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The
Washer
of the
Ford
FIONA MACLEOD
THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
RIVERSIDE
Ex Libris C. K. OGDEN
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The Celtic Library
THE WASHER OF THE FORD
By the Same Author
PHARAIS : a Romance of the Isles. THE MOUNTAIN LOVERS. THE SIN-EATER : and other Tales. GREEN FIRE. A Romance.
IN PREPARA TION LYRIC RUNES AND FONNSHEEN
(P.XTRICK GeDDES and COLLEAGUES.)
OSSIAN RE-TOLD. (Do.)
The Washer of the Ford :
And other Legendary Mor- alities. By FIONA MACLEOD ^.^^^^^
PATRICK CFDDF.S .\ ( ol.l.l- .\. , IM'S THE LAWNMARKET, EDINBURGH CHICAGO: STONE & KIMBALL
Copyrighted in United States.
All nights Reserved.
May j8g6.
C. A. J.
CONTENTS
Prologue
Legendary Moralities —
I. The Washer of the Ford II. Muime Chriosd
III. The Fisher of Men
IV. The Last Supper . V. The Dark Nameless One
VI. The Three Marvels of Hy
The Annir-Choille
The Shadow-Seers
Seanachas —
I. The Song of the Sword II. The Flight of the Culdces .
III. Mircath
IV. The Laughter of Scatliacli tlic (^nccn
Ula and Urla
PAGE 3
25
+9 93 113 131 14-5 175 229
261
279 289
297
309
" Here are told the stories of these pictures of the imagination, of magic and romance. Yet they were gravely chosen withal, and for reasons mani- fold. . . . What if they be but dreams ? ' We are such stuff as dreams are made of.' What if they be but magic and romance ? These things are not ancient and dead, but modern and increasing. Vot wherever a man learns power over Nature, there is Magic ; wherever he carries out an ideal into Life, there is Romance."
Patrick Geddes,
" T/ie Interpreter."
PROLOGUE
' ' / find under the boughs of love and hate Eternal Beauty wandering on her way."
(" The Rose upon the Rood of Time")
PROLOGUE
(to kathia)
To you, in your far-away home in Provence, I send these tales out of the remote North you love so well, and so well understand. The same blood is in our veins, a deep current somewhere beneath the tide that sustains us. We have meeting-places that none knows of; we understand what few can understand ; and we share in common a strange and inexplicable heritage. It is because you, who are called Kathia of the Sunway, are also Kathia nan Ciar, Kathia of the Shadow, it is because you are what you are that I inscribe this book to you. In it you will find much that is familiar to you ; for there is a reality, beneath the mere accident of novelty, which may be recognised in a moment as native to the .secret life, that lives behind the brain and the wise nerves with their dim ancestral knowledge.
3
4 FROLOGUE
The greater portion of this book deals with the remote life of a remote past. " The Shadow-Seers," however, though of to-day, may equally be of yesterday or to-morrow ; and as for " The Last Supper " and " The Fisher of Men," they are of no time or date, for they are founded upon elemental facts which are modified but not transformed by the changing years.
It may be the last of its kind I shall write — at any rate, for a time. I would like it to be associated with you, to whom not only the mystery but the pagan sentiment and the old barbaric emotion are so near. With the second sight of the imagination we can often see more clearly in the dim subsided waters than through the foam and spray of the present ; and most clearly when- we recognise that, amid the ebb and flow of time and circumstance, the present is but a surface-eddy of that past to which we belong. In the strange arrogance of our passing hour we are as ships swinging happily content to anchors which are linked to us by ropes of sand.
If I am eager to have my say on other aspects of our Celtic life in the remoter West Highlands and in the Isles : now with the
PROLOGUE 5
idyllic, now with the tragic, now with the grot- esque, the humorous, the pathetic, with all the medley cast from the looms of Life — all that
" . . . . from the looms of Life are spun, Warp of shadow and woof of sun "
and if, too, I long to express anew something of that wonderful historic romance in which we of our race and country are so rich, I am not likely to forget those earlier dreams which are no whit less realities — realities of the present seen through an inverted glass — which have been, and are, so full of inspiration and of a strange and terrible beauty.
But one to whom life appeals by a myriad avenues, all alluring and full of wonder and mystery, cannot always abide where the heart longs most to be. It is well to remember that there are Shadowy Waters even in the cities, and that the Fount of Youth is dis- coverable in the dreariest towns as well as in Hy Brasil : a truth apt to be forgotten 1^}' those of us who dwell with ever-wondering delight in that land of lost romance which had its own day, as this epoch of a still stranger, if a less obvious, romance has its own passing hour.
6 PROLOGUE
The titular piece — with its strange name that will not be unfamiliar to you who know our ancient Celtic literature, or may bear in mind the striking image wrought out of the old local legend, by the author of the Irish epic, Congal — gives the keynote, not only of this book, but of what has been for hundreds of years, and to some extent still is, the characteristic of the purely Celtic mind in the Highlands and the Isles. This character- istic is a strange complexity of paganism and Christianity, or rather an apparent complexity arising from the grafting of Christianity upon paganism. Columba, St Patrick, St Ronan, Kentigern, all these militant Christian saints were merely transformed pagans. Even in the famous dialogue between St Patrick and Oisin, which is the folk-telling of the passing of the old before the new, the thrill of a pagan sympathy on the part of the un- compromising saint is unmistakable. To this day there arc Christian rites and supersti- tions which are merely a gloss upon a surviv- ing antique paganism. I have known an old woman, in nowise different from her neigh- bours, who on the day of Beltane sacrificed
PROLOGUE 7
a hen : though for her propitiatory rite she had no warrant save that of vague tradi- tionary lore, the lore of the teinntean, of the hearth-side — where, in truth, are best to be heard the last echoes of the dim mytho- logic faith of our ancestors. What is the familiar " clachan," now meaning a hamlet with a kirk, but an echo of the " Stones," the circles of the Druids — or of a more ancient worship still, that perhaps of the mysterious Anait, whose sole record is a clach on a lonely moor, of which from time immemorial the people have spoken as the " Teampull na'n Anait " ? A relative of mine saw, in South Uist, less than twenty-five years ago, what may have been the last sun-sacrifice in Scotland, when an old Gael secretly and furtively slew a lamb on the summit of a conical grassy knoll at sunrise. Those who have the Gaelic have their cars filled with rumours of a day that is gone. When an evicted crofter laments, 0 mo chreach, mo chreach ! * or some poor soul on a bed of pain cries, O mo chradhshlat ! \
• " O, alas, alas ! " Literally, " O, my undoing," or " O, my utter ruin."
t " Alas, my torment ! "
8 PROLOGUE
he who knows the past recognises in the one the mournful refrain of the time when the sea- pirates or the hill-robbers pillaged and devas- tated quiet homesteads ; and, in the other, not the moan of suffering only, but the cry of torment from the victim racked on the " cradh- shlat," a bitter ignominious torture used by the ancient Gaels. When, in good fellowship one man says to another, Tha, a laochain (yes, my dear fellow), he recalls Fionn and the chivalry of eld ; for laochain is merely a contraction for laoch-Fhinn, meaning a com- panion in war, a hero, literally Fionn's right- hand man in battle. To this day, women, accompanying a marching regiment, are some- times heard to say in the Gaelic, " We are going with the dear souls to the wars" — literally an echo of the Ossianic Siubhlaidh Sinn le'n anam do'n araich, " We shall accom- pany their souls to the battle - field." A thousand instances could be adduced. The language is a herring-net through which the unchanging sea filtrates even though the net be clogged with the fish of the hour. Nor is it the pagan atmosphere only that survives : often we breathe the air of that early day
PROLOGUE 9
when the mind of man was attuned to a beautiful piety which was wrought into nature itself. Of the several words for the dawn, there is a beautiful one, Umncagachadh. We have it in the phrase, 'nuair a bha an latha ag uinneagachadh, " when the day began to dawn." Now this word is simply an exten- sion of Uinneag, a window, and the application of the image dates far back to the days of St Columba, when some devout and poetic soul spoke of the uinneaga^i N'eimh, the win- dows of Heaven.
Sometimes, among the innumerable legend- ary moralities which exist fragmentarily in the West Highlands and in the Isles, there is a coherent narrative basis — as, for example, in the Irish and Highland folk-lore about St Bride, or Bridget, " Muime Chriosd." Some- times there is simply a phrase survived out of antiquity. I doubt if any now living, either in the Hebrides or in Ireland, has heard even a fragmentary legend of the Washer of the Ford. The name survives, with its atmos- phere of a remote past, its dim ancestral memory of a shadowy figure of awe haunt- ing a shadowy stream in a shadowy land.
lo PROLOGUE
Sir Samuel Ferguson, in Congal, has done little more than limn an obscure shadow of that shadow ; yet it haunts the imagination. In the passage of paganism, these old myths were too deep-rooted in the Celtic mind to vanish at the bidding of the Cross : thus came about that strange grafting of the symbolic imagery of the devout Culdee, of the visionary Mariolater, upon the surviving Druidic and pre-historic imagination. In a word, the Washer of the Ford might well have appeared, to a single generation, now as a terrible and sombre pagan goddess of death, now as a symbolic figure in the new faith, foreshadowing spiritual salvation and the mystery of resurrection.
If, in a composition such as "The Annir- Choille," there is the expression of revolt — not ancient only, nor of the hour, but eternal, for the revolt is of the sovereign nature within us whereon all else is an accidental superstructure — against the Christian ethic of renunciation, with a concurrent echo of our deep primeval longing for earth-kinship with every life in Nature: if here there is the breath of a day that may not come again, there is little or
PROLOGUE II
nothing of the past, save what is merely accidental, in " The Fisher of Men " or " The Last Supper." I like to think that these eachdaireachd spioradail, these spiritual chron- icles, might as well, in substance, have been told a thousand years ago or be written a thousand years hence. That Fisher still haunts the invisible shadowy stream of human tears ; those mystic Spinners still ply their triple shuttles, and the fair Weaver of Hope now as of yore and for ever sends his rainbows adrift across the hearts and through the minds of men. What does it matter, again, that the Three Marvels of Hy are set against the background of the lona of St Columba? St Francis blessed the birds of Assisi, and San Antonio had a heart as tender for all winged and gentle creatures ; and there are innumer- able quiet gardens of peace in the world even now, where the kindred of San Antonio and St Francis and St Columba are kith to our fellow- beings, knowing them akin one and all to the seals whom St Molios blessed at the end of his days, and in his new humbleness hailed as likewise of the company of the sons of God.
12 PROLOGUE
But of this I am sure. If there be spiritual truth in the vision of the Blind Harper who saw the Washer of the Ford, or in that of Molios who hailed the seals as brethren, or in that of Colum, who blessed the birds and the fish of the sea, and even the vagrant flies of the air, and saw the Moon-Child, and in that seeing learned the last mystery of the life of the soul, if in these, as in the " Fisher of Men " and " The Last Supper," I have given faint utterance to the heart-knowledge we all have, I would not have you or any think that the pagan way is therefore to me as the way of darkness. The lost monk who loved the Annir-Choille was doubtless not the less able to see the Uinncagan N^imh because he was under ban of Colum and all his kift; and there are those of us who would rather be with Cathal of the Woods, and be drunken with green fire, than gain the paradise of the holy Molios who banned him, if in that gain were involved the forfeiture of the sunny green world, the joy of life, and the earth-sweet ancient song of the blood that is in the veins of youth.
These tales, let me add, are not legendary
PROLOGUE 13
mysteries but legendary moralities. They are reflections from the mirror that is often ob- scured but is never dimmed. There is no mystery in them, or anywhere ; except the eternal mystery of beauty.
Of the section called Seanachas, the short barbaric tales, I will say nothing to you, whose favourite echo from Shelley is that thrilling line — " The tempestuous loveliness of terror."
You in your far Provence, amid the austere hills that guard an ancient land of olive and vine, a land illumined by the blue flowing light of the Rhone, and girt by desert places where sun and wind inhabit, and scarce any other — you there and I here have this in common. Everywhere we sec the life of Man in sub- servient union with the life of Nature ; never, in a word, as a sun beset by tributary stars, but as one planet among the innumerous con- course of the sky, nurtured, it may be, by light from other luminaries and other spheres than we know of. That we arc intimately at one with Nature is a cosmic truth we are all slowly approaching. It is not only the dog, it is not only the wild beast and the wood-dove, that are our close kindred,
14 PROLOGUE
but the green tree and the green grass, the blue wave and the flowing wind, the flower of a day and the granite peak of an aeon. And I for one would rather have the wind for comrade, and the white stars and green leaves as my kith and kin, than many a human companion, whose chief claim is the red blood that differs little from the sap in the grass or in the pines, and whose " deathless soul " is, mayhap, no more than a fugitive light blown idly for an hour betwixt dawn and dark. We are woven in one loom, and the Weaver thrids our being with the sweet influ- ences, not only of the Pleiades, but of the living world of which each is no more than a multi-coloured thread : as, in turn, He thrids the wandering wind with the inarticulate cry, the yearning, the passion, the pain, of that bitter clan, the Human.
Truly, we are all one. It is a common tongue we speak, though the wave has its own whisper, and the wind its own sigh, and the lip of man its word, and the heart of woman its silence.
Long, long ago a desert king, old and blind,
PROLOGUE 15
but dowered with ancestral wisdom beyond all men that have lived, heard that the Son of God was bom among men. He rose from his place, and on the eve of the third day he came to where Jesus sat among the gifts brought by the wise men of the East. The little lad sat in Mary's lap, beneath a tree filled with quiet light ; and while the folk of Bethlehem came and went He was only a child as other children are. But when the desert king drew near, the child's eyes deepened with knowledge.
" What is it, my little son ? " said Mary the Virgin.
" Sure, Mother dear," said Jesus, who had never yet spoken a word, " it is Deep Know- ledge that is coming to me."
"And what will that be, O my Wonder and Glory ? "
" That which will come in at the door be- fore you speak to me again."
Even as the child spoke, an old blind man entered, and bowed his head.
" Come near, O tired old man," said Mary that had borne a son to Josc[)h, but whose womb knew him not.
i6 PROLOGUE
With that the tears fell into the old man's beard. " Sorrow of sorrows," he said, " but that will be the voice of the Queen of Heaven ! "
But Jesus said to his mother : " Take up the tears, and throw them into the dark night." And Mary did so : and lo ! upon the wilderness, where no light was, and on the dark wave, where seamen toiled without hope, clusters of shining stars rayed downward in a white peace.
Thereupon the old king of the desert said :
" Heal me, O King of the Elements."
And Jesus healed him. His sight was upon him again, and his grey ancientness was green youth once more.
" I have come with Deep Knowledge," he said.
" Ay, sure, I am for knowing that," said the King of the Elements, that was a little child.
" Well, if you will be knowing that, you can tell me who is at my right side ? "
" It is my elder brother the Wind."
" And what colour will the Wind be ? "
" Now blue as Hope, now green as Com- passion."
" And who is on my left ? "
" The Shadow of Life."
PROLOGUE 17
" And what colour will the Shadow be ? "
" That which is woven out of the bowels of the earth and out of the belly of the sea."
" Truly, thou art the King of the Elements. I am bringing you a great gift, I am : I have come with Deep Knowledge."
And with that the old blind man, whose eyes were now as stars, and whose youth was a green garland about him, chanted nine runes.
The first rune was the Rune of the Four Winds.
The second rune was the Rune of the Deep Seas.
The third rune was the Rune of the Lochs and Rivers and the Rains and the Dews and the many waters.
The fourth rune was the Rune of the Green Trees and of all things that grow.
The fifth rune was the Rune of Man and Bird and Beast, and of everything that lives and moves, in the air, on the earth, and in the sea : all that is seen of man, and all that is unseen of man.
The sixth rune was the Rune of Birth, from
B
I8 PROLOGUE
the spawn on the wave to the Passion of Woman.
The seventh rune was the Rune of Death, from the quenching of a gnat to the fading of the stars.
The eighth rune was the Rune of the Soul that dieth not, and the Spirit that is.
The ninth rune was the Rune of the Mud and the Dross and the Slime of Evil — that is the Garden of God, wherein He walks with sunlight streaming from the palms of his hands and with stars springing beneath his feet.
Then when he had done, the old man said : " I have brought you Deep Knowledge." But at that Jesus the Child said :
" All this I heard on my way hither."
The old desert king bowed his head. Then he took a blade of grass, and played upon it. It was a wild, strange air that he played.
" losa mac Dhe, tell the woman what song that is," cried the desert king.
" It is the secret speech of the Wind that is my Brother," cried the Child, clapping his hands for joy.
"And what will this be?" and with that
PROLOGUE 19
the old man took a green leaf, and played a lovely whispering song.
" It is the secret speech of the leaves," cried Jesus the little lad, laughing low.
And thereafter the desert king played upon a handful of dust, and upon a drop of water, and upon a flame of fire ; and the Child laughed for the knowing and the joy. Then he gave the secret speech of the singing bird, and the bark- ing fox, and the howling wolf, and the bleating sheep : of all and every created kind.
" O King of the Elements," he said then, " for sure you knew much ; but now I have made you to know the secrets things of the green Earth that is Mother of you and of Mary too."
But while Jesus pondered that one mystery, the old man was gone : and when he got to his people, they put him alive into a hollow of the earth and covered him up, because of his shining eyes, and the green youth that was about him as a garland.
And when Christ was nailed upon the Cross, Deep Knowledge went back into the green world, and passed into the grass and the sap in trees, and the flowing wind, and the dust that swirls and is gone.
20 PROLOGUE
All this is of the wisdom of the long ago, and you and I are of those who know how ancient it is, how remoter far than when Mary, at the bidding of her little son, threw up into the firmament the tears of an old man.
It is old, old —
" Thousands of years, thousands of years, If all were told."
Is it wholly unwise, wholly the fantasy of a dreamer, to insist, in this late day, when the dust of ages and the mists of the present hide from us the Beauty of the World, that we can regain our birthright only by leaving our cloud -palaces of the brain, and becoming consciously at one with the cosmic life of which, merely as men, we are no more than a perpetual phosphorescence ?
LEGENDARY MORALITIES
I
teU Of the dim auisdoms old and deep. That God gi'ves unto man in sleep. For the elemental beings go tAbout my table to and fro. In Honv and fire and clay and <wind. They huddle Jrom mans pondering mind ; Yet he ivho treads in austere fiays, May surely meet their ancient gaze. {Man e'ver journeys on luith them tAfter the red-rose-bordered hem. Ah, faeries, dancing under the moon, tA Druid land, a Druid tune ! "
THE WASHER OF THE FORD
I
I
I
I
THE WASHER OF THE FORD
When Torcall the Harper heard of the death of his friend, Aodh- of- the -Songs, he made a vow to mourn for him for three seasons — a green time, an apple time, and a snow time.
There was sorrow upon him because of that death. True, Aodh 'was not of his kindred, but the singer had saved the harper's Hfe when his frieftd was fallen in the Field of Spears.
Torcall was of the people of the north — of the men of Lochlin. His song was of the fjords and of strange gods, of the sword and the war-galley, of the red blood and the white breast, of Odin and Thor and Freya, of Balder and the Dream-God that sits in the rainbow, of the starry North, of the flames of pale blue and flushing rose that play around the Pole, of sudden death in battle, and of Valhalla.
Aodh was of the south isles, where the.sc shake under the thunder of the western seas. His clan was of the isle that is now called
35
26 THE WASHER OF THE FORD
Barra, and was then Aoid(j ; but his mother was a woman out of a royal rath in Banba, as men of old called Eir6 or Eireann, She was so fair that a man died of his desire of her. He was named Ulad, and was a prince. " The Melancholy of Ulad" was long sung in his land after his end in the dark swamp, where he heard a singing, and went laughing glad to his death. Another man was made a prince because of her. This was Aodh the Harper, out of the Hebrid Isles. He won the heart out of her, and it was his from the day she heard his music and felt his eyes flame upon her. Before the child was born, she said, " He shall be the son of love. He shall be called Aodh. He shall be called Aodh-of-the-Songs." And so it was.
Sweet were his songs. He loved, and he sang, and he died.
And when Torcall that was his friend knew this sorrow, he rose and made his vow, and went out for evermore from the place where he was.
Since the hour of the Field of Spears he had been blind. Torcall Dall he was upon men's lips thereafter. His harp had a moon-
THE WASHER OF THE FORD 27
shine wind upon it from that day, it was said : a beautiful strange harping when he went down through the glen, or out upon the sandy machar by the shore, and played what the wind sang, and the grass whispered, and the tree murmured, and the sea muttered or cried hollowly in the dark.
Because there was no sight to his eyes, men said he saw and he heard. What was it he heard and he saw that they saw not and heard not? It was in the voice that sighed in the strings of his harp, so the saying was.
When he rose and went away from his place, the Maormor asked him if he went north, as the blood sang ; or south, as the heart cried ; or west, as the dead go ; or east, as the light comes.
" I go east," answered Torcall Dall. "And why so, Blind Harper?" " For there is darkness always upon me, and I go where the light comes."
On that night of the nights, a fair wind blowing out of the west, Torcall the Harper set forth in a galley. It splashed in the moonshine as it was rowed swiftly by nine men.
28 THE WASHER OF THE FORD
" Sing us a song, O Torcall Dall ! " they cried.
" Sing us a song, Torcall of Lochlin," said the man who steered. He and all his company were of the Gael : the Harper only was of the Northmen.
" What shall I sing ? " he asked. " Shall it be of war that you love, or of women that twine you like silk o' the kine ; or shall it be of death that is your meed ; or of your dread, the Spears of the North?"
A low sullen growl went from beard to beard.
" We are under ceangal, Blind Harper," said the steersman, with downcast eyes because of his flaming wrath ; " we are under bond to take you safe to the mainland, but we have sworn no vow to sit still under the lash of your tongue. 'Twas a wind-fleet arrow that sliced the sight out of your eyes : have a care lest a sudden sword-wind sweep the breath out of your body. "
Torcall laughed a low, quiet laugh.
" Is it death I am fearing now — I who have washed my hands in blood, and had love, and known all that is given to man ? But I will sing you a song, I will."
THE WASHER OFTHE FORD 29
And with that he took his harp, and struck the strings.
There is a lonely stream afar in a lone dim land :
It hath white dust for shore it has, white bones bestrew the
strand : The only thing that liveth there is a naked leaping sword ; But I, who a seer am, have seen the whirling hand Of the Washer of the Ford.
A shadowy shape of cloud and mist, of gloom and dusk, she
stands,
The Washer of the Ford : She laughs, at times, and strews the dust through the hollow
of her hands.
She counts the sins of all men there, and slays the red-stained
horde — The ghosts of all the sins of men must know the whirling
sword
Of the Washer of the Ford.
She stoops and laughs when in the dust she sees a writhing
limb : " Go back into the ford," she says, " and hither and thither
swim ; Then I shall wash you white as snow, and shall take you by
the hand. And slay you here in the silence with this my whirling brand, And trample you into the dust of this white windless sand " — This is the laughing word Of the Washer of the Ford Along that silent strand.
There was silence for a time after Torcall
30 THE WASHER OF THE FORD
Dall sang that song. The oars took up the moonshine and flung it hither and thither like loose shining crystals. The foam at the prow curled and leaped.
Suddenly one of the rowers broke into a long, low chant —
To, eily-a-ho, ayah-a-ho, eily-ayah-a-ho,
Singeth the Sword Eily-a-ko, ayah-a-ho, eily-ayah-a-ho.
Of the Washer of the Ford !
And at that all ceased from rowing. Standing erect, they lifted up their oars against the stars, and the wild voices of them flew out upon the night —
Yo, eily-a-ho, ayah-a-ho, eily-ayah-a-ho,
Singeth the Sword Eily-a-ho, ayah-a-ho, eily-ayah-a-ho.
Of the Washer of the Ford !
Torcall Dall laughed. Then he drew his sword from his side and plunged it into the sea. When he drew the blade out of the water and whirled it on high, all the white shining drops of it swirled about his head like a sleety rain.
And at that the steersman let go the steering- oar and drew his sword, and clove a flowing
THE WASHER OFTHEFORD 31
wave. But with the might of his blow the sword spun him round, and the sword sliced away the ear of the man who had the sternmost oar. Then there was blood in the eyes of all there. The man staggered, and felt for his knife, and it was in the heart of the steersman.
Then because these two men were leaders, and had had a blood-feud, and because all there, save Torcall, were of one or the other side, swords and knives sang a song.
The rowers dropped their oars ; and four men fought against three.
Torcall laughed, and lay back in his place.
While out of the wandering wave the death
of each man clambered into the hollow of
the boat, and breathed its chill upon its man,
Torcall the Blind took his harp. He sang
this song, with the swirling spray against his
face, and the smell of blood in his nostrils, and
the feet of him dabbling in the red tide that
rose there.
Oh 'tis a good thing the red blood, by Odin his word ! And a good thing it is to hear it bubbling dtcp. And when wc hear the laughter of the Sword, Oh, the corbies croak, and the old wail, and the women weep !
32 THE WASHER OF THE FORD
And busy will she be there where she stands, Washing the red out of the sins of all this slaying horde ; And trampling the bones of them into white powdery sands, And laughing low at the thrist of her thirsty sword — The Washer of the Ford !
When he had sung that song there was only one man whose pulse still beat, and he was at the bow.
" A bitter black curse upon you, Torcall Dall ! " he groaned out of the ooze of blood that was in his mouth.
"And who will you be?" said the Blind Harper.
" I am Fergus, the son of Art, the son of Fergus of the Duns."
" Well, it is a song for your death I will make, Fergus mac Art mhic Fheargus : and because you are the last."
With that Torcall struck a wild sob out of his harp, and he sang —
Oh, death of Fergus, that is lying in the boat here,
Betwixt the man of the red hair and him of the black beard.
Rise now, and out of thy cold white eyes take out the fear, And let Fergus mac Art mhic Fheargus see his weird !
Sure, now, it 's a blind man I am, but I 'm thinking I see The shadow of you crawling across the dead.
Soon you will twine your arm around his shaking knee. And be whispering your silence into his listless head.
And that is why, O Fergus
THE W A SHEROFTHEFORD 33
But here the man hurled his sword into the sea, and with a choking cry fell forward ; and upon the white sands he was, beneath the trampling feet of the Washer of the Ford.
II
It was a fair wind that blew beneath the stars that night. At dawn the mountains of Skye were like turrets of a great Dun against the east.
Hut Torcall the blind Harper did not see that thing. Sleep, too, was upon him. He smiled in that sleep, for in his mind he saw the dead men, that were of the alien people, his foes, draw near the stream that was in a far place. The shaking of them, poor tremulous frostbit leaves they were, thin and sere, made the only breath there was in that desert.
At the ford — this is what he saw in his vision — they fell down like stricken deer with the hounds upon them.
" What is this stream ? " they cried in tlie thin voice of rain across the moors.
" The River of Blood," said a voice.
C
34 THE WASHER OF THE FORD
" And who are you that are in the silence ? "
" I am the Washer of the Ford."
And with that each red soul was s«ized and thrown into the water of the ford ; and when white as a sheep-bone on the hill, was taken in one hand by the Washer of the Ford and flung into the air, where no wind was and where sound was dead, and was then severed this way and that, in four whirling blows of the sword from the four quarters of j the world. Then it was that the Washer of the Ford trampled upon what fell to the ground, till under the feet of her was only a white sand, white as powder, light as the dust of the yellow flowers that grow in the grass. I
It was at that Torcall Dall smiled in his sleep. He did not hear the washing of the sea ; no, nor any idle plashing of the unoared boat. Then he dreamed, and it was of the woman he had left, seven summer-sailings ago in Lochlin. He thought her hand was in his, and that her heart was against his.
" Ah, dear beautiful heart of woman," he said, " and what is the pain that has put a shadow upon you ? "
THE WASHER OF THE FORD 35
It was a sweet voice that he heard coming out of sleep.
" Torcall, it is the weary love I have."
" Ah, heart o' me, dear ! sure 'tis a bitter pain I have had too, and I away from you all these years."
" There 's a man's pain, and there 's a woman's pain."
"By the blood of Balder, Hildyr, I would have both upon me to take it off the dear heart that is here."
" Torcall ! "
" Ye.s, white one."
" We are not alone, we two in the dark."
And when she had said that thing, Torcall felt two baby arms go round his neck, and two leaves of a wild-rose press cool and sweet against his lips.
"Ah! what is this?" he cried, with his heart beating, and the blood in his body singing a glad .song.
A low voice crooned in his ear : a bitter- sweet song it was, passing-sweet, passing- bitter.
" Ah, white one, white one," he moaned ; " ah, the wee fawn o' me ! Baby o' foam, bonnie wee
36 THE WASHER OFTHEFORD
lass, put your sight upon me that I may see the blue eyes that are mine too and Hildyr's."
But the child only nestled closer. Like a fledgling in a great nest she was. If God heard her song, He was a glad God that day. The blood that was in her body called to the blood that was in his body. He could say no word. The tears were in his blind eyes.
Then Hildyr leaned into the dark, and took his harp, and played upon it. It was of the fonnsheen he had learned, far, far away, where the isles are.
She sang : but he could not hear what she sang.
Then the little lips, that were like a cool wave upon the dry sand of his life, whispered into a low song : and the wavering of it was like this in his brain —
Where the winds gather
The souls of the dead, O Torcall, my father,
My soul is led !
In Hildyr-mead
I was thrown, I was sown : Out of thy seed
I am sprung, I am blown !
THE WASHER OFTHEFORD n
But where is the way
For Hildyr and me, By the hill-moss grey
Or the grey sea ?
For a river is here,
And a wliirhng Sword — And a Woman washing
By a Ford !
With that, Torcall Dall gave a wild cry, and sheathed an arm about the wee white one, and put out a hand to the bosom that loved him. Hut there was no white breast there, and no white babe : and what was against his lips was his own hand red with blood.
" O Hildyr ! " he cried.
But only the splashing of the waves did he hear.
" O white one ! " he cried.
Hut only the scream of a sea-mew, as it hovered over that boat filled with dead men, made answer.
HI.
All flay the Hlind Harper steered the galley nf the dead. There was a faint wind moving out of the west. The boat went before it, slow, and with a low, sighing wash.
38 THE WASHER OF THE FORD
Torcall saw the red gaping wounds of the dead, and the glassy eyes of the nine men.
" It is better not to be blind and to see the dead," he muttered, " than to be blind and to see the dead."
The man who had been steersman leaned against him. He took him in his shuddering , grip and thrust him into the sea. M
But when, an hour later, he put his hand to the coolness of the water, he drew it back with a cry, for it was on the cold, stiff face of the dead man that it had fallen. The long hair had caught in a cleft in the leather where the withes had given.
For another hour Torcall sat with his chin in his right hand, and his unseeing eyes staring upon the dead. He heard no sound at all, save the lap of wave upon wave, and the suss of spray against spray, and a bubbling beneath the boat, and the low, steady swish of the body that trailed alongside the steering oar. i
At the second hour before sundown he lifted his head. The sound he heard was the sound of waves beating upon rocks.
At the hour before sundown he moved the oar rapidly to and fro, and cut away the body
i
THE WASHER OF THE FORD 39
that trailed behind the boat. The noise of the waves upon the rocks was now a loud song.
When the last sunfire burned upon his neck, and made the long hair upon his shoulders ashine, he smelt the green smell of grass. Then it was too that he heard the muffled fall of the sea, in a quiet haven, where shelves of sand were.
He followed that sound, and while he strained to hear any voice the boat grided upon the sand, and drifted to one side. Taking his harp, Torcall drove an oar into the sand, and leaped on to the shore. When he was there, he listened. There was silence. Far, far away he heard the falling of a mountain - torrent, and the thin, faint cry of an eagle, where the sun -flame dyed its eyrie as with streaming blood.
So he lifted his harp, and, harping low, with a strange, wild song on his lips, moved away from that place, and gave no more thought to the dead.
It was deep gloaming when he came to a wood. He felt the cold green breath of it.
" Come," said a voice, low and sweet.
" And who will you be ? " asked Torcall the
40 r 1 1 I<: W A S 1 1 K R O I' T M K FORD
HarjxT, trembling because of the sudden voice in the stillness.
" I am a child, and here is my hand, and I will lead you, Torcall of Lochlin."
The blind man had fear upon him.
" Who arc you that in a strange place are for knowing who I am ? "
" Come."
" Ay, sure, it is coming I am, white one ; but tell me who you are, and whence you came, and whither we go."
Then a voice that he knew sang :
O where the winds gather The souls of the dead, O Torcall, my father, My sold is led !
But a river is here.
And a wiiirling Sword — And a Woman washing
By a Ford !
Torcall Dall was as the last leaf on a tree at that.
" Were you on the boat ? " he whispered hoarsely.
Ikit it seemed to him that another voice answered : " Vea, even so."
THE WASHER OF THE FORD 41
" Tell me, for I have blindness : Is it peace ? "
"It is peace."
" Are you man, or child, or of the Hidden People ? "
" I am a shepherd."
" A shepherd ? Then, sure, you will guide me through this wood? And what will be beyond this wood ? "
" A river."
" And what river will that be ? "
" Deep and terrible. It runs through the Valley of the Shadow."
" And is there no ford there ? "
"Ay, there is a ford."
"And who will guide me across that ford?"
" She."
"Who?"
" The Washer of the Ford."
But hereat Torcall Dall gave a sore cry and snatched his hand away, and fled side- long into an alley of the wood.
It was moonshine when he lay down, weary. The sound of flowing water filled his ears.
" Come," said a voice.
So he rose and went. When the cold breath of the water was upon his face,
42 Til !•: W A S 1 1 K R OF THE 1<' O R D
the ^uidc that led him put a fruit into his hand.
"Eat, Torcall Dall ! "
He ate. He was no more Torcall Dall. His sight was upon him again. Out of the blackness shadows came ; out of the shadows, the great boughs of trees ; from the boughs, dark branches and dark clusters of leaves ; above the branches, white stars ; below the branches, white flowers ; and beyond these, the moonshine on the grass and the moonfire on the flowing of a river dark and deejx
"Take your harp, O Harper, and sing the song of what you see."
Torcall heard the voice, but saw no one. No shadow moved. Then he walked out upon the moonlit grass ; and at the ford he saw a woman stooping and washing shroud after shroud of woven moonbeams : washing them there in the flowing water, and singing low a song that he did not hear. He did not see her face. Hut she was young, and with long black hair that fell like the shadow of night over a white rock.
So Torcall took his harp, and he sang:
THEWASHEROFTHEFORD 43
Glory to the great Gods, it is no Sword I am seeing j Nor do I see aught but the flowing of a river. And I see shadows on the flow that are ever fleeing, And I see a woman washing shrouds for ever and ever.
Then he ceased, for he heard the woman
sing:
Glory to God on high, and to Mary, Mother of Jesus,
Here am I washing away the sins of the shriven,
O Torcall of Lochlin, throw off the red sins that ye
cherish And I will be giving you the washen shroud that they
wear in Heaven.
Filled with a great awe, Torcall bowed his head. Then once more he took his harp, and he sang :
0 well it is I am seeing, Woman of tiie Shrouds, That you have not for me any whirling of the Sword ;
1 have lost my gods, O woman, so what will the name be Of thee and thy gods, O woman that art Washer ot the
Ford ?
But the woman did not look up from the
dark water, nor did she cease from washing
the shrouds made of the woven moonbeams.
The Harper heard this song above the sighing
of the water :
It is Mary Magdalene my name is, and I loved Christ. Aud Christ is the Son of God, and Mary the Mother of Heaven.
44 T H 1^: VV A S H E R O P' T H E F O R D
And this river is the river of death, and the shadows Arc the fleeing souls that are lost if they be not shriven.
Then Torcall drew nigher unto the stream. A melancholy wind was upon it.
"Where arc all the dead of the world?" he said.
But the woman answered not.
"And what is the end, you that are called Mary ? "
Then the woman rose.
" Would you cross the Ford, O Torcall the Harper?"
He made no word upon that. l?ut he listened. He heard a woman singing faint and low, far away in the dark. He drew more near.
" Would you cross the Ford, O Torcall ? "
He made no word upon that ; but once more he listened. He heard a little child crying in the night.
" Ah, lonely heart of the white one," he sighed, and his tears fell.
Mary Magdalene turned and looked upon him.
It was the face of Sorrow she had. She stooped and took up the tears.
THE WASHER OF THE FORD 45
"They are bells of joy," she said. And he heard a faint, sweet ringing in his ears.
A prayer came out of his heart. A blind prayer it was, but God gave it wings. It flew to Mary, who took and kissed it, and gave it song.
" It is the Song of Peace," she said. And Torcall had peace.
"What is best, O Torcall?" she asked,— rustling-sweet as rain among the trees her voice was. " What is best ? The sword, or peace ? "
" Peace," he answered ; and he was white now, and was old.
"Take your harp," Mary said, "and go in unto the Ford. But, lo, now I clothe you with a white shroud. And if you fear the drowning flood, follow the bells that were your tears ; and if the dark affright you, follow the song of the prayer that came out of your heart."
So Torcall the Harper moved into the whelming flood, and he played a wild, strange air like the laughing of a child.
Deep silence there was. The moonshine lay upon the obscure wood, and the darkling
46 T II E WASHER O I'^ THE FORD
river flowed sighing through the soundless gloom.
The Washer of the Ford stooped once more. Low and sweet, as of yore and for ever, over the drowning souls she sang her immemorial song.
MUIME CHRIOSD
I
To the beautiful memory oj S. F. Alden.
NOTE
This legendary romance is based ufon the ancient and still current (though often hopelessly contradictory) legends concerning Brighid, or Bride, commonly knovjn as " Muime Chriosd " — i.e. the Foster-Mother of Christ. From the universal honour and re'verence in nuhich she avas and is held — second only in this respect to the Virgin herself— she is also called " Mary of the Gael. " Another name, frequent in the /Vest, is " Brighde-nam-Brat "—i.e. St Bride of the Mantle, a name explained in the course of my legendary story. Brighid the Christian saint should not, honjuever, be confused 'with a much earlier and remoter Brighid, the ancient Celtic (Muse of Song.
ST BRIDE OF THE ISLES
SLOINNEADH BRIGHDE, MUIME CHRIOSD
Brighde nighean Dughaill Duinn, 'Ic Aoidth, 'ic Arta, 'ic Cuinn. Gach la is gach oidhche
Ni mi cuimhneachadh air sloinneadb Brighde. Cha mharbhar mi, Cha ghuinear mi, Cha ghonar mi,
Cha mho dh' fhagas Criosd an dearmad mi ; Cha loisg teine gniomh Shatain mi ; 'S cha bhath uisge no saile mi ; 'S mi fo chomraig Naoimli Moire 'S mo chaomh mhuime, Brighde. Tlu Genealogy of St Bridget or St Bride, Foiter-Motker of Christ.
St Bridget, the daughter of Dughall Donn,
Son of Hugh, .<;on of Art, son of Conn.
Kach day and each night
I will meditate on the genealogy of St Bridget.
(Whereby) I will not be killed,
I will not be wounded,
I will not be bewitched ;
Neither will Christ forsake me ;
Satan's fire will not burn me ;
Neither water nor sea shall drown me ;
P'or I am under the protection of the Virgin Mary,
And my gentle foster-mother, St Bridget.
I
Before ever St Cokim came across the Moylc to the island of lona, tliat was then by stranfjers called Innis-nan-Dhruidhncach, the Isle of the
D 49
50 MUIME CURIOS D
Druids, and by the natives loua, there lived upon the south-cast slope of Dun- 1 a poor herdsman named Duvach. Poor he was, for sure, though it was not for this reason that he could not win back to Ireland, green Banba, as he called it: but because he was an exile thence, and might never again smell the heather blow- ing over Sliabh-Gorm in what of old was the realm of Aoimag.
He was a prince in his own land, though none on lona save the Arch-Druid knew what his name was. The high priest, however, knew that Duvach was the royal Dughall, called Dughall Donn, the son of Hugh the King, the son of Art, the son of Conn. In his youth he had been accused of having done a wrong against a noble maiden of the blood. When her child was born he was made to swear across her dead body that he would be true to the daughter for whom she had given up her life, that he would rear her in a holy place, but away from Eire", and that he would never set foot within that land again. This was a bitter thing for Dughall Donn to do : the more so as, before the King, and the priests, and the people, he swore by the Wind, and by the Moon, and
MUIME CHRIOSD 51
by the Sun, that he was guiltless of the thing of which he was accused. There were many there who believed him because of that sacred oath : others, too, forasmuch as that Morna the Princess had herself sworn to the same effect. Moreover, there was Aodh of the Golden Hair, a poet and seer, who avowed that Morna had given birth to an immortal, whose name would one day be as a moon among the stars for glory. But the King would not be appeased, though he spared the life of his youngest son. So it was that, by the advice of Aodh of the Druids, Dughall Donn went northwards through the realm of Clanadon and so to the sea-loch that was then called Loc Feobal. There he took boat with some wayfarers bound for Alba, But in the Moyle a tempest arose, and the frail galley was driven northward, and at sunrise was cast like a fish, spent and dead, upon the south cnrl of loua, that is now lona. Only two of the mariners survived : Dughall Donn and the little child. This was at the place where, on a day of the days in a year that was not yet come, St Colum landed in his coracle, and gave thanks on his bended knees.
52 MUIME CHRIOSD
When, warmed by the sun, they rose, they found themselves in a waste place. Ill was Dughall in his mind because of the portents, and now to his fear and amaze the child Bridget knelt on the stones, and, with claspt hands, small and pink as the sea-shells round about her, sang a song of words which were unknown to him. This was the more mar- vellous, as she was yet but an infant, and could say no word even of Erse, the only tongue she had heard.
At this portent, he knew that Aodh had spoken seeingly. Truly this child was not of human parentage. So he, too, kneeled, and, bowing before her, asked if she were of the race of the Tuatha de Danann, or of the older gods, and what her will was, that he might be her servant. Then it was that the kneeling babe looked at him, and sang in a low sweet voice in Erse :
I am but a little child,
Diighall, son of Hugh, son of Art,
But my garment shall be laid
On the lord of the world,
Yea, surely it shall be that He
The King of the Elements Himself
Shall lean against my bosom,
MUIME CHRIOSD 53
And I will give him peace,
And peace will I give to all who ask
Because of this mighty Prince,
And because of his Mother that is the Daughter of Peace.
And while Dughall Donn was still marvel- ling at this thing, the Arch-Druid of lona approached, with his white-robed priests, A grave welcome was given to the stranger. While the youngest of the servants of God was entrusted with the child, the Arch-Druid took Dughall aside and questioned him. It was not till the third day that the old man gave his decision. Dughall Donn was to abide on lona if he so willed: but the child was to stay. His life would be spared, nor would he be a bondager of any kind, and a little land to till would be given him, and all that he might need. But of his past he was to say no word. His name was to become as nought, and he was to be known simply as Duvach. The child, too, was to be named Bride, for that was the way the name Bridget was called in the Erse of the Isles. .
To the question of Dughall, that was thence- forth Duvach, as to why he laid so great stress on the child, that was a girl, and the reputed
54 MUIME CHRIOSD
offspring of shame at that, Cathal the Arch- Druid repHcd thus : " My kinsman Aodh of the Golden Hair who sent you here, was wiser than Hugh the King and all the Druids of Aoimag. Truly, this child is an Immortal. There is an ancient prophecy concerning her : surely of her who is now here, and no other. There shall be, it says, a spotless maid born of a virgin of the ancient immemorial race in Innisfail. And when for the seventh time the sacred year has come, she will hold Eternity in her lap as a white flower. Her maiden breasts shall swell with milk for the Prince of the World, She shall give suck to the King of the Elements. So I say unto you, Duvach, go in peace. Take unto thyself a wife, and live upon the place I will give thee on the east side of loua. Treat Bride as though she were thy spirit, but leave her much alone, and let her learn of the sun and the wind. In the fulness of time the prophecy shall be fulfilled." So was it, frcjm that day of the days. Duvach took a wife unto himself, who weaned the little Bride, who grew in beauty and grace, so that all men marvelled. Year by year for seven years the wife of Duvach bore him a
MUIMECHRIOSD 55
son, and these grew apace in strength, so that by the beginning of the third year of the seventh cycle of Bride's Hfe there were three stahvart youths to brother her, and three comely and strong lads, and one young boy fair to see. Nor did anyone, not even Bride herself, saving Cathal the Arch-Druid, know that Dijvach the herdsman was Dughall Donn, of a princely race in Innisfail.
In the end, too, Duvach came to think that he had dreamed, or at the least that Cathal had not interpreted the prophecy aright. For though Bride was of exceeding beauty, and of a strange piety that made the young Druids bow before her as though she were a bandia, yet the world went on as before, and the days brought no change. Often, while she was still a child, he had questioned her about the words she had said as a babe, but she had no memory of them. Once, in her ninth year, he came upon her on the hillside of Dun-I singing these self-same words. Her eyes dreamed far away. He bowed his head, and, praying to the Giver of Light, hurried to Cathal. The old man bade him speak no more to the child concerning the mysteries.
56 MUIMECHRIOSD
Bride lived the hours of her days upon the slopes of Dun-I, herding the sheep, or in follow- ing the kye upon the green hillocks and grassy dunes of what then as now was called the Machar. The beauty of the world was her daily food. The spirit within her was like sunlight behind a white flower. The birdeens in the green bushes sang for joy when they saw her blue eyes. The tender prayers that were in her heart for all the beasts and birds, for helpless children, and tired women, and for all who were old, were often seen flying above her head in the form of white doves of sunshine.
But when the middle of the year came that was, though Duvach had forgotten it, the year of the prophecy, his eldest son, Conn, who ,was now a man, murmured against the virginity of Bride, because of her beauty and because a chieftain of the mainland was eager to wed her. " I shall wed Bride or raid loua," was the message he had sent.
So one day, before the great fire of the summer-festival, Conn and his brothers re- proached Bride.
" Idle are these pure eyes, O Bride, not to be as iamjjs at thy marriage-bed."
MUIMECHRIOSD 57
" Truly, it is not by the eyes that we live," replied the maiden gently, while to their fear and amazement she passed her hand before her face and let them see that the sockets were empty.
Trembling with awe at this portent, Duvach intervened.
" By the Sun I swear it, O Bride, that thou shalt marry whomsoever thou wilt and none other, and when thou wiliest, or not at all if such be thy will."
And when he had spoken, Bride smiled, and passed her hand before her face again, and all there were abashed because of the blue light as of morning that was in her shining eyes.
II
The still weather had come, and all the isles lay in beauty. T'ar south, beyond vision, ranged the coasts of Eir(^ : westward, leagues of quiet ocean dreamed into unsailed wastes whose waves at last laved the shores of Tir- nd'n-Og, the Land of Eternal Youth : north- ward, the spell-bound waters sparkled in the sunlight, broken here and there by purple
58 MUIME CHRIOSD
shadows, that were the isles of Stafifa and Ulva, Lunga and the isles of the columns, misty Coll, and Tiree that is the land beneath the wave; with, pale blue in the heat-haze, the mountains of ROm called Haleval, Haskeval, and Oreval, and the sheer Scuir-na-Gillian and the peaks of the Cuchullins in remote Skye.
All the sweet loveliness of a late spring remained, to give a freshness to the glory of summer. The birds had song to them still.
It was while the dew was yet wet on the grass that Bride came out of her father's house, and went up the steep slope of Dun-I. The crying of the ewes and lambs at the pastures came plaintively against the dawn. The low- ing of the kye arose from the sandy hollows by the shore, or from the meadows on the lower slopes. Through the whole island went a rapid trickling sound, most sweet to hear : the myriad voices of twittering birds, from the dotterel in the seaweed to the larks climbing the blue spirals of heaven.
This was the morning of her birth, and she was clad in white. About her waist was a girdle of the sacred rowan, the feathery green leaves of it flickering dusky shadows upon her
I
MUIME CHRIOSD 59
robe as she moved. The h'ght upon her yellow hair was as when morning wakes, laughing low with joy amid the tall corn. As she went she sang, soft as the crooning of a dove. If any had been there to hear he would have been abashed, for the words were not in Erse, and the eyes of the beautiful girl were as those of one in a vision.
When, at last, a brief while before sunrise, she reached the summit of the Scuir, that is so small a hill and yet seems so big in lona where it is the sole peak, she found three young Druids there, ready to tend the sacred fire the moment the sun-rays should kindle it. Each was clad in a white robe, with fillets of oak leaves ; and each had a golden armlet. They made a quiet obeisance as she approached. One stepped forward, with a flush in his face because of her beauty, that was as a sea-wave for grace, and a flower for purity, and sunlight for joy, and moonlight for peace, and the wind for fragrance.
" Thou mayst draw near if thou wilt, Bride, daughter of Duvach," he said, with something of reverence as well as of grave courtesy in his voice : " for the holy Cathal hath said that
6o MUIME CHRIOSD
the Breath of the Source of All is upon thee. It is not lawful for women to be here at this moment, but thou hast the law shining upon thy face and in thine eyes. Hast thou come to pray?"
But at that moment a low cry came from one of his companions. He turned, and re- joined his fellows. Then all three sank upon their knees, and with outstretched arms hailed the rising of God.
As the sun rose, a solemn chant swelled from their lips, ascending as incense through the silent air. The glory of the new day came soundlessly. Peace was in the blue heaven, on the blue-green sea, on the green land. There was no wind, even where the currents of the deep moved in shadowy purple. The sea itself was silent, making no more than a sighing slumber-breath round the white sands of the isle, or a hushed whisper where the tide lifted the long weed that clung to the rocks.
In what strange, mysterious way, Bride did not see ; but as the three Druids held their hands before the sacred fire there was a faint crackling, then three thin spirals of blue smoke rose, and soon dusky red and wan yellow
MUIME CHRIOSD 6i
tongues of flame moved to and fro. The sacrifice of God was made. Out of the im- measurable heaven He had come, in His golden chariot. Now, in the wonder and mystery of His love. He was re-born upon the world, re-born a little fugitive flame upon a low hill in a remote isle. Great must be His love that He could die thus daily in a thousand places : so great His love that He could give up His own body to daily death, and suffer the holy flame that was in the embers He illumined to be lighted and revered and then scattered to the four quarters of the world.
Bride could bear no longer the mystery of this great love. It moved her to an ecstasy. What tenderness of divine love that could thus redeem the world daily : what long- suffering for all the evil and cruelty done hourly upon the weeping earth : what patience with the bitterness of the blind fates ! The beauty of the worship of Be'al was upon her as a golden glory. Her heart leaped to a song that could not be sung. The inexhaustible love and pity in her soul chanted a hymn that was heard of no Druid or mortal anywhere, but was known of the white spirits of Life.
62 M U I M E C H R I O S D
Bowing her head, so that the glad tears fell warm as thunder - rain upon her hands, she rose and moved away.
Not far from the summit of Dun- 1 is a hidden pool, to this day called the Fountain of Youth. Hitherward she went, as was her wont when upon the hill at the break of day, at noon, or at sundown. Close by the huge boulder, which hides it from above, she heard a pitiful bleating, and soon the healing of her eyes was upon a lamb which had become fixed in a crevice in the rock. On a crag above it stood a falcon, with savage cries, lusting for warm blood. With swift step Bride drew near. There was no hurt to the lambkin as she lifted it in her arms. Soft and warm was it there, as a young babe against the bosom that mothers it. Then with quiet eyes she looked at the falcon, who hooded his cruel gaze.
" There is no wrong in thee, Seobhag," she said gently ; " but the law of blood shall not prevail for ever. Let there be peace this morn."
And when she had spoken this word, the wild hawk of the hills flew down upon her
MUIME CHRIOSD 63
shoulder, nor did the heart of the lambkin beat the quicker, while with drowsy eyes it nestled as against its dam. When she stood by the pool she laid the little woolly creature among the fern. Already the bleating of it was sweet against the forlorn heart of a ewe. The falcon rose, circled above her head, and with swift flight sped through the blue air. For a time Bride watched its travelling shadow : when it was itself no more than a speck in the golden haze, she turned, and stooped above the Fountain of Youth.
Beyond it stood then, though for ages past there has been no sign of either, two quicken- trees. Now they were gold-green in the morn- ing light, and the brown-green berries that had not yet reddened were still small. Fair to see was the flickering of the long finger-shadows upon the granite rocks and boulders.
Often had Bride dreamed through their foliage ; but now she stared in amaze. She had put her lips to the water, and had started back because she had seen, beyond her own image, that of a woman so beautiful that her soul was troubled within her, and had cried its inaudible cry, worshipping. When, tremb-
64 MUIME CHRIOSD
ling, she liad glanced again, there was none beside herself. Yet what had happened? For, as she stared at the quicken - trees, she saw that their boughs had interlaced, and that they now became a green arch. What was stranger still was that the rowan -clusters hung in blood- red masses, although the late heats were yet a long way off.
Bride rose, her body quivering because of the cool sweet draught of the Fountain of Youth, so that almost she imagined the water was for her that day what it could be once in each year to every person who came to it, a breath of new life and the strength and joy of youth. With slow steps she advanced towards the arch of the quickens. Her heart beat as she saw that the branches at the summit had formed themselves into the shape of a wreath or crown, and that the scarlet berries dropped therefrom a steady rain of red drops as of blood. A sigh of joy breathed from her lips when, deep among the red and green, she saw the white merle of which the ancient poets sang, and heard the exceeding wonder of its rapture, which was now the pain of joy and now the joy of pain.
MUIME CHRIOSD 65
The song of the mystic bird grew wilder and more sweet as she drew near. For a brief while she hesitated. Then, as a white dove drifted slow before her under and through the quicken-boughs, a dove white as snow but radiant with sunfire, she moved forward to follow, with a dream-smile upon her face and her eyes full of the sheen of wonder and mystery, as shadowy waters flooded with moonshine.
And this was the passing of Bride, who was not seen again of Duvach or her foster- brothers for the space of a year and a day. Only Cathal, the aged Arch-Druid, who died seven days thence, had a vision of her, and wept for joy.
Ill
When the strain of the white merle ceased, though it had seemed to her scarce longer than the vanishing song of the swallow on the wing, Bride saw that the evening was come. Through the violet glooms of dusk she moved soundlessly, save for the crispling of her feet among the hot sands. Far as she could sec to right or left there Were hollows
E
6C MUIME CHRIOSD
and ridges of sand ; where, here and there, trees or shrubs grew out of the parched soil, they were strange to her. She had heard the Druids speak of the sunlands in a remote, niijh unreachable East, where there were trees called palms, trees in a perpetual sunflood yet that perished not, also tall dark cypresses, black -green as the holy yew. These were the trees she now saw. Did she dream, she wondered? Far down in her mind was some memory, some floating vision only, may- hap, of a small green isle far among the northern seas. Voices, words, faces, familiar yet unfamiliar when she strove to bring them near, haunted her.
The heat brooded upon the land. The sigh of the parched earth was " Water, water."
As she moved onward through the gloaming she descried white walls beyond her : white walls and square white buildings, looming ghostly through the dark, yet home-sweet as the bells of the cows on the sea-pastures, be- cause of the yellow lights every here and there agleam.
A tall figure moved towards her, clad in white, even '^s those figures which haunted her
MUIME CHRIOSD 67
unremembering memory. When he drew near she gave a low cry of joy. The face of her father was sweet to her.
" Where will be the pitcher, Brighid ? " he said, though the words were not the words that were near her when she was alone. Never- theless she knew them, and the same manner of words was upon her lips.
" My pitcher, father ? "
" Ah, dreamer, when will you be taking heed ! It is leaving your pitcher you will be, and by the Well of the Camels, no doubt : though little matter will that be, since there is now no water, and the drought is heavy upon the land. But . . . Brighid . . ."
"Yes, my father?"
" Sure now, it is not safe for you to be on the desert at night. Wild beasts come out of the darkness, and there are robbers and wild men who lurk in the shadow. Brighid . . . Brighid . . . is it dreaming you are still ? "
" I was dreaming of a cool green isle in northern seas, where . . ."
" Where you have never been, foolish lass, and arc never like to be. Sure, if any way- farer were to come upon us you would scarce
68 MUIME CHRIOSD
be able to tell him that yonder village is Beth- lehem, and that I am Dughall Donn the inn- keeper, Dughall, the son of Hugh, son of Art, son of Conn. Well, well, I am growing old, and they say that the old see wonders. But I do not wish to see this wonder, that my daughter Brighid forgets her own town, and the good inn that is there, and the strong sweet ale that is cool against the thirst of the weary. Sure, if the day of my days is near it is near. " Green be the place of my rest," I cry, even as Oisin the son of Fionn of the hero-line of Trenmor cried in his old age ; though if Oishi and the Fiann were here not a green place would they find now, for the land is burned dry as the heather after a hill-fire. But now, Brighid, let us go back into Bethlehem, for I have that for the saying which must be said at once."
In silence the twain walked through the gloaming that was already the mirk, till they came to the white gate, where the asses and camels breathed wearily in the sultry darkness, with dry tongues moving round parched mouths. Thence they fared through narrow streets, where a few white-robed Hebrews and sons of the desert moved silently, or sat in niches. Finally,
MUIMECHRIOSD 69
they came to a great yard, where more than a score of camels lay huddled and growling in their sleep. Beyond this was the inn, which was known to all the patrons and friends of Dughall Donn as the " Rest and Be Thankful," though formerly as the Rest of Clan-Ailpean, for was he not himself through his mother MacAlpine of the Isles, as well as blood-kin to the great Cormac the Ard-Righ, to whom his father, Hugh, was feudatory prince?
As Dughall and Bride walked along the stone flags of a passage leading to the inner rooms, he stopped and drew her attention to the water-tanks.
" Look you, my lass," he said sorrowfully, " of these tanks and barrels nearly all are empty. Soon there will be no water what- ever, which is an evil thing though I whisper it in peace, to the Stones be it said. Now, already the folk who come here murmur. No man can drink ale all day long, and those wayfarers who want to wash the dust of their journey from their feet and hands complain bitterly. And . , . what is that you will be saying ? The kye ? Ay, sure, there is the kye; but the poor beasts arc o'ercome with the
70 M U I M E C H R I O S D
heat, and there's not a Cailliach on the hills who could win a drop more of milk from them than we squeeze out of their udders now, and that only with rune after rune till all the throats of the milking lassies are as dry as the salt grass by the sea.
" Well, what I am saying is this : 'tis months now since any rain will be falling, and every crock of water has been for the treasuring as though it had been the honey of Moy-Mell itself The moon has been full twice since we had the good water brought from the mountain-springs ; and now they are for dry- ing up too. The seers say that the drought will last. If that is a true word, and there be no rain till the winter comes, there will be no inn in Bethlehem called 'The Rest and Be Thankful ' ; for already there is not enough good water to give peace even to your little thirst, my birdeen. As for the ale, it is poor drink now for man or maid, and as for the camels and asses, poor beasts, they don't understand the drinking of it."
" That is true, father ; but what is to be done ? "
" That 's what I will be telling you, my
MUIME CHRIOSD 71
Untie. Now, I have been told by an oganach out of Jerusalem, that lives in another place close by the great town, that there is a quench- less well of pure water, cold as the sea with a north wind in it, on a hill there called the Mount of Olives. Now, it is to that hill I will be going. I am for taking all the camels and all the horses, and all the asses, and will lade each with a burthen of water-skins, and come back home again with water enough to last us till the drought breaks."
That was all that was said that night. But at the dawn the inn was busy, and all the folk in Bethlehem were up to see the going abroad of Dughall Donn and Ronald Mclan, his shepherd, and some Macleans and Mac- callums that were then in that place. It was a fair sight to see as they went forth through the white gate that is called the Gate of Nazareth. A piper walked first, playing the Gathering of the Swords : then came Dughall Donn on a camel, and Mclan on a horse, and the herdsmen on asses, and then there were the collies barking for joy.
Before he had gone, Dughall took Bride out of the hearing of the others. There was
72 MUIME CHRIOSD
only a little stagnant water, he said ; and as for the ale, there was no more than a flagon left of what was good. This flagon and the one jar of pure water he left with her. On no account was she to give a drop to any way- farer, no matter how urgent he might be ; for he, Diighall, could not say when he would get back, and he did not want to find a dead daughter to greet him on his return, let alone there being no maid of the inn to attend to customers. Over and above that, he made her take an oath that she would give no one, no, not even a stranger, accommodation at the inn, during his absence.
Afternoon and night came, and dawn and night again, and yet again. It was on the afternoon of the third day, when even the crickets were dying of thirst, that Bride heard a clanging at the door of the inn.
When she went to the door she saw a weary grey-haired man, dusty and tired. By his side was an ass with drooping head, and on the ass was a woman, young, and of a beauty that was as the cool shadow of green leaves and the cold ripple of running waters. But beautiful as she was it was not this that
MUIME CHRIOSD 73
made Bride start : no, nor the heavy womb that showed the woman was with child. For she remembered her of a dream — it was a dream, sure — when she had looked into a pool on a mountain -side, and seen, beyond her own image, just this fair and beautiful face, the most beautiful that ever man saw since Nais, of the Sons of Usna, beheld Deirdre in the forest — ay, and lovelier far even than she, the peerless among women.
" Gu'm beannaicheadh Dia an tigh," said the grey-haired man in a weary voice, " the bless- ing of God on this house."
" Soraidh leat," replied Bride gently, " and upon you likewise."
" Can you give us food and drink, and, after that, good rest at this inn ? Sure it is grateful we will be. This is my wife Mary, upon whom is a mystery : and I am Joseph, a carpenter in Arimathea."
" Welcome, and to you, too, Mary : and peace. But there is neither food nor drink here, and my father has bidden me give shelter to none who comes here against his return."
The carpenter sighed, but the fair woman on the ass turned her shadowy eyes upon
74 M U I M R C 1 1 R I O S D
Bride, so that the maiden trembled with joy and fear.
" And is it forgetting me you will be, Brighid-Alona," she murmured, in the good sweet Gaelic of the Isles ; and the voice of her was like the rustle of leaves when a soft rain is falling in a wood.
"Sure, I remember," Bride whispered, filled with deep awe. Then without a word she turned, and beckoned them to follow : which, having left the ass by the doorway, they did.
" Here is all the ale that I have," she said, as she gave the flagon to Joseph: "and here, Mary, is all the water that there is. Little there is, but it is you that are welcome to it."
Then, when they had quenched their thirst she brought out oatcakes and scones and brown bread, and would fain have added milk, but there was none.
"Go to the byre, Brighid," said Mary, "and the first of the kye shall give milk."
So Bride went, but returned saying that the creature would not give milk without a sian or song, and that her throat was too dry to sing.
MUIME CHRIOSD 75
" Say this sian," said Mary :
Give up thy milk to her who calls Across the low green hills of Heaven And stream-cool meads of Paradise !
And sure enough, when Bride did this, the milk came : and she soothed her thirst, and went back to her guests rejoicing. It was sorrow to her not to let them stay where they were, but she could not, because of her oath.
The man Joseph was weary, and said he was too tired to seek far that night, and asked if there was no empty byre or stable where he and Mary could sleep till morning. At that, Bride was glad : for she knew there was a clean cool stable close to the byre where her kye were : and thereto she led them, and returned with peace at her heart.
When she was in the inn again, she was afraid once more : for lo, though Mary and Joseph had drunken deep of the jar and the flagon, each was now full as it had been. Of the food, too, none seemed to have been taken, though she had herself seen them break the scones and the oatcakes.
It was dusk when her reverie was broken by the sound of the pipes. Soon thereafter
ye MUIME CHRIOSD
Dughall Donn and his following rode up to the inn, and all were glad because of the cool water, and the grapes, and the green fruits of the earth, that they brought with them.
While her father was eating and drinking, merry because of the ale that was still in the flagon. Bride told him of the wayfarers. Even as she spoke, he made a sign of silence, because of a strange, unwonted sound that he heard.
"What will that be meaning?" he asked, in a low, hushed voice.
" Sure it is the rain at last, father. That is a glad thing. The earth will be green again. The beasts will not perish. Hark, I hear the noise of it coming down from the hills as well." But Dughall sat brooding.
"Ay," he said at last, "is it not foretold that the Prince of the World is to be born in this land, during a heavy falling of rain, after a long drought? And who is for knowing that Bethlehem is not the place, and that this is not the night of the day of the days? Brighid, Brighid, the woman Mary must be the mother of the Prince, who is to save all mankind out of evil and pain and death!"
MUIMECHRIOSD yj
And with that he rose and beckoned to her to follow. They took a lantern, and made their way through the drowsing camels and asses and horses, and past the byres where the kye lowed gently, and so to the stable.
"Sure that is a bright light they are hav- ing," Dughall muttered uneasily ; for, truly, it was as though the shed were a shell filled with the fires of sunrise.
Lightly they pushed back the door. When they saw what they saw they fell upon their knees. Mary sat with her heavenly beauty upon her like sunshine on a dusk land : in her lap, a Babe, laughing sweet and low.
Never had they seen a Child so fair. He was as though wrought of light.
"Who is it?" murmured Dughall Donn, of Joseph, who stood near, with rapt eyes.
" It is the Prince of Peace."
And with that Mary smiled, and the Child slept.
" Brighid, my sister dear " — and, as she whispered this, Mary held the little one to Bride.
The fair girl took the Babe in her arms, and covered it with her mantle. Therefore it
78 MUIME CHRIOSD
is that she is known to this day as Brighde- nam-Ikat, St Bride of the Mantle.
And all through that night, while the mother slept, Bride nursed the Child with tender hands and croodling crooning songs. And this was one of the songs that she sang:
Ah, Baby Christ, so dear to mc,
Sang Bridget Bride : How sweet thou art, My baby dear, Heart of my heart !
Heavy her body was with thee, Mary, beloved of One in Three,
Sang Bridget Bride — Mary, who bore thee, little lad : But light her heart was, light and glad With God's love clad.
Sit on my knee,
Sang Bridget Bride : Sit here O Baby dear,
Close to my iieart, my heart : For I thy foster-mother am, My helpless lamb ! O have no fear.
Sang good St Bride.
None, none. No fear have I : So let me cling Close to thy side
MUIME CHRIOSD 79
Whilst thou dost sing, O Bridget Bride !
My Lord, my Prince I sing : My baby dear, my King! Sang Bridget Bride.
It was on this night that, far away in lona, the Arch-Druid Cathal died. But before the breath went from him he had his vision of joy, and his last words were :
Brighde 'dol air a gliJn,
Righ nan dul a shiiidh 'na h-iichd !
(Bridget Bride upon her knee.
The King of the Elements asleep on her breast !)
At the coming of dawn Mary awoke, and took the Child. She kissed Bride upon the brows, and said this thing to her : " Brighid, my sister dear, thou shalt be known unto all time as Muime Chriosd."
IV.
No sooner had Mary spoken than Bride fell into a deep sleep. So profound was this slumber that when Dughall Donn came to see to the wayfarers, and to tell them that the milk and the porridge were ready for the breaking of
8o MUIME CHRIOSD
their fast, he could get no word of her at all. She lay in the clean, yellow straw beneath the manger, where Mary had laid the Child. Dughall stared in amaze. There was no sign of the mother, nor of the Babe that was the Prince of Peace, nor of the douce, quiet man that was Joseph the carpenter. As for Bride, she not only slept so sound that no word of his fell against her ears, but she gave him awe. For as he looked at her he saw that she was surrounded by a glowing light. Something in his heart shaped itself into a prayer, and he knelt beside her, sobbing low. When he rose, it was in peace. Mayhap an angel had com- forted his soul in its dark shadowy haunt of his body.
It was late when Bride awoke, though she did not open her eyes, but lay dreaming. For long she thought she was in Tir-Tairngire, the Land of Promise, or wandering on the honey-sweet plain of Magh-Mell ; for the wind of dreamland brought exquisite odours to her, and in her ears was a most marvellous sweet swinging.
All round her there was a music of rejoicing. Voices, lovelier than any she had ever heard, resounded ; glad voices full of praise and joy.
MUIME CHRIOSD 8i
There was a pleasant tumult of harps and trumpets, and as from across blue hills and over calm water came the sound of the bag- pipes. She listened with tears. Loud and glad were the pipes at times, full of triumph, as when the heroes of old marched with Cuculain or went down to battle with Fionn : again, they were low and sweet, like humming of bees when the heather is heavy with the honey-ooze. The songs and wild music of the angels lulled her into peace : for a time no thought of the woman Mary came to her, nor of the Child that was her foster-child.
Suddenly it was in her mind as though the pipes played the chant that is called the " Aoibhneas a Shlighe," " the joy of his way," a march played before a bridegroom going to his bride.
Out of this glad music came a solitary voice, like a child singing on the hillside.
" The way of wonder shall be thine, O Brighid- Naomha ! "
This was what the child-voice sang. Then it was as though all the harpers of the west were playing " air clarsach " : and the song of a multitude of voices was this :
F
82 I\l U I M E C II R I O S D
" Blessed art thou, O Brighid, who nursed the King of the Elements in thy bosom : blessed thou, the Virgin Sister of the Virgin Mother, for unto all time thou shalt be called Muime Chriosd, the Foster-Mother of Jesus that is the Christ."
With that, Bride remembered all, and opened her eyes. Nought strange was there to see, save that she lay in the stable. Then as she noted that the gloaming had come, she won- dered at the soft light that prevailed in the shed, though no lamp or candle burned there. In her ears, too, still lingered a wild and beautiful music.
It was strange. Was it all a dream, she pondered. But even as she thought thus, she saw half of her mantle lying upon the straw in the manger. Much she marvelled at this, but when she took the garment in her hand she wondered more. For though it was no more than a half of the poor mantle where- with she had wrapped the Babe, it was all wrought with mystic gold lines and with pre- cious stones more glorious than ever Arch- Druid or Island Prince had seen. The marvel gave her awe at last, when, as she placed the
MUIMECHRIOSD 83
garment upon her shoulder, it covered her completely.
She knew now that she had not dreamed, and that a miracle was done. So with glad- ness she went out of the stable, and into the inn. Dughall Donn was amazed when he saw her, and then rejoiced exceedingly.
"Why are you so merry, my father," she asked.
" Sure it is glad that I am. For now the folk will be laughing the wrong way. This very morning I was so pleased with the pleasure, that while the pot was boiling on the peats I went out and told every one I met that the Prince of Peace was come, and had just been born in the stable behind the 'Rest and Be Thankful.' Well, that saying was just like a weasel among the rabbits, only it was an old toothless weasel : for all Bethlehem mocked me, some with jeers, some with hard words, and some with threats. Sure, I cursed them right and left. No, not for all my cursing — and by the blood of my fathers, I spared no man among them, wishing them sword and fire, the black plague and the grey death — would they believe. So back it was that I came, and
84 MUIME CHRIOSD
going through the inn I am come to the stable. 'Sorrow is on me like a grey mist,' said Oisin, mourning for Oscur, and sure it was a grey mist that was on me when not a sign of man, woman, or child was to be seen, and you so sound asleep that a March gale in the Moyle wouldn't have roused you. Well, I went back, and told this thing, and all the people in Bethlehem mocked at me. And the Elders of the People came at last, and put a fine upon me : and condemned me to pay three barrels of good ale, and a sack of meal, and three thin chains of gold, each three yards long : and this for causing a false rumour, and still more for making a laughing-stock of the good folk of Bethlehem. There was a man called Murdoch-Dhu, who is the chief smith in Nazareth, and it 's him I 'm thinking will have laughed the Elders into doing this hard thing."
It was then that Bride was aware of a marvel upon her, for she blew an incantation off the the palm of her hand, and by that frith she knew where the dues were to be found.
" By what I see in the air that is blown off the palm of my hand, father, 1 bid you go
MUIME CHRIOSD 85
into the cellar of the inn. There you will find three barrels full of good ale, and beside them a sack of meal, and the sack is tied with three chains of gold, each three yards long."
But while Dughall Donn went away rejoic- ing, and found that which Bride had foretold, she passed out into the street. None saw her in the gloaming, or as she went towards the Gate of the East. When she passed by the Lazar-house she took her mantle off her back and laid it in the place of offerings. All the jewels and fine gold passed into invisible birds with healing wings : and these birds flew about the heads of the sick all night, so that at dawn every one arose, with no ill upon him, and went on his way rejoicing. As each went out of Bethlehem that morning of the mornings he found a clean white robe and new sandals at the first mile ; and, at the second, food and cool water ; and, at the third, a gold piece and a staff.
The guard that was at the Eastern Gate did not hail Bride. All the gaze of him was upon a company of strange men, shepherd-kings, who said they had come out of the East led by a star. They carried rare gifts with them
86 MUIME CHRIOSD
when they first came to Bethlehem : but no man knew whence they came, what they wanted, or whither they went.
For a time Bride walked along the road that leads to Nazareth. There was fear in her gentle heart when she heard the howling of hyenas down in the dark hollows, and she was glad when the moon came out and shone quietly upon her.
In the moonlight she saw that there were steps in the dew before her. She could see the black print of feet in the silver sheen on the wet grass, for it was on a grassy hill that she now walked, though a day ago every leaf and sheath there had lain brown and withered. The footprints she followed were those of a woman and of a child.
All night through she tracked those wander- ing feet in the dew. They were always fresh before her, and led her away from the villages, and also where no wild beasts prowled through the gloom. There was no weariness upon her, though often she wondered when she .should .see the fair wondrous face she sought. Behind her also were footsteps in the dew, though she knew nothing of them. They were those of the
MUIME CHRIOSD 87
Following Love. And this was the Lorgadh- Brighde of which men speak to this day : the Quest of the holy St Bride.
All night she walked ; now upon the high slopes of a hill. Never once did she have a glimpse of any figure in the moonlight, though the steps in the dew before her were newly made, and none lay in the glisten a short way ahead.
Suddenly she stopped. There were no more footprints. Eagerly she looked before her. On a hill beyond the valley beneath her she saw the gleaming of yellow stars. These were the lights of a city. " Behold, it is Jerusalem," she murmured, awe-struck, for she had never seen the great town.
Sweet was the breath of the wind that stirred among the olives on the mount where she stood. It had the smell of heather, and she could hear the rustle of it among the bracken on a hill close by.
" Truly, this must be the Mount of Olives," she whispered, " The Mount of which I have heard my father sfjcak, and that must be the hill called Calvary."
But even as she gazed marvelling, she sighed
88 MUIME CHRIOSD
with new wonder ; for now she saw that the yellow stars were as the twinkling of the fires of the sun along the crest of a hill that is set in the east. There was a living joy in the dawntide. In her ears was a sweet sound of the bleating of ewes and lambs. From the hollows in the shadows came the swift singing rush of the flowing tide. Faint cries of the herring gulls filled the air ; from the weedy boulders by the sea the skuas called wailingly.
Bewildered, she stood intent. If only she could see the footprints again, she thought. Whither should she turn, whither go? At her feet was a yellow flower. She stooped and plucked it.
"Tell me, O little sun-flower, which way shall I be going?" and as she spoke a small golden bee flew up from the heart of it, and up the hill to the left of her. So it is that from that day the dandelion is called am-Bearnan- Bhrighde.
Still she hesitated. Then a sea-bird flew by her with a loud whistling cry.
" Tell me, O eisireun," she called, " which way shall I be going?"
And at this the eisireun swerved in its flight,
MUIME CHRIOSD 89
and followed the golden bee, crying, " This way, O Bride, Bride, Bride, Bride, Bri-i-i-ide ! "
So it is that from that day the oyster- catcher has been called the Gille - Bhrighde, the Servant of St Bridget.
Then it was that Bride said this sian :
Dia romham ;
Moire am dheaghuidh ;
'S am Mac a thug Righ nan Dul !
Mis' air do shlios, a Dhia,
Is Dia ma'm luirg.
Mac' 'oire, a's Righ nan Dul,
A shoillseachadh gach ni dheth so,
Le a ghras, mu'm choinneamh.
God before me ;
The Virgin Mary after me ;
And the Son sent by the King of the Elements.
I am to windward of thee, O God !
And God on my footsteps.
May the Son of Mary, King of the Elements,
Reveal the meaning of each of these things
Before me, through His grace.
And as she ended she saw before her two quicken-trees, of which the boughs were inter- wrought so that they made an arch. Deep in the green foliage was a white merle that sang a wondrous sweet song. Above it the small branches were twisted into the shape of
90 MUIME CHRIOSD
a wreath or crown, lovely with the sunlit rowan- clusters, from whose scarlet berries red drops as of blood fell.
Before her flew a white dove, all aglow as with golden light. She followed, and passed beneath the quicken arch.
Sweet was the song of the merle, that was then no more ; sweet the green shadow of the rowans, that now grew straight as young pines. Sweet the far song in the sky, where the white dove flew against the sun.
Bride looked, and her eyes were glad. Bonnie the blooming of the heather on the slopes of Dun-I. lona lay green and gold, isled in her blue waters. From the shelling of Duvach, her father, rose a thin column of pale blue smoke. The collies, seeing her, barked loudly with welcoming joy.
The bleating of the sheep, the lowing of the kye, the breath of the salt wind from the open sea beyond, the song of the flowing tide in the Sound beneath : dear the homing.
With a strange light in her eyes she moved down through the heather and among the green bracken : white, wonderful, fair to see.
THE FISHER OF MEN
" But now I have grown nothing, being all, And the whole world weighs down upon my heart."
(Fergus and the Druid.)
THE FISHER OF MEN
When old Sheen nic Leoid came back to the croft, after she had been to the burn at the edge of the green airidh, where she had washed the claar that was for the potatoes at the peeling, she sat down before the peats.
She was white with years. The mountain wind was chill, too, for all that the sun had shone throughout the midsummer day. It was well to sit before the peat-fire.
The croft was on the slope of a mountain, and had the south upon it. North, south, east, and west, other great slopes reached up- ward like hollow green waves frozen into silence by the very wind that curved them so, and freaked their crests into peaks and jagged pinnacles. Stillness was in that place for ever and ever. What though the Gorromalt Water foamed down Ben Nair, where the croft was, and made a hoarse voice for aye surrendering sound to silence ? What though at times the stones fell from the ridges of Ben Chaisteal
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and Maolmor, and clattered down the barren declivities till they were slung in the tangled meshes of whin and juniper ? What though on stormy dawns the eagle screamed as he fought against the wind that graved a thin line upon the aged front of Ben Mulad, where his eyrie was : or that the kestrel cried above the rabbit-burrows in the strath : or that the hill-fox barked, or that the curlew wailed, or that the scattered sheep made an endless mournful crying? What were these but the ministers of silence?
There was no blue smoke in the strath except from the one turf cot. In the hidden valley beyond Ben Nair there was a hamlet, and nigh upon three-score folk lived there ; but that was over three miles away. Sheen Macleod was alone in that solitary place, save for her son Alasdair Mor Og. " Young Alas- dair" he was still, though the grey feet of fifty years had marked his hair. Alasdair Og he was while Alasdair Ruadh mac Chalum mhic Leoid, that was his father, lived. But when Alasdair Ruadh changed, and Sheen was left a mourning woman, he that was their son was Alasdair Og still.
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She had sore weariness that day. For all that, it was not the weight of the burden that made her go in and out of the afternoon sun, and sit by the red glow of the peats, brooding deep.
When, nigh upon an hour later, Alasdair came up the slope, and led the kye to the byre, she did not hear him : nor had she sight of him, when his shadow flickered in before him and lay along the floor.
" Poor old woman," he said to himself, bend- ing his head because of the big height that was his, and he there so heavy and strong, and tender, too, for all the tangled black beard and the wild hill-eyes that looked out under bristling grey-black eyebrows.
" Poor old woman, and she with the tired heart that she has. Ay, ay, for sure the weeks lap up her shadow, as the sayin' is. She will be thinking of him that is gone. Ay, or maybe the old thoughts of her are goin' back on their own steps, down this glen an' over that hill an' away beyont that strath, an' this corrie an' that moor. Well, well, it is a good love, that of the mother. Sure a bitter pain it will be to me when there 's no old
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grey hair there to stroke. It's quiet here, terrible quiet, God knows, to Himself be the blessin' for this an' for that ; but when she has the white sleep at last, then it'll be a sore day for me, an' one that I will not be able to bear to hear the sheep callin', calHn', callin' through the rain on the hills here, and Gorromalt Water an' no other voice to be with me on that day of the days."
She heard a faint sigh, and stirred a moment, but did not look round.
" Muim'-a-ghraidh, is it tired you are, an' this so fine a time, too ? "
With a quick gesture, the old woman glanced
at him.
" Ah, child, is that you indeed ? Well, I am glad of that, for I have the trouble again."
"What trouble, Muim' ghaolaiche?"
But the old woman did not answer. Wearily she turned her face to the peat-glow again.
Alasdair seated himself on the big wooden chair to her right. For a time he stayed silent thus, staring into the red heart of the peats. What was the gloom upon the old heart that he loved? What trouble was it?
At last he rose and put meal and water into
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the iron pot, and stirred the porridge while it seethed and sputtered. Then he poured boil- ing water upon the tea in the brown jenny, and put the new bread and the sweet-milk scones on the rude deal board that was the table.
" Come, dear tired old heart," he said, " and let us give thanks to the Being."
" Blessings and thanks," she said, and turned round.
Alasdair poured out the porridge, and watched the steam rise. Then he sat down, with a knife in one hand and the brown-white loaf in the other.
" O God," he said, in the low voice he had in the kirk when the Bread and Wine were given — " O God, be giving us now thy blessing, and have the thanks. And give us peace."
Peace there was in the sorrowful old eyes of the mother. The two ate in silence. The big clock that was by the bed tick-tacked, tick- tacked. A faint sputtering came out of a peat that had bog-gas in it. Shadows moved in the silence, and met and whispered and moved into deep, warm darkness. There was peace.
There was still a red flu.sh above the hills
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in the west when the mother and son sat in the ingle again.
"What is it, mother-my-heart ?" Alasdair asked at last, putting his great red hand upon the woman's knee.
She looked at him for a moment. When she spoke she turned away her gaze again.
" Foxes have holes, and the fowls of the air have their places of rest, but the Son of Man hath not where to lay his head."
" And what then, dear ? Sure, it is the deep meaning you have in that grey old head that I 'm loving so."
" Ay, lennav-aghray, there is meaning to my words. It is old I am, and the hour of my hours is near. I heard a voice outside the window last night. It is a voice I will not be hearing, no, not for seventy years. It was cradle-sweet, it was."
She paused, and there was silence for a time.
"Well, dear," she began again, wearily, and in a low, weak voice, " it is more tired and more tired I am every day now this last month. Two Sabbaths ago I woke, and there were bells in the air : and you are for knowing well, Alasdair, that no kirk-bells ever rang in Strath-Nair. At
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edge o' dark on Friday, and by the same token the thirteenth day it was, I fell asleep, and dreamed the mools were on my breast, and that the roots of the white daisies were in the hollows where the eyes were that loved you, Alasdair, my son."
The man looked at her with troubled gaze. No words would come. Of what avail to speak when there is nothing to be said ? God sends the gloom upon the cloud, and there is rain : God sends the gloom upon the hill, and there is mist : God sends the gloom upon the sun, and there is winter. It is God, too, sends the gloom upon the soul, and there is change. The swallow knows when to lift up her wing overagainst the shadow that creeps out of the north : the wild swan knows when the smell of snow is behind the sun : the salmon, lone in the brown pool among the hills, hears the deep sea, and his tongue pants for salt, and his fins quiver, and he knows that his time is come, and that the sea calls. The doe knows when the fawn hath not yet quaked in her belly : is not the violet more deep in the shadowy dewy eyes ? The woman knows when the babe hath not yet stirred a
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little hand : is not the wild-rose on her cheek more often seen, and are not the shy tears moist on quiet hands in the dusk ? How, then, shall the soul not know when the change is nigh at last? Is it a less thing than a reed, which sees the yellow birch-gold adrift on the lake, and the gown of the heather grow russet when the purple has passed into the sky, and the white bog-down wave grey and tattered where the loneroid grows dark and pungent — which sees, and knows that the breath of the Death- Weaver at the Pole is fast faring along the frozen norland peaks. It is more than a reed, it is more than a wild doe on the hills, it is more than a swallow lifting her wing against the coming of the shadow, it is more than a swan drunken with the savour of the blue wine of the waves when the green Arctic lawns are white and still. It is more than these, which has the Son of God for brother, and is clothed with light. God doth not ex- tinguish at the dark tomb what he hath litten in the dark womb.
Who shall say that the soul knows not when the bird is aweary of the nest, and the nest is aweary of the wind ? Who shall say that all
THE FISHER OF MEN loi
portents are vain imaginings ? A whirling straw upon the road is but a whirhng straw : yet the wind is upon the cheek almost ere it is gone.
It was not for Alasdair Og, then, to put a word upon the saying of the woman that was his mother, and was age-white, and could see with the seeing of old wise eyes.
So all that was upon his lips was a sigh, and the poor prayer that is only a breath out of the heart.
" You will be telling me, grey sweetheart," he said lovingly, at last — " you will be telling me what was behind the word that you said : that about the foxes that have holes for the hiding, poor beasts, and the birdeens wi' their nests, though the Son o' Man hath not where to lay his head ? "
" Ay, Alasdair, my son that I bore long syne an' that I 'm leaving soon, I will be for telling you that thing, an' now too, for I am knowing what is in the dark this night o' the nights."
*j->"
Old Sheen put her head back wearily on the chair, and let her hands lie, long and white, palm-downward upon her knees. The peat-
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glow warmed the dull grey that lurked under her closed eyes and about her mouth, and in the furrowed cheeks. Alasdair moved nearer and took her right hand in his, where it lay like a tired sheep between two scarped rocks. Gently he smoothed her hand, and wondered why so frail and slight a creature as this small old wizened woman could have mothered a great swarthy man like himself — he a man now, with his two score and ten years, and yet but a boy there at the dear side of her.
"It was this way, Alasdair-mochree," she went on in her low thin voice — like a wind-worn leaf, the man that was her son thought. " It was this way. I went down to the burn to wash the claar, and when I was there I saw a wounded fawn in the bracken. The big sad eyes of it were like those of Maisie, poor lass, when she had the birthing that was her going- call. I went through the bracken, and down by the Gorromalt, and into the Shadowy Glen.
" And when I was there, and standing by the running water, I saw a man by the stream-side. He was tall, but spare and weary: and the clothes upon him were poor and worn. He had sorrow.
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When he Hfted his head at me, I saw the tears. Dark, wonderful, sweet eyes they were. His face was pale. It was not the face of a man of the hills. There was no red in it, and the eyes looked in upon themselves. He was a fair man, with the white hands that a woman has, a woman like the Bantighearna of Glen- chaisteal over yonder. His voice, too, was a voice like that : in the softness, and the sweet, quiet sorrow, I am meaning.
"The word that I gave him was in the English : for I thought he was like a man out of Sas7iftn, or of the southlands somewhere. But he answered me in the Gaelic : sweet, good Gaelic like that of the Bioball over there, to Himself be the praise.
" ' And is it the way down the Strath you are seeking,' I asked : ' and will you not be coming up to the house yonder, poor cot though it is, and have a sup of milk, aiul a rest if it's weary you are ? '
" ' You arc having my thanks for that,' he said, ' and it is as though I had both the good rest and the cool sweet drink, lint 1 am follow- ing the flowing water here.'
" ' Is it for the fishing ? ' I asked.
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" ' 1 am a Fisher,' he said, and the voice of him was low and sad.
" He had no hat on his head, and the light that streamed through a rowan-tree was in his long hair. He had the pity of the poor in his sorrowful grey eyes.
" ' And will you not sleep with us ? ' I asked again : ' that is, if you have no place to go to, and are a stranger in this country, as I am thinking you are ; for I have never had sight of you in the home-straths before.'
" ' I am a stranger,' he said, ' and I have no home, and my father's house is a great way off.'
" ' Do not tell me, poor man,' I said gently, for fear of the pain, ' do not tell me if you would fain not ; but it is glad I will be if you will give me the name you have.*
" ' My name is Mac-an-t'-Saoir,' he answered with the quiet deep ga^e that was his. And with that he bowed his head, and went on his way, brooding deep.
" Well, it was with a heavy heart I turned, and went back through the bracken. A heavy heart, for sure, and yet, oh peace too, cool dews of peace. And the fawn was there : healed, Alas- dair, healed, and whinny-bleating for its doe,
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that stood on a rock wi' lifted hoof an' stared down the glen to where the Fisher was.
" When I was at the burnside, a woman came down the brae. She was fair to see, but the tears were upon her.
" ' Oh,' she cried, ' have you seen a man going this way ? '
" ' Ay, for sure,' I answered, ' but what man would he be ? '
" ' He is called Mac-an-t'-Saoir.'
" ' Well, there are many men that are called Son of the Carpenter. What will his own name be?'
" ' losa,' she said.
" And when I looked at her, she was weaving the wavy branches of a thorn near by, and sobbing low, and it was like a wreath or crown that she made.
" ' And who will you be, poor woman ? ' I asked.
" ' O my Son, my Son,' She said, and put her apron over her head and went down into the Shadowy Glen, she weeping sore, too, at that, poor woman.
" So now, Alasdair, my son, tell mc what thought you have about this thing that I have
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told you. For I know well whom I met on the brae there, and who the Fisher was. And when I was at the peats here once more I sat down, and my mind sank into myself. And it is knowing the knowledge I am."
" Well, well, dear, it is sore tired you are. Have rest now. But sure there are many men called Macintyre."
" Ay, an' what Gael that you know will be for giving you his surname like that."
Alasdair had no word for that. He rose to put some more peats on the fire. When he had done this, he gave a cry.
The whiteness that was on the mother's hair was now in the face. There was no blood there, or in the drawn lips. The light in the old, dim eyes was like water after frost.
He took her hand in his. Clay-cold it was. He let it go, and it fell straight by the chair, stiff as the cromak he carried when he was with the sheep.
" Oh my God and my God," he whispered, white with the awe, and the bitter cruel pain.
Then it was that he heard a knocking at the door.
"Who is there?" he cried hoarsely.
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" Open, and let me in." It was a low, sweet voice, but was that grey hour the time for a welcome ?
" Go, but go in peace, whoever you are. There is death here."
" Open, and let me in."
At that, Alasdair, shaking like a reed in the wind, unclasped the latch. A tall fair man, ill- clad and weary, pale, too, and with dreaming eyes, came in.
" Beannachd Dhe an Tigh" he said, " God's blessing on this house, and on all here."
" The same upon yourself," Alasdair said, with the weary pain in his voice. " And who will you be? and forgive the asking."
" I am called Mac-an-t'-Saoir, and losa is the name I bear — Jesus, the Son of the Carpenter."
" It is a good name. And is it good you are seeking this night ? "
" I am a Fisher."
"Well, that's here an' that's there. But will you go to the Strath over the hill, and tell the good man that is there, the minister, Lachlan MacLachlan, that old Sheen nic Leoid, wife of Alasdair Ruadh, is dead."
" I know that, Alasdair 6g."
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" And how will you be knowing that, and my name too, you that are called Macintyre ? "
" I met the white soul of Sheen as it went down by the Shadowy Glen a brief while ago. She was singing a glad song, she was. She had green youth in her eyes. And a man was holding her by the hand. It was Alasdair Ruadh."
At that Alasdair fell on his knees. When he looked up there was no one there. Through the darkness outside the door, he saw a star shining white, and leaping like a pulse.
It was three days after that day of shadow that Sheen Macleod was put under the green turf.
On each night, Alasdair Og walked in the Shadowy Glen, and there he saw a man fishing, though ever afar off. Stooping he was, always, and like a shadow at times. But he was the man that was called losa Mac-an-t'-Saoir — Jesus, the Son of the Carpenter.
And on the night of the earthing he saw the Fisher close by.
" Lord God," he said, with the hush on his voice, and deep awe in his wondering eyes : " Lord God ! "
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And the Man looked at him.
" Night and day, Alasdair MacAlasdair," he said, " night and day I fish in the waters of the world. And these waters are the waters of grief, and the waters of sorrow, and the waters of despair. And it is the souls of the living I fish for. And lo, I say this thing unto you, for you shall not see me again : Go in peace. Go in peace, good soul of a poor man, for thou hast seen the Fisher of Men."
THE LAST SUPPER
"... and there shall be Beautiful things made new. ..."
{Hyperion.)
THE LAST SUPPER
The last time that the Fisher of Men was seen in Strath-Nair was not of Alasdair Macleod but of the Httle child, Art Macarthur, him that was born of the woman Mary Gilchrist, that had known the sorrow of women.
He was a little child, indeed, when, because of his loneliness and having lost his way, he lay sobbing among the bracken by the stream- side in the Shadowy Glen.
When he was a man, and had reached the gloaming of his years, he was loved of men and women, for his songs are many and sweet, and his heart was true, and he was a good man and had no evil against any one.
It is he who saw the Fisher of Men when he was but a Httle lad : and some say that it was on the eve of the day that Alasdair Og died, though of this I know nothing. And what he saw, and what he heard, was a moon- beam that fell into the dark sea of his mind,
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and sank therein, and filled it with light for all the days of his life. A moonlit mind was that of Art Macarthur : him that is known best as Ian Mor, Ian Mor of the Hills, though why he took the name of Ian Cameron is known to none now but one person, and that need not be for the telling here. He had music always in his mind. I asked him once why he heard what so few heard, but he smiled and said only : " When the heart is full of love, cool dews of peace rise from it and fall upon the mind : and that is when the song of Joy is heard."
It must have been because of this shining of his soul that some who loved him thought of him as one illumined. His mind was a shell that held the haunting echo of the deep seas : and to know him was to catch a breath of the infinite ocean of wonder and mystery and beauty of which he was the quiet oracle. He has peace now, where he lies under the heather upon a hillside far away : but the Fisher of Men will send him hitherward again, to put a light upon the wave and a gleam upon the brown earth.
I will tell this sgeul as Ian Mor that
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was the little child Art Macarthur, told it to me.
Often and often it is to me all as a dream that comes unawares. Often and often have I striven to see into the green glens of the mind whence it comes, and whither, in a flash, in a rainbow gleam, it vanishes. When I seek to draw close to it, to know whether it is a winged glory out of the soul, or was indeed a thing that happened to me in my tender years, lo — it is a dawn drowned in day, a star lost in the sun, the falling of dew.
But I will not be forgetting : no, never : no, not till the silence of the grass is over my eyes : I will not be forgetting that gloaming.
Bitter tears are those that children have. All that we say with vain words is said by them in this welling spray of pain. I had the sorrow that day. Strange hostilities lurked in the familiar bracken. The soughing of the wind among the trees, the wash of the brown water by my side, that had been companion- able, were voices of awe. The quiet light upon the grass flamed.
The fierce people that lurked in shadow had
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eyes for my helplessness. When the dark came I thought I should be dead, devoured of I knew not what wild creature. Would mother never come, never come with saving arms, with eyes like soft candles of home?
Then my sobs grew still, for I heard a step. With dread upon me, poor wee lad that I was, I looked to see who came out of the wilder- ness. It was a man, tall and thin and worn, with long hair hanging adown his face. Pale he was as a moonlit cot on the dark moor, and his voice was low and sweet. When I saw his eyes I had no fear upon me at all. I saw the mother-look in the grey shadow of them.
" And is that you. Art lennavan-mo ? " he said, as he stooped and lifted me.
I had no fear. The wet was out of my eyes.
" What is it you will be listening to now, my little lad?" he whispered, as he saw me lean, intent, to catch I know not what.
" Sure," I said, " I am not for knowing : but I thought I heard a music away down there in the wood."
I heard it, for sure. It was a wondrous sweet
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air, as of one playing the feadan in a dream. Galium Dall, the piper, could give no rarer music than that was ; and Galium was a seventh son, and was born in the moonshine.
" Will you come with me this night of the nights, little Art ? " the man asked me, with his lips touching my brow and giving me rest.
"That I will indeed and indeed," I said. And then I fell asleep.
When I awoke we were in the huntsman's booth, that is at the far end of the Shadowy Glen.
There was a long rough-hewn table in it, and I stared when I saw bowls and a great jug of milk and a plate heaped with oat-cakes, and beside it a brown loaf of rye-bread.
" Little Art," said he who carried me, " are you for knowing now who I am ? "
" You are a prince, I 'm thinking," was the shy word that came to my mouth.
"Sure, lennav-aghray, that is so. It is called the Prince of Peace I am."
"And who is to be eating all this?" I asked.
"This is the last supper," the prince said, so low that I could scarce hear ; and it seemed
ii8 THE LAST SUPPER
to me that he whispered, " For I die dally, and ever ere I die the Twelve break bread with me."
It was then I saw that there were six bowls of porridge on the one side and six on the other.
" What is your name, O prince ? "
" losa."
" And will you have no other name than that ? "
" I am called losa mac Dhe."
" And is it living in this house you are ? "
"Ay. But Art, my little lad, I will kiss your eyes, and you shall see who sup with me."
And with that the prince that was called losa kissed me on the eyes, and I saw.
" You will never be quite blind again," he whispered, and that is why all the long years of my years I have been glad in my soul.
What I saw was a thing strange and wonder- ful. Twelve men sat at that table, and all had eyes of love upon losa. But they were not like any men I had ever seen. Tall and fair and terrible they were, like morning in a desert place ; all save one, who was dark,
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and had a shadow upon him and in his wild eyes.
It seemed to me that each was clad in radiant mist. The eyes of them were as stars through that mist.
And each, before he broke bread, or put spoon to the porridge that was in the bowl before him, laid down upon the table three shuttles.
Long I looked upon that company, but losa held me in his arms, and I had no fear.
" Who are these men ? " he asked me.
" The Sons of God," I said, I not knowing what I said, for it was but a child I was.
He smiled at that. " Behold," he spoke to the twelve men who sat at the table, " behold the little one is wiser than the wisest of ye." At that all smiled with the gladness and the joy, save one ; him that was in the shadow. He looked at me, and I remembered two black lonely tarns upon the hillside, black with the terror because of the kelpie and the drowncr.
" Who arc these men ? " I whispered, with the tremor on me that was come of the awe I had.
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"They arc the Twelve Weavers, Art, my Httlc child."
"And what is their weaving?"
" They weave for my Father, whose web I am."
At that I looked upon the prince, but I could see no web.
"Are you not losa the Prince?"
" I am the Web of Life, Art lennavan-mo."
" And what are the three shuttles that are beside each Weaver ? "
I know now that when I turned my child's- eyes upon these shuttles I saw that they were alive and wonderful, and never the same to the seeing.
" They are called Beauty and Wonder and Mystery^
And with that losa mac Dhe sat down and talked with the Twelve. All were passing fair, save him who looked sidelong out of dark eyes. I thought each, as I looked at him, more beautiful than any of his fellows ; but most I loved to look at the twain who sat on either side of losa.
" He will be a Dreamer among men," said the prince ; " so tell him who ye are."
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Then he who was on the right turned his eyes upon me, I leaned to him, laughing low with the glad pleasure I had because of his eyes and shining hair, and the flame as of the blue sky that was his robe.
" I am the Weaver of Joy," he said. And with that he took his three shuttles that were called Beauty and Wonder and Mystery, and he wove an immortal shape, and it went forth of the room and out into the green world, singing a rapturous sweet song.
Then he that was upon the left of losa the Life looked at me, and my heart leaped. He, too, had shining hair, but I could not tell the colour of his eyes for the glory that was in them. " I am the Weaver of Love," he .said, " and I sit next the heart of losa." And with that he took his three shuttles that were called Beauty and Wonder and Mystery and he wove an immortal shape, and it went forth of the room and into the green world singing a rapturous sweet song.
Even then, child as I was, I wished to look on no other. None could be so passing fair, I thought, as the Weaver of Joy and the Weaver of Love.
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But a wondrous sweet voice sang in my ears, and a cool, soft hand laid itself upon my head, and the beautiful lordly one who had spoken said, " I am the Weaver of Death," and the lovely whispering one who had lulled me with rest said, " I am the Weaver of Sleep," And each wove with the shuttles of Beauty and Wonder and Mystery, and I knew not which was the more fair, and Death seemed to me as Love, and in the eyes of Dream I saw Joy.
My gaze was still upon the fair wonderful shapes that went forth from these twain — from the Weaver of Sleep, an immortal shape of star-eyed Silence, and from the Weaver of Death a lovely Dusk with a heart of hidden flame — when I heard the voice of two others of the Twelve. They were like the laughter of the wind in the corn, and like the golden fire upon that corn. And the one said, " I am the Weaver of Passion," and when he spoke I thought that he was both Love and Joy, and Death and Life, and I put out my hands. "It is Strength I give," he said, and he took and kissed me. Then, while losa took me again upon his knee, I saw the Weaver of
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Passion turn to the white glory beside him, him that losa whispered to me was the secret of the world, and that was called "The Weaver of Youth." I know not whence nor how it came, but there was a singing of skiey birds when these twain took the shuttles of Beauty and Wonder and Mystery, and wove each an immortal shape, and bade it go forth out of the room into the green world, to sing there for ever and ever in the ears of man a rap- turous sweet song.
" O losa," I cried, " are these all thy brethren ? for each is fair as thee, and all have lit their eyes at the white fire I see now in thy heart."
But, before he spake, the room was filled with music. I trembled with the joy, and in my ears it has lingered ever, nor shall ever go. Then I saw that it was the breathing of the seventh and eighth, of the ninth and the tenth of those star-eyed ministers of losa whom he called the Twelve : and the names of them were the Weaver of Laughter, the Weaver of Tears, the Weaver of Prayer, and the Weaver of Peace. Each rose and kissed mc there. " We shall be with you to the end, little Art," they said : and I took hold of the hand of one,
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and cried, " O beautiful one, be likewise with the woman my mother," and there came back to me the whisper of the Weaver of Tears : " I will, unto the end."
Then, wonderingly, I watched him likewise take the shuttles that were ever the same and yet never the same, and weave an immortal shape. And when this Soul of Tears went forth of the room, I thought it was my mother's voice singing that rapturous sweet song, and I cried out to it.
The fair immortal turned and waved to me. " I shall never be far from thee, little Art," it sighed, like summer rain falling on leaves : " but I go now to my home in the heart of women."
There were now but two out of the Twelve. Oh the gladness and the joy when I looked at him who had his eyes fixed on the face of losa that was the Life ! He lifted the three shuttles of Beauty and Wonder and Mystery, and he wove a Mist of Rainbows in that room ; and in the glory I saw that even the dark twelfth one lifted up his eyes and smiled.
"O what will the name of you be?" I cried,
THE LAST SUPPER 125
straining my arms to the beautiful lordly one. But he did not hear, for he wrought Rainbow after Rainbow out of the mist of glory that he made, and sent each out into the green world, to be for ever before the eyes of men.
" He is the Weaver of Hope," whispered losa mac Dhe ; " and he is the soul of each that is here."
Then I turned to the twelfth, and said " Who art thou, O lordly one with the shadow in the eyes."
But he answered not, and there was silence in the room. And all there, from the Weaver of Joy to the Weaver of Peace, looked down, and said nought. Only the Weaver of Hope wrought a rainbow, and it drifted into the heart of the lonely Weaver that was twelfth.
"And who will this man be, O losa mac Dhe ? " I whispered.
"Answer the little child," said losa, and his voice was sad.
Then the Weaver answered :
" I am the Weaver of Glory ," he be- gan, but losa looked at him, and he said no more.
126 THE LAST SUPPER
"Art, little lad," said the Prince of Peace, " he is the one who betrayeth me for ever. He is Judas, the Weaver of Fear,"
And at that the sorrowful shadow-eyed man that was the twelfth took up the three shuttles that were before him.
"And what are these, O Judas?" I cried eagerly, for I saw that they were black.
When he answered not, one of the Twelve leaned forward and looked at him. It was the Weaver of Death who did this thing.
"The three shuttles of Judas the Fear- Weaver, O little Art," said the Weaver of Death, "are called Mystery, and Despair, and the Grave."
And with that Judas rose and left the room. But the shape that he had woven went forth with him as his shadow : and each fared out into the dim world, and the Shadow entered into the minds and into the hearts of men, and betrayed losa that was the Prince of Peace,
Thereupon, losa rose and took me by the hand, and led me out of that room. When, once, I looked back I saw none of the Twelve save only the Weaver of Hope, and he sat
THE LAST SUPPER 127
singing a wild sweet song that he had learned of the Weaver of Joy, sat singing amid a mist of rainbows and weaving a radiant glory that was dazzling as the sun.
And at that I woke, and was against my mother's heart, and she with the tears upon me, and her lips moving in a prayer.
THE DARK NAMELESS ONE
THE DARK NAMELESS ONE
One day this summer I sailed with Padruic Macrae and Ivor McLean, boatmen of lona, along the south-western reach of the Ross of Mull.
The whole coast of the Ross is indescribably wild and desolate. From Feenafort (Fhionn- phort), opposite Balliemore of Icolmkill, to the hamlet of Earraid Lighthouse, it were hardly exaggeration to say that the whole tract is uninhabited by man and unenlivened by any green thing. It is the haunt of the cormorant and the seal.
No one who has not visited this region can realise its barrenness. Its one beauty is the faint bloom which lies upon it in the sunlight — a bloom which becomes as the glow of an inner flame when the sun westers without cloud or mist. This is from the ruddy hue of the granite, of which all that wilderness is wrought.
It is a land tortured by the sea, scourged by
>3'
132 THE DARK NAMELESS ONE
the sea- wind. A myriad lochs, fiords, inlets, passages, serrate its broken frontiers. Innumer- able islets and reefs, fanged like ravenous wolves, sentinel every shallow, lurk in every strait. He must be a skilled boatman who would take the Sound of Earraid and penetrate the reaches of the Ross.
There are many days in the months of peace, as the islanders call the period from Easter till the autumnal equinox, when Earraid and the rest of Ross seem under a spell. It is the spell of beauty. Then the yellow light of the sun is upon the tumbled masses and precipitous shelves and ledges, ruddy petals or leaves of that vast Flower of Granite. Across it the cloud shadows trail their purple elongations, their scythe-sweep curves, and abrupt evanish- ing floodings of warm dusk. From wet boulder to boulder, from crag to shelly crag, from fissure to fissure, the sea ceaselessly weaves a girdle of foam. When the wide luminous stretch of waters beyond — green near the land, and farther out all of a living blue, interspersed with wide alleys of amethyst — is white with the sea-horses, there is such a laughter of surge and splash all the way from Slugan-dubh to the Rudha-nam-
THE DARK NAMELESS ONE 133
Maol-Mora, or to the tide-swept promontory of the Sgeireig-a'-Bhochdaidh, that, looking inland, one sees through a rainbow-shimmering veil of ever- flying spray.
But the sun spell is even more fugitive upon the face of this wild land than the spell of beauty upon a woman. So runs one of our proverbs : as the falling of the wave, as the fading of the leaf, so is the beauty of a woman, unless — ah, that unless, and the indiscoverable fount of joy that can only be come upon by hazard once in life, and thereafter only in dreams, and the Land of the Rainbow that is never reached, and the green sea-doors of Tir-na-thonn, that open now no more to any wandering wave !
It was from Ivor McLean, on that day, I heard the strange tale of his kinsman Murdoch, the tale of "The Ninth Wave "that I have told el-sewhere. It was Padruic, however, who told me of the Sea-witch of Earraid.
" Yes," he said, " I have heard of the uisge- eacfi (the sea-beast, sea-kelpic, f)r water-horse), but I have never seen it with the eyes. My father anrl my brother knew of it. iiiit this thing I know, and this what we call an-
134 THE DARK NAMELESS ONE
cailleach-uisge (the siren or water-witch) ; the cailliach, mind you, not the maighdeann- mhara (the mermaid), who means no harm. May she hear my saying it ! The cailliach is old and clad in weeds, but her voice is young, and she always sits so that the light is in the eyes of the beholder. She seems to him young also, and fair. She has two familiars in the form of seals, one black as the grave, and the other white as the shroud that is in the grave ; and these sometimes upset a boat, if the sailor laughs at the uisge- cailliach's song.
" A man netted one of those seals, more than a hundred years ago, with his herring- trawl, and dragged it into the boat ; but the other seal tore at the net so savagely, with its head and paws over the bows, that it was clear no net would long avail. The man heard them crying and screaming, and then talking low and muttering, like women in a frenzy. In his fear he cast the nets adrift, all but a small portion that was caught in the thwarts. Afterwards, in this portion, he found a tress of woman's hair. And that is just so : to the Stones be it said.
THE DARK NAMELESS ONE 135
" The grandson of this man, Tomais McNair, is still living, a shepherd on Eilean-Uamhain, beyond Lunga in the Cairnburg Isles. A few years ago, off Callachan Point, he saw the two seals, and heard, though he did not see, the cailliach. And that which I tell you — Christ's Cross before me — is a true thing."
All the time that Phadruic was speaking, I saw that Ivor McLean looked away : either as though he heard nothing, or did not wish to hear. There was dream in his eyes ; I saw that, so said nothing for a time.
"What is it, Ivor?" I asked at last, in a low voice. He started, and looked at me strangely,
"What will you be asking that for? What are you doing in my mind, that is secret?"
" I see that you are brooding over some- thing. Will you not tell me ? "
" Tell her," said Phadruic quietly.
But Ivor kept silent. There was a look in his eyes which I understood. Thereafter we sailed on, with no word in the boat at all.
That night, a dark, rainy night it was, with an uplift wind beating high over against the hidden moon, 1 went to the cottage where
136 THE DARK NAMELESS ONE
Ivor McLean lived with his old deaf mother, deaf nigh upon twenty years, ever since the night of the nights when she heard the women whisper that Galium, her husband, was among the drowned, after a death-wind had blown.
When I entered, he was sitting before the flaming coal-fire ; for on lona now, by decree of MacCailin Mor, there is no more peat burned.
"You will tell me now, Ivor?" was all I said.
" Yes ; I will be telling you now. And the reason why I did not tell you before was because it is not a wise or a good thing to tell ancient stories about the sea while still on the running wave. Macrae should not have done that thing. It may be we shall suffer for it when next we go out with the nets. We were to go to-night ; but no, not I, no no, for sure, not for all the herring in the Sound."
" Is it an ancient sgeul, Ivor ? "
" Ay. I am not for knowing the age of these things. It may be as old as the days of the Feinn for all I know. It has come down to us. Alasdair MacAlasdair of Tiree, him that used to boast of having all the stories
THE DARK NAMELESS ONE 137
of Colum and Brighde, it was he told it to the mother of my mother, and she to me."
"What is it called?"
" Well, this and that ; but there is no harm in saying it is called the Dark Nameless One."
"The Dark Nameless One!"
" It is this way. But will you ever have been hearing of the MacOdrums of Uist?"
"Ay: the Sliochd-nan-r6n."
" That is so. God knows. The Sliochd- nan-r6n . . . the progeny of the Seal. . . . Well, well, no man knows what moves in the shadow of life. And now I will be telling you that old ancient tale, as it was given to me by the mother of my mother.
On a day of the days, Colum was walking alone by the sea-shore. The monks were at the hoc or the spade, and some milking the kye, and some at the fishing. They say it was on the first day of the luioilleach Geamhraidh, the day that is called Am fhcill Brighde.
The holy man had wandered 011 to where the rocks are, opposite to Soa. lie was praying and praying, and it is said llial
138 THE DARK NAMELESS ONE
whenever he prayed aloud, the barren egg in the nest would quicken, and the blighted bud unfold, and the butterfly cleave its shroud.
Of a sudden he came upon a great black seal, lying silent on the rocks, with wicked eyes.
" My blessing upon you, O R6n," he said with the good kind courteousness that was his.
" Droch spadadh ort" answered the seal, " A bad end to you, Colum of the Gown."
" Sure, now," said Colum angrily, " I am knowing by that curse that you are no friend of Christ, but of the evil pagan faith out of the north. For here I am known ever as Colum the White, or as Colum the Saint ; and it is only the Picts and the wanton Normen who deride me because of the holy white robe I wear."
" Well, well," replied the seal, speaking the good Gaelic as though it were the tongue of the deep sea, as God knows it may be for all you, I, or the blind wind can say ; " Well, well, let that thing be : it 's a wave- way here or a wave-way there. But now if it is a Druid you are, whether of Fire or of Christ, be telling me where my woman is, and where my little daughter."
THE DARK NAMELESS ONE 139
At this, Colum looked at him for a long while. Then he knew.
" It is a man you were once, O Ron ? "
" Maybe ay and maybe no."
" And with that thick Gaelic that you have, it will be out of the north isles you come? "
" That is a true thing."
" Now I am for knowing at last who and what you are. You are one of the race of Odrum the Pagan."
" Well, I am not denying it, Colum. And what is more, I am Angus MacOdrum, Aonghas mac Torcall mhic Odrum, and the name I am known by is Black Angus."
" A fitting name too," said Colum the Holy, " because of the black sin in your heart, and the black end God has in store for you."
At that Black Angus laughed.
" Why is there laughter upon you, Man- Seal ? "
" Well, it is because of the good company I '11 be having. But, now, give me the word : Are >'ou for having seen or heard aught of a woman called Kirsteen McVurich ? "
140 THE DARK NAMELESS ONE
" Kirsteen — Kirsteen — that is the good name of a nun it is, and no sea-wanton ! "
" Oh, a name here or a name there is soft sand. And so you cannot be for telling me where my woman is?"
" No."
" Then a stake for your belly, and the nails through your hands, thirst on your tongue, and the corbies at your eyne ! "
And, with that, Black Angus louped into the green water, and the hoarse wild laugh of him sprang into the air and fell dead against the cliff like a wind-spent mew.
Colum went slowly back to the brethren, brooding deep. " God is good," he said in a low voice, again and again ; and each time that he spoke there came a fair sweet daisy into the grass, or a yellow bird rose up, with song to it for the first time wonderful and sweet to hear.
As he drew near to the House of God he met Murtagh, an old monk of the ancient old race of the isles,
"Who is Kirsteen McVurich, Murtagh?" he asked.
" She was a good servant of Christ, she
THE DARK NAMELESS ONE 141
was, in the south isles, O Colum, till Black Angus won her to the sea." " And when was that ? " " Nigh upon a thousand years ago." At that Colum stared in amaze. But Murtagh was a man of truth, nor did he speak in allegories. " Ay, Colum, my father, nigh upon a thousand years ago."
" But can mortal sin live as long as that ? "
" Ay, it endureth. Long, long ago, before
Oisln sang, before Fionn, before Cuchullin
was a glorious great prince, and in the days
when the Tuatha-De Danann were sole lords
in all green Banba, Black Angus made the
woman Kirsteen McVurich leave the place of
prayer and go down to the sea -shore, and
there he leaped upon her and made her his
prey, and she followed him into the sea."
"And is death above her now?"
" No. She is the woman that weaves the
.sea-spells at the wild place out yonder that
is known as Earraid : she that is called an-
Caillcach-uisge, the sea-witch."
" Then why was lilack Angus for the seek- ing her here anrl the seeking her there?" " It is the Doom. It is Adam's first wife
142 THE DARK NAMELESS ONE
she is, that sea-witch over there, where the foam is ever in the sharp fangs of the rocks."
"And who will he be?"
" His body is the body of Angus the son of Torcall of the race of Odrum, for all that a seal he is to the seeming ; but the soul of him is Judas."
"Black Judas, Murtagh ? "
"Ay, Black Judas, Colum."
But with that, Ivor Macrae rose abruptly from before the fire, saying that he would speak no more that night. And truly enough there was a wild, lone, desolate cry in the wind, and a slapping of the waves one upon the other with an eerie laughing sound, and the screaming of a sea-mew that was like a human thing.
So I touched the shawl of his mother, who looked up with startled eyes and said, " God be with us " ; and then I opened the door, and the salt smell of the wrack was in my nostrils, and the great drowning blackness of the night.
THE THREE MAR VELS OF HY
/. THE FESTIVAL OF THE BIRDS.
II. THE SABBATH OF THE FISHES AND THE FLIES.
II L THE MOON-CHILD.
THE THREE MARVELS OF HY
THE FESTIVAL OF THE BIRDS
Before dawn, on the morning of the hundredth Sabbath after Colum the White had made glory to God in Hy, that was theretofore called loua and thereafter I-shona and is now lona, the Saint beheld his own Sleep in a vision.
Much fasting and long pondering over the missals, with their golden and azure and sea- green initials and earth-brown branching letters, had made Colum weary. He had brooded much of late upon the mystery of the living world that was not man's world.
On the eve of that hundredth Sabbath, which was to be a holy festival in lona, he had talked long with an ancient greybeard out of a remote isle in the north, the wild Isle of the Mountains, where Scathach the Queen hanged the men of Lochlin by their yellow hair.
K »45
146 THE THREE MARVELS OF HY
This man's name was Ardan, and he was of the ancient people. He had come to Hy be- cause of two things, Maolm6r, the King of the northern Picts, had sent him to learn of Colum what was this god-teaching he had brought out of Eir6 : and for himself he had come, with his age upon him, to see what manner of man this Colum was, who had made loua, that was " Innis-nan-Dhruidhneach " — the Isle of the Druids — into a place of new worship.
For three hours Ardan and Colum had walked by the sea-shore. Each learned of the other. Ardan bowed his head before the wisdom. Colum knew in his heart that the Druid saw mysteries.
In the first hour they talked of God. Colum spake, and Ardan smiled in his shadowy eyes. " It is for the knowing," he said, when Colum ceased.
" Ay, sure," said the Saint : " and now, O Ardan the wise, is my God thy God ? "
But at that Ardan smiled not. He turned the grave, sad eyes of him to the west. With his right hand he pointed to the Sun that was like a great golden flower. " Truly, He
THE THREE MARVELS OF HY 147
is thy God and my God." Colum was silent. Then he said : " Thee and thine, O Ardan, from Maolmor the Pictish king to the least of thy slaves, shall have a long weariness in Hell. That fiery globe yonder is but the Lamp of the World : and sad is the case of the man who knows not the torch from the torch-bearer."
And in the second hour they talked of Man. Ardan spake, and Colum smiled in his deep, grey eyes.
" It is for laughter that," he said, when Ardan ceased.
" And why will that be, O Colum of EW6?" said Ardan. Then the smile went out of Colum's grey eyes, and he turned and looked about him.
He beheld, near, a crow, a horse, and a hound.
" These are thy brethren," he said scornfully.
But Ardan answered quietly, " ICven .so."
The third hour they talked about the beasts of the earth and the fowls of the air.
At the last Ardan said : " The ancient wis- dom hath it that these are the sinils <>[ mi-ii and women that have been, or are to be."
Whereat Colum answered: "The new wisdom, that is old as eternity, declarelh that God crcatetl
148 THE THREE MARVELS OF HY
all things in love. Therefore are we at one, O Ardan, though we sail to the Isle of Truth from the West and the East. Let there be peace between us."
" Peace," said Ardan.
That eve, Ardan of the Picts sat with the monks of lona. Colum blessed him and said a saying. Oran of the Songs sang a hymn of beauty. Ardan rose, and put the wine of guests to his lips, and chanted this rune :
O Colum and monks of Christ,
It is peace we are having this night :
Sure, peace is a good thing,
And I am glad with the gladness.
We worship one God, Though ye call him De — And I say not, O Dia ! But cry Beauil!
For it is one faith for man. And one for the living world. And no man is wiser than another — And none knoweth much.
None knoweth a better thing than this : The Sword, Love, Song, Honour, Sleep. None knoweth a surer thing than this : Birth, Sorrow, Pain, Weariness, Death.
Sure, peace is a good thing ; Let us be glad of Peace : We are not men of the Sword, But of the Rune and the Wisdom.
THE THREE MARVELS OF HY 149
I have learned a truth of Cohim, He hath learned of me : All ye on the morrow shall see A wonder of the wonders.
The thought is on you, that the Cross Is known only of you : Lo, I tell you the birds know it That are marked with the Sorrow.
Listen to the Birds of Sorrow, They shall tell you a great Joy : It is Peace you will be having, With the Birds.
No more would Ardan say after that, though all besought him.
Many pondered long that night. Oran made a song of mystery. Colum brooded through the dark ; but before dawn he slept upon the fern that strewed his cell. At dawn, with waking eyes, and weary, he saw his Sleep in a vision.
It stood grey and wan beside him.
"What art thou, O Spirit?" he said.
" I am thy Sleep, Colum."
" And is it peace ? "
" It is peace."
" What wouldest thou ? "
" I have wisdom. Thy heart and thy brain were closed. I could not give you what I brought. I brought wisdom."
ISO THE THREE MARVELS OF HY
"Give it."
" Behold ! "
And Colum, sitting upon the strewed fern that was his bed, rubbed his eyes that were heavy with weariness and fasting and long prayer. He could not see his Sleep now. It was gone as smoke that is licked up by the wind.
But on the ledge of the hole that was in the eastern wall of his cell he saw a bird. He leaned his elbow upon the leabhar- aifrionn that was by his side.* Then he spoke.
" Is there song upon thee, O Bru-dhearg ? "
Then the Red-breast sang, and the singing was so sweet that tears came into the eyes of Colum, and he thought the sunlight that was streaming from the east was melted into that lilting sweet song. It was a hymn that the Bru-dhearg sang, and it was this :
Holy, Holy, Holy,
Christ upon the Cross : My little nest was near,
Hidden in the moss.
* The " leabhar-aifrionn " (pron. lyo-ur eflf-runn) is a missal : literally a mass-book, or chapel-book. Bru-dhearg is literally red-breast.
THE THREE MARVELS OF HY 151
Holy, Holy, Holy,
Christ was pale and wan : His eyes beheld me singing
Bron, 'Bron, mo Bron ! *
Holy, Holy, Holy,
" Come near, O wee brown bird ! " Christ spake : and lo, I lighted
Upon the Living Word.
Holy, Holy, Holy,
I heard the mocking scorn ! But Holy, Holy, Holy
I sang against a thorn !
Holy, Holy, Holy,
Ah, his brow was bloody : Holy, Holy, Holy,
All my breast was rudily.
Holy, Holy, Holy,
Christ's-Bird shalt thou be : Thus said Mary Virgin
There on Calvary.
Holy, Holy, Holy,
A wee brown bird am I : But my breast is ruddy
For I saw Christ die.
Holy, Holy, Holy,
By this ruddy feather, Coium, call thy monks, and
All the birds together.
• "O my Grief, my C.ricf."
IS2 THE THREE MARVELS OF HY
And at that Colum rose. Awe was upon him, and joy.
He went out and told all to the monks. Then he said Mass out on the green sward. The yellow sunshine was warm upon his grey hair. The love of God was warm in his heart.
" Come, all ye birds ! " he cried.
And lo, all the birds of the air flew nigh. The golden eagle soared from the Cuchullins in far-off Skye, and the osprey from the wild lochs of Mull ; the gannet from above the clouds, and the fulmar and petrel from the green wave : the cormorant and the skua from the weedy rock, and the plover and the kestrel from the machar : the corbie and the raven from the moor, and the snipe and the bittern and the heron : the cuckoo and cushat from the woodland : the crane from the swamp, the lark from the sky, and the mavis and the merle from the green bushes : the yellowyitc, the shilfa, and the lintie, the gyalvonn and the wren and the redbreast, one and all, every creature of the wings, they came at the bidding,
" Peace ! " cried Colum.
THE THREE MARVELS OF HY 153
" Peace ! " cried all the Birds, and even the Eagle, the Kestrel, the Corbie, and the Raven cried Peace, Peace!
" I will say the Mass," said Colum the White.
And with that he said the Mass. And he blessed the birds.
When the last chant was sung, only the Bru-dhearg remained.
" Come, O Ruddy-Breast," said Colum, " and sing to us of the Christ."
Through a golden hour thereafter the Red- breast sang. Sweet was the joy of it.
At the end Colum said, "Peace! In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost."
Thereat Ardan the Pict bowed his head, and in a loud voice repeated —
" Slth (shec) ! An ainm an Athar, V an inhic, J an Spioraid Naoivih ! "
And to this day the song of the Birds of Colum, as they are called in Ily, is Sk/i — Sii/i — Skh — an — ainm — Ckriosd
" Peace — Peace — Peace — in the name of Christ ! "
II
THE SABBATH OF THE FISHES AND THE FLIES
For three days Colum had fasted, save for a mouthful of meal at dawn, a piece of rye- bread at noon, and a mouthful of dulse and spring-water at sundown. On the night of the third day, Oran and Keir came to him in his cell. Colum was on his knees, lost in prayer. There was no sound there, save the faint whispered muttering of his lips, and on the plastered wall the weary buzzing of a fly.
" Master ! " said Oran in a low voice, soft with pity and awe, " Master ! "
But Colum took no notice. His lips still moved, and the tangled hairs below his nether lip shivered with his failing breath.
" Father ! " said Keir, tender as a woman, " Father ! "
Colum did not turn his eyes from the wall. The fly droned his drowsy hum upon 154
THE THREE MARVELS OF HY 155
the rough plaster. It crawled wearily for a space, then stopped. The slow hot drone filled the cell.
"Master," said Oran, "it is the will of the brethren that you break your fast. You are old, and God has your glory. Give us peace."
" Father," urged Keir, seeing that Colum kneeled unnoticingly, his lips still moving above his black beard, with the white hair of him falling about his head like a snow- drift slipping from a boulder. " Father, be pitiful ! We hunger and thirst for your pre- sence. We can fast no longer, yet have we no heart to break our fast if you are not with us. Come, holy one, and be of our company, and eat of the good broiled fish that await- eth us. We perish for the benediction of thine eyes."
Then it was that Colum rose, and walked slowly towards the wall.
" Little black beast," he said to the fiy that droned its drowsy hum and moved not at all ; "little black beast, sure it is well I am know- ing what you are. You are thinking you are going to get my blessing, you that have come out of hell for the soul of me ! "
156 THE THREE MARVELS OF HY
At that the fly flew heavily from the wall, and slowly circled round and round the head of Colum the White.
" What think you of that, brother Oran, brother Keir ? " he asked in a low voice, hoarse because of his long fast and the weariness that was upon him.
" It is a fiend," said Oran.
"It is an angel," said Keir.
Thereupon the fly settled upon the wall again, and again droned his drowsy hot hum.
" Little black beast," said Colum, with the frown coming down into his eyes, " is it for peace you are here, or for sin ? Answer, I conjure you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost ! "
"An ainin an Athar, 's an mhic, 's an Spioraid Naoirnk" repeated Oran below his breath.
"An ainin an Athar, 's an nihic, 's an Spioraid Naoifnk" repeated Keir below his breath.
Then the fly that was upon the wall flew up to the roof and circled to and fro. And it sang a beautiful song, and its song was this:
Praise be to God, and a blessing too at that, and a blessing ! For Colum the White, Colum the Dove, hath worshipped j
THE THREE MARVELS OF HY 157
Yea, he hath worshipped and made of a desert a garden, And out of the dung of men's souls hath made a sweet savour of burning.
II
A savour of burning, most sweet, a fire for the altar. This he hath made in the desert ; the hell-saved all gladden. Sure he hath put his benison, too, on milch-cow and bullock. On the fowls of the air, and the man-eyed seals, and the otter.
HI
But where in his Dun in the great blue mainland of Heaven God the All-Father broodeth, where the harpers are harping
his glory j There where He sitteth, where a river of ale poureth ever. His great sword broken. His spear in the dust, He broodeth.
IV
And this is the thought that moves in his brain, as a cloud
filled with thunder Moves through the vast hollow sky filled with the dust of the
stars : IVJiat boots it the glory of Colum, since he maketh a Sabbath to
bUss me. And hath no thought of my sons in the deeps of the air and the
sea ?
And with that the fly passed from their vision. In the cell was a most wondrous sweet song, like the sound of far-off pipes over water.
Oran said in a Unv vcMce of awe, " O our God ! "
158 THE THREE MARVELS OF HY
Keir whispered, white with fear, " O God, my God ! "
But Colum rose, and took a scourge from where it hung on the wall. "It shall be for peace, Oran," he said, with a grim smile flitting like a bird above the nest of his black beard ; " it shall be for peace, Keir ! "
And with that he laid the scourge heavily upon the bent backs of Keir and Oran, nor stayed his hand, nor let his three days' fast weaken the deep piety that was in the might of his arm, and because of the glory to God.
Then, when he was weary, peace came into his heart, and he sighed ^^Amen!"
" Amen ! " said Oran the monk.
" Amen ! " said Keir the monk.
" And this thing hath been done," said Colum, " because of the evil wish of you and the brethren, that I should break my fast, and eat of fish, till God willeth it. And lo, I have learned a mystery. Ye shall all witness to it on the morrow, which is the Sabbath."
That night the monks wondered much. Only Oran and Keir cursed the fishes in the deeps of the sea and the flies in the deeps of the air.
THE THREE MARVELS OF HY 159
On the morrow, when the sun was yellow on the brown sea-weed, and there was peace on the isle and upon the waters, Colum and the brotherhood went slowly towards the sea.
At the meadows that are close to the sea, the Saint stood still. All bowed their heads.
" O winged things of the air," cried Colum, " draw near ! "
With that the air was full of the hum of innumerous flies, midges, bees, wasps, moths, and all winged insects. These settled upon the monks, who moved not, but praised God in silence. " Glory and praise to God," cried Colum, "behold the Sabbath of the children of God that inhabit the deeps of the air ! Blessing and peace be upon them."
" Peace ! Peace ! " cried the monks, with one voice.
" In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost ! " cried Colum the White, glad because of the glory to God.
"An ai'nm an Athar, 's an m/itc, 's an Spioraid Naoimli" cried the monks, bowing reverently, and Oran and Kcir deepest of all, because they saw the fly that was of Colum's cell lead- ing the whole host, as though it were their
i6o THE THREE MARVELS OF HY
captain, and singing to them a marvellous sweet song.
Oran and Keir testified to this thing, and all were full of awe and wonder, and Colum praised God.
Then the Saints and the brotherhood moved onward and went upon the rocks. When all stood ankle-deep in the sea-weed that was swaying in the tide, Colum cried :
" O finny creatures of the deep, draw near ! "
And with that the whole sea shimmered as with silver and gold.
All the fishes of the sea, and the great eels, and the lobsters and the crabs, came in a swift and terrible procession. Great, was the glory.
Then Colum cried, " O fishes of the Deep, who is your king?"
Whereupon the herring, the mackerel, and the dog-fish swam forward, and each claimed to be king. But the echo that ran from wave to wave said, The Herring is King.
Then Colum said to the mackerel : " Sing the song that is upon you ! "
And the mackerel sang the song of the wild rovers of the sea, and the lust of pleasure.
THE THREE MARVELS OF HY i6i
Then Colum said, " But for God's mercy, I would curse you, O false fish."
Then he spake likewise to the dog-fish : and the dog-fish sang of slaughter and the chase, and the joy of blood.
And Colum said : " Hell shall be your portion."
And there was peace. And the Herring said :
"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!"
Whereat all that mighty multitude, ere they sank into the deep, waved their fins and their claws, each after his kind, and repeated as with one voice :
"An ainm an Athar, 's an inhiCy '.y an Spioraid Naoiinh ! "
And the glory that was upon the Sound of lona was as though God trailed a starry net upon the waters, with a shining star in every little hollow, and a flowing moon of gold on every wave.
Then Colum the White put out both his arms, and blessed the children of God that arc in the deeps of the sea and that are in the deeps of the air.
L
i62 THE THREE MARVELS OF HY
That is how Sabbath came upon all living things upon Hy that is called lona, and within the air above Hy, and within the sea that is around Hy.
And the glory is Colum's.
Ill
THE MOON-CHILD
A YEAR and a day before God bade Colum arise to the Feast of Eternity, Pol the Freckled, the youngest of the brethren, came to him, on a night of the nights.
"The moon is among the stars, O Colum. By his own will, and yours, old Murtagh that is this day with God, is to be laid in the deep dry sand at the east end of the isle."
So the holy Saint rose from his bed of weariness, and went and blessed the place that Murtagh lay in, and bade neither the creeping worm nor any other creature to touch the sacred dead. " Let God only," he said, "let God alone strip that which he made to grow."
But on his way back sleej) passed from him. The sweet salt smell of the sea was in his nostrils; he heard the running of a wave in all his blood.
«63
i64. THE THREE MARVELS OF HY
At the cells he turned, and bade the brethren go in. " Peace be with you," he sighed wearily.
Then he moved downwards towards the sea.
A great tenderness of late was upon Colum the Bishop. Ever since he had blessed the fishes and the flies, the least of the children of God, his soul had glowed in a whiter flame. There were deep seas of compassion in his grey -blue eyes. One night he had waked, because God was there.
" O Christ," he cried, bowing low his old grey head. " Sure, ah sure, the gladness and the joy, because of the hour of the hours,"
But God said : " Not so, Colum, who keepest me upon the Cross. It is Murtagh, Murtagh the Druid that was, whose soul I am taking to the glory."
With that Colum rose in awe and great grief There was no light in his cell. In the deep darkness, his spirit quailed. But lo, the beauty of his heart wrought a soft gleam about him, and in that moonshine of good deeds he rose and made his way to where Murtagh slept.
THE THREE MARVELS OF HY 165
The old monk slept indeed. It was a sweet breath he drew — he, young and fair now, and laughing with peace under the apples in Paradise.
"O Murtagh," Colum cried, "and thee I thought the least of the brethren, because that thou wast a Druid, and loved not to see thy pagan kindred put to the sword if they would not repent. But, true, in my years I am becoming as a boy who learns, knowing nothing. God wash the sin of pride out of my life!"
At that a soft white shining, as of one winged and beautiful, stood beside the dead.
" Art thou Murtagh ? " whispered Colum, in deep awe.
" No, I am not Murtagh," came as the breath of vanishing song.
"What art thou?"
" I am Peace," said the glory.
Thereupon Colum sank to his knees, sobbing with joy, for the sorrow that had been and was no more.
"Tell me, O White Peace," he murmured, "can Murtagh hearken, there under the apples where God is ? "
i66 THE THREE MARVELS OF HY
" God's love is a wind that blows hitherward and hence. Speak, and thou shalt hear."
Colum spake. " O Murtagh my brother, tell me in what way it is that I still keep God crucified upon the Cross."
There was a sound in the cell as of the morning-laughter of children, of the singing of birds, of the sunlight streaming through the blue fields of Heaven.
Then Murtagh's voice came out of Paradise, sweet with the sweetness : honey-sweet it was, and clothed with deep awe because of the glory.
" Colum, servant of Christ, arise ! "
Colum rose, and was as a leaf there, a leaf that is in the wind.
" Colum, thine hour is not yet come. I see it, bathing in the white light which is the Pool of Eternal Life, that is in the abyss where deep-rooted are the Gates of Heaven."
" And my sin, O Murtagh, my sin ? "
" God is weary because thou hast not repented."
" O my God and my God ! Sure, Murtagh, if that is so, it is so, but it is not for knowledge to me. Sure, O God, it is a blessing I have put on man and woman, on beast and bird
THE THREE MARVELS OF HY 167
and fish, on creeping things and flying things, on the green grass and the brown earth and the flowing wave, on the wind that cometh and goeth, and on the mystery of the flame ! Sure, O God, I have sorrowed for all my sins : there is not one I have not fasted and prayed for. Sorrow upon me ! — Is it accursed I am, or what is the evil that holdeth me by the hand ? "
Then Murtagh, calling through sweet dreams and the rainbow-rain of happy tears that make that place so wondrous and so fair, spake once more :
" O Colum, blind art thou. Hast thou yet repented because after that thou didst capture the great black seal, that is a man under spells, thou, with thy monks, didst crucify him upon the great rock at the place where, long ago, thy coracle came ashore ? "
" O Murtagh, favoured of God, will you not be explaining to Him that is King of the Elements, that this was because the seal who was called Black Angus wrought evil upon a mortal woman, and that of the sea-seed was sprung one who had no soul?"
But no answer came to that, and when
i68 THE THREE MARVELS OF HY
Colum looked about him, behold there was no soft shining, but only the body of Mur- tagh the old monk. With a heavy heart, and his soul like a sinking boat in a sea of pain, he turned and went out into the night.
A fine, wonderful night it was. The moon lay low above the sea, and all the flow- ing gold and flashing silver of the rippling running water seemed to be a flood going that way and falling into the shining hollow splendour.
Through the sea-weed the old Saint moved, weary and sad. When he came to a sandy place he stopped. There, on a rock, he saw a little child. Naked she was, though clad with soft white moonlight. In her hair were brown weeds of the sea, gleaming golden because of the glow. In her hands was a great shell, and at that shell was her mouth. And she was singing this song ; passing sweet to hear it was, with the sea-music that was in it:
A little lonely child am I
That have not any soul t God made me but a homeless wave,
Without a goal.
THE THREE MARVELS OF HY 169
A seal my father was, a seal
That once was man : My mother loved him tho' he was
'Neath mortal ban.
He took a wave and drowned her, She took a wave and lifted him :
And I was born where shadows are r the sea-depths dim.
All through the sunny blue-sweet hours I swim and glide in waters green j
Never by day the mournful shores By me are seen.
But when the gloom is on the wave A shell unto the shore I bring :
And then upon the rocks I sit And plaintive sing.
O what Is this wild song I sing, With meanings strange and dim ?
No soul am I, a wave am I,
And sing the Moon-Child's hymn.
Softly Colum drew nigh.
" Peace," he said. " Peace, little one. Ah tender little heart, peace ! "
The child looked at him with wide sea- dusky eyes.
"Is it Colum the Holy you will be?"
" No, m)' fawn, my white dear babe : it is
lyo THE THREE MARVELS OF HY
not Colum the Holy I am, but Colum the poor fool that knew not God ! "
" Is it you, O Colum, that put the sorrow on my mother, who is the Sea-woman that lives in the whirlpool over there ? "
" Ay, God forgive me ! "
" Is it you, O Colum, that crucified the seal that was my father : him that was a man once, and that was called Black Angus ? "
" Ay, God forgive me ! "
" Is it you, O Colum, that bade the children of Hy run away from me, because I was a moon-child, and might win them by the sea- spell into the green wave ? "
" Ay, God forgive me ! "
" Sure, dear Colum, it was to the glory of God, it was ? "
" Ay, He knoweth it, and can hear it, too, from Murtagh, who died this night."
" Look ! "
And at that Colum looked, and in a moon- gold wave he saw Black Angus, the seal-man, drifting dark, and the eyes in his round head were the eyes of love. And beside the man- seal swam a woman fair to see, and she looked at him with joy, and with joy at the Moon-
THE THREE MARVELS OF HY 171
Child that was her own, and at Colum with
joy- Thereupon Colum fell upon his knees and
cried —
" Give me thy sorrow, wild woman of the sea ! "
" Peace to you, Colum," she answered, and sank into the shadow-thridden wave.
" Give my thy death and crucifixion, O Angus-dhu ! " cried the Saint, shaking with the sorrow.
" Peace to you, Colum," answered the man- seal, and sank into the dusky quietudes of the deep.
" Ah, bitter heart o' me ! Teach me the way to God, O little child," cried Colum the old, turning to where the Moon-Child was !
But lo, the glory and the wonder !
It was a little naked child that looked at him with healing eyes, but there were no sea- weeds in her hair, and no shell in the little wee hands of her. For now, it was a male Child that was there, shining with a light from within : and in his fair sunny hair was a shadowy crown of thorns, and in his hand was a pearl of great price.
172 THE THREE MARVELS OF HY
" O Christ, my God," said Colum, with failing voice.
" It is thine now, O Colum," said the Moon- Child, holding out to him the shining pearl of great price.
" What is it, O Lord my God ? " whispered the old servant of God that was now glad with the gladness : " what is this, thy boon ? "
"Perfect Peace."
And thai is all. {To God be the Glory. Amen?)
THE ANNIR-CHOILLE
The English equivalent of Annir-Choille would be the Wood-nyinph. The word Anniy is an ancient compound Gaelic word for a maiden.
THE ANNIR-CHOILLE
When Cathal mac Art, that was called Cathal Gille-Muire, Cathal the Servant of Mary, walked by the sea, one night of the nights in a green May, there was trouble in his heart.
It was not long since he had left lona. The good St Colum, in sending the youth to the Isle of A-rinn, as it was then called, gave him a writing for St MoHos, the holy man who lived in the sea-cave of the small Isle of the Peak, that is in the eastward hollow at the south end of Arran. A sorrow it was to him to leave the fair isle in the west. He had known glad years there — since, in one of the remote isles to the north, he had seen his father slain by a man of Lochlin, and his mother carried away in a galley oared by fierce yellow-haired men. No kith or kin had he but the old priest, that was the brother of his father, Cathal Gijlc-Chriosd, Cathal the Ser- vant of Christ,
»7S
176 THE ANNIR-CHOILLE
On lona he had learned the way of Christ. He had a white robe ; and could, with a shaven stick and a thin tuft of seal -fur, or with the feather - quill of a wild swan or a solander, write the holy words upon strained lambskin or parchment, and fill the big letters, that were here and there, with earth -brown and sky-blue and shining green, with scarlet of blood and gold of sun-warm sands. He could sing the long holy hymns, too, that Colum loved to hear ; and it was his voice that had the sweetest clear-call of any on the island. He was in the nineteenth year of his years when a Prankish prince, who had come to lona for the blessing of the Saint, wanted him to go back with him to the Southlands. He promised many things because of that voice. Cathal dreamed often, in the hot drowsy afternoons of the month that followed, of the long white sword that would slay so well ; and of the white money that might be his to buy fair apparel with, and a great black stallion accoutred with trappings wrought with gold, and a bed of down ; and of white hands, and white breasts, and the white song of youth.
THE ANNIR-CHOILLE 177
He had not gone with the Prankish prince, nor wished to go. But he dreamed often. It was on a day of dream that he lay on his back in the hot grass upon a dune, near where the cells of the monks were. The sun- glow bathed the isle in a golden haze. The strait was a shimmering dazzle, and the blue wavelets that made curves in the soft white sand seemed to spill gold flakes and change them straightway into little jets of foam or bubbles of rainbow-spray. Cathal had made a song for his delight. His pain was less when he had made it. Now, lying there, and dreaming at times of the words of the Prankish prince, and remembering at times the stranger words of the old pagan helot, Neis, who had come with him out of the north, he felt fire burn in his veins ; and he sang :
O where in the north, or where in the south, or where in the
east or west Is she who hath the flower-white hands and the swandown
breast > O, if she be west, or east she be, or in the north or
south, A sword will leap, a horse will prance, ere I win to Honey-
Muutli.
M
178 THE ANNIR-CHOILLE
She has great eyes, like the doe on the hill, and warm and
sweet she is, O, come to me, Honey-Mouth, bend to me, Honey-Mouth,
give me thy kiss !
White Hands her name is, where she reigns amid the princes
fair: White hands she moves like swimming swans athrough her
dusk-wave hair : White hands she puts about my heart, white hands fan up my
breath : White hands take out the heart of me, and grant me life or
death !
White hands make better songs than hymns, white hands are
young and sweet : O, a sword for me, O Honey-Mouth, and a war-horse fleet !
O wild sweet eyes ! O glad wild eyes ! O mouth, how sweet
it is! O, come to me, Honey-Mouth ! bend to me, Honey-Mouth t
give me thy kiss !
When he had ceased he saw a shadow fall upon the white sand beyond the dune. He looked up, and beheld Colum the Saint.
" Who taught you that song ? " said the white holy one, in a voice hard and stern.
" No one, O Colum."
" Then the Evil One is indeed here. Cathal, I promised that you would be having a holy
THE ANNIR-CHOILLE 179
name soon, but that name I will not be giving you now. You must come to me in sackcloth and with dust upon your head, with pain upon you, and with deep grief in your heart. Then only shall I bless you before the brothers and call you Cathal Gille-Mhoire, Cathal the Servant of Mary."
A bitter, sad waiting it was for him who had fire in his young blood and was told to weave frost there, and to put silence upon the welling song in his heart. But at the end of the week Cathal was a holy monk again, and sang the hymns that Colum had taught him.
It was on the eve of the day when Colum blessed him before the brethren, and called him Gille-Muire, that he walked alone, brood- ing upon the evil of women and the curse they brought, and praying to Mary to save him from the sins of which he scarce knew the meaning. On his way back to his cell he passed old Neis, the helot, who said to him mockingly :
" It is a good thing that sorrow, Cathal mac Art, — and yet, sure, it is true that but for the hot love the slain man your father
i8o THE ANNIR-CHOILLE
had for Foam that was your mother, you would not be here to praise your God or serve the woman whom the Arch-Druid yonder says is the Mother of God."
Cathal bade the man eat silence, or it would go ill with him. But the words rankled. That night in his cell he woke, with on his lips his own sinful words :
White hands make better songs than hymns, white hands are young and sweet ;
O, a sword for me, O Honey-Mouth, and a war- horse fleet !
On the morrow he went to Colum and told him that the Evil One would not give him peace. That night the Saint bade him make ready to go east to the Isle of Arran — the sole isle, then, where the Pictish folk would let the white robes of the Culdees go scathe- less. To the holy Molios he was to go, him that dwelled in the sea-cave of the Isle of the Peak, that men already called the Holy Isle because of the preaching and the miracles of Molios.
" He is a wise man," said Colum to himself, "and he was a pagan Cruithne once, and a
THE ANNIR -CHOILLE i8i
prince at that, and he knows the sweetness of sin, and will keep Cathal away from the snares that are set. With fasting, and much peril by day and weariness by night, the blood of the youth will forget the songs the Evil One has put into his mind and it will sing holy hymns. Great will be the glory Cathal Gille-Muire will be a holy man while he has yet his youth upon him ; and he will be a martyr to the flesh by day and by night and by night and by day, till the heathen put him to death because of the faith that is his."
Thus it was that Cathal was blessed by Colum, and sent east among the wild Picts.
It was with joy that he served Molios. For four months he gave him all he had to give. The old saint passed word to Colum that Cathal was a saint and was assured of the crown of martyrdom, and lovingly he urged that the youth should be sent to the Isle of Mist in the north, the great isle that was ruled by Scathach the Queen. There, at the last Sum- mer-sailing, the pagans had flayed a monk alive. A fair hapjjy end : and Cathal was
i82 THE ANNIR-CHOILLE
now worthy — and withal might triumph, and might even convert the heathen queen. "She is wondrous fair to see," he added, " and Cathal is a comely youth."
But Colum had answered that the young monk was to bide where he was, and to seek to win souls in the pagan Isle of Arran, where the Cross was still feared.
But with the coming of May and golden weather, the blood of Cathal grew warm. At times, even, he dreamed of the Prankish prince and the evil sweet words he had said.
Then a day of the days came. Molios and Cathal went to a hill-dun where the Pict chieftain lived, and converted him and all the people in the dun and all in the rath that was beyond the diin. That eve the daughter of the warrior came upon Cathal walking in a solitary place, among the green pines beyond the rath. She was most sweet to look upon : tall and fair, with eyes like the sea in a cloudless noon, and hair like westward wheat turned back upon itself.
" What is the name men call you by, young Druid ? " she said. " I am Ardanna, the daugh- ter of Ecta."
THE ANNIR-CHOILLE 183
"Your beauty is sweet to look upon, Ard- anna. I am Cathal the son of Art the son of Aodh of the race of Alpein, from the isles of the sea. But I am not a Druid. I am a priest of Christ, a servant of Mary the Mother of God, and a son of God."
Ardanna looked at him. A flush came into his face. In his eyes the same light flamed that was there when the Prankish prince told him of the delights of the world.
"Is it true, O Cathal, that the Druids— that the priests of Christ and the two other gods, the white-robed men whom we call Culdees, and of whom you arc one, is it true that they will have nought to do with women ?"
Cathal looked upon the woman no more, but on the ground at his feet.
" It is true, Ardanna."
The girl laughed. It was a low, sweet, mocking laugh, but it went along Cathal's blood like cloud-fire along the sky. It was to him as though somewhat he had not seen was revealed.
" And is it a true thing that you holy men
i84 THE ANNIR-CHOILLE
look at women askance, and as snares of peril and evil ? "
" It is true, Ardanna ; but not so upon those who are sisters of Christ, and whose eyes are upon heavenly things."
" But what of those who are not sisters of your god, and are only women, fair to look upon, fair to woo, fair to love?"
Cathal again flushed. His eyes were still upon the ground. He made no answer.
Ardanna laughed low.
" Cathal ! "
" Yes, fair daughter of Ecta ? "
" Is it never longing for love you are ? "
" There is but one love for us who have taken the vows of chastity."
"What is chastity?"
Cathal raised his eyes and glanced at Ard- anna. Her dark -blue eyes looked at him pure and sweet, though a smile was upon her mouth. He sighed.
"It is the sanctity of the body, Ardanna."
" I do not understand," she said simply. " But tell me this, poor Cathal "
" Why do you call me poor Cathal ? "
" Because you have put your manhood from
THE ANNIR- CHOILLE 185
you — and you so young, and strong, and comely — and are not a warrior, and care neither for the sword, nor the chase, nor the harp, nor for women."
Cathal was troubled. He looked again and again at Ardanna. The sunset light was in her yellow hair, which was about her as a glory. He had seen the moon as wondrous pale as her beautiful face. Like lilies her white hands were. He had dreamed of that flamelight in the eyes.
" I care," he said.
She drew nearer, and leaned a little for- ward, and looked at him.
" You are good to look upon, Cathal — the comeliest youth I have ever seen."
The monk flushed. This was the devil- tongue of which Colum had warned him. But how sweet the words were : like a harp that low voice. Sure, sweeter is a waking dream than a dream in sleep.
" I care," he repeated dully.
"Look, Cathal."
Slowly he raised his eyes. As his gaze moved upward it rested on the white breast which was like sea-foam swelling out of brown
i86 THE ANNIR-CHOILLE
sea-weed, for she had a tanned fawn-skin belted and gold-claspt over the white robe she wore, and that had disparted for the warm air to play upon her bosom.
It troubled him. He let his eyes fall again. The red was on his face.
" Cathal ! "
"Yes, Ardanna."
" And you will never put your kiss upon a woman's lips? Never put your heart upon a woman's heart? Is it of cold sea water you are made — for even the running water in the streams is warmed by the sun ? Tell me, Cathal, would you leave Molios the Culdee, —if "
The monk of Christ suddenly flashed his eyes upon the woman.
"If what, Ardanna?" he asked abruptly; " if what, Ardanna that is so witching fair?"
"If/ loved you, Cathal? If I, the daughter of Ecta the chief, loved you, and took you to be my man, and you took me to be your woman, would you be content so?"
He stared at her as one in a dream. Then suddenly all the foolish madness that had
THE ANNIR-CHOILLE 187
been put upon him by Colum fell away. What did these old men, Colum and Molios, know? It is only the young who know what life is. They were old, and their blood was gelid.
He put up his arms, as though in prayer. Then he smiled. Ardanna saw a light in his eyes that sprang into her heart and sang a song there that whirled in her ears and dazzled her eyes and made her feel as though she had fallen over a great height and were still falling.
Cathal was no longer pale. A red flame burned in either cheek. The sunset-light be- hind him filled his hair with fire. His eyes were beacons.
"Cathal, Cathal!"
" Come, Ardanna ! "
That was all. What need to say more. She was in his arms, and her heart throb- bing against his that leapt in his body like a wolf fallen in a snare.
He stooped and kissed her. She lifted her eyes, and his brain swung. She kissed him, and he kissed her till she gave a low cry and gently thrust him back. He laughed.
i88 THE ANNIR-CHOILLE
" Why do you laugh, Cathal ? "
" I ? It is I who laugh now. The old men put a spell upon me. I am no more Cathal Gille-Muire, but Cathal mac Art. Nay, I am Cathal Gille-Ardanna."
With that he plucked the branch of a rowan that grew near. He stripped it of its leaves, and threw them from him north, south, east, and west.
" Why do you that, Cathal-aluinn ? " Ardanna asked, looking at him with eyes of love, and she like a summer morning there, because of the sunshine in her hair, and the wild roses on her face, and the hill-tarn blue of her eyes,
"These are all the hymns that Colum taught me. I give them back. I am know- ing them no more. They are idle, foolish songs."
Then the monk took the branch and broke it, and threw the pieces upon the ground and trampled upon them.
"Why do