The Lad of the Gad Page 3
So the daughter of the King of the Stars married Rascally Tag, and their wedding feast lasted a day and a year, and the last day was as good as the first.
And if there were better, there were. And if not, let them be.
Olioll Olom
There was a king, and he was king over England. He had three sons, and they went to the Frang to get themselves school and learning. And when they came back they said, “We shall see what there is since we went away.”
The first place that they came to was a house of a man of the king, and the man’s name was Conal Crovi.
Conal Crovi had every food that was better than another waiting for them; meat of each meat, draught of each drink. And when they had finished, the king’s big son said, “Your wife must wait on me; your maid on my middle brother; and your daughter on my little brother.”
This did not please Conal Crovi at all, but he said, “I’ll go out and tell them.”
And out he went. And he locked the door, and said to his servant, “Get ready the three best horses.”
Then he put his daughter behind the servant on one horse, his maid behind his son on the second horse, and his wife behind himself on the third, and they rode to tell the King of England what an insult that set of sons had given to Conal Crovi.
The king’s watching-lad saw them and said, “There are three double-riders on the road.”
“It is Conal Crovi,” said the king, “with my sons as prisoners. Well, if they are, I shall not be!”
So the king barred his door to Conal Crovi and would not hear him.
Conal Crovi said, “I shall make this kingdom worse than it is,” and he went away and began robbing and spoiling everywhere.
“Catch me Conal Crovi,” said the king.
“If I can get a day and a year,” said the king’s riding-lad, “I shall find out the place he is in.”
“You have a day and a year,” said the king.
The riding-lad took a day and a year, but he saw no sight of Conal Crovi. He set off back to the king, and, on his way, he rested on a pretty yellow hill, and there was a thin smoke rising out of the wood below him.
Conal Crovi had a watching-lad, and the watching-lad said, “There is a rider coming down alone from the yellow hill into the wood.”
“The poor man,” said Conal Crovi: “he is an outlaw as I am myself.”
Then Conal Crovi had his two hands spread in welcome for the rider, and meat of each meat and draught of each drink, and water for his feet, and a bed.
The king’s riding-lad ate, drank, washed and laid himself down.
Conal Crovi said, “Are you sleeping, rider?”
“I am not,” said he.
At the end of a while, Conal Crovi said, “Are you sleeping, rider?”
“I am not,” said he.
A third time, “Are you sleeping, rider?” said Conal Crovi.
“I am not,” said he.
“On your soles!” Conal Crovi said to his men. “This is no crouching time! The host is upon us!”
And there was a great company riding. But Conal Crovi had for arms one black rusty sword.
He began at them, and he did not leave a man there alive but the king’s three sons. He tied them and took them in, straitly and painfully, and he threw them down in the peat corner, under the thatch drip.
“I shall do a work tonight,” said Conal Crovi, “that was never done before.”
“What work?” said his wife.
“The lifting of the heads from the king’s three sons,” said Conal Crovi.
He brought up the big one and set his head on the block.
“Don’t, don’t,” said the king’s big son, “and I shall take your part in right and unright for ever.”
Conal Crovi raised the middle son.
“Don’t, don’t,” said the middle son, “and I shall take your part in right and unright for ever.”
He raised the little son, and the little son said, “Don’t, don’t, and I shall take your part in right and unright for ever.”
Then Conal Crovi went, himself and the three sons, where the King of England was.
“It is Conal Crovi,” said the king, “with my sons as prisoners. Well, if they are, I shall not be!”
And the king gave orders for Conal Crovi to be hanged at the next day.
There Conal Crovi was, about to be hanged, but the king’s big son said, “I will go in his place.”
“I will go in his place,” said the middle son.
“I will go in his place,” said the little son.
And the king took contempt for his set of sons.
“We’ll put the world for our pillow,” said Conal Crovi to the sons, “and make a ship to go to steal the three black white-faced stallions of Olioll Olom, and the kingdom will be as rich as ever it was, and your father’s contempt will be lifted.”
So they made the ship, and when she was ready they took the good and the ill of it on themselves and set their pith to her and put her out.
Prow to the sea and
Stern to the land
Helm to the stern and
Sail to the prow,
Chequered flapping sail
On the tall tough mast.
Plunge of the eel,
Scream of the gull,
The big beast eating the beast that is least
And the beast that is least doing best as it may:
The bent brown buckie at the bottom of the sea
Plays haig on its mouth and glagid on the floor:
No yard not bent, no sail not torn,
Ploochanach, plachanach,
Blue clouds of Lochlanach,
All the way to Ireland.
Conal Crovi and the three sons drew the ship up her own seven lengths on dry dried land, where no wind could stain or sun could scorch, and they came to the hall of Olioll Olom, King of Ireland.
They went to the stable, and Conal Crovi put his hand on the black white-faced stallions, but they let loose a screech, and, “Be out, lads!” said Olioll Olom. “Someone is at the stallions!”
His lads went out, and they tried down and up, but they saw no man.
“We have tried down and up,” said the lads to Olioll Olom, “but it is a fearful night with heaven; fire and thunder.”
They sat at the table, and again the stallions let loose a screech, and, “Be out, lads!” said Olioll Olom.
And still they found no one. “It is a fearful night with heaven,” said the lads.
Again the stallions let loose a screech, and, “Be out, lads!” said Olioll Olom.
The lads went out, and they tried down and up, but they saw no man. “There is no man,” said the lads, “unless he is hiding in the old barrel here beneath the cobweb of seven years.” And they lifted the cobweb of seven years, and saw Conal Crovi hiding, with the King of England’s three sons.
The lads bound them, and took them to Olioll Olom.
“Hud! Hud!” said Olioll Olom. “Conal Crovi, you did many a mischief before you thought to come and to steal my three black white-faced stallions.”
“Indeed I did,” said Conal Crovi. “And, by your hand, Olioll Olom, great king, and by my hands to free them, I have often been the worse than I am this night, your prisoner under your mercy, with a hope to live yet.”
“Hud! Hud!” said Olioll Olom. “You may have come out of that: you will not go from this. But you shall have your two rathers.”
“What are my rathers?” said Conal Crovi.
“Whether you would be hanged rather now or rather after a story.”
“Rather after a story,” said Conal Crovi, “if I may get the worth of its telling.”
“Worth you shall get,” said Olioll Olom, “except your life alone.”
“Well, then,” said Conal Crovi. “In a winter that was cold, on a day of hailing and snowing, sowing and winnowing, I was taking my way past a house that was there, and I saw a woman pulled apart with grief.
“‘What is the matter?’ I
said to her.
“‘The lady of this land is dead,’ she said to me, ‘and today is her burying, though her brother is from home.’
“The people were all at the burying, and I was amongst them when they put her in the grave. And they set a bag of gold down with her, under her head, and a bag of silver, under her feet.
“Well, I thought that gold and silver was of no use at all to her, so when night came I went back to the grave, and I dug it up.
“There I was, gold and silver in my fists, and I gave a pull at a rough stone to fetch myself out from the grave. But the stone fell on me, and a great stone it was, and I was there along with the corpse woman.
“And, by your hand, Olioll Olom, great king, and by my hands to free them, I was the worse then, along with the corpse woman, than I am this night, your prisoner under your mercy, with a hope to live yet.”
“Hud! Hud!” said Olioll Olom. “You came out of that: you will not go from this.”
Conal Crovi said, “Now give me the worth of my story.”
“What is the worth?” said Olioll Olom.
“The big son of the King of England,” said Conal Crovi, “and the big daughter of yourself, the two of them married and a black white-faced stallion for dowry.”
“You shall have that,” said Olioll Olom. “But how did you come out from the grave?”
“Am I to get the worth of my story?”
“Worth you shall get, except your life alone.”
“Well, then,” said Conal Crovi. “The brother of the dead woman came home, and he must see a sight of his sister. So the people had to dig her up again. And when I heard them digging, I said to them Oh, catch me by the hand!’ And the man of them that would not wait for his bow would not wait for his sword, and I was as swift as any of them fleeing out from the grave.
“Well, there I was about the place, to and from, not knowing what side I should go, until I came on three lads and they were casting lots at the side of a hole in the ground.
“‘Why are you casting lots?’ I said to them.
“‘What is it to you?’ they said to me. ‘Never mind. We’ll tell you. A giant has taken our sister, and we are casting lots to see the which of us shall go down this hole to look for her.’
“‘I’ll cast lots with you,’ I said, and I did, but the lot fell on me and the lads let me down the hole in a creel.
“Down I went, far and further than you could guess or I could tell, till there was the very prettiest woman I ever saw, and she was winding golden thread off a silver windle.
“‘Oh,’ she said, ‘how did you come here?’
‘“I came down to look for you,’ I said. ‘Your three brothers are waiting.’
“‘Then I’ll go,’ she said, and she stepped into the creel and was pulled up by her brothers.
“‘Send down the creel tomorrow,’ I called to her. ‘And if I’m living, it’s well: and if I’m not, there’s no help for it.’
“Then I went through the cave and the dark towards a fire, and I heard thunder and noise coming with the giant. I didn’t know where I should go to hide myself, but I saw a heap of treasure on the side of the cave, so I thought there was no place better than that, and I hid in it.
“The giant came with a dead woman trailing from each of his shoe-strings.
“He looked and he looked, and when he did not see the woman with the golden thread he let out a great howl of crying, and he gave the dead women a little singe through the fire and ate them.
“Then the giant said that he did not know what would best keep wearying from him, but he thought that he would go and count his lot of treasure. And from that he was only a short time before he set his hand on my own head.
“‘Conal Crovi,’ said the giant, ‘you did many a mischief before you thought to come and to steal the pretty woman.’
“‘Indeed I did,’ said I.
“‘And you shall polish my teeth with your sinews for it in the morning,’ said the giant. And he slept after eating the women.
“I saw a great meat spit beside the fire, and I laid the iron point of it in the very middle of the ashes till it was red.
“The giant was in a heavy load of slumber, his mouth open so that I could count his lungs, his heart and his liver. And I took hold on the red hot iron spit and put it down in his throat.
“He made a spring and a leap across the cave, and he struck the end of the spit against the rock and it went right out through him, and that was him dead.
“And in the morning, the pretty woman and her brothers let down the creel to fetch me. But I thought I should fill it with the treasure of the giant; and when it was in the middle of the air under the hole, on the weight of all that treasure, the tie broke, and I fell down amongst stones and bushes and brambles and bones.
“And, by your hand, Olioll Olom, great king, and by my hands to free them, I was the worse then, in the giant’s cave, than I am this night, your prisoner under your mercy, with a hope to live yet.”
“Hud! Hud!” said Olioll Olom. “You came out of that: you will not go from this.”
Conal Crovi said, “Now give me the worth of my story.”
“What is the worth?” said Olioll Olom.
“The middle son of the King of England,” said Conal Crovi, “and the middle daughter of yourself, the two of them married and a black white-faced stallion for dowry.”
“You shall have that,” said Olioll Olom. “But how did you come out from the cave?”
“Am I to get the worth of my story?”
“Worth you shall get, except your life alone.”
“Well, then,” said Conal Crovi. “There I was about the place, wandering up and down below, and I went past a house in it, and I saw a woman, and she had a child at her knee and a knife in her hand and she was crying.
“‘Hold on your hand,’ I said to her. ‘What are you going to do?’
“‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I am with three giants, and they must have my baby cooked for them tonight.’
“‘There are three hanged men on the gallows,’ I said. ‘Take one of them down, and I’ll go up in its place, and you’ll cook that for the giants.’
“When the giants came home, one said, ‘Turstar, tarstar, togarich!’ The next said, ‘Fiu, fau, hoag-rich!’ The third said, ‘This is not child-flesh.’
“The first giant said, ‘I’ll cut a steak off the gallows, and we’ll see which is the tender one.’
“And I myself was the body he chose.
“And, by your hand, Olioll Olom, great king, and by my hands to free them, I was the worse then, when the steak was coming out of me, than I am this night, your prisoner under your mercy, with a hope to live yet.”
“Hud! Hud!” said Olioll Olom. “You came out of that: you will not go from this.”
Conal Crovi said, “Now give me the worth of my story.”
“What is the worth?” said Olioll Olom.
“The little son of the King of England,” said Conal Crovi, “and the little daughter of yourself, the two of them married and a black white-faced stallion for dowry.”
“You shall have that,” said Olioll Olom. “But how did you come from the gallows tree?”
“Am I to get the worth of my story?”
“Worth you shall get, except your life alone.”
“Well, then,” said Conal Crovi. “After they had eaten, the giants slept. And I came down, and the woman gave me a great flaring flame of a Sword of Light that the giants had: and I was not long in throwing the heads off the giants.
“Then I myself and the woman were here, not knowing how we should get out of the cave.
“We went to the innermost end, and followed a thin road through a rock till we came to the day, and to the giants’ harbour of ships. So I went back and loaded the treasure on a ship, with the woman and the child, and when all was aboard I took the good and the ill of it on myself and put the ship out.
“Prow to the sea and
Stern to the land,
Helm to the stern and
Sail to the prow,
Chequered flapping sail
On the tall tough mast.
Plunge of the eel,
Scream of the gull,
The big beast eating the beast that is least
And the beast that is least doing best as it may:
The bent brown buckie at the bottom of the sea
Plays haig on its mouth and glagid on the floor:
No yard not bent, no sail not torn,
Ploochanach, plachanach,
Blue clouds of Lochlanach,
All the way to a place I did not know.
“The ship and the woman and the child were taken from me, and I was left to come home as I might; though I am here today.”
A woman, who was lying within, cried out, “Oh, Olioll Olom, great king, catch hold of that man! I am the woman that was then! You are the child!”
Olioll Olom sprang and cut every bond that was on Conal Crovi, and he took him into the company of his love and gave him the ship full of treasure.
The black white-faced stallions were sent to the King of England, and he lifted the scorn from his set of soils.