BLAIMAN, SON OF APPLE, IN THE KINGDOM OF THE WHITE STRAND.
There was a king in Erin long ago who had two sons and one daughter. On a day of days, the daughter walked into her father’s garden, in which she saw an apple-tree with only one apple on it; she took the apple, and ate it.
There was an old druid in the castle, who saw the king’s daughter going out, and met her coming in.
“Well,” said he, “you had the look of a maiden when you were going out, and you have the look of a married woman coming in.”
Those who were near heard the saying of the druid, and it was going the rounds till it came to the king. The king went at once to the druid, and asked, “What is this that you say about my daughter?”
“I say nothing,” answered the druid.
“You must tell me your words,” said the king, “and prove them, or lose your head.”
“Oh, as you are going that far you must give me time, and if a few months do not prove my words true, you may cut the head off me.”
The princess was then taken to the top of the king’s castle, where no one could see her but her maid. There she remained till she gave birth to a son with a golden spot on his poll, and a silver spot on his forehead. He was so beautiful that if sunshine and breeze ever rested on a child, they would rest on him; and what of him did not grow in the day grew at night. He grew so quickly that soon he was as large as the king’s sons, his uncles, and rose out to be a great champion.
One day when the two sons of the king were hunting, there was snow on the ground, and they killed a hare. Some of the hare’s blood fell on the snow, and they said that that was a beautiful meeting of colors. They were wondering could any woman be found with such colors on her face, white shining through the red. When they came home in the evening, they asked the old druid could a woman of that sort be found. He answered that if she could itself, little good would it do them; they could find wives good enough for them near home. They said that that was no matter, but to tell them where was the woman they had asked for.
“That woman,” said the druid, “is the daughter of the King of the kingdom of the White Strand. Hundreds of champions have lost their heads for her; and if you go, you will lose your heads too.”
The elder son said, “We do not mind that; we will go.”
The brothers had no vessel to take them to the kingdom of the White Strand; and the elder said he would build one. He took tools one morning, and started for the seashore. When just outside the castle, he heard a voice, asking, “Where are you going, king’s son?”
“I am going to make a turkey-pen,” answered the young man. “May you prosper in justice and truth,” said the voice.
The king’s son began to build the ship that day; and in the evening what had he built but a turkey-pen? When he came home, they asked what had he made.
“Nothing; I made only a turkey-pen.”
“Oh,” said the second son, “you are a fool. I knew that you could do nothing good.”
On the following morning, the second son started for the seashore; and the voice spoke to him, and asked, “Where are you going, king’s son?”
“To build a pig-sty,” answered he. “May you prosper in justice and truth,” said the voice.
He worked all day; and in the evening it was a pig-sty that he had. He came home; and now the brothers were doleful because they had not a ship in which to sail to the princess.
The following morning, the king’s grandson said, “Give me the tools, to see can I myself do anything.”
“What can you do, you fool?” asked the uncles.
“That matters not,” replied he. He left the castle; and at the place where the voice spoke to his uncles, it spoke to him also, and asked, “What are you going to do, Blaiman, son of Apple?” (He did not know his origin till then.)
“I am going to build a ship,” said Blaiman.
“That it may thrive with you in justice and truth,” said the voice.
He went off to the edge of a wood that was growing at the seashore, gave one blow to a tree, and it went to its own proper place in the vessel. In the evening Blaiman had the nicest ship that ever moved on the deep sea. When finished, the ship was at the edge of the shore; he gave it one blow of a sledge, and sent it out to deep water. Blaiman went home full of gladness.
“What have you made?” asked the uncles.
“Go out and see for yourselves,” answered Blaiman.
The two went, and saw the ship in the harbor. They were delighted to see the fine vessel, as they themselves could not build it. The voice had built it with Blaiman in return for his truth.
Next morning provisions for a day and a year were placed in the vessel. The two sons of the king went on board, raised the sails, and were moving out toward the great ocean. Blaiman saw the ship leaving, and began to cry; he was sorry that, after building the ship, it was not he who had the first trial of his own work. When his mother heard him, she grew sorry too, and asked what trouble was on him; and he told her that after he had built the ship, he wanted to have the first trial of it.
“You are foolish,” said she. “You are only a boy yet; your bones are not hard. You must not think of going to strange countries.”
He answered, that nothing would do him but to go. The old king, the grandfather, wanted Blaiman to stay; but he would not.
“Well,” said the king, “what I have not done for another I will do now for you. I will give you my sword; and you will never be put back by any man while you keep that blade.”
Blaiman left the house then; the vessel was outside the harbor already. He ran to the mouth of the harbor, and, placing the point of his sword on the brink of the shore, gave one leap out on board. The two uncles were amazed when they saw what their nephew had done, and were full of joy at having him with them. They turned the ship’s prow to the sea, and the stern to land. They raised to the tops of the hard, tough, stained masts the great sweeping sails, and took their capacious, smoothly-polished vessel past harbors with gently sloping shores, and there the ship left behind it pale-green wavelets. Then, with a mighty wind, they went through great flashing, stern-dashing waves with such force that not a nail in the ship was unheated, or a finger on a man inactive; and so did the ship hurry forward that its stern rubbed its prow, and it raised before it, by dint of sailing, a proud, haughty ridge through the middle of the fair, red sea.
When the wind failed, they sat down with the oars of fragrant beech or white ash, and with every stroke they sent the ship forward three leagues on the sea, where fishes, seals, and monsters rose around them, making music and sport, and giving courage to the men; and the three never stopped nor cooled until they sailed into the kingdom of the White Strand. Then they drew their vessel to a place where no wave was striking, nor wind rocking it, nor the sun splitting it, nor even a crow of the air dropping upon it; but a clean strand before it, and coarse sand on which wavelets were breaking. They cast two anchors toward the sea, and one toward land, and gave the vessel the fixing of a day and a full year, though they might not be absent more than one hour.
On the following day they saw one wide forest as far as the eye could reach; they knew not what manner of land was it.
“Would you go and inquire,” said Blaiman to the elder uncle, “what sort of a country that is inside?” The uncle went in, very slowly, among the trees, and at last, seeing flashes of light through the forest, rushed back in terror, the eyes starting out of his head.
“What news have you?” asked Blaiman.
“I saw flashes of fire, and could not go farther,” said the elder king’s son.
“Go you,” said Blaiman to the other, “and bring some account of the country.”
He did not go much farther than the elder brother, then came back, and said, “We may as well sail home again.”
“Well,” said Blaiman, “ye have provisions for a day and a year in this vessel. I will go now, and do ye remain here; if I am not back before the end of the day and the year, wait no longer.” He gave them good by, then went on, and entered the forest. It was not long till he met with the flashes. He did not mind them, but went forward; and when he had gone a good distance, he found the trees farther apart and scattered. Leaving the trees, he came out on a broad, open plain; in the middle of the plain was a castle; in front of the castle twelve champions practising at feats of arms; and it was the flashes from the blows of their swords that he and his uncles had seen in the forest. So skilled were the champions that not one of them could draw a drop of blood from another.
Blaiman was making toward them. By the side of the path there was a small hut, and as he was passing the door, an old woman came out, and hailed him. He turned, and she said, “A hundred thousand welcomes to you, Blaiman, son of Apple, from Erin.”
“Well, good woman,” said Blaiman, “you have the advantage. You know me; but I have no knowledge of you.”
“I know you well,” said she; “and it’s sorry I am that you are here. Do you see those twelve men out there opposite? You are going to make for them now; but rest on your legs, and let the beginning of another day come to you.”
“Your advice may be good,” said Blaiman, and he went in. The old woman prepared his supper as well as it was ever prepared at his grandfather’s house at home, and prepared a bed for him as good as ever he had. He slept enough, and he wanted it. When day overtook him on the morrow, he rose, and washed his face and hands, and asked mercy and help from God, and if he did not he let it alone; and the old woman prepared breakfast in the best way she could, and it was not the wrong way. He went off then in good courage to the castle of the king; and there was a pole of combat in front of the castle which a man wanting combat would strike with his sword. He struck the pole a blow that was heard throughout the whole kingdom.
“Good, good!” said the king; “the like of that blow was not struck while I am in this castle.”
He put his head through a window above, and saw Blaiman outside.
Around the rear of the castle was a high wall set with iron spikes. Few were the spikes without heads on them; some heads were fresh, some with part of the flesh on them, and some were only bare skulls. It was a dreadful sight to see; and strong was the man that it would not put fright on.
“What do you want?” asked the king of Blaiman.
“Your daughter to marry, or combat.”
“’Tis combat you will get,” said the king; and the twelve champions of valor were let out at him together. It was pitiful to see him; each one of the twelve aiming a blow at him, he trying to defend himself, and he all wounded and hacked by them. When the day was growing late, he began to be angry; the noble blood swelled in his breast to be uppermost; and he rose, with the activity of his limbs, out of the joints of his bones over them, and with three sweeping blows took the twelve heads off the champions. He left the place then, deeply wounded, and went back to the old woman’s cabin; and if he did, it was a pleasure for the old woman to see him. She put him into a caldron of venom, and then into a caldron of cure. When he came out, he was perfectly healed; and the old woman said,—
“Victory and prosperity to you, my boy. I think you will do something good; for the twelve were the strongest and ablest of all the king’s forces. You have done more than any man that ever walked this way before.”
They made three parts of the night: the first part, they spent in eating and drinking; the second, in telling tales and singing ballads; the third, in rest and sound sleep.
He had a good sleep, and he needed it. Being anxious, he rose early; and as early as he rose, breakfast was ready before him, prepared by the old woman. He ate his breakfast, went to the king’s castle, and struck the pole.
“What do you want?” asked the king, thrusting his head through the window.
“Seven hundred men at my right hand, seven hundred at my left, seven hundred behind me, and as many as on the three sides out before me.”
They were sent to him four deep through four gates. He went through them as a hawk through a flock of small birds on a March day, or as a blackbird or a small boy from Iraghti Conor between two thickets. He made lanes and roads through them, and slew them all. He made then a heap of their heads, a heap of their bodies, and a heap of their weapons. Trembling fear came on the king, and Blaiman went to the old woman’s cabin.
“Victory and prosperity to you, my boy; you have all his forces stretched now, unless he comes out against you himself; and I’m full sure that he will not. He’ll give you the daughter.”
She had a good dinner before him. He had fought so well that there was neither spot nor scar on his skin; for he had not let a man of the forty-two hundred come within sword’s length of his body. He passed the night as the previous night.
Next morning after breakfast, he went to the castle, and with one blow made wood lice of the king’s pole of combat. The king went down to Blaiman, took him under the arm, and, leading him up to the high chamber where the daughter was, put her hand in his.
The king’s daughter kissed Blaiman, and embraced him, and gave him a ring with her name and surname written inside on it. This was their marriage.
Next day Blaiman, thinking that his uncles had waited long enough, and might go back to Erin, said to the king, “I will visit my uncles, and then return hither.”
His wife, an only child, was heir to the kingdom, and he was to reign with her.
“Oh,” said the king, “something else is troubling me now. There are three giants, neighbors of mine, and they are great robbers. All my forces are killed; and before one day passes the giants will be at me, and throw me out of the kingdom.”
“Well,” said Blaiman, “I will not leave you till I settle the giants; but now tell where they are to be found.”
“I will,” said the king; and he gave him all needful instruction. Blaiman went first to the house of the youngest giant, where he struck the pole of combat, and the sound was heard over all that giant’s kingdom.
“Good, good!” said the giant; “the like of that blow has never been struck on that pole of combat before,” and out he came.
“A nerve burning of the heart to you, you miserable wretch!” said the giant to Blaiman; “and great was your impudence to come to my castle at all.”
“It is not caring to give you pleasure that I am,” said Blaiman, “but to knock a tormenting satisfaction out of your ribs.”
“Is it hard, thorny wrestling that you want, or fighting with sharp gray swords in the lower and upper ribs?” asked the giant.
“I will fight with sharp gray swords,” said Blaiman.
The giant went in, and fitted on his wide, roomy vest, his strong, unbreakable helmet, his cross-worked coat-of-mail; then he took his bossy, pale-red shield and his spear. Every hair on his head and in his beard was so stiffly erect from anger and rage that a small apple or a sloe, an iron apple or a smith’s anvil, might stand on each hair of them.
Blaiman fitted on his smooth, flowery stockings, and his two dry warm boots of the hide of a small cow, that was the first calf of another cow that never lay on any one of her sides. He fitted on his single-threaded silken girdle which three craftsmen had made, underneath his broad-pointed, sharp sword that would not leave a remnant uncut, or, if it did, what it left at the first blow it took at the second. This sword was to be unsheathed with the right hand, and sheathed with the left. He gave the first blood of battle as a terrible oath that he himself was, the choice champion of the Fenians, the feather of greatness, the slayer of a champion of bravery; a man to compel justice and right, but not give either justice or right; a man who had earned what he owned in the gap of every danger, in the path of every hardship, who was sure to get what belonged to him, or to know who detained it.
They rushed at each then like two bulls of the wilderness, or two wild echoes of the cliff; they made soft ground of the hard, and hard ground of the soft; they made low ground of high, and high ground of low. They made whirling circles of the earth, and mill-wheels of the sky; and if any one were to come from the lower to the upper world, it was to see those two that he should come. They were this way at each other to the height of the evening. Blaiman was growing hungry; and through dint of anger he rose with the activity of his limbs, and with one stroke of his sword cut off the giant’s head. There was a tree growing near. Blaiman knocked off a tough, slender branch, put one end of it in through the left ear and out through the right, then putting the head on the sword, and the sword on his shoulder, went home to the king. Coming near the castle with the giant’s head, he met a man tied in a tree whose name was Hung Up Naked.
“Victory and prosperity to you, young champion,” said the man; “you have done well hitherto; now loose me from this.”
“Are you long there?” asked Blaiman.
“I am seven years here,” answered the other.
“Many a man passed this way during that time. As no man of them loosed you, I will not loose you.”
He went home then, and threw down the head by the side of the castle. The head was so weighty that the castle shook to its deepest foundations. The king came to the hall-door, shook Blaiman’s hand, and kissed him. They spent that night as the previous night; and on the next day he went to meet the second giant, came to his house, and struck the pole of combat. The giant put out his head, and said, “You rascal, I lay a wager it was you who killed my young brother yesterday; you’ll pay for it now, for I think it is a sufficient length of life to get a glimpse of you, and I know not what manner of death I should give you.”
“It is not to offer satisfaction that I am here,” said Blaiman, “but to give you the same as your brother.”
“Is it any courage you have to fight me?” asked the giant.
“It is indeed,” said Blaiman; “’tis for that I am here.”
“What will you have?” asked the giant; “hard, thorny wrestling, or fighting with sharp gray swords?”
“I prefer hard, thorny wrestling,” said Blaiman; “as I have practised it on the lawns with noble children.”
They seized each other, and made soft places hard, and hard places soft; they drew wells of spring water through the hard, stony ground in such fashion that the place under them was a soft quagmire, in which the giant, who was weighty, was sinking. He sank to his knees. Blaiman then caught hold of him firmly, and forced him down to his hips.
“Am I to cut off your head now?” asked Blaiman.
“Do not do that,” said the giant. “Spare me, and I will give you my treasure-room, and all that I have of gold and silver.”
“I will give you your own award,” said Blaiman. “If I were in your place, and you in mine, would you let me go free?”
“I would not,” said the giant.
Blaiman drew his broad, shadowy sword made in Erin. It had edge, temper, and endurance; and with one blow he took the two heads off the giant, and carried the heads to the castle. He passed by Hung Up Naked, who asked him to loose him; but he refused. When Blaiman threw the heads down, much as the castle shook the first day, it shook more the second.
The king and his daughter were greatly rejoiced. They stifled him with kisses, drowned him with tears, and dried him with stuffs of silk and satin; they gave him the taste of every food and the odor of every drink,—Greek honey and Lochlin beer in dry, warm cups, and the taste of honey in every drop of the beer. I bailing it out, it would be a wonder if I myself was not thirsty.
They passed that night as the night before. Next morning Blaiman was very tired and weary after his two days’ fight, and the third giant’s land was far distant.
“Have you a horse of any kind for me to ride?” asked he of the king.
“Be not troubled,” said the king. “There is a stallion in my stable that has not been out for seven years, but fed on red wheat and pure spring water; if you think you can ride that horse, you may take him.”
Blaiman went to the stable. When the horse saw the stranger, he bared his teeth back to the ears, and made a drive at him to tear him asunder; but Blaiman struck the horse with his fist on the ear, and stretched him. The horse rose, but was quiet. Blaiman bridled and saddled him, then drove out that slender, low-sided, bare-shouldered, long-flanked, tame, meek-mannered steed, in which were twelve qualities combined: three of a bull, three of a woman, three of a fox, and three of a hare. Three of a bull,—a full eye, a thick neck, and a bold forehead; three of a woman,—full hips, slender waist, and a mind for a burden; three of a hare,—a swift run against a hill, a sharp turn about, and a high leap; three of a fox,—a light, treacherous, proud gait, to take in the two sides of the road by dint of study and acuteness, and to look only ahead. He now went on, and could overtake the wind that was before him; and the wind that was behind, carrying rough hailstones, could not overtake him.
Blaiman never stopped nor stayed till he arrived at the giant’s castle; and this giant had three heads. He dismounted, and struck the pole a blow that was heard throughout the kingdom. The giant looked out, and said, “Oh, you villain! I’ll wager it was you that killed my two brothers. I think it sufficient life to see you; and I don’t know yet what manner of death will I put on you.”
“It is not to give satisfaction to you that I am here, you vile worm!” said Blaiman. “Ugly is the smile of your laugh; and it must be that your crying will be uglier still.”
“Is it hard, thorny wrestling that you want, or fighting with sharp gray swords?” asked the giant.
“I will fight with sharp gray swords,” said Blaiman.
They rushed at each other then like two bulls of the wilderness. Toward the end of the afternoon, the heavier blows were falling on Blaiman. Just then a robin came on a bush in front of him, and said, “Oh, Blaiman, son of Apple, from Erin, far away are you from the women who would lay you out and weep over you! There would be no one to care for you unless I were to put two green leaves on your eyes to protect them from the crows of the air. Stand between the sun and the giant, and remember where men draw blood from sheep in Erin.”
Blaiman followed the advice of the robin. The two combatants kept at each other; but the giant was blinded by the sun, for he had to bend himself often to look at his foe. One time, when he stretched forward, his helmet was lifted a little, Blaiman got a glimpse of his neck, near the ear. That instant he stabbed him. The giant was bleeding till he lost the last of his blood. Then Blaiman cut the three heads off him, and carried them home on the pommel of his saddle. When he was passing, Hung Up Naked begged for release; but Blaiman refused and went on. Hung Up Naked praised him for his deeds, and continued to praise. On second thought, Blaiman turned back, and began to release Hung Up Naked; but if he did, as fast as he loosened one bond, two squeezed on himself, in such fashion that when he had Hung Up Naked unbound, he was himself doubly bound; he had the binding of five men hard and tough on his body. Hung Up Naked was free now; he mounted Blaiman’s steed, and rode to the king’s castle. He threw down the giant’s heads, and never stopped nor stayed till he went to where the king’s daughter was, put a finger under her girdle, bore her out of the castle, and rode away swiftly.
Blaiman remained bound for two days to the tree. The king’s swine-herd came the way, and saw Blaiman bound in the tree. “Ah, my boy,” said he, “you are bound there, and Hung Up Naked is freed by you; and if you had passed him as you did twice before, you need not be where you are now.”
“It cannot be helped,” said Blaiman; “I must suffer.”
“Oh, then,” said the swine-herd, “it is a pity to have you there and me here; I will never leave you till I free you.”
Up went the swine-herd, and began to loosen Blaiman; and it happened to him as to Blaiman himself: the bonds that had been on Blaiman were now on the swine-herd.
“I have heard always that strength is more powerful than magic,” said Blaiman. He went at the tree, and pulled it up by the roots; then, taking his sword, he made small pieces of the tree, and freed the swine-herd.
Blaiman and the swine-herd then went to the castle. They found the king sitting by the table, with his head on his hand, and a stream of tears flowing from his eyes to the table, and from the table to the floor.
“What is your trouble?” asked Blaiman.
“Hung Up Naked came, and said that it was himself who killed the giant; and he took my daughter.”
When he found that his wife was taken, and that he knew not where to look for her, Blaiman was raging.
“Stay here to-night,” said the king.
Next morning the king brought a table-cloth, and said, “You may often need food, and not know where to find it. Wherever you spread this, what food you require will be on it.”
Although Blaiman, because of his troubles, had no care for anything, he took the cloth with him. He was travelling all day, and at nightfall came to a break in the mountain, a sheltered spot, and he saw remains of a fire.
“I will go no farther to-night,” said he. After a time he pulled out the table-cloth, and food for a king or a champion appeared on it quickly. He was not long eating, when a little hound from the break in the mountain came toward him, and stood at some distance, being afraid to come near.
“Oh,” said the hound, “have you crumbs or burned bread-crusts that you would give me to take to my children, now dying of hunger? For three days I have not been able to hunt food for them.”
“I have, of course,” said Blaiman. “Come, eat enough of what you like best, and carry away what you can.”
“You have my dear love forever,” said the hound. “You are not like the thief that was here three nights ago. When I asked him for help, he threw a log of wood at me, and broke my shoulder-blade; and I have not been able to find food for my little children since that night. Doleful and sad was the lady who was with him; she ate no bite and drank no sup the whole night, but was shedding tears. If ever you are in hardship, and need my assistance, call for the Little Hound of Tranamee, and you will have me to help you.”
“Stay with me,” said Blaiman, “a part of the night; I am lonely, and you may take with you what food you can carry.”
The hound remained till he thought it time to go home; Blaiman gave him what he could carry, and he was thankful.
Blaiman stayed there till daybreak, spread his cloth again, and ate what he wanted. He was in very good courage from the tidings concerning his wife. He journeyed swiftly all day, thinking he would reach the castle of Hung Up Naked in the evening; but it was still far away.
He came in the evening to a place like that in which he had been the night previous, and thought to himself, I will stay here to-night. He spread his cloth, and had food for a king or a champion. He was not long eating, when there came opposite him out a hawk, and asked, “Have you crumbs or burned crusts to give me for my little children?”
“Oh,” said Blaiman, “come and eat your fill, and take away what you are able to carry.”
The hawk ate his fill. “My love to you forever,” said the hawk; “this is not how I was treated by the thief who was here three nights ago. When I asked him for food, he flung a log of wood at me, and almost broke my wing.”
“Give me your company a part of the night; I am lonely,” said Blaiman.
The hawk remained with him, and later on added, “The lady who went with the thief was doleful and careworn; she ate nothing, but shed tears all the time.” When going, and Blaiman had given him all the food he could carry, the hawk said, “If ever you need my assistance, you have only to call for the Hawk of Cold Cliff, and I will be with you.”
The hawk went away, very thankful; and Blaiman was glad that he had tidings again of his wife. Not much of next day overtook him asleep. He rose, ate his breakfast, and hastened forward. He was in such courage that he passed a mountain at a leap, a valley at a step, and a broad untilled field at a hop. He journeyed all day till he came to a break in the mountain; there he stopped, and was not long eating from his cloth, when an otter came down through the glen, stood before him, and asked, “Will you give me crumbs or burned crusts for my little children?”
Blaiman gave him plenty to eat, and all he could carry home. “My love to you forever,” said the otter. “When you need aid, call on the Otter of Frothy Pool, and I will be with you. You are not like the thief who was here three nights ago, having your wife with him. She was melting all night with tears, and neither ate nor drank. You will reach the castle of Hung Up Naked to-morrow at midday. It whirls around like a millstone, continually, and no one can enter but himself; for the castle is enchanted.”
The otter went home. Blaiman reached the castle at midday, and knew the place well, from the words of the otter. He stood looking at the castle; and when the window at which his wife was sitting came before him, she saw him, and, opening the window, made a sign with her hand, and told him to go. She thought that no one could get the upper hand of Hung Up Naked; for the report had gone through the world that no man could kill him.
“I will not go,” said Blaiman. “I will not leave you where you are; and now keep the window open.”
He stepped back some paces, and went in with one bound through the window, when it came around the second time.
While Hung Up Naked was tied to the tree, the tributes of his kingdom remained uncollected; and when he had the woman he wanted safe in his castle, he went to collect the tributes. She had laid an injunction on him to leave her in freedom for a day and a year. She knew when he would be returning; and when that time was near she hid Blaiman.
“Good, good!” cried Hung Up Naked, when he came. “I smell on this little sod of truth that a man from Erin is here.”
“How could a man from Erin be here?” asked Blaiman’s wife. “The only person from Erin in this place is a robin. I threw a fork at him. There is a drop of blood on the fork now; that is what you smell on the little sod.”
“That may be,” said Hung Up Naked.
Blaiman and the wife were planning to destroy Hung Up Naked; but no one had knowledge how to kill him. At last they made a plan to come at the knowledge.
“It is a wonder,” said the woman to Hung Up Naked, “that a great man like yourself should go travelling alone; my father always takes guards with him.”
“I need no guards; no one can kill me.”
“How is that?”
“Oh, my life is in that block of wood there.”
“If it is there, ’tis in a strange place; and it is little trouble you take for it. You should put it in some secure spot in the castle.”
“The place is good enough,” said he.
When Hung Up Naked went off next day, the wife told Blaiman all she had heard.
“His life is not there,” answered Blaiman; “try him again to-night.”
She searched the whole castle, and what silk or satin or jewels she found, she dressed with them the block of wood. When Hung Up Naked came home in the evening, and saw the block so richly decked, he laughed heartily.
“Why do you laugh?” asked the woman.
“Out of pity for you. It is not there that my life is at all.”
On hearing these words, she fainted, was stiff and cold for some time, till he began to fear she was dead.
“What is the matter?” asked Hung Up Naked.
“I did not think you would make sport of me. You know that I love you, and why did you deceive me?”
Hung Up Naked was wonderfully glad. He took her to the window, and, pointing to a large tree growing opposite, asked, “Do you see that tree?”
“I do.”
“Do you see that axe under my bed-post?” He showed the axe. “I cannot be killed till a champion with one blow of that axe splits the tree from the top to the roots of it. Out of the tree a ram will rush forth, and nothing on earth can come up with the ram but the Hound of Tranamee. If the ram is caught, he will drop a duck; the duck will fly out on the sea, and nothing on earth can catch that duck but the Hawk of Cold Cliff. If the duck is caught, she will drop an egg into the sea, and nothing on earth can find that egg but the Otter of Frothy Pool. If the egg is found, the champion must strike with one cast of it this dark spot here under my left breast, and strike me through the heart. If the tree were touched, I should feel it, wherever I might be.”
He went away next morning. Blaiman took the axe, and with one blow split the tree from top to roots; out rushed the ram. Blaiman rushed after him through the fields. Blaiman hunted the ram till he was dropping from weariness. Only then did he think of the hound, and cry, “Where are you now, Little Hound of Tranamee?”
“I am here,” said the hound; “but I could not come till you called me.”
The hound seized the ram in one moment; but, if he did, out sprang a duck, and away she flew over the sea. Blaiman called for the Hawk of Cold Cliff. The hawk caught the duck; the duck dropped an egg. He called the Otter of Frothy Pool; the otter brought the egg in his mouth. Blaiman took the egg, and ran to the castle, which was whirling no longer; the enchantment left the place when the tree was split. He opened the door, and stood inside, but was not long there when he saw Hung Up Naked coming in haste. When the tree was split, he felt it, and hurried home. When nearing the castle, his breast open and bare, and he sweating and sweltering, Blaiman aimed at the black spot, and killed Hung Up Naked.
They were all very glad then. The hawk, hound, and otter were delighted; they were three sons of the king of that kingdom which Hung Up Naked had seized; they received their own forms again, and all rejoiced.
Blaiman did not stay long. He left the three brothers in their own castle and kingdom. “If ever you need my assistance,” said Blaiman to the brothers, “send for me at my father-in-law’s.” On his return, he spent a night at each place where he had stopped in going.
When the king saw his daughter and Blaiman, he almost dropped dead from joy. They all spent some days very happily. Blaiman now thought of his uncles; and for three days servants were drawing every choice thing to his vessel. His wife went also to the ship. When all was ready, Blaiman remembered a present that he had set aside for his mother, and hurried back to the castle, leaving his wife on the ship with his uncles. The uncles sailed at once for Erin. When Blaiman came back with the present, he found neither wife, ship, nor uncles before him. He ran away like one mad, would not return to his father-in-law, but went wild in the woods, and began to live like the beasts of the wilderness. One time he came out on an edge of the forest, which was on a headland running into the sea, and saw a vessel near land; he was coming that time to his senses, and signalled. The captain saw him, and said, “That must be a wild beast of some kind; hair is growing all over his body. Will some of you go to see what is there? If a man, bring him on board.”
Five men rowed to land, and hailed Blaiman. He answered, “I am from Erin, and I am perishing here from hunger and cold.” They took him on board. The captain treated him kindly, had his hair cut, and gave him good clothing. Where should the captain be sailing to but the very same port of his grandfather’s kingdom from which Blaiman had sailed. There was a high tide when the ship neared, and they never stopped till she was in at the quay. Blaiman went on shore, walked to the chief street, and stood with his back to a house. Soon he saw men and horses carrying and drawing many kinds of provisions, and all going one way.
“Why are these people all going one way?” inquired Blaiman of a man in the crowd.
“You must be a stranger,” answered the man, “since you do not know that they are going to the castle. The king’s elder son will be married this evening. The bride is the only daughter of the King of the kingdom of the White Strand; they brought her to this place twelve months ago.”
“I am a stranger,” said Blaiman, “and have only come now from sea.”
“All are invited to the wedding, high and low, rich and poor.”
“I will go as well as another,” said Blaiman; and he went toward the castle. He met a sturdy old beggar in a long gray coat. “Will you sell me the coat?” inquired Blaiman.
“Take your joke to some other man,” answered the beggar.
“I am not joking,” said Blaiman. “I’ll buy your coat.”
The beggar asked more for the coat than he thought would be given by any one.
“Here is your money,” said Blaiman.
The beggar gave up the coat, and started to go in another direction.
“Come back here,” said Blaiman. “I will do you more good, and I need your company.”
They went toward the castle together. There was a broad space in front of the kitchen filled with poor people, for the greater part beggars, and these were all fighting for places. When Blaiman came, he commanded the crowd to be quiet, and threatened. He soon controlled all, and was himself neither eating nor drinking, but seeing justice done those who were eating and drinking. The servants, astonished that the great, threatening beggar was neither eating nor drinking, gave a great cup of wine to him. He took a good draught of the wine, but left still a fair share in the cup. In this he dropped the ring that he got from his wife in her own father’s castle, and said to a servant, “Put this cup in the hand of the bride, and say, ‘’Tis the big beggar that sends back this much of his wine, and asks you to drink to your own health.’”
She was astonished, and, taking the cup to the window, saw a ring at the bottom. She took the ring, knew it, and ran out wild with delight through the people. All thought ’twas enchantment the beggar had used; but she embraced him and kissed him. The servants surrounded the beggar to seize him. The king’s daughter ordered them off, and brought him into the castle; and Blaiman locked the doors. The bride then put a girdle around the queen’s waist, and this was a girdle of truth. If any one having it on did not tell the truth, the girdle would shrink and tighten, and squeeze the life out of that person.
“Tell me now,” said the bride, “who your elder son’s father is.”
“Who is he,” said the queen, “but the king?”
The girdle grew tighter and tighter till the queen screamed, “The coachman.”
“Who is the second son’s father?”
“The butler.”
“Who is your daughter’s father?”
“The king.”
“I knew,” said the bride, “that there was no kingly blood in the veins of the two, from the way that they treated my husband.” She told them all present how the two had taken her away, and left her husband behind. When Blaiman’s mother saw her son, she dropped almost dead from delight.
The king now commanded his subjects to bring poles and branches and all dry wood, and put down a great fire. The heads and heels of the queen’s two sons were tied together, and they were flung in and burned to ashes.
Blaiman remained awhile with his grandfather, and then took his wife back to her father’s kingdom, where they lived many years.