The Food of the Dagda

Long ago the land of Erin was under great pain, under the tyranny of cruel Bres. Great men were given menial work. Dagda, the great god,  had to dig ditches. He was forced to share his food with an idle blind man named Cridenbel as well. When Cridenbel complained to the king that his share in the food was small the king forced Dagda to give a large share of food while he had the smaller ration. Being a large man, Dagda's health began to wane with hunger.

One day, Angus Og the Wise found Dagda digging trench and suffering. Angus advised Dagda to put three gold coins into Cridenbel's share of the meal. The blind man died because of it, and Dagda was arrested for poisoning Cridenbel.

Dagda told Bres that he was innocent, that he had only given the blind man some coins. Bres warned Dagda that he would die if no coins were found in Cridenbel's stomach. Cridenbel's belly was cut open and three gold coins were found. So Dagda was acquitted of charge of murder. And  the Tuatha bided their time; one day Bres would fall.

A Song for Lugh

Once was born a child so bright
They clothed him all in green
this child true, by winter through

Was fairest ever seen

Lugh grew tall from spring to fall
Then sought to find a wife
But Balor came and made his claim
And swore to take Lugh's life

The two did fight from morn till night
When Lugh did strike him one
Balor's eye then lost its fire
And the battle it was won

Lugh was wed and made his bed
With Erinn in the north
The land was green and the wheat was gold

The harvest soon came forth

At your festival sounds the horn,
Calling the people again
Child of barleycorn, newly summer-born
Ripening like the grain

Lugh, the Bright God, was a favorite subject of stories; he became the symbol of male perfection, as well as the god of light, grain, and harvest. This song is based on an old tune sung August 1, Lughasadh, the holiday of the first harvest.

Lugh's Birth

In the time before the Sons of Mil had laid a foot on the shores of Erin, when the Tuatha de Dannan still warred against the Formorii for the soul of the land, there was a lad named Cain. A handsome lad he was, with hair brown as the earth he tilled. He was a farmer by trade, but the farm on which he was born had no need of him. So he set off in search of better prospects.  As  he walked along the roads, he kept a sharp eye out, for these were dangerous times and the Formori were known for their ambushes. But presently he was in better country, away from the sea, and the roads were wider. As he walked, he noted a white cow up ahead of him, with no one to lead it.

Suddenly, a man leapt over the hedge. Such a leap! And landed beside Cain.

“Have you seen a white cow?” asked the stranger.

“Sha, that I have. I’ve been following her.”

“Would that you would lead her.” Said the other. He introduced himself as Elcmar, and offered Cain the work of caring for the Glas, his wife’s pet cow, and look after the beast’s special needs.

“When you tend her, three things you must keep from; never get in her way. Never slow her down. And never sleep by day. For that Formorii swine Balor wants this cow badly, and will steal her soon as winking.”

Cain agreed, and for three times three years he kept his word. The Glas wandered the land, and gave milk to all without calving, for the cow held the wisdom of her kind. And Cain was proud. No Formorii threat came near him and his good spear.

There came a summer’s day that was more perfect than any other, and the breeze blew, and the Glas grazed contented. Cain sat and watched, and smiled…and slowly, slowly, his eyes closed. As his head nodded, the point of his spear pricked him and he woke. The field was empty. The Glas was gone.

When Cain, exhausted from searching, told Elcmar and his wife Boann, the man flew into a rage.

“Get that cow back, lazy sod, or I’ll drink your blood rather than her milk!”

There was only one place the cow would be; Balor’s Isle, called Tory Island in later years. Cloaking himself in all the stealth and lightness of his folk, he went.

On the isle he followed the tracks of the Glas, until he came to a tower tall and dark. There was a garden, and the Glas was in it. All around the garden were young women. Some milked, some gathered honey and some gardened. But Cain drew back, for these were Formorii girls, and while some were comely enough, with only a harelip or ears like a cow, others were truly horrific.

“This,” thought Cain, “must be the worst maiden’s camp in creation.”

And he looked up the tower, wondering how many ugly girls it could hold. His heart smote in his chest. At the highest window stood a vision; a girl with hair like red gold, with such beauty in her, but also such sadness. Cain had to meet her. Throwing off caution, he slipped his way up, and up, amd opened the door. She was there, a beauty for all eyes, but sadness enough to break a stone.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“In looking at you, I’m not sure I remember.”

The lady, Etain by name, was charmed by Cain, and so she hid him as a serving girl and kept him by her side. All day and into the night they talked. She told him that her father Balor had been told if she bore a child, it would be the one to kill him.

“And he trusted the prophecy.” She said bitterly, “So he put me here.”

Cain’s bile rose at the man who could treat a daughter so. To comfort the girl, he told her stories. He made her laugh, and her smile made his heart beat.

He stayed three days with Etain, and then it was time to take back the Glas. He gave the girl a long kiss. And three days later, Cain was back, using skills that Elcmar had taught him. He spent three weeks with her.

“I’m a child of Balor, my love.” She warned.

“I wouldn’t care if you were a child of the Morrigan herself.” He replied,  “I love you.”

The two Handfasted themselves in secret.

A month passed, and Etain was with child.

“My father will find out, and then he will kill us.” She said.

“He won’t touch a hair on you.” Cain said. “I’ll take you and the child away with me.

Nine months passed, ad Cain was Etain’s only handmaid. Cain prepared a boat and provisions. All was ready.

Deep in the night, Etain went into labor. It lasted through the dark, until just before dawn. As the child was born, Etain opened her eyes, and this is what she saw; a shaft of light, a gleam, a flying spear.

“Oh!” she cried, “We shall name him Lugh, for he will dispel the 

darkness!”

The Coming of the Tuatha De Dannan

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.

Govan and the Miserly Monks

Now you may know of great Govan, the greatest smith and carpenter there ever was.Now there was a time when he was asked by a load of monks to build them a tower. Well, Govan was a bit reluctant, for he had little enough trust for this new god, but craft was craft.

“I’ll work for five days, and at the end of five days you’ll have a fifty foot tower, and I’ll have fifty gold coins.

“That you will.”

So Govan worked for five days. By himself he quarried the stone, cut and shaped it, brought it in with his great skill and set it in place, as fine as any building ever rose. Now on the fifth day, the roof was nearly finished. Govan came down for a few drinks of water, and said, “You have the fifty feet. I’d like the fifty coins now.”

“Yes, of course, there are the forty coins.” A monk said happily, handing over a bag.

“But you promised me fifty coins.”

“Oh, no, we promised you forty.”

“Well then,” said Govan, “you’ve paid forty coins, and you’ll have forty feet.” And he went up the scaffold, and began to throw back down the roofing stones.

“Stop, stop!!” the monks cried, but Govan only called, “Forty.”

“We’ll pay fifty!”

Then, and only then, did Govan stop throwing stones about and finish the building. And the monks learned not to cheat one of the old folk.

The Four Greatest Cities

The Four Greatest Cities

The Children of the Dagda and Danu lived upon the land of Erin a great long while. But before they made homes on mortal soil, they had lands of their own; four fair and grand cities far across the water.  Each city had its own strengths and virtues.

The first city was Falias of the north, city of wisdom. In it was housed the stone of Le Fail, a great stone fallen from the sky. This stone passed judgments, for when the rightful king stepped upon it, it gave a great shout of joy. An unfit king who stepped upon it made Le Fail sob.

Gorias lay in the west, city of Smiths and Warriors. Here was the home of the great sword Retaliation, the sword that could raise the winds and put down the greatest foe.

Finias to the East was the City of Bards and Poets, and in it was housed the Red Javelin, the Fire Spear that would burn clean any lie and could find any enemy.

And to the south lay great Murias, Healer’s City. Here Dagda’s cauldron was kept, the cauldron that fed all the Dannans, kept them in their youth, and healed every wound. In Murias was the angry sea kept calm, in Murias was every harm made right.

And yet there did come a time when the Tuatha De Dannan left this great place, taking their treasures from their grand cities. Why?

Well, that’s another story.