Chapter IX: Part 9

The man went up to the king, gave him a blow on the face, and drove three teeth from his mouth. The same blow put the king’s head in the dirt. When he rose from the earth the king went back to his castle, and lay down sick and sorrowful.

The king had three sons, and their names were Ur, Arthur, and Lawn Dyarrig. The three were at school that day and came home in the evening. The father sighed when the sons were coming in.

“What is wrong with our father?” asked the eldest.

“Your father is sick on his bed,” said the mother.

The three sons went to their father and asked what was on him.

“A strong man that I met to-day gave me a blow in the face, put my head in the dirt, and knocked three teeth from my mouth. What would you do to him if you met him?” asked the father of the eldest son.

“If I met that man,” replied Ur, “I would make four parts of him between four horses.”

“You are my son,” said the king. “What would you do if you met him?” asked he then, as he turned to the second son.

“If I had a grip on that man I would burn him between four fires.”

“You, too, are my son. What would you do?” asked the king of Lawn Dyarrig.

“If I met that man I would do my best against him, and he might not stand long before me.”

“You are not my son. I would not lose lands or property on you,” said the father. “You must go from me, and leave this to-morrow.”

On the following morning the three brothers rose with the dawn; the order was given Lawn Dyarrig to leave the castle, and make his own way for himself. The other two brothers were going to travel the world to know could they find the man who had injured their father. Lawn Dyarrig lingered outside till he saw the two, and they going off by themselves.

“It is a strange thing,” said he, “for two men of high degree to go travelling without a servant.”

“We need no one,” said Ur.

“Company wouldn’t harm us,” said Arthur.

The two let Lawn Dyarrig go with them then as a serving-boy, and set out to find the man who had struck down their father. They spent all that day walking, and came late to a house where one woman was living. She shook hands with Ur and Arthur, and greeted them. Lawn Dyarrig she kissed and welcomed, called him son of the King of Erin.

“’Tis a strange thing to shake hands with the elder and kiss the younger,” said Ur.

“This is a story to tell,” said the woman; “the same as if your death were in it.”

They made three parts of that night. The first part they spent in conversation, the second in telling tales, the third in eating and drinking, with sound sleep and sweet slumber. As early as the day dawned next morning, the old woman was up and had food for the young men. When the three had eaten she spoke to Ur, and this is what she asked of him, “What was it that drove you from home, and what brought you to this place?”

“A champion met my father, took three teeth from him, and put his head in the dirt. I am looking for that man to find him alive or dead.”

“That was the Green Knight from Terrible Valley. He is the man who took the three teeth from your father. I am three hundred years living in this place, and there is not a year of the three hundred in which three hundred heroes fresh, young, and noble have not passed on the way to Terrible Valley, and never have I seen one coming back, and each of them had the look of a man better than you. And now, where are you going, Arthur?”

“I am on the same journey with my brother.”

“Where are you going, Lawn Dyarrig?”

“I am going with these as a servant,” said Lawn Dyarrig.

“God’s help to you, it’s bad clothing that’s on your body,” said the woman; “and now I will speak to Ur. A day and a year since a champion passed this way; he wore a suit as good as was ever above ground. I had a daughter sewing there in the open window. He came outside, put a finger under her girdle, and took her with him. Her father followed straightway to save her, but I have never seen daughter or father from that day to this. That man was the Green Knight of Terrible Valley. He is better than all the men that could stand on a field a mile in length and a mile in breadth. If you take my advice you’ll turn back and go home to your father.”

’Tis how she vexed Ur with this talk, and he made a vow to himself to go on. When Ur did not agree to turn home, the woman said to Lawn Dyarrig, “Go back to my chamber, you’ll find in it the apparel of a hero.”

He went back, and there was not a bit of the apparel that he did not go into with a spring.

“You may be able to do something now,” said the woman, when Lawn Dyarrig came to the front. “Go back to my chamber and search through all the old swords. You will find one at the bottom; take that.”

He found the old sword, and at the first shake that he gave he knocked seven barrels of rust out of it; after the second shake, it was as bright as when made.

“You may be able to do well with that,” said the woman. “Go out now to that stable abroad, and take the slim white steed that is in it. That one will never stop nor halt in any place till he brings you to the Eastern World. If you like, take these two men behind you; if not, let them walk. But I think it is useless for you to have them at all with you.”

Lawn Dyarrig went out to the stable, took the slim white steed, mounted, rode to the front, and catching the two brothers, planted them on the horse behind him.

“Now, Lawn Dyarrig,” said the woman, “this horse will never stop till he stands on the little white meadow in the Eastern World. When he stops, you’ll come down and cut the turf under his beautiful right front foot.”

The horse started from the door, and at every leap he crossed seven hills and valleys, seven castles with villages, acres, roods, and odd perches. He could overtake the whirlwind before him seven hundred times before the whirlwind behind could overtake him once. Early in the afternoon of the next day he was in the Eastern World. When he dismounted, Lawn Dyarrig cut the sod from under the foot of the slim white steed in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, and Terrible Valley was down under him there. What he did next was to tighten the reins on the neck of the steed and let him go home.

“Now,” said Lawn Dyarrig to the brothers, “which would ye rather be doing, making a basket or twisting gads (withes)?”

“We would rather be making a basket; our help is among ourselves,” answered they.

Ur and Arthur went at the basket and Lawn Dyarrig at twisting the gads. When Lawn Dyarrig came to the opening with the gads, all twisted and made into one, they hadn’t the ribs of the basket in the ground yet.

“Oh, then, haven’t ye anything done but that?”

“Stop your mouth,” said Ur, “or we’ll make a mortar of your head on the next stone.”

“To be kind to one another is the best for us,” said Lawn Dyarrig. “I’ll make the basket.”

While they’d be putting one rod in the basket he had the basket finished.

“Oh, brother,” said they, “you are a quick workman.”

They had not called him brother since they left home till that moment.

“Who will go in the basket now?” asked Lawn Dyarrig, when it was finished, and the gad tied to it.

“Who but me?” said Ur. “I am sure, brothers, if I see anything to frighten me ye’ll draw me up.”

“We will,” said the other two.

He went in, but had not gone far when he cried to pull him up again.

“By my father and the tooth of my father, and by all that is in Erin dead or alive, I would not give one other sight on Terrible Valley!” cried he, when he stepped out of the basket.

“Who will go now?” asked Lawn Dyarrig.

“Who will go but me?” answered Arthur.

Whatever length Ur went, Arthur didn’t go the half of it.

“By my father and the tooth of my father, I wouldn’t give another look at Terrible Valley for all that’s in Erin dead or alive!”

“I will go now,” said Lawn Dyarrig, “and as I put no foul play on you, I hope ye’ll not put foul play on me.”

“We will not, indeed,” said they.

Whatever length the other two went, Lawn Dyarrig didn’t go the half of it till he stepped out of the basket and went down on his own feet. It was not far he had travelled in Terrible Valley when he met seven hundred heroes guarding the country.

“In what place here has the Green Knight his castle?” asked he of the seven hundred.

“What sort of a sprisawn goat or sheep from Erin are you?” asked they.

“If we had a hold of you, that’s a question you would not put the second time; but if we haven’t you, we’ll not be so long.”

They faced Lawn Dyarrig then and attacked him; but he went through them like a hawk or a raven through small birds. He made a heap of their feet, a heap of their heads, and a castle of their arms.

After that he went his way walking, and had not gone far when he came to a spring. “I’ll have a drink before I go farther,” thought he. With that he stooped down and took a drink of the water. When he had drunk he lay on the ground and fell asleep.

Now there wasn’t a morning that the lady in the Green Knight’s castle didn’t wash in the water of that spring, and she sent a maid for the water each time. Whatever part of the day it was when Lawn Dyarrig fell asleep, he was sleeping in the morning when the girl came. She thought it was dead the man was, and she was so in dread of him that she would not come near the spring for a long time. At last she saw he was asleep, and then she took the water. Her mistress was complaining of her for being so long.

“Do not blame me,” said the maid. “I am sure that if it was yourself that was in my place you’d not come back so soon.”

“How so?” asked the lady.

“The finest hero that a woman ever laid eyes on is sleeping at the spring.”

“That’s a thing that cannot be till Lawn Dyarrig comes to the age of a hero. When that time comes he’ll be sleeping at the spring.”

“He is in it now,” said the girl.

The lady did not stay to get any drop of the water on herself, but ran quickly from the castle. When she came to the spring she roused Lawn Dyarrig. If she found him lying, she left him standing. She smothered him with kisses, drowned him with tears, dried him with garments of fine silk, and with her own hair. Herself and himself locked arms and walked into the castle of the Green Knight. After that they were inviting each other with the best food and entertainment till the middle of the following day. Then the lady said,—

“When the Green Knight bore me away from my father and mother, he brought me straight to this castle, but I put him under bonds not to marry me for seven years and a day, and he cannot; still I must serve him. When he goes fowling he spends three days away, and the next three days at home. This is the day for him to come back, and for me to prepare his dinner. There is no stir that you or I have made here to-day but that brass head beyond there will tell of it.”

“It is equal to you what it tells,” said Lawn Dyarrig, “only make ready a clean, long chamber for me.”

She did so, and he went back into it. Herself rose up then to prepare dinner for the Green Knight. When he came she welcomed him as every day. She left down his food before him, and he sat to take his dinner. He was sitting with knife and fork in hand when the brass head spoke. “I thought when I saw you taking food and drink with your wife that you had the blood of a man in you. If you could see that sprisawn of a goat or sheep out of Erin taking meat and drink with her all day, what would you do?”

“Oh, my suffering and sorrow!” cried the knight. “I’ll never take another bite or sup till I eat some of his liver and heart. Let three hundred heroes fresh and young go back and bring his heart to me, with the liver and lights, till I eat them.”

The three hundred heroes went, and hardly were they behind in the chamber when Lawn Dyarrig had them all dead in one heap.

“He must have some exercise to delay my men, they are so long away,” said the knight. “Let three hundred more heroes go for his heart, with the liver and lights, and bring them here to me.”

The second three hundred went, and as they were entering the chamber, Lawn Dyarrig was making a heap of them, till the last one was inside, where there were two heaps.

“He has some way of coaxing my men to delay,” said the knight. “Do you go now, three hundred of my savage hirelings, and bring him.”

The three hundred savage hirelings went, and Lawn Dyarrig let every man of them enter before he raised a hand, then he caught the bulkiest of them all by the two ankles and began to wallop the others with him, and he walloped them till he drove the life out of the two hundred and ninety-nine. The bulkiest one was worn to the shin bones that Lawn Dyarrig held in his two hands. The Green Knight, who thought Lawn Dyarrig was coaxing the men, called out then, “Come down, my men, and take dinner!”

“I’ll be with you,” said Lawn Dyarrig, “and have the best food in the house, and I’ll have the best bed in the house. God not be good to you for it, either.”

He went down to the Green Knight and took the food from before him and put it before himself. Then he took the lady, set her on his own knee, and he and she went on eating. After dinner he put his finger under her girdle, took her to the best chamber in the castle, and remained there till morning. Before dawn the lady said to Lawn Dyarrig,—

“If the Green Knight strikes the pole of combat first, he’ll win the day; if you strike first, you’ll win, if you do what I tell you. The Green Knight has so much enchantment that if he sees it is going against him the battle is, he’ll rise like a fog in the air, come down in the same form, strike you, and make a green stone of you. When yourself and himself are going out to fight in the morning, cut a sod a perch long in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; you’ll leave the sod on the next little hillock you meet. When the Green Knight is coming down and is ready to strike, give him a blow with the sod; you’ll make a green stone of him.”

As early as the dawn Lawn Dyarrig rose and struck the pole of combat. The blow that he gave did not leave calf, foal, lamb, kid, or child waiting for birth, without turning them five times to the left and five times to the right.

“What do you want?” asked the knight.

“All that’s in your kingdom to be against me the first quarter of the day, and yourself the second quarter.”

“You have not left in the kingdom now but myself, and it is early enough for you that I’ll be at you.”

The knight faced him, and they went at each other and fought till late in the day. The battle was strong against Lawn Dyarrig when the lady stood in the door of the castle.

“Increase on your blows and increase on your courage,” cried she. “There is no woman here but myself to wail over you, or to stretch you before burial.”

When the knight heard the voice, he rose in the air like a lump of fog. As he was coming down, Lawn Dyarrig struck him with the sod on the right side of his breast, and made a green stone of him.

The lady rushed out then, and whatever welcome she had for Lawn Dyarrig the first time, she had twice as much now. Herself and himself went into the castle and spent that night very comfortably. In the morning they rose early, and collected all the gold, utensils, and treasures. Lawn Dyarrig found the three teeth of his father in a pocket of the Green Knight, and took them. He and the lady brought all the riches to where the basket was. “If I send up this beautiful lady,” thought Lawn Dyarrig, “she may be taken from me by my brothers; if I remain below with her, she may be taken from me by people here.” He put her in the basket, and she gave him a ring so that they might know each other if they met. He shook the gad, and she rose in the basket.

When Ur saw the basket he thought, “What’s above let it be above, and what’s below let it stay where it is.”

“I’ll have you as wife forever for myself,” said he to the lady.

“I put you under bonds,” said she, “not to lay a hand on me for a day and three years.”

“That itself would not be long even if twice the time,” said Ur.

The two brothers started home with the lady; on the way Ur found the head of an old horse with teeth in it and took them, saying, “These will be my father’s three teeth.”

They travelled on, and reached home at last. Ur would not have left a tooth in his father’s mouth, trying to put in the three that he had brought; but the father stopped him.

Lawn Dyarrig, left in Terrible Valley, began to walk around for himself. He had been walking but one day when whom should he meet but the lad Shortclothes, and he saluted him. “By what way can I leave Terrible Valley?” asked Lawn Dyarrig.

“If I had a grip on you that’s what you wouldn’t ask of me a second time,” said Shortclothes.

“If you have not touched me you will before you are much older.”

“If I do, you will not treat me as you did all my people and my master.”

“I’ll do worse to you than I did to them,” said Lawn Dyarrig.

They caught each other then, one grip under the arm and one grip on the shoulder. ’Tis not long they were wrestling when Lawn Dyarrig had Shortclothes on the earth, and he gave him the five thin tyings dear and tight.

“You are the best hero I have ever met,” said Shortclothes; “give me quarter for my soul,—spare me. When I did not tell you of my own will, I must tell in spite of myself.”

“It is as easy for me to loosen you as to tie you,” said Lawn Dyarrig, and he freed him. The moment he was free, Shortclothes said,—

“I put you under bonds, and the misfortune of the year to be walking and going always till you go to the northeast point of the world, and get the heart and liver of the serpent which is seven years asleep and seven years awake.”

Lawn Dyarrig went away then, and never stopped till he was in the northeast of the world, where he found the serpent asleep.

“I will not go unawares on you while you are asleep,” said Lawn Dyarrig, and he turned to go. When he was going, the serpent drew him down her throat with one breath.

Inside he found three men playing cards in her belly. Each laughed when he looked at Lawn Dyarrig.

“What reason have you for laughing?” asked he.

“We are laughing with glee to have another partner to fill out our number.”

Lawn Dyarrig did not sit down to play. He drew his sword, and was searching and looking till he found the heart and liver of the serpent. He took a part of each, and cut out a way for himself between two ribs. The three card-players followed when they saw the chance of escape.

Lawn Dyarrig, free of the serpent, never stopped till he came to Shortclothes, and he was a day and three years on the journey, and doing the work.

“Since you are not dead now,” said Shortclothes, “there is no death allotted to you. I’ll find a way for you to leave Terrible Valley. Go and take that old bridle hanging there beyond and shake it; whatever beast comes and puts its head into the bridle will carry you.”

Lawn Dyarrig shook the bridle, and a dirty, shaggy little foal came and put head in the bridle. Lawn Dyarrig mounted, dropped the reins on the foal’s neck, and let him take his own choice of roads. The foal brought Lawn Dyarrig out by another way to the upper world, and took him to Erin. Lawn Dyarrig stopped some distance from his father’s castle, and knocked at the house of an old weaver.

“Who are you?” asked the old man.

“I am a weaver,” said Lawn Dyarrig.

“What can you do?”

“I can spin for twelve and twist for twelve.”

“This is a very good man,” said the old weaver to his sons. “Let us try him.”

The work they would be doing for a year he had done in one hour. When dinner was over the old man began to wash and shave, and his two sons began to do the same.

“Why is this?” asked Lawn Dyarrig.

“Haven’t you heard that Ur, son of the king, is to marry to-night the woman that he took from the Green Knight of Terrible Valley?”

“I have not,” said Lawn Dyarrig; “but as all are going to the wedding, I suppose I may go without offence.”

“Oh, you may,” said the weaver. “There will be a hundred thousand welcomes before you.”

“Are there any linen sheets within?”

“There are,” said the weaver.

“It is well to have bags ready for yourself and two sons.”

The weaver made bags for the three very quickly. They went to the wedding. Lawn Dyarrig put what dinner was on the first table into the weaver’s bag, and sent the old man home with it. The food of the second table he put in the eldest son’s bag, filled the second son’s bag from the third table, and sent the two home.

The complaint went to Ur that an impudent stranger was taking all the food.

“It is not right to turn any man away,” said the bridegroom; “but if that stranger does not mind he will be thrown out of the castle.”

“Let me look at the face of the disturber,” said the bride.

“Go and bring the fellow who is troubling the guests,” said Ur, to the servants.

Lawn Dyarrig was brought right away, and stood before the bride, who filled a glass with wine and gave it to him. Lawn Dyarrig drank half the wine, and dropped in the ring which the lady had given him in Terrible Valley.

When the bride took the glass again the ring went of itself with one leap to her finger. She knew then who was standing before her.

“This is the man who conquered the Green Knight, and saved me from Terrible Valley,” said she to the King of Erin; “this is Lawn Dyarrig, your son.”

Lawn Dyarrig took out the three teeth, and put them in his father’s mouth. They fitted there perfectly, and grew into their old place. The king was satisfied; and as the lady would marry no man but Lawn Dyarrig he was the bridegroom.

“I must give you a present,” said the bride to the queen. “Here is a beautiful scarf which you are to wear as a girdle this evening.”

The queen put the scarf around her waist.

“Tell me now,” said the bride to the queen, “who was Ur’s father?”

“What father could he have but his own father, the King of Erin?”

“Tighten, scarf,” said the bride.

That moment the queen thought that her head was in the sky, and the lower half of her body down deep in the earth.

“Oh, my grief and my woe!” cried the queen.

“Answer my question in truth, and the scarf will stop squeezing you. Who was Ur’s father?”

“The gardener,” said the queen.

“Whose son is Arthur?”

“The king’s son.”

“Tighten, scarf,” said the bride.

If the queen suffered before, she suffered twice as much this time, and screamed for help.

“Answer me truly, and you’ll be without pain; if not, death will be on you this minute. Whose son is Arthur?”

“The swine-herd’s.”

“Who is the king’s son?”

“The king has no son but Lawn Dyarrig.”

“Tighten, scarf.”

The scarf did not tighten, and if the bride had been commanding it for a day and a year it would not have tightened, for the queen told the truth that time. When the wedding was over, the king gave Lawn Dyarrig half his kingdom, and made Ur and Arthur his servants.

BALOR ON TORY ISLAND.

Long ago Ri Balor lived on Tory Island, and he lived there because it was prophesied that he was never to die unless he’d be killed by the son of his only daughter.

Balor, to put the daughter in the way that she’d never have a son, went to live on Tory, and built a castle on Tor Mor, a cliff jutting into the ocean. He put twelve women to guard the daughter, and all around the castle he had cords fixed, and every one of them tied to bells, so that no man could come in secret. If any man touched a cord all the bells would ring and give notice, and Balor would seize him.

Balor lived that way, well satisfied. He was full sure that his life was out of danger.

Opposite on the mainland, at Druim na Teine (hill of fire), lived a smith, Gavidin, who had his forge there. The smith owned a cow called Glas Gavlen, and she was his enchanted step-sister.

This cow was called Gavlen because she was giving milk, and she the fifth year without a calf. Glas Gavlen was very choice of food; she would eat no grass but the best. But if the cow ate much good grass there was no measuring the milk she gave; she filled every vessel, and the milk was sweet and rich.

The smith set great value on Glas Gavlen, and no wonder, for she was the first cow that came to Erin, and at that time the only one.

The smith took care of the cow himself, and never let her out of his sight except when working in his forge, and then he had a careful man minding her.

Balor had an eye on Glas Gavlen, and wanted to bring her to Tory for his own use, so he told two agents of his, Maol and Mullag, who were living near Druim na Teine, to get the cow for him. The smith would not part with Glas Gavlen for any price, so there was no way left but to steal her. There was no chance for stealing till one time when three brothers, named Duv, Donn, and Fin, sons of Ceanfaeligh (Kinealy), went to the forge to have three swords made.

“Each man of you is to mind the cow while I am working,” said the smith, “and if he loses her I’ll take the head off him.”

“We will agree to that,” said the brothers.

Duv and Donn went with Glas Gavlen on the first day and the second, and brought her back to the smith safely. When his turn came Fin took the cow out on the third day, but when some distance from the forge he bethought himself and ran back to tell the smith not to make his sword so heavy as those of his brothers. The moment he was inside in the forge Maol and Mullag, Balor’s men, stole the cow, and away they went quickly, driving her toward Baile Nass. When they came to the brow of the slope, where the sand begins, they drew her down to the water’s edge by the tail, and put her into a boat which they had there prepared and ready.

They sailed toward Tory, but stopped at Inis Bofin (island of the white cow) and put the cow out on land. She drank from a well there, which is called since that time Tobar na Glaise (well of the gray cow). After that they sailed on, and landed the same day at Port na Glaise, on Tory Island.

When Fin came out of the forge he saw nothing of Glas Gavlen,—neither trace nor sign of her. He ran back then with the evil tidings to the smith.

“If you fail to bring her back to me within three days,” said Gavidin, “I’ll take the head off you, according to our bargain. I made the sword to oblige you, and you promised to bring the cow or give your head.”

Away with Fin then, travelling and lamenting, looking for Glas Gavlen. He went toward Baile Nass and came to a place on the strand where a party of men were playing ball. He inquired of them about the cow, but they began to make game of him, he looked so queer in himself, and was so sad. At last one of the players, whose name was Gial Duv (Black Jaw), came up to Fin and spoke to him: “Stand aside till the game is over, and I’ll talk to you. This is a party of players that you should not interfere with; they are lucht sidhe [people of the mounds, fairies]. I know what your trouble is. I will go with you, and do my best to bring the cow. I know where she is, and if I cannot bring her, no one can.”

They searched down as far as Maheroerty, and went then to Minlara, where a boat was found. They sailed away in the boat, and reached Tory that night a few hours after Maol and Mullag.

“Go now,” said Gial Duv to Fin, “and ask Balor what would release the cow, and what can you do to earn her. I’ll stay here till you come back to me.”

Fin went to Balor and asked the question.

“To get the cow,” said Balor, “you must eat seven green hides while one inch of a rush-light is burning, and I’ll light it myself.”

Fin returned and told Gial Duv. “Go,” said Gial, “and tell him you will try to do that. He will put you in a room apart with the hides and take the rush himself. Cut the hides quickly, and if you can cut them I’ll make away with them. I’ll be there with you, invisible.”

All this was done. Fin cut the hides and Gial Duv put them away. The moment the rush-light was burned Balor came in, and there wasn’t a hand’s breadth of the hides left.

“I have the seven hides eaten,” said Fin.

“Come to me to-morrow. My daughter will throw the cow’s halter. If she throws it to you the cow will be yours.”

Fin was let out of the room then.

“Now,” said Gial Duv, “I’ll take you to Balor’s daughter. There is a wall between the castle and the rest of the island, and I’ll take you over it. There are cords along the wall everywhere, and whoever tries to pass over will touch them and sound all the bells in the place. I will raise you above them all and take you in without noise. You will go first to Balor’s daughter; she will be pleased with you and like you. After that you will see all the other women, and do you be as intimate with them as with Balor’s daughter, so that they will not tell that you were in it, and be sure to tell the daughter to throw you the cow’s halter to-morrow.”

Fin was taken into the castle by Gial Duv without noise, and he did all that Gial directed. Next day Fin went to Balor and asked for the cow.

“Well, come with me. Let my daughter throw the halter. If she throws it to you the cow will be yours.”

They went. She threw the halter at Fin, and Balor was very angry. “Oh, daughter,” cried he, “what have you done?”

“Don’t you know,” said she, “that there is a false cast in every woman’s hand? There is a crooked vein in my arm, and I could not help it; that’s what gave the halter to Fin.”

Balor had to give the cow and forgive the daughter. Fin took Glas Gavlen to the mainland that day and gave her to the smith.

Before the year was out Gial Duv went to Fin and said, “Make ready and come with me to Tory; if you don’t Balor will find out what happened when you were on the island, and kill his own daughter, with the twelve women and all the children.”

The two went to Tory that evening, and when the children were born the women gave twelve of them to Fin in a blanket, and one, Balor’s grandson, by himself in a separate cloth. Fin took his place in the boat with the twelve on his back, and one at his breast. The blanket was fastened at his throat with a dealg (thorn); the thorn broke (there was a great stress on it, for the weather was rough), and the twelve children fell in the water at Sruth Deilg and became seals.

“Oh!” cried Gial, “the children are lost. Have you Balor’s grandson?”

“I have,” answered Fin.

“That is well. We don’t care for the others while we have him.”

They brought the child to the mainland, where a nurse was found, but the child was not thriving with her.

“Let us return to Tory with the boy,” said Gial Duv. “There is nothing that Balor wishes for so much as trees. He has tried often to make trees grow on the island, but it was no use for him. Do you promise that you’ll make a grand forest on Tory if he’ll let some of the women nurse the child. Tell him that your wife died not long ago. Balor will say, ‘How could we find a nurse here when there is no woman on the island who has a child of her own?’ You will say that ’tis a power this child has that whatever woman touches him has her breast full of milk. I will put you in with the women in the evening, and do you tell them what is wanted. The mother is to take the child first when you go in to-morrow, and she will hand him quickly to another and that one to a third, and so on before any can be stopped.”

Fin gave the child to Balor’s daughter before her father could come near her; she gave him to one of the women, and he was passed on till all twelve had had him. It was found that all had milk, and Balor consented to let the child be nursed.

Gial Duv made a large fine forest of various trees. For two years Balor was delighted; he was the gladdest man, for all he wanted was trees and shelter on Tory Island.

The child was in good hands now with his mother and the twelve women, and when able to walk, Fin used to bring him out in the daytime. Once he kept him and went to the mainland. The next day a terrible wind rose, and it didn’t leave a tree standing on Tory. Balor knew now that the forest was all enchantment and deceit, and said that he would destroy Fin and all his clan for playing such a trick on him. Balor sent his agents and servants to watch Fin and kill him.

Fin was warned by Gial Duv, and took care of himself for a long time, but at last they caught him. It was his custom to hunt in Glen Ath, for there were many deer and much game there in those days, and Fin was very fond of hunting; but he shunned all their ambushes, till one evening when they were lying in wait for him in the bushes by a path which he was travelling for the first time. They leaped up when he was near, caught him, and bound him.

“Take the head off me at one blow,” said he, “and be done with it.”

They put his head on a stone and cut it off with one blow. In this way died Fin MacKinealy, the father of Balor’s grandson. This grandson was a strong youth now. He was a young man, in fact, and his name was Lui Lavada (Lui Longhand). He was called Lavada because his arms were so long that he could tie his shoes without stooping. Lui did not know that he was Balor’s grandson. He knew that his father had been killed by Balor’s men, and he was waiting to avenge him.

A couple of years later there was a wedding on the mainland, and it was the custom that no one was to begin to eat at a wedding till Maol and Mullag should carve the first slices. They did not come this time in season, and all the guests were impatient.

“I’ll carve the meat for you,” said Balor’s grandson. With that he carved some slices, and all present began to eat and drink.

After a while Maol and Mullag came, and they were in a great rage because the people were eating, drinking, and enjoying the wedding feast without themselves.

When all had finished eating and drinking, and were ready to go home, Maol said, “The bride will go with me.”

The bride began to cry when she heard that, and was in great distress. Lui Lavada asked what trouble was on her, and the people told him, that since Balor’s two deputies were ruling on the mainland it was their custom at weddings that Maol, the first in authority, should keep company with the bride the first evening, and Mullag the second evening.

“It’s time to put a stop to that,” said Lui Lavada, Balor’s grandson. With that he walked up to the two and said, “Ye’ll go home out of this as ye are.”

Maol answered with insult, and made an offer to strike him. Lui caught Maol then and split his tongue; he cut a hole in each of his cheeks, and putting one half of the tongue through the left cheek, and the other through the right, he thrust a sliver of wood through the tips of each half. He took Mullag then and treated him in like manner.

The people led the two down to the seashore after that. Lui put Maol in one boat and Mullag in another, and let them go with the wind, which carried them out in the ocean, and there is no account that any man saved them.

Balor swore vengeance on the people for destroying his men, and especially on Lui Lavada. He had an eye in the middle of his forehead which he kept covered always with nine shields of thick leather, so that he might not open his eye and turn it on anything, for no matter what Balor looked at with the naked eye he burned it to ashes. He set out in a rage then from Tory, and never stopped till he landed at Baile Nass and went toward Gavidin’s forge. The grandson was there before him, and had a spear ready and red hot.

When Balor had eight shields raised from the evil eye, and was just raising the ninth, Lui Lavada sent the red spear into it. Balor pursued his grandson, who retreated before him, going south, and never stopped till he reached Dun Lui, near Errigal Mountain. There he sat on a rock, wearied and exhausted. While he was sitting there, everything came to his mind that he did since the time that his men stole Glas Gavlen from Gavidin Gow. “I see it all now,” said he. “This is my grandson who has given the mortal blow to me. He is the son of my daughter and Fin MacKinealy. No one else could have given that spear cast but him.” With that Balor called to the grandson and said, “Come near now. Take the head off me and place it above on your own a few moments. You will know everything in the world, and no one will be able to conquer you.”

Lui took the head off his grandfather, and, instead of putting it on his own head, he put it on a rock. The next moment a drop came out of the head, made a thousand pieces of the rock, and dug a hole in the earth three times deeper than Loch Foyle,—the deepest lake in the world up to that time,—and so long that in that hole are the waters of Gweedore Loch, they have been there from that day to this.

* * * * *

The above tale I wrote down on the mainland, where I found also another version, but inferior to this. On Tory itself I found two versions, both incomplete. Though differing in particulars, the argument is the same in all. Balor is represented as living on Tory to escape the doom which threatens him through a coming grandson; he covets the cow Glas Gavlen, and finally gains her through his agents.

The theft of the cow is the first act in a series which ends with the death of Balor at Gweedore, and brings about the fulfilment of the prophecy. In all the variants of the tale Balor is the same unrepentant, unconquerable character,—the man whom nothing can bend, who tries to avenge his own fate after his death by the destruction of his grandson. The grandson does not know whom he is about to kill. He slays Balor to avenge his father, Fin MacKinealy, according to the vendetta of the time.

BALOR OF THE EVIL EYE AND LUI LAVADA HIS GRANDSON.

Long ago there were people in Erin called Firbolgs; and they lived undisturbed many years, till a king called Balor Beiman came from Lochlin with great forces, made war on the Firbolgs, killed their king, and drove themselves out of Erin.

The Firbolgs went to Spain; and there they were looking for means of support, but could find none, unless what they got for work in carrying mortar.

They carried mortar, and lived that way till at long last the Spaniards said, “These people are too many in number; let us drive them out of the country.” So the Spaniards drove out the Firbolgs, and they came back to Erin. In Erin they attacked Balor and his Lochlin men, but were defeated with loss a second time. When they left Erin again, the Firbolgs went to the lands of Gallowna, and there they lived undisturbed and unharmed.

When the Firbolgs were driven out of Erin the second time, Balor Beiman summoned his chief men, and said to them, “I will go back to Lochlin now and live there in quiet. I am too old to fight with new enemies. I will leave my sons here with you to rule in place of myself; and do ye obey them, and be as brave under them as ye were under me.”

With that Balor left Erin, sailed away, and never stopped till he reached home in Lochlin.

At that time there was a smith in Erin named Gaivnin Gow, and he had a cow called Glas Gownach. The smith had a magic halter with which he used to tie the cow every night.

Glas Gownach travelled three provinces of Erin every day, and came home in the evening; the halter had power over her, and she went always to the halter in the evening if left to herself.

The cow gave milk to every one on her journey each day,—no matter how large the vessels were that people brought, or how many, she filled them; there was no lack of milk in Erin while that cow was in it. She was sent to give food and comfort to all, and she gave it, but especially to poor people.

Balor Beiman had his eye on the cow, and, when going back to Lochlin from Erin, he watched his chance and stole the halter. Gaivnin Gow saw the theft, but too late to prevent it. Balor escaped with the halter, and made off to Lochlin.

Gaivnin Gow ran quickly to Glas Gownach, caught her by the tail, and held her that way till evening, when he drove her home carefully, and shut her up in the forge behind the bellows, where he milked her.

Gaivnin Gow stopped work in his forge now, and did nothing but mind the cow. He went out in the morning, followed her through every place, and brought her back in the evening. He held her tail all the day, and never let go his hold of her till he had her fastened behind the bellows.

The people got milk as before from Glas Gownach wherever she went through the country; but the smith got no milk till he had the cow enclosed in the forge.

The widow of the king of the Firbolgs took a new husband in the land of Gallowna, and had seven sons there. When the eldest, Geali Dianvir, had grown up, she said to him, “I will give you ships now, and go you to Erin with warriors and good champions to know can we get satisfaction of those people who hunted us out of our country like hares or foxes.”

The son took the ships, and sailed away with champions and heroes, and never stopped till he sailed into Caola Beag (Killybegs, in Donegal). He landed in that place, left his ships safely fastened, and went forward travelling. He never stopped on his way nor halted till he came to a place called Blan Ri. He halted in that place, for before him were three armies fighting.

When they saw the new forces coming, the armies stopped fighting.

“Why are ye fighting here with three armies?” asked Dianvir; “what is the cause of your struggle?”

The leader of one army said, “We are brothers; our father died not long since; he was king of three provinces, and I think it my right to be king in his place.”

The leader of the second army, the middle brother, said, “I have as much right to be king after my father as he has.”

The third brother said, “I have as much right to be king as either of them.”

Neither of the three was willing to yield his claim, or obey one of the others; but they were all ready to fight while their strength lasted.

“Your trouble can be settled easily,” said Dianvir; “if ye are willing.”

“Settle it, and do us a service,” said the eldest brother.

“I will; but ye must take my judgment and obey it.”

“We will,” said all the brothers. “We will accept your decision, and do what you tell us.”

“Listen, then,” said Dianvir: “you, the eldest, will be king for this year. You, the second, will be king in his place the second year; and you, the youngest brother, will be king the third year. The fourth year, you, the eldest brother, will be king again for a year; and so it will go on, and you and your two brothers will be spending time happily all your lives.”

The three brothers agreed, and were glad. The eldest was king that first year. Dianvir went his way; but he had hardly gone out of their sight when the youngest of the three brothers said, “That man will make trouble for us yet; my advice is to follow him, and put an end to himself and his men before they can harm us.”

“Oh,” said the eldest, “sure ye would not kill the man who gave us good counsel and settled our difficulty?”

“No matter what he did,” said the youngest; “he will give you trouble yet if ye let him go. Follow him, put an end to him, or he will put an end to us.”

They sent men after Dianvir. As Dianvir was a stranger in Erin he had no knowledge of the roads: when a lake was before him he was long going around it; when he came to a deep river he was long finding a ford.

Dianvir’s men were cut off, most of them fell, and he himself fell with others. A small number escaped to the ships, took one of them, and sailed to the land of Gallowna. They told the queen the whole story, told how they had been treated with treachery.

“I will have satisfaction for my son,” said the mother. “I will have it without waiting long.” With that she had ships and boats prepared, and went herself with her other sons, and strong forces, to take vengeance on the brothers. The queen and her forces were six weeks sailing hither and over, driven by strong winds, when one morning a sailor at the topmast cried, “I see land!”

“Is it more or less of it that you see?” asked the queen.

“I see land, the size of a pig’s back,” said the sailor, “and a black back it is.”

They sailed three days and nights longer, and on the fourth morning they were near shore, and landed in Bantry (White Strand). The queen fixed her house at Ardneevy, and prepared for action; but instead of the three brothers it was the sons of Balor she had against her.

War began, and the Lochlin men were getting the upper hand the first days. At some distance from their camp was a well of venom, and into this well they dipped their swords and spears before going to battle, and the man of the enemy who was barely grazed by a weapon dipped in the well was as badly off as the man whose head was taken from him. There was no chance now for the queen’s forces, so she called her sons and said to them, “We’ll be destroyed to the last one unless we find help against this venom. Go to the Old Blind Sage, and ask advice of him.”

The sons went to the sage, and the advice they got was this,—

“There is a well of venom not far from the camp of the Lochlin men. Before going to battle they dip their swords and spears in that water, and the enemy who is touched by those weapons that day is killed as surely as if the head had been swept from him. Ye are to get twenty measures of the milk of Glas Gownach, and pour it into that well in the night-time; the milk will be going down in the well and the poison will be rising and going out till it flows away and is lost altogether. Take, then, a hundred swords and spears to Gaivnin Gow, the smith, to put temper on their points and edges. He will do this if ye follow the cow all day for him and bring her home safely in the evening.”

The queen’s sons did what the sage advised. The venom went from the well when the cow’s milk was poured into it. From that night out the weapons of the Lochlin men were common swords and spears.