"Another time the Ulstermen were in their 'Pains.' Now, there was no 'Pains' amongst us," Fergus continued, "in women or boys, nor in any one outside the borders of Ulster, nor in Cuchulain and his father. [1]It was for this reason no one dared shed the blood of the men of Ulster, for that the 'Pains' fell on the one that wounded them.[1] There came thrice nine men from the Isles of Faiche. They pass over our rear fort, the whiles we are in our 'Pains.' The women scream in the fort. The youths are in the play-field. They come at the cry. When the boys catch sight of the swarthy men, they all take to flight save Cuchulain alone. He hurls the hand-stones and his playing-staff at them. He slays nine of them and they leave fifty wounds on him and proceed thence on their journey.[3]
W. 947. "A youngster did that deed," Fergus continued, "at the close of five years after his birth, when he overthrew the sons of champions and warriors at the very door of their liss and dûn. No need is there of wonder or surprise, [2]if he should do great deeds,[2] if he should come to the confines of the land, if he should cut off the four-pronged fork, if he should slay one man or two men or three men or four men, when there are seventeen full years of him now on the Cattle-lifting of Cualnge." [4]"In sooth, then, we know that youth," spoke out Conall Cernach ('the Victorious'), "and it is all the better we should know him, for he is a fosterling of our own."[4]
VIIa. THE SLAYING OF THE SMITH'S HOUND BY CUCHULAIN, AND THE REASON HE IS CALLED CUCHULAIN
W. 956. Then it was that Cormac Conlongas son of Conchobar spake: "Again that little lad performed a second deed in the following year." "What deed was that?" asked Ailill.
[1]"A goodly smith there was in the land of Ulster, Culann the Smith, by name.[1] He made ready a feast for Conchobar and set out for Emain to invite him. He made known to him that only a few should come with him, that he should bring none but a true guest along, forasmuch as it was not a domain or lands of his own that he had, but [2]the fruit of his two hands,[2] his sledges and anvils, his fists and his tongs. Conchobar replied that only a few would go to him.
"Culann went back to the stithy to prepare and make ready meat and drink [3]in readiness for the king.[3] Conchobar sat in Emain till it was time to set out [4]for the feast,[4] till came the close of the day. The king put his fine, light travelling apparel about him, [5]and went with fifty chariot-chiefs of those that were noblest and most illustrious of the heroes,[5] and betook him to the boys [6]before starting,[6] to bid them farewell. [7]It was always W. 968. his custom to visit and revisit them when going and coming, to seek his blessing of the boys.[7] Conchobar came on to the fair-green, and he saw a thing that astounded him: Thrice fifty boys at one end of the green and a single boy at the other, and the single boy won the victory at the goal and at hurling from the thrice fifty boys. When it was at hole-play they were—a game of hole that used to be played on the fair-green of Emain—and it was their turn to drive and his to keep guard, he would catch the thrice fifty balls just outside of the hole, and not one went by him into the hole. When it was their turn to keep guard and his to drive, he would send the thrice fifty balls into the hole without fail, [1]and the boys were unable to ward them off.[1] When it was at tearing off each other's garments they played, he would strip off them their thrice fifty suits [2]so that they were quite naked,[2] and they were not able all of them to take as much as the brooch from his mantle. When it was at wrestling they were, he would throw those same thrice fifty boys to the ground under him, and they did not succeed all of them around him in lifting him up. Conchobar looked with wonder at the little lad. "O, ye youths," cried *LL. fo. 63b. Conchobar. "Hail to the land whence cometh the lad ye see, if the deeds of his manhood shall be such as are those of his boyhood!" "Tis not just to speak thus," exclaimed Fergus; "e'en as the little lad grows, so will his deeds of manhood grow with him." "The little lad shall be called to us, that he may come with us to enjoy the feast to which we go." The little lad was summoned to Conchobar. "Good, my lad," said Conchobar. "Come thou with us to enjoy the feast whereto we go, [3]for thou art a guest."[3] "Nay, but I will not go," the little boy answered. "How so?" asked Conchobar. W. 990. "Forasmuch as the boys have not yet had their fill of games and of sport, and I will not leave them till they have had enough play." "It is too long for us to await thee till then, little boy, and by no means shall we wait." "Go then before us," said the little boy, "and I will follow after ye." "Thou knowest naught of the way, little boy," said Conchobar. "I will follow the trail of the company and of the horses and chariots."
"Thereafter Conchobar came to the house of Culann the Smith. The king was waited upon and all were shown honour, as befitted their rank and calling and privileges, nobility and gentle accomplishment. Straw and fresh rushes were spread out under them. They commenced to carouse and make merry. Culann inquired of Conchobar: "Hast thou, O king, appointed any to come after thee this night to this dûn?" "No, I appointed no one," replied Conchobar, for he had forgotten the little lad whom he had charged to come after him. "Why so?" asked Conchobar. "An excellent bloodhound have I, [1]that was brought from Spain.[1] [2]There are three[a] chains upon him, and three men at each chain. Because of our goods and our cattle he is slipped and the liss is closed.[2] When his dog-chain is loosed from him, no one dares approach the same cantred with him to make a course or a circuit, and he knows no one but myself. The power of hundreds is in him for strength." Then spake Conchobar, "Let the dûn be opened for the ban-dog, that he may guard the cantred." The dog-chain is taken off the ban-dog, and he makes a swift round of the cantred. And he comes to the mound whereon he was wont to keep guard of the stead, and there he was, his head couched on his paws, and wild, untameable, furious, savage, ferocious, ready for fight was the dog that was there.