Bres' house, even Corpre son of Etaín, poet of the Tuath Dé. He entered a cabin narrow, black, dark, wherein there was neither fire nor furniture nor bed. Three small cakes, and they dry, were brought to him on a little dish. On the morrow he arose and he was not thankful. As he went across the garth he said:
Without food quickly on a dish:
without a cow's milk whereon a calf grows:
without a man's abode under the (gloom) of night:
without paying a company of story-tellers, let that be Bres' condition.
‘So there is no amain in Bres’, saith he. Now that was true. Nought save decay was on him from that hour. That is the first satire that was made in Ireland.
Now after that the Tuath Dea went together to have speech with their fosterson, Bres son of Elatha, and demanded of him their sureties. He gave them the restitution of the realm, and he was not (well-pleased) with them for that. He begged to be allowed to remain till the end of seven years.
‘Thou shalt have this’, says the same assembly together, ‘but thou shalt come on the same security
[gap: meaning of text unclear/extent: one word]
every fruit
[gap: meaning of text unclear/extent: one word]
to thy hand, both house and land and gold and silver, kine and food, and freedom from rent and wergild until then’. ‘Ye shall have’, says Bres, ‘as ye say’.
This is why they were asked for the delay, that he might gather the champions of the Fairy-Mound, even the Fomorians, to seize the tribes perforce, provided that [gap: meaning of text unclear/extent: three words]. Grievous to him seemed his expulsion from his kingdom.
Then he went to his mother and asks her whence was his race? ‘I am certain of that’, saith she; and she went on to the hill whence she had seen the vessel of silver in the sea. She then went on to the strand, and his mother gave him the ring which bad been left with her for him, and he put it round his middle-finger, and it fitted him. For sake of no one had she delivered it, either by sale or gift. Until that day there was none of them whom it suited.
Then they went forward till they reached the land of the Fomorians. They came to a great plain with many assemblies therein. They advanced to the fairest of these assemblies. Tidings were demanded of them therein. They replied that they were of the men of Ireland. They were then asked whether they had hounds; for at that time it was the custom, when a body of men went to another assembly, to challenge them to a friendly contest. ‘We have hounds’, saith Bres. Then the hounds had a coursing-match, and the hounds of the Tuath Dé were swifter than the hounds of the Fomorians. Then they were asked whether they had steeds for a horse-race. They answered, ‘We have’; and their steeds were swifter than the steeds of the Fomorians.
They were then asked whether they had any one who was good at sword-play. None was found save Bres alone. So when he sets his hand to the sword his father recognises the ring on his finger, and inquires who was the hero. His mother answered on his behalf and told the king that Bres was a son of his. Then she related to him the whole story even as we have recounted it.
His father was sorrowful at him. Said the father: ‘What need has brought thee out of the land wherein thou ruledst?’ Bres replied: ‘Nothing has brought me save my own injustice and arrogance. I stript them of their jewels and treasures and their own food. Neither tribute nor wergild was taken from them till today’.
‘That is bad’, says the father. ‘Better were their prosperity than their kingship. Better their prayers than their curses. Why hast thou come hither?’ says his father.
‘I have come to ask you for champions’, saith he. ‘I would take that land perforce’.
‘Thou shouldst not gain it by injustice if thou gain it not by justice’, said the father.
‘Query, then, what counsel hast thou for me?’ says Bres.
Thereafter he sent him to the champion, to Balor grandson of Nett; the king of the Isles, and to Indech son of Déa Domnand the king of the Fomorians; and these assembled all the forces from Lochlann westwards unto Ireland, to impose their tribute and their rule perforce on the Tuath Dé, so that they made one bridge of vessels from the Foreigners' Isles to Erin.
Never came to Ireland a host more horrible or fearful than that host of the Fomorians. The man from Scythia of Lochlann and the man out of the Western Isles were rivals in that expedition.
Now as to the Tuath Dé, this is what is here dealt with.
After Bres, Nuada was again in sovranty over the Tuath Dé. At that time he held for the Tuath Dé a mighty feast at Tara. Now there was a certain warrior on his way to Tara, whose name was Samildánach. 1 And there were then two doorkeepers at Tara, namely Gamal son of Figal and Camall son of Riagall. When one of these was there he sees a strange company coming towards him. A young warrior fair and shapely, with a king's trappings, was in the forefront of that band.
They told the doorkeeper to announce their arrival at Tara. The doorkeeper asked: ‘Who is there?’
‘Here there is Lugh Lonnannsclech son of Cian son of Dian-cecht, and of Ethne daughter of Balor. Fosterson, he,
of Tallan daughter of Magmor king of Spain and of Echaid the Rough, son of Duach.’
The doorkeeper asked of Samildánach: ‘What art dost thou practise?’ saith he; ‘for no one without an art enters Tara.’
‘Question me’, saith he; ‘I am a wright.’ The doorkeeper answered: ‘We need thee not. We have a wright already, even Luchtae son of Luachaid.’
He said: ‘Question me, O doorkeeper! I am a smith.’ The doorkeeper answered him: ‘We have a smith already, even Colum Cualléinech of the three new processes.’
He said: ‘Question me: I am a champion.’ The doorkeeper answered: ‘We need thee not. We have a champion already, even Ogma son of Ethliu.’
He said again: ‘Question me’, saith he, ‘I am a harper.’ ‘We need thee not. We have a harper already, even Abhcán son of Bicelmos whom the Men of the three gods (chose) in the fairy hills.’
Said he: ‘Question me: I am a hero.’ ‘The doorkeeper answered:’ ‘We need thee not. We have a hero already, even Bresal Echarlam2 son of Echaid Baethlam.’
Then he said: ‘Question me, O doorkeeper! I am a poet and I am a historian.’. ‘We need thee not. We have already a poet and historian, even En son of Ethaman.’
He said: ‘Question me’, says he, ‘I am a sorcerer.’ ‘We need thee not. We have sorcerers already. Many are our wizards and our folk of might.’
He said: ‘Question me: I am a leech.’