“I will take up my arms today,”  shouted CuRuada.  He pushed through the press of his boy’s troop brothers.  Man and boy alike stepped aside as he charged to the fore.  There was a heat on him, a heroe’s light that many would remember, CuRuada was not tall, nor thickly muscled, nor had he any beard, but he was, that day, a man, and none could stand in his way.

King Concubar drew himself up proudly, “Do you know the words of the Chief Druid’s vision?  The one who takes up arms today will die young.”

“I heard the words, not that they mean anything to me,” said CuRuada, “If I had planned not to take up my arms before hearing them they would lead me to this same decision.  I am a warrior, I am a man, better to be remembered for great deeds than to live a long life.  Better fame and a name then to die in bed with no teeth.  I will take up my arms today.”

Concubar beamed with pride, “So speaks a man.”

“Then you are a fool,” hissed the old druid.  he turned his back on king and assembly and walked off with the other druids.

Concubar embraced his son, any who saw might have guessed it, but he was the king facing a war with dire consequences, CuRuada had showed the bravery all his men would need.  Perhaps they all were looking to their own courage, they did not know it save Fergus.  Concubar called to the assembly, “Let us go to the armory of the Red Branch Warriors, there are men here who would take up their arms!” So saying they all went up to the great hall of the Red Branch.

CuRuada took from the many assembled death dealing spears one thick and strong, too heavy for him, one might have thought, but as he plied it in a most spectacular, hero-like, wonderously martial way it shattered in his hands.  “Here, have a go with this spear,”  Said Fergus, as he passed his massive, sharp bladed, wound-gouging, monsterous, five pronged spear. So the lad plied it and found it fit for him.

Next CuRuada took in hand one of the fine swords among those that awaited a warrior in the great armory of Ulster.  Then he worked his feats, his strikings and his thrustings upon the training butts of the Red Branch and too soon the sword was warped and its hilt crumbling in the fist of CuRuada until it was destroyed.  Then King Concubar offered his own long slashing, high hilted, razor sharp, magnificently glittering sword to the boy.  CuRuada took it in hand and with brilliance, his hero light plain for all to see, he showed his great skill and found that the great sword of the King of Ulster was fit for his hand.

Then CuRuada made to take down one of the shields from the wall of the great hall of the Red Branch Warriors, but the King, Concubar, cried, “Leave off lad, none of these will stand your rough use, I think.”  With a wave he had brought out a strong, bronze banded and painted sheild of ash and oak wood, strong was the boss of iron in the midst of the shield and also it was studded with iron as well.  Upon the face of it was emblazoned a red hound chasing a great red deer stag with red branching antlers.  “This I had in mind to give you soon, but today it is proper, you are the hound of Ulster now and not the little fellow we called you when first you came.”

Indeed he was not the same boy.  Though he was shorter than his fellows, CuRuada had grown from the boy he was into a man of strength at least.  With thoughts of war, perhaps there was no-one who remembered that he’d been with them less than a month.

CuRuada moved to the chariots that sat outside the feasting hall of the Red Branch.  Before he could test them, Concubar said, “Please CuRuada, will you leave us with but one chariot?  Leave off those others.  You shall have my chariot and my favorite team as well.”

Several of the other lads of the Boys Troop including Conall, the son of the champion, took up their arms that day.  Even Felmid, the lad who’s arm had not fully mended, though he could not hold a sword was swept up in the furvor, “I may not be able to hold a sword, but I can drive as well as any of you with just one arm.  I’ll be the Hound’s charioteer.  The king’s horses don’t much need the goad anyhow.” 

And so it was that Felmid proved his worth to drive Concubar’s own chariot with his best team and with him went CuRuada who astounded the assembly with his feats as Felmid drove magnificently in sweeping turns and slashing dashes with CuRuada howling his warcry running up and down on the tongue of the chariot and casting spears with deadly accuracy.

As so often happens, folk would remember this day as a bright shining, vigorous, heroic, magnificent, and awe-inspiringly brilliant day that all later days paled in comparison too, and its brilliance would make the dark days that fatefully followed from it all the more bleak by comparison.

Two Son’s of the UiNiall, Eremon and Crimthan, were returning from battle training on an island near Alba. These two had always been rivals, brothers they were, and always seeking to best each other and liking it not at all if his brother was viewed as superior in any sense. They had been sent to sharpen their battle skill, but ruth to tell also to see if one might better the other and so be clearly more fit to lead the clan.

The sly one, Crimthan, brought up the subject that runs thick between them, “At some point we will be forced to fight each other if one or the other does not yield.” Then followed a long recitation of all the arguments and counter-arguments that both know well and have heard all their lives, but always they lead to this impasse. “If only there was a way…” The sly fellow mused.

The ship master feared to land his boat lest it be dashed on the rocks and they all be lost, so they ride at anchor on a storm tossed sea. And such a ride, even the sailors, veterans all, looked a bit queasy. The two sons of clan Niall are impatient. Their training and their pride will not let them show anything but exasperation at the delay.

“What if we agree to a race?” Crimthan eyed his brother, gauging him, “First one ashore will rule the clan?”

Eremon sighed, “Truly? A race? Is that a fit way to decide so great a question, I wonder?”

“Isn’t it as good as any? Better than most, for I do not have to raise a hand against you my brother, and you do not have to raise a hand against me.”

“What if we both perish in this fool contest? “ asked the stronger.

“I’m surprised by you, Eremon, I’d have not thought you would give into fear. I’ve never known you to lack courage.” And this he said knowing that whether geas or just willfulness his brother would die rather than have his courage put in doubt.

Eremon growled deep in his throat, “Courage…”

Crimthan fought hard to hide his excitement as Eremon mulled but for a moment, “If we do this fool thing, and I win will you support me? There can be no turning from this course if we decide, this is far too important a thing. I know you think you are wiser than me, but I think you trust yourself too much. I will want your advise, but I do not think you would be the best to rule. Will you swear to support me if I reach shore before you?”

“You know that I will.” Crimthan promised.

“Let us have witnesses then, Ferdiad, Eochaid come witness.”

The witnesses gathered with the brothers, “Let the one who’s right hand touches shore first lead the clan with the full support of the other, setting aside concerns and trusting to fate and blood. Swear it Crimthan as I swear it now before these witnesses, the one who’s hand touches first will rule.”

“I swear it. The one who’s right hand touches first will rule.”

Prepare you then, I will speak to the captain and ask him to carry us closer into shore that we may not both parish for your impatience.  Eremon turned to the captain, but his brother was already in motion.

“You should prepare, but as for me I have prepared all my life. Wit should lead bravery. He ran to the rail dropping his cloak, revealing his body stripped for swimming and greased against the cold. With not a word more  Crimthan dove into the heaving sea.

The boat approached as Crimthan labored in the waves and for a moment he feared he had miscalculated. Had Eremon taken command and decided to dash the boat on the rocks? It sounded like the kind of direct action that he would favor, but Crimthan didn’t think he would risk so many lives.

The boat turned parallel and the waves crashed over him so all he could do was fight for his life. As he thrashed he felt the sand beneath him, then the wave slammed him into the bottom.

Crimthan struggled out of the surf. His body was numb he was shaking, and his teeth chattered, but that meant nothing. He was elated, he had done it.

“Save my hand!” The shout rang out over the roar of the waves, but the words meant nothing to Crimthan until he staggered out of the surf and  saw the ghastly lump, like a fat white spider, on a smear of red.

“That, is the right hand of the chief!” shouted Eremon.

Crimthan crawled to the hand. He’s mad he thought. Crimthan grabbed the cold dead thing and clamored to his feet. An urge to throw the thing into the surf came and just as soon left him, washed away in peals of laughter. Exhausted he collapsed, but couldn’t stop laughing. “I have it!” He laughed and couldn’t gather himself for a moment. “That was a long reach my brother, but I think you will need a new right hand!”

“You always were the wise one, good thing for me I favor the dexter. But a chief ought to have a strong right hand,” Eremon called from the boat.

“I have what you lack my brother,” He waved the grizzly trophy above his head.

“Instruct me. Do I lack wisdom?”

“No, not that. Now I see you are wiser than I am.”

“Surely not courage.”

“No brother, I risked my life to cheat you, but no one can doubt your courage this day.”

“Strength then?”

“You know as do I, you are the stronger.”

“You will have to tell me then, what do I lack?”

“I told you, but perhaps you need ears.” Crimthan could hear his brother Eremon laughing, “You will need a strong right hand, and that I have.”

“Better at my side than at my throat! eh brother?”

And ever after that clan wore the hand gules as a badge of courage.

This is an adaptation or reimagination of a legend that explains the Red Hand on our arms.

LSO