The Death of Diarmuid O'Duibhne.

From In the Celtic Past by Ethna Carbery

NOW, when many happy years had passed over Diarmuid and his wife in their home of Rath-Grainne, in the cantred of Kesh-Corran, a great loneliness fell upon the Princess for a sight of her own people, and she said to Diarmuid--

"Since the wealth of the world hath flown upon us, O beloved, and the splendour of our house hath been sung of far and near, it is not meet that the two greatest men in Eirinn -- my father, King Cormac, and Fionn MacCumhaill -- should never have honoured it with their presence, and extolled its beauty and richness. Mine eyes have never met the eyes of my father since that night on which I went away with thee from Tara, and my heart yearns for him and the sound of the voices of mine own kindred."

"Alas, dear one," spake Diarmuid, "this is a fateful wish of thine; for though thy father and Fionn are not at war with me, yet none the less do they harbour enmity in their souls, and for this reason have I made my dwelling far distant from the paths on which they tread."

"But surely that enmity hath vanished with all the years that have gone over us. Nay, shake not thy head, love, in reproof, for I would that thou shouldst give them a feast in Rath-Grainne, and so, by our trust in them, we shall win back their love and friendship to ourselves once more."

The sweetness of her flower-face yet held the old glamour for Diarmuid, so, to give his lady pleasure, he consented sorely against his better judgment, and he bade his servitors prepare for the great feast, that it might be given in due magnificence to the illustrious guests and the vast array that should accompany them. The preparations extended over a year, and when all was ready Diarmuid sent messengers praying the King to come with his house-folk, and Fionn with the chief men of his Fenian army. So they came, with their followers, their horses and dogs, and abode for a whole year in Rath-Grainne, chasing the dappled deer through the forest, or luring the silvery fishes from the gray stream in daytime, and listening to sweet harp-songs and bardic chanting while twilight trembled upon the verge of night, and night gave way to the first cold quiver of dawning.

It so befell, one night when the year was at its end, that Diarmuid heard in his sleep the distant yelping of a hound, and started up in wakeful alarm, listening. Grainne also heard it, and paled as she threw her arms around him, asking the meaning of the noise.

"It is strange and unwonted to hear at midnight the baying of a hound," said her husband. "I must wend forth to learn the cause thereof."

But Grainne held him closely to her, so that he could not break away from her embrace.

"It is surely a trap laid for thee by the De-danaans, Diarmuid of which Angus of Brugh knoweth not, so may the gods keep thee safely. Turn thee on thy bed again and sleep, and go not near the evil thing."

A second time the hollow-echoing voice broke upon the stillness of the dark; again Diarmuid made to seek it; and again did Grainne hold him so securely that he dared not go. Then sweet sleep and forgetfulness came to him gently, until for the third time he was wakened by the same sound. It was day-dawn then, and he arose, saying-, "There is now no danger in my going to find this hound, for it is the full light of day." And Grainne replied, "Go then, my hero, but take with thee the Morallta, the sword of Manannan MacLir, and the Ga-derg--the spear of Angus, so that no mishap may befall thee."

"But," said Diarmuid, wishing to make the matter appear of small moment to her, "surely the Begallta and the Ga-boi shall be sufficient protection to me. Besides, I shall bring my good wise hound Mac-an-Coill, by a chain, and what should I fear when he is with me, and my weapons are in my hand."

He went forth into the cold air of the morning, never stopping until he had reached the summit of Ben-Gulban. Here to his surprise he found Fionn, to whom he gave no greeting, but asked what chase was on, and who had started it. The other replied--

"It was not I who started this chase, Diarmuid, but some of our Fianna, who, rising out of Rath-Grainne after midnight, chanced upon the track of a wild boar, which they have followed, both men and dogs, though I fain would have held them back. It is no ordinary prey, but the Boar of Ben-Gulban, and they who go after him are bound on a foolish and dangerous pursuit, and already he hath slain thirty of their number this very morning. He is now coming up the mountain towards us with the Fianna fleeing before him, so do thou and I Diarmuid, avoid his path, and leave this hillock to him."

"I shall not leave the hillock through fear of any wild boar," said O'Duibhne, "rather should it give me pleasure to deal with him in fight."

"Yet thou art under geasa never to hunt him," Fionn made answer gravely. "Dost thou not remember?"

"I do not remember. Wherefore was this bond of geasa laid upon me, and when?"

"Then I must tell thee of it," said Fionn, "for clearly do I recall the circumstance and the manner of its happening. It was when thou wert taken, a young child, to Brugh of the Boyne to be fostered by Angus Oge, and the son of Angus's steward was also fostered with thee to be thy playmate. And as price for having his son admitted into such noble company, the steward agreed to send each day to Brugh food and drink for nine men. Therefore, the house of Angus was always open to thy father, Donn, whenever he might choose to visit it, bringing with him eight others to partake of this food and drink. In his absence it was given to the attendants of Angus.

"It so chanced that on a certain day Bran Beag O'Bucan reminded me how it was forbidden by geasa that I should sleep more than nine nights at Allen of the broad hill-slopes, and as it was already the tenth morning, I must set out for some hospitable harbourage in which to pass the dark hours of the next night. Thy father came with me to Brugh of Boyne, and there we saw thee, O Diarmuid, surrounded with the tender love of Angus, and happy in the company of thy playmate, who was much beloved by the people of thy foster-father. This aroused a demon of jealousy in the heart of Donn, that the respect due to thee should be shared by another. Not long after that a quarrel arose between two of my staghounds over some broken meat that was thrown them, and the confusion in the hall drove the women and the lesser people in the place to fly in terror. In his fear, thy playmate fled to thy father, creeping between his knees, when Donn, giving the child a mighty, powerful, strong squeeze, killed him on the spot, and cast him under the feet of the staghounds. Afterwards the steward came, and finding his son dead, gave vent to a long and very pitiful cry. Then he approached me and said--

"Of all the men in this house tonight, O Fionn, I have indeed come worst out of this uproar, since I find my child, and only son, dead before me. Thou dost owe me eric for his death, because thy hounds have slain him."

"I bade him examine the body of his son, saying that if he found trace of a hound's tooth thereon I should pay him whatever eric he might demand. He discovered no such trace, but, since the boy's life had been taken, he laid me under fearful bonds of Druidical geasa to find out the guilty one. I asked for a chessboard and water to be brought me, and, having washed my hands, put my thumb under my tooth of wisdom, so that the truth was revealed to me of the death of the boy and the cruel deed done by thy father. Not wishing to make it known, I myself offered eric, but the steward demanded I should tell him the revelation that had come to me, and I did so. Whereupon he said--

"There is no man here who could easier pay me eric for this murder than Donn himself. Hear my demand, O Fionn, and Angus, and noble knights. Let the son of Donn be placed between my knees to be dealt with as my son was dealt with, and if the lad gets off safe I shall follow the matter up no further."

"At this Angus waxed very wroth, and thy father would have struck off the steward's head but that I intervened. Then the latter, stepping aside, brought forth a magic wand of sorcery and struck his son with it, changing him in the instant into a great bristling wild boar, having neither ears nor tail. He cried out in fierce accents, 'I conjure thee, O Boar, to have the same length of life as Diarmuid O'Duibhne, and it is my will that by thee he shall fall at last.' As he finished, the savage animal rushed out of the open doorway, nor did one of us note the path he took. In dire trouble, Angus gave thee commands never to hunt a boar, O Diarmuid, and this one now rushing towards us is that same ferocious Boar of Ben-Gulban, so I beg thee now to leave the hill in time lest he meet us here."

"Not so," said Diarmuid, "not so, Fionn. If thou wilt but lend me thy hound Bran to help my dog Mac-an-Coill, I shall stay to welcome him."

"I will not leave my hound with thee," replied Fionn, "for Bran hath often before chased the Boar, and but barely escaped with his life. Now I shall depart, for here he comes rushing like a demon in fury."