Cuchulainn and the Crow Queen: Ancient Legends Retold

by Bernard Kelly, June Peters

Overview

These stories have been told for 2,000 years. At their heart stands the great Ulster hero, Cúchulainn and on his shoulder sits a dark goddess in the form of a crow. She is the mistress of chaos, surveying the slaughter as he whirls in fury through an ancient yet still familiar world. Their dynamic force has helped shape the history of Ireland – its tribes, its warrior queens, its dispossessed kings. Harnessing the imagination of a modern storyteller, using often overlooked material, this work is an exhilarating retelling of an epic journey – following our champion from a disputed birth through to the battle of the bulls and beyond.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780750958219
Publisher:	The History Press
Publication date:	01/06/2014
Series:	Ancient Legends Retold
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	160
File size:	2 MB

About the Author

JUNE PETERS is a well-respected storyteller who has worked for 35 years with traditional narratives from around the world, making ancient stories relevant to modern contexts. She has performed across the UK, in Jordan and in South America. She has 15 years experience as a primary class teacher and 45 years experience as a performer. She is the co-author of THP's Cuchullain and the Crow Queen and she lives in London.

Read an Excerpt

Cúhulainn and the Crow Queen

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By Bernard Kelly, June Peters

The History Press

Copyright © 2014 Bernard Kelly & June Peters,
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7509-5821-9

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CHAPTER 1

Disputes

Three sisters, three one-eyed midwives, met at the crossroads. Above them there turned the constellations of the sky. At their feet skulked a hungry whelp of a hound.

* * *

'How did it all begin?' asked the youngest sister.

'With the battle,' said the oldest one. 'When the gods came from the north, they set their ships alight so there could be no turning back. Their dark goddess, the Morrigu, the great Crow Queen, descended and pierced the earth with her sharp claws. She stood astride the river of tomorrow's battle and what was to come began to bubble up from out of its depths; heads, fingers, eyes and teeth. Picking through the bits and pieces, she began to stitch all together again; limb back to limb, hand back to arm, scalp back to head. With sinew and song, seamlessly she did her work, washing away the blood from the dead-eyed boys not yet born, cleaning their corpses, bathing their bodies, breaking their bones.

'Then came himself, the Dagda, Old Fat Belly, a god with appetites equal to hers. Dragging that mighty thing that hung between his legs, ploughing it into the earth, he separated the land from the sea and the sea from the sky. With a stomach the circumference of a world, copulation would be tricky, but she, the seasoned war goddess, was used to difficult manoeuvres. He caressed the nine untied tresses of her hair and with each move towards her, the bodies floating on the current between them shuddered and gasped; lungs spluttered out fluid and filled with air.

'Shaking and shivering, hollow-eyed men emerged out of the dark waters and were dried by the beat of her wings as she took to the air. Their fists grabbed spears as above them she soared. Yelling, they ran towards her other children on the other side. Eye to eye, hand to hand, they hacked at each other, spears humming overhead; the clashing of shields, the clatter of swords, the slicing through flesh, the piercing of points passing through skin, the strokes and the blows of the weapons. Side by side, pride fought with shame that day and both stumbled on ground slippery with blood.

'Through the killing, the craftsmen made good, sharpening blades blunted by bone; refixing spearheads embedded in flesh. The carpenters stripped the felled trees, worked the wood and turned the forests into smooth shafts of light. The masters of metal mended what was broken, their bellows blowing sparks that flew as stars into the sky. The braziers melded and riveted all together again.

'Above, the Crow Queen surveyed the slaughter, saw the fires die down and watched as two great beings met on the plain.

'One had a great eye, a black hole, the eyelid pierced by rings of gold, pulled open by chains of iron. A look and you shrivel and die.

'The other was a dancing deity, tracing the patterns of the sun across the face of the earth. He held a sharpened ray of light.

'"Who stands before me now?" asked Balor, the one-eyed god.

'"The one you tried to keep in the dark," answered Lugh, the shining lad.

'"I live in the dark," said Balor, "Are you kin of mine?"

'"I am the son of the daughter you kept locked in a tower without windows or words so that I would not be born into this world."

'"Yet you stand before me now," said the unseeing one.

'"You shut out the light, but the sun kept on rising."

'"Then, blood of mine, let me look at you."

'His warriors pulled on the chains and the eye began to open. Balor only saw the point of light just before it hit and burned.

'Lugh stepped forward, turned his spear in the socket and took out the still staring eye. He held it high, a ball of light now ablaze in the sky.

'Rising out of the guts of the dead, she, the Crow Queen, laughed.

'"Even a god cannot outwit his own fate."

'Ascending into the air, she crowed over the battle won and sang the end of the world.

'I see a cursed land:

summers without bloom,
orchards without fruit,
cattle without milk,
oceans without life.

'There will be kings without courage,
old men without wisdom,
judges without justice,
women without sovereignty.

'Every son will enter his mother's bed,
every father will enter his daughter's bed,
each brother will become his own brother's brother-in-law,
each sister will become her own sister's mother.

'The whole earth
consumed by fire,
as my shadow
devours the sun.'

'Sister, you end everything too soon,' said the youngest one-eyed one.

Snow began to fall and the three midwives built a fire. The hound rested his head on each lap in turn, as three eyes stared into the flames.

* * *

'How did it all begin?' asked the middle sister.

'With the bulls,' said the youngest one. 'Of all the gifts the new gods brought; the shining spear of the sun; the everlasting cauldron of plenty; the screaming stone of destiny; surely the greatest one was the pig.

'The gods had two pig keepers called Bristle and Grunt and although their masters, the god of the North and the god of the South, were fierce rivals, their swineherds were firm friends. "You know where you are with a pig," said Bristle.

'"Yes," said Grunt, gazing into the eyes of his favourite sow. "They are the most faithful of creatures."

'"Not like a sheep," said Bristle.

'"Certainly not like a sheep," said Grunt. "You would not confide in a sheep."

'"You would not," said Bristle. "Foolish animals, sheep."

'"Thick as pig shit," said Grunt.

'"And what is this obsession with bulls?" asked Bristle. "Sure they have the balls, but do they have the brains of a pig?"

'"No they do not", said Grunt. "They are too belligerent."

'"Yes. Pigs," sighed Bristle. "You could tell anything to a pig and know that the confidence would be kept."

'"Indeed it would," said Grunt, "for a pig shapes a man into being a better human being."

'"Aye," said Bristle. "A pig is a friend you can eat."

'"And there's no finer thing in the world than that," said Grunt.

'The two pig keepers were well matched. If acorns rained down in the south, Grunt would invite Bristle and his pigs to the feast. If they rained down in Bristle's territory then Grunt and his pigs would head north. So it was year after year, the pigs getting fatter and fatter and then fed to the gods to give them that everlasting life they so enjoyed.

'But the gods have a habit of intruding even into the peaceful world of pigs. The gods of the North and South each wanted their herd to be the biggest and the best. They put pressure on their pig keepers to outdo each other or else they might find themselves out of a job. At first, nothing changed, but soon they began to talk and meet a bit less. Then one day when the acorns rained down in the south, Bristle was not invited to come. Grunt was never asked to come north again after that. And he cast a spell over Bristle's pigs so no matter how much they ate they would not grow fat. Then Bristle cast the same spell over Grunt's pigs and both were sacked for having skinny swine.

'Deprived of their beloved companions, the ex-pig keepers became bitter and started to bicker and quarrel.

'"I always had the biggest pigs," said Bristle.

'"Mine always had the tastiest flesh," said Grunt.

'And so it went on until, one day, their own bile became so unbearable that they turned into two birds of prey. Taking to the air as Talon and Claw, they cried of the beauty of pigs and the foolishness of kings.

'Then diving down into the waters, they turned into two fishes – Ebb and Flow, spending days devouring each other in the depths.

'Out onto the land they became two stags – Push and Shove, rutting in the spring.

'Then two warriors – Point and Edge, endlessly slaying each other across the plain.

'Then two banshees – Boundary and Space, wailing at the windows of the dying.

'Then they fell to earth as two maggots, wriggling on the ground where they were eaten up by two cows, out of which they burst as two young bulls who within one day grew into the most magnificent creatures the land had ever seen: the great brown bull of Ulster, the Donn Cuailage, and the mighty white bull of Connacht, the Finnbennach. A hundred warriors could stand in their shadows; fifty youths could play games across their backs. Each bulled fifty heifers every day, the calves born out of their mothers the next.'

The three sisters sharpened three stakes of rowan, pressed point against skin and three drops of blood fell on the frozen ground. The hungry hound lapped it all up.

* * *

'How did it all begin?' asked the oldest midwife.

'With the birth pangs,' said the youngest one. 'When men lost their sense of wonder and stopped evoking the old gods, those who had once been worshipped retreated into the hills and the hedgerows.

'There was a farmer whose wife had died. He knew about crops and cattle, but to care for the four boys she had left behind, now, that was a different kind of task. The farmer was handsome and women liked him well enough, but none were eager to enter a dead woman's bed so soon.

'Then, one day, a quiet woman slipped into the house. He could not remember her knocking or saying good day. Just one day there she was, sitting by the hearth staring into the fire. Nothing was said. He nodded. She nodded back as if this had always been their custom. She put the bread on the table and no questions were asked about who she was or where she was from. He was not a curious man. And anyhow there was work to be done and children to be fed, and he knew never to look a gift horse in the mouth. Now on the farm, everything was done quicker and better than before. The cow's milk tasted creamier and the farmer grew richer. Then one night as easily as she had come into the house, the farmer found she had slipped into bed beside him. Lovemaking was as quiet as everything else she did and as finely judged.

'He awoke to find her place in the bed empty and cold. He called for her. She did not come. He wrapped the blankets around himself and opened the door to the outside world. There on the hill, under the stars, he saw her. Yoked to the plough, she was turning the earth as easily as a woman turns her head. Then she saw him and slipping out of the harness and moving with the swiftness of a steed, she stood before him and spoke. "Promise to tell no one what you have seen. Promise."

'He promised.

'One day, word came from the king; an invitation to the yearly horse fair.

'"Don't go," she pleaded. "My time is near. The new ones will soon be coming."

'"I won't be gone for long," he said. "I cannot refuse the king."

'"Then remember your promise," she said. "Mention me to no one."

'"Of course," he said. "I promised."

'"Yes you did," she said.

'So he went to the fair and watched the sport and the king's horses won every race. "Nothing could beat those creatures," said the man standing beside him. The farmer said, "Even my wife could run faster than that." The man turned to the one next to him and repeated the words. And he to the man next to him and these words were carried by the crowd to the ears of the king.

'The farmer tried to take back what he had said, but the king's men were already on their way to fetch his wife.

'There was to be a different kind of race.

'"I see you are carrying a heavy handicap," said the king when she was brought before him. The woman pleaded that the contest be put off until after the birth. He shook his head. She appealed to the crowd. "Help me," she cried.

'They turned away.

'"Kill me instead," the farmer begged, but it was too late for that. The race was on. At the start the horses strained while she stood still. Then they were off. Neck and neck they ran, a step, a stride, a gallop, a blur of brown and white, nostrils flaring, snorting in the air and with one last effort she crossed the line first and there she brought into the world a boy and a girl. Then she began to change.

'"Call yourselves men? You who watched and did nothing! I curse you." She reared up, her limbs now a hail of hooves clattering down over their heads. "You who stood there and said nothing! I curse you. Dumb animals! I curse you." Now the bit was between her teeth. "Know who I am! I am Macha!" screamed the nightmare. "You who once fell on your knees before me and my kind! Who ride our backs without a thought for all we have to bear! I curse you, the men of Ulster, to suffer the birth pangs of a woman whenever you are vulnerable and need help. I curse you for nine generations."

'Then all the men fell to the ground clasping their bellies and groaning as if they were fit to burst.'

* * *

'Enough of these labour pains, this ancient foreplay,' cried the oldest midwife, adding wood to the fire. 'It's time for the birth. I was there. I saw it all'.

Her siblings' eyes widened.

'It was spring when they came out of the sky – a flock of strange birds, pecking, pecking at the ground. With all the king's power he could not scare them away. Peck, peck they went, eating up the earth, devouring the crops, destroying the orchards. Wherever they descended, the land was laid waste and those that survived left scavenging for roots and berries.

'And through that desolate landscape rode King Conchobar and his men, always watching the sky, always one step behind.'

'Sister,' cried the middle one. 'You start your story too late and miss out the most important part.

'A year before, to that very day, the birds first came. I see a mayfly on the wing. A sensation seeking God, now jaded, eager to know how it feels to live for just one day and die. The mayfly circles above the great brown bull of Ulster and then lands upon the point of his right horn. At the back end, the other flies feast on the shit as it is carried off in silent ceremony and spread across the high king's fields. In one day the barley breaks through the earth and rises.

'The mayfly takes counsel with the great bull then bows and flies to the king's fortress where a feast awaits. The wedding feast of Dectera, the king's sister. There the bride lifts a cup to her lips. The mayfly dives in and for a moment is released from the monotony of immortality. Dectera swallows him down. Now inside her, he lives again and she begins to change – first a claw, then a beady eye, a beak and feathers. What was once soft is now sharp and she is soon on the wing with her new love. The bridal bed is empty. The bird has flown.

'The king searched for Dectera for a whole year before the birds came pecking at his door and as desperately as he had followed her, he now followed them with his men into the forest as darkness fell.

'The king sent his great champion, Conall the Victorious, and his great complainer, Bricriu of the Bitter Tongue, to search for a place to shelter that night. All they found was an old tumbledown house, with a donkey that had seen better days tied outside. The door opened and an old couple smiled and told them to bring their companions, as they were welcome to whatever they had. The two warriors returned to the king and told him all they had seen. "That is no place for the likes of us," said Bricriu spitting on the ground. "If they are generous enough to offer what little they have," said the king, "then we will not be mean enough to refuse it." But when they followed Conall and Bricriu back to the spot of the half-ruined house it was gone and in its place was a great mansion, streaming with light. Outside, untethered, stood a mighty mare stamping the ground. Then a scream pierced the air. The warriors gripped their swords, the door opened and out stepped a beautiful, shining, open-handed man. "Put down your weapons. You have nothing to fear here. That is just the sound of my wife bringing the new one into the world. I am Lugh. My element is light. All darkness has been long banished from this place."

'They entered the house and there was the greatest feast that anyone had ever seen. And they had seen a few. A herd of succulent pigs turned on spits. A flock of geese lay plucked and prepared on the table. A shoal of salmon swam in the boiling pots. And that was just for starters.

'"Great King," said Lugh, "This is the wedding feast delayed." Then there beside him was the face everyone knew, Dectera, and in her arms a new-born babe, a boy, who shone like his father.'

The youngest midwife sneered.

'You and your gods. You wrap up your propaganda in poetry and expect us to swallow it whole, when we all know what really happened.

'Sure there was a flock of birds, but it was winter. There was no disappearance, for I saw her with my own eye. Dectera driving the king's chariot into the dark forest where in that house brother and sister lay together. Then she was growing big and he married her off to some dupe but her husband was kind and then, ashamed, she killed that child she was carrying. But soon another life was growing inside her: her husband's son. His father was not a god, but a man as you know well.'

Then the three sisters cackling above the crackle of the fire turned on each other, screaming and hissing.

The eldest raised her hand. 'Listen,' she said. 'There is another quarrel happening. The men of Ulster cannot decide who will raise the child.'

Sencha, the judge, said, 'I will raise him as my own, so that he will be able to mediate and settle all disputes.'

'Disputes!' cried Blaí Briugu. 'I'll give you a dispute! The boy should come with me. I have great wealth and he will never want for anything.'

'A lad needs more than riches,' interrupted Fergus, the old king. 'He needs warmth and wisdom and I have an abundance of both.'

'All the words in the world are on my tongue,' said Amairgin, the poet, 'I would bring him up to speak like a king.'

The boy seemed to be delighted by all of them and it was decided that each would play their part. He was to be a man made by many and cherished by all. They named him Setanta.

As they left, the mare was gone but her two new-born steaming foals, the Grey and the Saingainn, were already standing tall. 'These are the mighty Macha's gifts to my son,' said Lugh, 'to be his constant companions in the world.' The boy, already growing fast, jumped onto the Grey's back and was off. The warriors raced to their chariots but he had already disappeared into the distance.

* * *

The hound howled. The three sisters fell silent and looked down. 'Perhaps,' said the youngest, 'it is this dog who really knows the truth.'

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Cúhulainn and the Crow Queen by Bernard Kelly, June Peters. Copyright © 2014 Bernard Kelly & June Peters,. Excerpted by permission of The History Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

Title,
Dedication,
Ancient Legends Retold: An Introduction to the Series,
Introduction,
1 Disputes,
2 Three Hounds,
3 The Wonder Smith,
4 Pig Feast,
5 A Call to Arms,
6 The Storyteller's Daughter,
7 Gardens of the Sun,
8 Shadow Lands,
9 The Bird Catcher,
10 Severed Tongues,
11 Death of a Storyteller,
12 The Homecoming,
13 Crow and Crown,
14 Husbands and Wives,
15 War Cries,
16 The Wooden Sword,
17 Four Deaths and No Wedding,
18 Massacre,
19 Brothers in Arms,
20 Wounds,
21 The Bulls,
22 Dog Meat,
Copyright,