Long and long ago, Nuada was the king of the Tuatha de Dannan, a leader with a nature like earth and water; calm and just, but powerful. It was he who led his people from their homeland. None know why Danu’s children were forced to leave their home. Some say it was because the land sank, while others say that their land grew infertile and could not sustain them. But whatever the reason, the Tuatha set out to find a new home in nine great ships, each large enough to house hundreds. They sailed south for three weeks before their lookouts sighted a green shore.
As they landed, Nuada ordered the boats burned. This was to be their home now, and there was no turning back. The smoke of the great, burning ships rose, blanketing the land in cloud. But soon, through the cloud, came strangers.
At this time, the land was held by two races in uneasy alliance; the Firbolg, strong, honorable and forceful, and the Formorii, a cunning people, cunning and sly. The king of the land, Echmere, spoke with Nuada, while the Dannan warriors compared their bronze-tipped javelins with the Firbolg’s great, heavy thrusting spears.
“We desire only some land to call our own.” Nuada said, “To hold and to farm. If we can find a place amongst your people, it would bring us great joy.”
The kings parted with gifts and glad words on their tongues. But already the Formorii counselors who rode with Echmere were whispering in his ear.
“He speaks lies. What right has a foreigner to come and demand from us?”
“Beware, my king. They want just a little land. But give them a little land and they will spread and spread until they push us into the sea.”
Their poison seeped into the king’s heart and hardened it. Three days later, he sent and envoy to the Tuatha de Dannan denying their request, and demanding their return to the sea. The Tuatha de Dannan were at a loss. Night after night, they camped by the shore.
After nine nights, they heard the sound of drums in the morning. Scouts ran out, and returned with news of a great army encamped not far off.
At noontide, warriors came, ordering them once more to leave.
“Give us wood for boats and we will fly,” said Ogma, a bard of his King, “Give us land to till and we will farm. But harry us, and we will fight.”
Hot headed and goaded by the Formorii among them, the warriors denied these requests, and demanded battle on the next day. Nuada nodded.“If it must be, then we accept.”
The battle was to be on the Field of Pillars, Mag Turidech. There the Tuatha assembled. The light played over the keen edges of swords and the sparkle of torques about necks. And they advanced, their beauty and their grim grace striking fear into their enemies.
The battle lasted three days, bloody on both sides. Nuada lost his hand in the battle, but for that his people made the enemy pay dearly.
On the third day the Firbolg were in tatters. A truce was called, and the fighting ended. The Firbolg were given part of the land as their own again, and the honor of the Tuatha de Dannan who respected their courage in battle. But the sly and treacherous Formorii they drove to the edges of the land, as far as they could chase. And so the Tuatha de Dannan came to the land of Erin.
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