Chapter II: Part 2

As for Lir, so great was the love he bore them, that at early dawn he would rise, and, pulling aside the deerskin that separated his sleeping-room with theirs, would fondle and frolic with the children until morning broke.

And Bove Derg loved them well-nigh as did Lir himself. Ofttimes would he come to see them, and ofttimes were they brought to his palace by the Great Lake.

And through all the Green Isle, where dwelt the Dedannan people, there also was spread the fame of the beauty of the children of Lir.

* * * * *

Time crept on, and Finola was a maid of twelve summers. Then did a wicked jealousy find root in Eva's heart, and so did it grow that it strangled the love which she had borne her sister's children. In bitterness she cried, 'Lir careth not for me; to Finola and her brothers hath he given all his love.'

And for weeks and months Eva lay in bed planning how she might do hurt to the children of Lir.

At length, one midsummer morn, she ordered forth her chariot, that with the four children she might come to the palace of Bove Derg.

When Finola heard it, her fair face grew pale, for in a dream had it been revealed unto her that Eva, her step-mother, should that day do a dark deed among those of her own household. Therefore was Finola sore afraid, but only her large eyes and pale cheeks spake her woe, as she and her brothers drove along with Eva and her train.

On they drove, the boys laughing merrily, heedless alike of the black shadow resting on their step-mother's brow, and of the pale, trembling lips of their sister. As they reached a gloomy pass, Eva whispered to her attendants, 'Kill, I pray you, these children of Lir, for their father careth not for me, because of his great love for them. Kill them, and great wealth shall be yours.'

But the attendants answered in horror, 'We will not kill them. Fearful, O Eva, were the deed, and great is the evil that will befall thee, for having it in thine heart to do this thing.'

Then Eva, filled with rage, drew forth her sword to slay them with her own hand, but too weak for the monstrous deed, she sank back in the chariot.

Onward they drove, out of the gloomy pass into the bright sunlight of the white road. Daisies with wide-open eyes looked up into the blue sky overhead. Golden glistened the buttercups among the shamrock. From the ditches peeped forget-me-not. Honeysuckle scented the hedgerows. Around, above, and afar, carolled the linnet, the lark, and the thrush. All was colour and sunshine, scent and song, as the children of Lir drove onward to their doom.

Not until they reached a still lake were the horses unyoked for rest. There Eva bade the children undress and go bathe in the waters. And when the children of Lir reached the water's edge, Eva was there behind them, holding in her hand a fairy wand. And with the wand she touched the shoulder of each. And, lo! as she touched Finola, the maiden was changed into a snow-white swan, and behold! as she touched Aed, Fiacra, and Conn, the three brothers were as the maid. Four snow-white swans floated on the blue lake, and to them the wicked Eva chanted a song of doom.

As she finished, the swans turned towards her, and Finola spake:

'Evil is the deed thy magic wand hath wrought, O Eva, on us the children of Lir, but greater evil shall befall thee, because of the hardness and jealousy of thine heart.' And Finola's white swan-breast heaved as she sang of their pitiless doom.

The song ended, again spake the swan-maiden. 'Tell us, O Eva, when death shall set us free.'

And Eva made answer, 'Three hundred years shall your home be on the smooth waters of this lone lake. Three hundred years shall ye pass on the stormy waters of the sea betwixt Erin and Alba, and three hundred years shall ye be tempest-tossed on the wild Western Sea. Until Decca be the Queen of Largnen, and the good Saint come to Erin, and ye hear the chime of the Christ-bell, neither your plaints nor prayers, neither the love of your father Lir, nor the might of your King, Bove Derg, shall have power to deliver you from your doom. But lone white swans though ye be, ye shall keep for ever your own sweet Gaelic speech, and ye shall sing, with plaintive voices, songs so haunting that your music will bring peace to the souls of those who hear. And still beneath your snowy plumage shall beat the hearts of Finola, Aed, Fiacra and Conn, and still for ever shall ye be the children of Lir.'

Then did Eva order the horses to be yoked to the chariot, and away westward did she drive.

And swimming on the lone lake were four white swans.

* * * * *

When Eva reached the palace of Bove Derg alone, greatly was he troubled lest evil had befallen the children of Lir.

But the attendants, because of their great fear of Eva, dared not to tell the King of the magic spell she had wrought by the way. Therefore Bove Derg asked, 'Wherefore, O Eva, come not Finola and her brothers to the palace this day?'

And Eva answered, 'Because, O King, Lir no longer trusteth thee, therefore would he not let the children come hither.'

But Bove Derg believed not his foster-daughter, and that night he secretly sent messengers across the hills to the dwelling of Lir.

When the messengers came there, and told their errand, great was the grief of the father. And in the morning with a heavy heart he summoned a company of the Dedannans, and together they set out for the palace of Bove Derg. And it was not until sunset as they reached the lone shore of Lake Darvra, that they slackened speed.

Lir alighted from his chariot and stood spellbound. What was that plaintive sound? The Gaelic words, his dear daughter's voice more enchanting even than of old, and yet, before and around, only the lone blue lake. The haunting music rang clearer, and as the last words died away, four snow-white swans glided from behind the sedges, and with a wild flap of wings flew toward the eastern shore. There, stricken with wonder, stood Lir.

'Know, O Lir,' said Finola, 'that we are thy children, changed by the wicked magic of our step-mother into four white swans.' When Lir and the Dedannan people heard these words, they wept aloud.

Still spake the swan-maiden. 'Three hundred years must we float on this lone lake, three hundred years shall we be storm-tossed on the waters between Erin and Alba, and three hundred years on the wild Western Sea. Not until Decca be the Queen of Largnen, not until the good Saint come to Erin and the chime of the Christ-bell be heard in the land, not until then shall we be saved from our doom.'

Then great cries of sorrow went up from the Dedannans, and again Lir sobbed aloud. But at the last silence fell upon his grief, and Finola told how she and her brothers would keep for ever their own sweet Gaelic speech, how they would sing songs so haunting that their music would bring peace to the souls of all who heard. She told, too, how, beneath their snowy plumage, the human hearts of Finola, Aed, Fiacra, and Conn should still beat--the hearts of the children of Lir. 'Stay with us to-night by the lone lake,' she ended, 'and our music will steal to you across its moonlit waters and lull you into peaceful slumber. Stay, stay with us.'

And Lir and his people stayed on the shore that night and until the morning glimmered. Then, with the dim dawn, silence stole over the lake.

Speedily did Lir rise, and in haste did he bid farewell to his children, that he might seek Eva and see her tremble before him.

Swiftly did he drive and straight, until he came to the palace of Bove Derg, and there by the waters of the Great Lake did Bove Derg meet him. 'Oh, Lir, wherefore have thy children come not hither?' And Eva stood by the King.

Stern and sad rang the answer of Lir. 'Alas! Eva, your foster-child, hath by her wicked magic changed them into four snow-white swans. On the blue waters of Lake Darvra dwell Finola, Aed, Fiacra, and Conn, and thence come I that I may avenge their doom.'

A silence as the silence of death fell upon the three, and all was still save that Eva trembled greatly. But ere long Bove Derg spake. Fierce and angry did he look, as, high above his foster-daughter, he held his magic wand. Awful was his voice as he pronounced her doom. 'Wretched woman, henceforth shalt thou no longer darken this fair earth, but as a demon of the air shalt thou dwell in misery till the end of time.' And of a sudden from out her shoulders grew black, shadowy wings, and, with a piercing scream, she swirled upward, until the awe-stricken Dedannans saw nought save a black speck vanish among the lowering clouds. And as a demon of the air do Eva's black wings swirl her through space to this day.

But great and good was Bove Derg. He laid aside his magic wand and so spake: 'Let us, my people, leave the Great Lake, and let us pitch our tents on the shores of Lake Darvra. Exceeding dear unto us are the children of Lir, and I, Bove Derg, and Lir, their father, have vowed henceforth to make our home for ever by the lone waters where they dwell.'

And when it was told throughout the Green Island of Erin of the fate of the children of Lir and of the vow that Bove Derg had vowed, from north, south, east, and west did the Dedannans flock to the lake, until a mighty host dwelt by its shores.

And by day Finola and her brothers knew not loneliness, for in the sweet Gaelic speech they told of their joys and fears; and by night the mighty Dedannans knew no sorrowful memories, for by haunting songs were they lulled to sleep, and the music brought peace to their souls.

Slowly did the years go by, and upon the shoulders of Bove Derg and Lir fell the long white hair. Fearful grew the four swans, for the time was not far off, when they must wing their flight north to the wild sea of Moyle.

And when at length the sad day dawned, Finola told her brothers how their three hundred happy years on Lake Darvra were at an end, and how they must now leave the peace of its lone waters for evermore.

Then, slowly and sadly, did the four swans glide to the margin of the lake. Never had the snowy whiteness of their plumage so dazzled the beholders, never had music so sweet and sorrowful floated to Lake Darvra's sunlit shores. As the swans reached the water's edge, silent were the three brothers, and alone Finola chanted a farewell song.

With bowed white heads did the Dedannan host listen to Finola's chant, and when the music ceased and only sobs broke the stillness, the four swans spread their wings, and, soaring high, paused but for one short moment to gaze on the kneeling forms of Lir and Bove Derg. Then, stretching their graceful necks toward the north, they winged their flight to the waters of the stormy sea that separates the blue Alba from the Green Island of Erin.

And when it was known throughout the Green Isle that the four white swans had flown, so great was the sorrow of the people that they made a law that no swan should be killed in Erin from that day forth.

* * * * *

With hearts that burned with longing for their father and their friends, did Finola and her brothers reach the sea of Moyle. Cold and chill were its wintry waters, black and fearful were the steep rocks overhanging Alba's far-stretching coasts. From hunger, too, the swans suffered. Dark indeed was all, and darker yet as the children of Lir remembered the still waters of Lake Darvra and the fond Dedannan host on its peaceful shores. Here the sighing of the wind among the reeds no longer soothed their sorrow, but the roar of the breaking surf struck fresh terror in their souls.

In misery and terror did their days pass, until one night the black, lowering clouds overhead told that a great tempest was nigh. Then did Finola call to her Aed, Fiacra, and Conn. 'Beloved brothers, a great fear is at my heart, for, in the fury of the coming gale, we may be driven the one from the other. Therefore, let us say where we may hope to meet when the storm is spent.'

And Aed answered, 'Wise art thou, dear, gentle sister. If we be driven apart, may it be to meet again on the rocky isle that has ofttimes been our haven, for well known is it to us all, and from far can it be seen.'

Darker grew the night, louder raged the wind, as the four swans dived and rose again on the giant billows. Yet fiercer blew the gale, until at midnight loud bursts of thunder mingled with the roaring wind, but, in the glare of the blue lightning's flashes, the children of Lir beheld each the snowy form of the other. The mad fury of the hurricane yet increased, and the force of it lifted one swan from its wild home on the billows, and swept it through the blackness of the night. Another blue lightning flash, and each swan saw its loneliness, and uttered a great cry of desolation. Tossed hither and thither, by wind and wave, the white birds were well-nigh dead when dawn broke. And with the dawn fell calm.

Swift as her tired wings would bear her, Finola sailed to the rocky isle, where she hoped to find her brothers. But alas! no sign was there of one of them. Then to the highest summit of the rocks she flew. North, south, east, and west did she look, yet nought saw she save a watery wilderness. Now did her heart fail her, and she sang the saddest song she had yet sung.

As the last notes died Finola raised her eyes, and lo! Conn came slowly swimming towards her with drenched plumage and head that drooped. And as she looked, behold! Fiacra appeared, but it was as though his strength failed. Then did Finola swim toward her fainting brother and lend him her aid, and soon the twins were safe on the sunlit rock, nestling for warmth beneath their sister's wings.

Yet Finola's heart still beat with alarm as she sheltered her younger brothers, for Aed came not, and she feared lest he were lost for ever. But, at noon, sailing he came over the breast of the blue waters, with head erect and plumage sunlit. And under the feathers of her breast did Finola draw him, for Conn and Fiacra still cradled beneath her wings. 'Rest here, while ye may, dear brothers,' she said.

And she sang to them a lullaby so surpassing sweet that the sea-birds hushed their cries and flocked to listen to the sad, slow music. And when Aed and Fiacra and Conn were lulled to sleep, Finola's notes grew more and more faint and her head drooped, and soon she too slept peacefully in the warm sunlight.

But few were the sunny days on the sea of Moyle, and many were the tempests that ruffled its waters. Still keener grew the winter frosts, and the misery of the four white swans was greater than ever before. Even their most sorrowful Gaelic songs told not half their woe. From the fury of the storm they still sought shelter on that rocky isle where Finola had despaired of seeing her dear ones more.

Slowly passed the years of doom, until one mid-winter a frost more keen than any known before froze the sea into a floor of solid black ice. By night the swans crouched together on the rocky isle for warmth, but each morning they were frozen to the ground and could free themselves only with sore pain, for they left clinging to the ice-bound rock the soft down of their breasts, the quills from their white wings, and the skin of their poor feet.

And when the sun melted the ice-bound surface of the waters, and the swans swam once more in the sea of Moyle, the salt water entered their wounds, and they well-nigh died of pain. But in time the down on their breasts and the feathers on their wings grew, and they were healed of their wounds.

The years dragged on, and by day Finola and her brothers would fly toward the shores of the Green Island of Erin, or to the rocky blue headlands of Alba, or they would swim far out into a dim grey wilderness of waters. But ever as night fell it was their doom to return to the sea of Moyle.

One day, as they looked toward the Green Isle, they saw coming to the coast a troop of horsemen mounted on snow-white steeds, and their armour glittered in the sun.

A cry of great joy went up from the children of Lir, for they had seen no human form since they spread their wings above Lake Darvra, and flew to the stormy sea of Moyle.

'Speak,' said Finola to her brothers, 'speak, and say if these be not our own Dedannan folk.' And Aed and Fiacra and Conn strained their eyes, and Aed answered, 'It seemeth, dear sister, to me, that it is indeed our own people.'

As the horsemen drew nearer and saw the four swans, each man shouted in the Gaelic tongue, 'Behold the children of Lir!'

And when Finola and her brothers heard once more the sweet Gaelic speech, and saw the faces of their own people, their happiness was greater than can be told. For long they were silent, but at length Finola spake.

Of their life on the sea of Moyle she told, of the dreary rains and blustering winds, of the giant waves and the roaring thunder, of the black frost, and of their own poor battered and wounded bodies. Of their loneliness of soul, of that she could not speak. 'But tell us,' she went on, 'tell us of our father, Lir. Lives he still, and Bove Derg, and our dear Dedannan friends?'

Scarce could the Dedannans speak for the sorrow they had for Finola and her brothers, but they told how Lir and Bove Derg were alive and well, and were even now celebrating the Feast of Age at the house of Lir. 'But for their longing for you, your father and friends would be happy indeed.'

Glad then and of great comfort were the hearts of Finola and her brothers. But they could not hear more, for they must hasten to fly from the pleasant shores of Erin to the sea-stream of Moyle, which was their doom. And as they flew, Finola sang, and faint floated her voice over the kneeling host.

As the sad song grew fainter and more faint, the Dedannans wept aloud. Then, as the snow-white birds faded from sight, the sorrowful company turned the heads of their white steeds from the shore, and rode southward to the home of Lir.

And when it was told there of the sufferings of Finola and her brothers, great was the sorrow of the Dedannans. Yet was Lir glad that his children were alive, and he thought of the day when the magic spell would be broken, and those so dear to him would be freed from their bitter woe.

* * * * *

Once more were ended three hundred years of doom, and glad were the four white swans to leave the cruel sea of Moyle. Yet might they fly only to the wild Western Sea, and tempest-tossed as before, here they in no way escaped the pitiless fury of wind and wave. Worse than aught they had before endured was a frost that drove the brothers to despair. Well-nigh frozen to a rock, they one night cried aloud to Finola that they longed for death. And she, too, would fain have died.

But that same night did a dream come to the swan-maiden, and, when she awoke, she cried to her brothers to take heart. 'Believe, dear brothers, in the great God who hath created the earth with its fruits and the sea with its terrible wonders. Trust in Him, and He will yet save you.' And her brothers answered, 'We will trust.'

And Finola also put her trust in God, and they all fell into a deep slumber.

When the children of Lir awoke, behold! the sun shone, and thereafter, until the three hundred years on the Western Sea were ended, neither wind nor wave nor rain nor frost did hurt to the four swans.

On a grassy isle they lived and sang their wondrous songs by day, and by night they nestled together on their soft couch, and awoke in the morning to sunshine and to peace. And there on the grassy island was their home, until the three hundred years were at an end. Then Finola called to her brothers, and tremblingly she told, and tremblingly they heard, that they might now fly eastward to seek their own old home.

Lightly did they rise on outstretched wings, and swiftly did they fly until they reached land. There they alighted and gazed each at the other, but too great for speech was their joy. Then again did they spread their wings and fly above the green grass on and on, until they reached the hills and trees that surrounded their old home. But, alas! only the ruins of Lir's dwelling were left. Around was a wilderness overgrown with rank grass, nettles, and weeds.

Too downhearted to stir, the swans slept that night within the ruined walls of their old home, but, when day broke, each could no longer bear the loneliness, and again they flew westward. And it was not until they came to Inis Glora that they alighted. On a small lake in the heart of the island they made their home, and, by their enchanting music, they drew to its shores all the birds of the west, until the lake came to be called 'The Lake of the Bird-flocks.'

Slowly passed the years, but a great longing filled the hearts of the children of Lir. When would the good Saint come to Erin? When would the chime of the Christ-bell peal over land and sea?

One rosy dawn the swans awoke among the rushes of the Lake of the Bird-flocks, and strange and faint was the sound that floated to them from afar. Trembling, they nestled close the one to the other, until the brothers stretched their wings and fluttered hither and thither in great fear. Yet trembling they flew back to their sister, who had remained silent among the sedges. Crouching by her side they asked, 'What, dear sister, can be the strange, faint sound that steals across our island?'

With quiet, deep joy Finola answered, 'Dear brothers, it is the chime of the Christ-bell that ye hear, the Christ-bell of which we have dreamed through thrice three hundred years. Soon the spell will be broken, soon our sufferings will end.' Then did Finola glide from the shelter of the sedges across the rose-lit lake, and there by the shore of the Western Sea she chanted a song of hope.

Calm crept into the hearts of the brothers as Finola sang, and, as she ended, once more the chime stole across the isle. No longer did it strike terror into the hearts of the children of Lir, rather as a note of peace did it sink into their souls.

Then, when the last chime died, Finola said, 'Let us sing to the great King of Heaven and Earth.'

Far stole the sweet strains of the white swans, far across Inis Glora, until they reached the good Saint Kemoc, for whose early prayers the Christ-bell had chimed.

And he, filled with wonder at the surpassing sweetness of the music, stood mute, but when it was revealed unto him that the voices he heard were the voices of Finola and Aed and Fiacra and Conn, who thanked the High God for the chime of the Christ-bell, he knelt and also gave thanks, for it was to seek the children of Lir that the Saint had come to Inis Glora.

In the glory of noon, Kemoc reached the shore of the little lake, and saw four white swans gliding on its waters. And no need had the Saint to ask whether these indeed were the children of Lir. Rather did he give thanks to the High God who had brought him hither.

Then gravely the good Kemoc said to the swans, 'Come ye now to land, and put your trust in me, for it is in this place that ye shall be freed from your enchantment.'

These words the four white swans heard with great joy, and coming to the shore they placed themselves under the care of the Saint. And he led them to his cell, and there they dwelt with him. And Kemoc sent to Erin for a skilful workman, and ordered that two slender chains of shining silver be made. Betwixt Finola and Aed did he clasp one silver chain, and with the other did he bind Fiacra and Conn.

Then did the children of Lir dwell with the holy Kemoc, and he taught them the wonderful story of Christ that he and Saint Patrick had brought to the Green Isle. And the story so gladdened their hearts that the misery of their past sufferings was well-nigh forgotten, and they lived in great happiness with the Saint. Dear to him were they, dear as though they had been his own children.

Thrice three hundred years had gone since Eva had chanted the fate of the children of Lir. 'Until Decca be the Queen of Largnen, until the good Saint come to Erin, and ye hear the chime of the Christ-bell, shall ye not be delivered from your doom.'

The good Saint had indeed come, and the sweet chimes of the Christ-bell had been heard, and the fair Decca was now the Queen of King Largnen.

Soon were tidings brought to Decca of the swan-maiden and her three swan-brothers. Strange tales did she hear of their haunting songs. It was told her, too, of their cruel miseries. Then begged she her husband, the King, that he would go to Kemoc and bring to her these human birds.

But Largnen did not wish to ask Kemoc to part with the swans, and therefore he did not go.

Then was Decca angry, and swore she would live no longer with Largnen, until he brought the singing swans to the palace. And that same night she set out for her father's kingdom in the south.

Nevertheless Largnen loved Decca, and great was his grief when he heard that she had fled. And he commanded messengers to go after her, saying he would send for the white swans if she would but come back. Therefore Decca returned to the palace, and Largnen sent to Kemoc to beg of him the four white swans. But the messenger returned without the birds.

Then was Largnen wroth, and set out himself for the cell of Kemoc. But he found the Saint in the little church, and before the altar were the four white swans. 'Is it truly told me that you refused these birds to Queen Decca?' asked the King.

'It is truly told,' replied Kemoc.

Then Largnen was more wroth than before, and seizing the silver chain of Finola and Aed in the one hand, and the chain of Fiacra and Conn in the other, he dragged the birds from the altar and down the aisle, and it seemed as though he would leave the church. And in great fear did the Saint follow.

But lo! as they reached the door, the snow-white feathers of the four swans fell to the ground, and the children of Lir were delivered from their doom. For was not Decca the bride of Largnen, and the good Saint had he not come, and the chime of the Christ-bell was it not heard in the land?

But aged and feeble were the children of Lir. Wrinkled were their once fair faces, and bent their little white bodies.

At the sight Largnen, affrighted, fled from the church, and the good Kemoc cried aloud, 'Woe to thee, O King!'

Then did the children of Lir turn toward the Saint, and thus Finola spake: 'Baptize us now, we pray thee, for death is nigh. Heavy with sorrow are our hearts that we must part from thee, thou holy one, and that in loneliness must thy days on earth be spent. But such is the will of the High God. Here let our graves be digged, and here bury our four bodies, Conn standing at my right side, Fiacra at my left, and Aed before my face, for thus did I shelter my dear brothers for thrice three hundred years 'neath wing and breast.'

Then did the good Kemoc baptize the children of Lir, and thereafter the Saint looked up, and lo! he saw a vision of four lovely children with silvery wings, and faces radiant as the sun; and as he gazed they floated ever upward, until they were lost in a mist of blue. Then was the good Kemoc glad, for he knew that they had gone to Heaven.

But, when he looked downward, four worn bodies lay at the church door, and Kemoc wept sore.

And the Saint ordered a wide grave to be digged close by the little church, and there were the children of Lir buried, Conn standing at Finola's right hand, and Fiacra at her left, and before her face her twin brother Aed.

And the grass grew green above them, and a white tombstone bore their names, and across the grave floated morning and evening the chime of the sweet Christ-bell.

DERMAT AND GRANIA

It was at Tara that King Cormac would hold a great meeting, and the chiefs and nobles of the land were gathered together there.

But ere the business of the day was begun, it was told that two warriors were without and would talk with the King.

Then did Cormac welcome the messengers, and when he heard that they came from the broad hill slopes of Allen and bore a message from Finn, their King, he said that the meeting should not be held that day, but that he would speak with the warriors alone.

And after they had eaten and drunk, Cormac bade them tell their errand.

Then spake Oisin, the son of Finn, and he told how his mother had long been dead, and how his father would fain marry Grania, the fair daughter of Cormac.

But Cormac made answer, 'Scarce in all Erin is there a prince that hath not sought in marriage the hand of my daughter, but she hath refused them all. For this cause have I their ill-will, for the Princess hath ever made me tell how none had won her favour. Wherefore shall I bring you to my daughter's presence, that from her own lips ye may hear the answer that ye shall carry to your King.'

So Cormac went with Oisin the son of Finn and with Dering his friend to the sunny room of the Princess. And Cormac sat by Grania on the couch and told her wherefore the champions were come.

And Grania, giving little heed to the matter, made answer, 'If Finn be a fitting son-in-law for my father, the King, then may he well be a worthy husband for me.'

When Oisin the son of Finn and Dering his friend heard these words they were glad, for they knew not how little thought the Princess gave to her words.

And Cormac made a feast for the champions, and ere they departed he told them that after two weeks Finn should come thither.

So the warriors bade farewell to the palace of Cormac and went back to Allen, and there they told Finn that after two weeks he should go to Tara and wed the fair Grania.

Slow sped the days, but when they were passed, Finn, with many chiefs and nobles as his guard, marched to Tara. And there Cormac received him right royally and made ready a great feast. On his right hand sat Finn and on his left the Queen. And next the Queen sat Grania.

Now it chanced that the chief who sat on the other side of Grania was a story-teller, and the Princess listened gladly to the tales he told.

But when he ceased from his tales Grania asked, 'Wherefore is it that Finn hath come hither to feast?'

And the chief, filled with wonder that the Princess should question him thus, made answer, 'Of a truth hath Finn come hither this day to claim thee for his wife.'

Then Grania bethought her of the words she had spoken to Oisin the son of Finn and to Dering his friend, and of how she spake without heed. And now was Finn come hither to seek her for his wife.

A long, deep silence fell upon the Princess, while her eyes roved among the goodly company.

At length she turned again to the chief who sat next her. 'Of this goodly company,' she said, 'I know none save Oisin the son of Finn and Dering his friend. Tell me, I pray thee, who sitteth yonder by Oisin's side?'

And the chief told his name and sang his praise.

Again Grania asked, 'And who, I pray thee, sitteth by his side?'

And the chief told his name and sang his praise.

Afterwards Grania sought of the chief the names of many of the nobles, and he told her, and he told too of the deeds they had done.

Then the Princess called her handmaid and said, 'Bring me from my room the jewelled drinking horn.' And the handmaiden brought it and Grania filled it to the brim and said, 'Take it to Finn, and say that I would have him drink from it.'

And Finn drank from the drinking horn, and then passed it to Cormac the King. And the King drank from it and also the Queen.

Then again Grania filled the drinking horn to the brim, and yet again, until all whom she wished to drink had drunk from it. And it was not long until a deep sleep had fallen upon all who had drunk.

Grania then rose slowly from her seat and crossed the hall to where Dermat sat, for Dermat, of those nobles that Finn brought with him, pleased her the best. And to him she spake thus:

'Dermat, it is from the champion who sat next me that I have learnt thy name, but ere I knew it I loved thee. From the sunny window of my chamber did I not watch thee on the day of the hurling-match? No part didst thou take in the contest till, seeing the game go against the men of Allen, thou didst rush into the crowd, and three times didst thou win the goal. My heart went out to thee that day, and now do I know that thee only do I love. Sore is my distress for the heedless words I spake which have brought Finn hither. Older is he than Cormac my father, and him will I not wed. Therefore, I pray thee, flee with me hence.'

Sore troubled was Dermat as he listened to these words, and at length he replied, 'Unworthy am I of thy love, and there is not a stronghold in Erin that would shelter us from the wrath of Finn were this thing to be.'

When Grania heard the words that Dermat spake, she said, 'I place thee under a solemn vow that thou follow me from Tara ere Finn shall wake. And thou knowest there is no true hero but will hold his vow binding even unto death.'

'Even though we so willed it,' replied Dermat, 'could we not escape from Tara, for Finn hath in his keeping the keys of the great gate.'

'Yet canst thou escape if thou wilt,' said Grania, 'for a champion such as thou canst bound over the highest wall in Erin. By the wicket-gate leading from my chamber shall I go forth, and if thou followest me not, alone shall I flee from the sight of Finn.' And having spoken thus, Grania went forth from the hall.

Then was Dermat in sore plight, for he would not depart from the solemn vow that Grania had laid upon him, and yet he feared lest the Princess should not escape the wrath of Finn.

And he took counsel of the nobles who had come hither with Finn, and there was not one but said, 'Even though death come of it, thou canst not depart from thy solemn vow.'

Then Dermat arose, and when he was armed he bade his companions a tearful farewell, for he knew they might see his face no more.

Forth he went, and with an exceeding light bound he cleared the rampart and alighted on the green grass beyond. And there Grania met him.

And Dermat said to the Princess, 'Even now, I pray of thee, return to thy father's home and Finn shall hear nought of this thing.'

But Grania's will was firm, and she said, 'I will not return now nor will I return hereafter, for death only shall part me and thee.'

'Then go forward, O Grania,' said Dermat, and the two went forth.

But when they were scarce a mile from Tara Grania told Dermat that she was weary.

And Dermat said, 'It is a good time to weary, O Grania. Get thee back to thine own household, for I plight thee the word of a true warrior that I will not carry thee from thy father's house.'

'Neither is there need,' answered Grania, 'for my father's horses are in a fenced meadow by themselves, and chariots also will ye find there. Yoke two horses to a chariot, and I will wait for thee on this spot until thou overtake me again.'

Then Dermat did as Grania said, and he brought the horses and the chariot, and they drove forth.

But when they came to the banks of the river Shannon, Dermat said, 'Now that we have the horses it is easier for Finn to follow in our track.'

'Then,' said Grania, 'leave the horses on this spot and I will journey on foot henceforth.'

And Dermat, when he saw that the Princess would not be moved, told her how great was his love for her, and how he would defend her even with his life from the wrath of Finn.

And Dermat wed Grania, and they vowed solemn vows that they would be faithful each to each even unto death.

Then tenderly did Dermat lift his wife in his strong arms and bear her across the ford, and neither the sole of her foot nor the hem of her mantle touched the stream.

Afterwards Dermat led one of the horses across the ford, but the other he left on the far side.

Dermat and Grania then walked until they came to a thick wood, and there Dermat lopped branches from the trees and made a hut, and he made for Grania a bed of the soft rushes and of the tops of the birch.

And there Grania rested, and there did Dermat bring to her food of the forest and water from a clear spring.

* * * * *

It was early dawn at Tara when Cormac and Finn awoke from their deep sleep.

When Finn found that Grania had fled with Dermat, great was his wrath, and he called to him his nobles, and ordered them with all speed to follow in the track of Dermat and Grania.

And Finn went with them, nor was the track hard to follow until they came to the river Shannon, but there it was lost and no man could find it.

Then was the wrath of Finn so great that he said he would hang his nobles, and not one would he spare, if they did not again find the track, and that with all speed.

So, being sore afraid, they crossed the river, and when they had searched they saw the horses one on either side, and they found, too, the spot where Dermat and Grania had turned from the river.

And when they told Finn, he was content, for he knew of a surety that Dermat and Grania hid in the deep wood.

Now among the nobles were those who loved Dermat, and would fain save him from the hate of Finn. And one said, 'It behooveth us to send warning to Dermat. Let us send to him Bran, the hound of Finn, for Bran loveth Dermat as though he were his own master.'

And they called the hound and told him secretly what he should do.

Bran listened with ears erect, and then, losing no time, he followed the track, nor did he miss it once until it brought him unto the hut. And going in he found Dermat and Grania asleep, and he thrust his head into Dermat's bosom.

And Dermat woke with a start, and when he saw Bran there was no need for the hound to tell whence he came.

Then Dermat awoke his wife and told her that Finn was near.

Great fear looked from out the eyes of Grania when she heard, and she begged that they might flee.

But Dermat answered, 'Were we to flee, yet would Finn overtake us, and it were as ill to fall into his hands then as at this time, but neither he nor his men shall enter this hut without my leave.'

Still Grania feared greatly, but she spake no further, for in Dermat's eyes she read his gloom.

While Bran still tarried by the hut, the nobles who loved Dermat thought of yet another warning to send their friend. They had with them a serving-man whose voice was so loud that it could be heard for many miles, and they made this man give three shouts that Dermat might hear.

And when Dermat heard the shouts he said to Grania, 'Well I know whose is the voice that shouteth, and full well I know that it cometh as a warning that Finn is nigh.'

Then great fear took hold of Grania, and she trembled, and again she said, 'Let us flee, for how shall we withstand the wrath of Finn?'

But Dermat said, 'We will not flee, but neither Finn nor his men shall enter the hut without my leave.'

Then was Grania filled with foreboding, yet spake she no further, for sad and stern was her husband's voice, and in his eyes she read his gloom.

Now Finn, having reached the wood, sent forward his men, but when they came to the thickest part of the forest they beheld a fence which no man could break through or climb. For Dermat had cleared a space round his hut and around the space had he built the strong fence.

Then the nobles climbed a high tree and from it did they look within the fence, and there they saw Dermat and with him a lady.

But for their love of Dermat did the nobles hide from Finn that they had seen his foe. And one said to him, 'Far would it be from the mind of Dermat to await thee here, knowing as he does that his life is in peril.'

Then did Finn's wrath wax strong, and he replied, 'That Dermat hath thee for friend will avail him nought. Was it not to warn him that your serving-man gave three shouts, and was it not to warn him that ye sent unto him my dog Bran? Full well I know that Dermat is hid behind yonder strong fence.'

And Finn cried aloud, 'Which of us, Dermat, is it that speaketh truth? Art thou behind the fence?'

'Thou, as ever, art right, O King,' cried Dermat. 'I am here, and with me is Grania, but none other shall come hither save with my leave.'

Now in the circle fence were seven doors, and at each door did Finn place strong men, so that Dermat should by no means escape.

And Grania, when she heard Finn's voice, was filled with fear, and she trembled greatly. Then Dermat kissed her three times and bade her be of good cheer for all would yet be well.

Now it was by Angus of Bruga that Dermat had been brought up. Most skilled in magic was this Angus, and to him was the plight of Dermat revealed--Dermat, whom he loved as though he were his own son.

So Angus arose and travelled on the wings of the wind until he came to the hut where Dermat and Grania dwelt, and, unseen of Finn or his chiefs, he entered the dwelling.

And Dermat, when he saw his foster-father, greeted him gladly and told him of the solemn vow which the Princess Grania had laid upon him, and how she was his wedded wife. 'And now are we in sore strait, for Finn, whose will it was to marry Grania, hath pursued us and would fain take my life.'

'No harm shall befall you,' said Angus, 'if ye will but shelter under my mantle, the one on the right side and the other on the left, for then will I bring you both forth from this place, and Finn shall know it not.'

But Dermat would not flee from Finn, yet it was his will that Grania should go with Angus. 'And I will follow if it be that I leave this place alive, yet should I be slain, I pray thee, Angus, send the Princess to her father and beg him that he deal gently with her.'

Then Dermat kissed Grania, and Angus, having told the way that they would go, placed the Princess beneath his mantle and was carried forth on the wings of the wind unseen of Finn.

When Angus and Grania had gone, Dermat girded on his armour, and, deep in thought, he walked to one of the seven doors and asked who was without.

And the answer came, 'True friends are we, and no harm shall befall thee, shouldst thou venture forth.'

But Dermat answered, 'I seek the door guarded by Finn, and by none other shall I leave this place.'

And he came to another door and asked who was without, and again was it told him, 'Thy bounden friends.'

Then to the third, to the fourth, and to the fifth door did Dermat go, and at each was he told how the men without were willing to fight to the death for their love of him.

But when Dermat came to the sixth door and asked by whom it was guarded, the answer came, 'No friends of thine, for shouldst thou dare to venture forth, we will make thee a mark for our swords and spears.'

'Cowards, no fear of you keepeth me from coming forth, but I crave not the blood of such as ye.'

And he went to the seventh door and asked who was without. And the voice of Finn answered, 'He that hateth thee, and will sever thy head from thy body shouldst thou dare to come forth.'

'At length have I found the door I seek, for by the door that Finn guardeth, by it only shall I pass out.'

But Dermat, seeing of a sudden an unguarded spot, sprang with a light bound over the fence, and ran so swiftly that soon he was beyond the reach of sword or spear. And no man dared to follow Dermat. Nor did the hero rest until he came to the warm, well-lighted hut where Grania sat with Angus before a blazing fire.

When Grania saw Dermat her heart leaped for joy. Then did he tell her his tidings from beginning to end, and after they had eaten they slept in peace until the morning brake.

And while it was yet early Angus bid them farewell, and he left with them this warning, knowing that Finn would pursue them still: 'Go into no tree that has but one trunk; nor into any cave having but one opening; land on no island that has but one way leading to it; where you cook your food, there eat it not; where you eat, sleep not there; and where you sleep to-night, rise not there to-morrow.' [Footnote: Angus meant that Dermat should change his place of sleeping during the night.]

And when Angus had left them, Dermat and Grania sorrowed after him, and it was not long until they journeyed forth.

* * * * *

All that befell Dermat and Grania cannot be told in this book, but of Sharvan the giant and of the fairy quicken-tree you shall hear now.

After many wanderings Dermat came with Grania to the wood where Sharvan guarded the quicken-tree. Honey-sweet were the berries of the tree, and gladness flowed through the veins of him who ate thereof. Though he were one hundred years old, yet would he be but thirty so soon as he had eaten three of the fairy berries.

By day Sharvan the giant sat at the foot of the tree, and by night he sat in a hut in its branches, and no man dared to come near. Fearful to behold and wicked was this Sharvan. One eye, one red eye gleamed from the middle of his black forehead. On his body was a girdle of iron, and from the girdle was a heavy club hung by a heavy chain. And by magic was Sharvan saved from death, for water would not drown him nor fire burn; neither was there weapon, save one, that could wound the giant. The one weapon was Sharvan's own club, for were he by it dealt three blows, his doom was come.

Now Dermat knew of the giant that guarded the fairy quicken-tree, therefore he left Grania in shelter and went alone to the foot of the tree. And there sat Sharvan, for it was day.

And Dermat told the giant how he would fain build a hut in the forest and hunt amid the woods.

Then the giant, casting his red eye upon the champion, told him in surly tone that it mattered not to him who lived or hunted in the forest, so long as he did not eat the berries of the quicken-tree.

So Dermat built a hut near to a clear well, and there he and Grania lived in peace for many days, eating the food of the forest and drinking water from the spring.

Now it was at this time that two chiefs came to Finn on the green slopes of Allen. And when he asked them who they were and whence they came, they told how they were enemies that would fain make peace.

But Finn answered, 'One of two things must ye bring hither would ye win peace from me. Either must ye bring me the head of a warrior or a handful of berries from the quicken-tree.'

Then said Oisin the son of Finn, 'I counsel you, get ye hence, for the head that the King seeketh from you is the head of Dermat, and were ye to attempt to take it, then would Dermat take yours, were ye twenty times the number that ye be. And as for the quicken-berries, know ye that they grow on a fairy tree, guarded by the one-eyed giant Sharvan.'

But the two chiefs were firm and would not be moved, for it were better to die in their quest than to return to the hilly slopes of Allen at enmity with Finn. So they left the palace, and journeyed without rest until they came to Dermat's hut by the clear well.

Now Dermat, when he heard footsteps without, seized his weapons, and going to the door, asked of the strangers who they were and whence they came.

And the chiefs told their names and for what cause they were come thither.

Then Dermat said, 'I am not willing to give you my head, nor will you find it an easy matter to take it. Neither may ye hope to fare better in your quest of the quicken-berries, for the surly giant Sharvan guards the tree. Fire will not burn him nor water drown, nor is there a weapon that hath power to wound him, save only his own club. Say, therefore, which ye will do battle for first, my head or the quicken-berries?'

And they answered, 'We will first do battle with thee.'