The Tain Bo Culaigne
The Foretelling
When Medb was come to the place
where her druid was, she craved light and
augury of him. "Many there be," saith Medb, "who do part with their kinsmen and
friends here to-day, and from their homes and their lands, from father and from
mother; and unless unscathed every one shall return, upon me will they cast
their sighs and their ban, for it is I that have assembled this levy. Yet there
goeth not forth nor stayeth there at home any dearer to me than are we to
ourselves. And do thou discover for us whether we ourselves shall return, or
whether we shall never return."
And the druid made answer, "Whoever comes not, thou thyself shalt come."
"Wait, then," spake the charioteer, "let me wheel the chariot by the right, that
thus the power of a good omen may arise that we return again." Then the
charioteer wheeled his chariot round and Medb went back again, when she espied a
thing that surprised her: A lone virgin of marriageable age standing on the
hindpole of a chariot a little way off drawing nigh her. And thus the maiden
appeared:
Weaving lace was she, and in her right hand was a bordering rod of silvered
bronze with its seven strips of red gold at the sides. A many-spotted green
mantle around her; a bulging, strong-headed pin of gold in the mantle over her
bosom; a hooded tunic, with red interweaving, about her. A ruddy, fair-faced
countenance she had, narrow below and broad above. She had a blue-grey and
laughing eye; each eye had three pupils. Dark and black were her eyebrows; the
soft, black lashes threw a shadow to the middle of her cheeks. Red and thin were
her lips. Shiny and pearly were her teeth; thou wouldst believe they were
showers of white pearls that had rained into her head. Like to fresh Parthian
crimson were her lips. As sweet as the strings of lutes when long sustained they
are played by master players' hands was the melodious sound of her voice and her
fair speech. As white as snow in one night fallen was the sheen of her skin and
her body that shone outside of her dress. Slender and very white were her feet;
rosy, even, sharp-round nails she had; two sandals with golden buckles about
them. Fair-yellow, long, golden hair she wore; three braids of hair she wore;
two tresses were wound around her head; the other tress from behind threw a
shadow down on her calves.
Medb gazed at her. "And what doest thou here now, O maiden?" asked Medb. "I
impart to thee thine advantage and good fortune in thy gathering and muster of
the four mighty provinces of Erin against the land of Ulster on the Raid for the
Kine of Cualnge." "Wherefore doest thou this for me?" asked Medb. "Much cause
have I. A bondmaid 'mid thy people am I." "Who of my people art thou and what is
thy name?" asked Medb. "Not hard, in sooth, to say. The prophetess Fedelm, from
the Sid ('the Fairy Mound') of Cruachan, a poetess of Connacht am I."
"Whence comest thou?" asked Medb. "From Alba, after learning prophetic
skill," the maiden made answer. "Hast thou the form of divination?" "Verily,
have I," the maiden said. "Look, then, for me, how will my undertaking be." The
maiden looked. Then spake Medb:--
"Good now,
"Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid How beholdest thou our
host?"
Fedelm answered and spoke:
"Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in
red!"
"That is no true augury," said Medb. "Verily, Conchobar with the Ulstermen is
in his 'Pains' in Emain; thither fared my messengers Sand brought me true
tidings ; naught is there that we need dread from Ulster's men. But speak truth,
O Fedelm:--
"Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid How beholdest thou our host?"
"Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in red!"
"That is no true augury. Cuscraid Mend ('the Stammerer') of Macha,
Conchobar's son, is in Inis Cuscraid ('Cuscraid's Isle') in his ' Pains.'
Thither fared my messengers; naught need we fear from Ulster's men. But speak
truth, O Fedelm:--
"Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid How beholdest thou our host?"
"Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in
red!"
"Eogan, Durthacht's son, is in Rath Airthir ('the Eastern Rath') in his '
Pains.' Thither went my messengers. Naught need we dread from Ulster's men. But
speak truth, O Fedelm:--
"Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid How beholdest thou our host?"
"Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in
red!"
"Celtchar, Uthechar's son, is in his fort at Lethglas in his 'Pains,' and a
third of the Ulstermen with him. Thither fared my messengers. Naught have we to
fear from Ulster's men. And Fergus son of Roig son of Eochaid is with us here in
exile, and thirty hundred with him. But speak truth, O Fedelm:--
"Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid How beholdest thou our host?"
"Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in
red!"
"Meseemeth this not as it seemeth to thee," quoth Medb, "for when Erin's men
shall assemble in one place, there quarrels will arise and broils, contentions
and disputes amongst them about the ordering of themselves in the van or rear,
at ford or river, over who shall be first at killing a boar or a stag or a deer
or a hare. But, look now again for us and speak truth, O Fedelm:--
"Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid How beholdest thou our host?"
"Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in
red!"
Therewith she began to prophesy and to foretell the coming of Cuchulain to
the men of Erin, and she chanted a lay:--
"Fair, of deeds, the man I see; Wounded sore is his fair
skin; On his brow shines hero's light; Victory's seat is in his face!
"Seven gems of champions brave Deck the centre of his
orbs; Naked are the spears he bears, And he hooks a red cloak round!
Noblest face is his, I see; He respects all womankind. Young
the lad and fresh his hue, With a dragon's form in fight!
I know not who is the Hound, Culann's hight, of fairest
fame; But I know full well this host Will be smitten red by him!
Four small swords--a brilliant feat-- He supports in either
hand; These he'll ply upon the host, Each to do its special deed!
His Gae Bulga, too, he wields, With his sword and
javelin. Lo, the man in red cloak girt Sets his foot on every hill!
Two spears from the chariot's left He casts forth in orgy
wild. And his form I saw till now Well I know will change its guise!
On to battle now he comes; If ye watch not, ye are
doomed. This is he seeks ye in fight Brave Cuchulain, Sualtaim's son!
All your host he'll smite in twain, Till he works your utter
ruin. All your heads ye'll leave with him. Fedelm, prophet-maid, hides
not!
"Gore shall flow from warriors' wounds; Long 'twill live in
memory. Bodies hacked and wives in tears, Through the Smith's Hound whom
I see!"
Thus far the Augury and the Prophecy and the Preface of the Tale, and the
Occasion of its invention and conception, and the Pillow-talk which Ailill and
Medb had in Cruachan. Next follows the Body of the Tale itself.
  
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