Researching my heritage I didn’t have to look far to find the name Niall Noigiallach (Niall of the Nine Hostages.)  In researching possible connections to the O’Neills and McNeils in my own genealogy I looked at Niall’s.  He is a fascinating figure in Irish History and Legend, and, as you might expect, this is true of the genealogical connections to this Ard Righ (High King) of Ireland.

Within the scope of this discussion are a legendary (but could it be credible?) connection deep into antiquity, all the way back to Adam.  Christian monks recorded this connection, but was the adding of this part of the genealogy a fabrication or an inescapably obvious connection to the oral tradition that substantiated his right to rule?

Niall was a Milesian King and there are some who would doubt the historicity of this as much as they might the Tuatha de Dana or the Partholonians.  The Book of Invasions would seem somewhat pointless if it was based on nothing at all.  How much of what is put down to myth was real and what impact did this have on Niall in particular, but Ireland in general?

Niall raided Britain and perhaps as far as the Continent, among his abductions was a certain boy named Succat, a boy who would become a transformational force in Ireland known to the world as St. Patrick, the patron of Ireland.  Niall’s son, Loegaire, met this escaped slave brought to Ireland by his father.  As such, I think Niall, the Ui Niall, and Ireland generally faced transformation because of his actions and his descendants continued the process.  One of the most famous Early Irish Churchmen was Columcille who was himself a prince of the Ui Niall dynasty.

I think it is undeniable that Niall Noigiallach is a transformational figure.  In Irish History and Legend he holds a place between the two.  In addition to the title “Nine Hostages” the epithet “Semi-Legendary” is applied to Niall.  Some don’t believe he was all that the Four-Masters said he was, but DNA forces most to admit that, if nothing else, he was.

There is no end of argument about the Ard Righship of Ireland.  Many if not most experts doubt that in the imbroglio that was Irish pre-Christian politics a true over-king that ruled the entirety of Ireland was possible.  Many even argue that nobody back then claimed the title and that it is an invention of later imaginative documentation and dynastic justification after the fact.

All these may be true, but Niall stands at a crossroads in history where, while once, in the dim pagan past, every small Tuath had its king, afterward is seen the  unification and record keeping of Christian monks that made claims a bit more testable, at least to historians.

Strange too (a Christian like me would say miraculous)that Milesian Ireland, so violent, so war prone, should be converted to Christianity so readily and with so little blood-shed.  Christianity’s story is one of violent repressions failing to halt the spread of the Gospel, one after another, after another.  Why in Ireland, where among the elite, war was very nearly a religion of its own, would Christianity conquer bloodlessly?  Why in Ireland did the Irish, feeling they were not made to suffer, invented new sorts of martyrdom, Green and White, that influenced not only the Irish, but the Continent as well? 

It may be that Niall, standing at this crossroad, holds some light to shed on this miracle.

LSO

PS.  This is an introduction of sorts.  I have been working on a post that has swelled to many thousand words.  My goal here should be shorter posts and as time passed and new posts went wanting I realized that I needed to change my approach to this vast topic.  The above is long on assertion and hints, but short on facts.  I’ve broached a myriad of topics in this one little post which I will link to from this as I produce them a bit at a time.

I’m sure you are familiar with the naming convention of many Celtic peoples where a son is named after his father or at least a notable fore-bearer.  Among the Irish you have Mc and Mac and O s which are really Ui s.  The Welsh use Ap and Map the same way.  In short O’Neill means grandson of Neill whereas MacNeill means son of Neill.

How else to keep separate all the Anguses and Rhaurys and Eochaids?  Ah, well, before the application of the now traditional surnames, notable personages received Bye Names (at least we have theirs recorded, likely everybody had them).  After all, in the list of High Kings of Ireland alone there are plenty of Eochaids and Aedhs and Nialls.  Fortunately there are nickname like descriptive names that when added to their given names help to keep track of just which one you are talking about.

Interestingly many people who’s surname is O’Neill or MacNeill might think that their name comes from the famous Niall of the Nine Hostages.  They may share genetics with Noigiallach but the name comes from a later Niall, Niall Glundubh, that is Black Knee.

Much more mysterious to me than how Niall Nine Hostages got his name is what in the world happened to stick Niall Glundubh with the bye name Black Knee.  Does anyone out there know the origin of Black Knee?

All in all, from Nuada Airgetlam (silver hand) to Conn Cetchathach (of the Hundred Battles) to Eochaid Mugmedon (Slave Lord) to Elim Oillfinshneachta (Snow that tasted of wine) to Finnachta Fleadhach (the festive) Bye Names are just good clean fun.

Write me down as a yeah vote on renewing this tradition.

LSO

From Clanaboy, to Hebridean, to Portuguese O’Neill to Northern Ireland Rugby baller, all display the Red Hand.  Be it dexter or sinister all  of these of the red hand seem to hail back to one person, Niall Noigiallach.  Perhaps there is cause.  Perhaps this is the cause:

Niall sat at the head table as befits the son of King Eochaid Mugmedon.  This Airgialla board was not for feasting, however.  Would that it were, thought Niall, but instead he’d picked a most inopportune time to visit his father’s subject king. 

A haggard looking fellow from west of the kings seat was speaking, “These warriors are on more than a hit and run raid.  This attack strikes at our heart.  Their aim is clear, they are coming to kill you, oh king.”

“Should we vacate then?  Flee to some safe place, perhaps to the Slave Lord himself for protection?” asked the king of his advisers but looking over at Niall.

He is a king perhaps, but a small king, thought Niall.  “Of course you have the support of my father.  But a king must protect his people and his place or he is no king.”  This one is an old worrier.  He is wondering now if it is worth being a king.

“We can not summon warriors from the our tributary Tuatha,” babbled one of the king’s officials.

“They should come.  It is their sworn duty to come.” said the king.

“But there is no time, we can’t expect . . .”

“I’m their king!  Does that count for nothing?”

“Yes my lord, but we should make arrangements to at least get the royal family clear. . .” began yet another advisor, likely a royal.

“Yes, and some measures to get clear as much of value as we can from . . .”

“No no, we should defend here, with fortification.  If we can hold here perhaps our tributary Tuaths can relieve a seige.  Mugmedon will aid us . . .”

“They are on your door-step, there is no time. . .”

“Will they attack tonight?”

“No, not that soon, perhaps they will be at the gates tomorrow, but no later.”

Niall pounded the table, fed up with the nattering, “Am I to understand that the seat of Airgialla has no warriors at all?”

“Of course, my lord, but. . .”

“No but!  We take up arms and we crush the enemy . . .” shouted Niall, he watched the room fidget.  Fearful to do what they should or to oppose him directly.

“. . . my lord, that is impossible . . .” said the advisor who was for getting as much of the wealth to safety.

“If you hide in your tec these Connachta will burn it down around your ears.  Why would your subject tuatha come if you are too cowardly yourself to go out against the invader?  But if you go out and surprise this rabble when they think they will catch you in your bed, well then you might still win.  I’ll tell you this, your tuatha will come out if they know that after you crush this enemy you may come to them for not doing their duty.”

“. . . but if they come too late . . .” began the king, but Niall could not let a weak king spoil all these men.

“If I may have your leave, I will lead your forces to crush these Connachta invaders.  Know that you have the full support of my father the Ard Righ. . .”

“but none of his strength. . .” muttered an advisor.

Niall ignored that and rushed on, “Now, this hour, send out your champions and your warriors and I will go out with my men.  There will be outriders and spies that will know it if we do not come out against them and if they return bloodied these Connachta will come with more care.”

“One day, or two, that is not enough time to gather the Tuatha . . .”

One of the younger warriors spoke for Niall, “We can bloody them. . .”

“They can make sure that no raider escapes alive to brag of this affront.” said Niall, “be sure, my father will hear and he will act.  As to these tributaries of yours, I can not say what they will do, only what they should do.”  Niall scanned the faces around the table and saw support on a few and doubt on many more, ”Look you.  A king presides here who is above their own king.  Go call these minor chiefs in their own lord’s name.”

“They might come in that way to swell our ranks.”

“See you, here is what we will do,” Niall left no room for contention, “We champions will go out to punch the Connachta in the eye.  They will come on slower and there is high ground between here and there that we will hold in the morning.  You, oh king, will gather every able man, every boy, every tall woman and you will give each of them a spear and a shield.  In the full morning with Sol Nua behind us, our ranks will look stronger than they imagine we could possibly be, but there we will stand.  Then too, you will fill the plain behind us with many cook fires, we will look like a host in the night and a more than that in the day.  Send to every clan chief and cattle king around and tell them to come in the name of their own king.  These little lord will not oppose you and what will their king say after the fact?  Of course the messengers will go on to inform those greater lords of your commands.  In twos and threes and tens and fifties they will come to swell our ranks, and the kings of your Tuatha will hound what is left of them if they do not reach us in time.  There will be doubt, and if we can overwhelm them with our first attack they may flee, thinking we have the better of them and that time is now on our side.  Having the son of Eochaid Mugmedon at the head of the host may well decide it, they may believe this larger than expected host is mine.”

“What if this puppet show doesn’t work?”

“What matter? The women and children can flee from the hill as well as they can flee from the fort.  Worst case, we retire to your stronghold and fight on, but more likely they do not expect opposition until then and they will turn back assuming their defeat before it is proved.”

“You have the command and everything you need I give you.” said the old king, caught up in the moment.

Niall blushed slightly, nobody would know it for embarrassment, “Then in addition to the things I’ve mentioned, I will need to borrow a shield of you.  I did not know I would be at war.”

The king smiled, “I have a new one of finest quality being crafted for me.  It is nearly finished but bears no mark or adornment yet.  Pure white it is.  It is yours.”

*  *  *

Niall and his body guard in three chariots rumbled along the cart track, going far too fast, but needing the haste they risked.  Night was gathering quickly and they needed to be at the hill. 

In truth, he should have been in the trailing chariot, but his men were too cautious of his safety for good speed, so he led.  His concession to safety was arming his driver and turning the reins over to a local.  The young man drove like a demon and swore like one too.

As they topped a hill and began to round a long slow curve there were men beside the track, surprised faces turned to him.  “Are you with the Ard Righ?” he managed to shout, knowing the answer.  An ill aimed spear cast that hurtled over all drove the driver to new heights of foul language and the horses responded.

His men leaped from their chariots to engage the enemy along the road, but Niall had his Airgialla driver wheel around so that Niall might cast at them from their flank and, as it turned out, harry their retreat.  They did not face his men for long, Niall’s hardened vets killed a few, but the better part of them showed their heels.

Niall took a few in the back with spear casts and, when his casting spears were all gone, his driver used the blades on the war chariot’s wheels and Niall his long sword to bring another few low.

Chariots and guard all gathered around Niall in his war chariot.  “Are you wounded?  Should we pursue?  Now do you see why you should not be in the first chariot?”  Were questions all hurled at him.

Niall answered with few words. “Mount!” he said to his men and to the demon driver, “get us to that hill as fast as you can.” The boy was a wonder.  Perhaps, if he lived, Niall would see if his master would part with him.

As they rumbled along a goat path Niall wondered if the men he’d frightened off would remember his shouted question or just the dead they’d left behind.  He wondered if his terse orders and fear had worked to motivate the weak king of Airgialla.  As they topped a rise Niall saw down in a valley beneath a great hill half a hundred cook fires.

All was lit with the strange light of a double sunset as Spark and Sol Nua plunged below the horizon.  It was a rare thing to see.  Niall wondered if it boded well or ill.  Niall nudged his Airgialla driver and pointed to the hilltop, “To the top, let’s see where the enemy lies.”  Niall motioned for his guard to flank him as they rumbled toward the summit.

He saw them long before his three chariots reached the knot of men at the summit.  This time he was ready and he urged his men on with a mighty, “For the Ard Righ!”  The dozen or so men almost held their ground, but a chariot charge is a fearsome thing.  A few of the less agile fell to spear casts and one unfortunate was ridden down my Niall’s Airgialla demon driver.  Niall would have liked to follow up the charge, he saw his men’s blood was up, but the wise thing was to hold the heights, that was the plan.

“See there,” said one of his guard, “two chariots.”

“Aye,” said Niall, “And there two more, and I count five coming from the fires.

“And two more from the North.” cried another of his men pointing, “Oh look you, they’ve caught some sneakers too.”

Niall saw.  The chariots wheeled and turned a couple of times before they stopped briefly, likely to retrieve weapons before hurrying up the hill toward Niall and his men.  Niall nudged his old driver, “Put up the standard.  If there are any who lurk, let them see while there is still some light.

Niall looked down the hill in the direction of the retreating enemy.  There was a dark blotch on the grassy plain.  “There is their main body, too late to give battle today.  Set the fires on the heights.  They’ll know we are here, but set the pickets a bit down the hill toward the enemy.  I don’t want them sneaking up on us fire blinded.”

The king of Airgialla rolled up with the five chariots from the fires.  “Have we won our race?”

“Aye, we drove some skulkers off the heights.  They saw the fires, no doubt, and they likely know that forces of the Ard Righ are here, but not how many or our disposition.  I think the morning charge will break them.”

“Pray it is so.  I’ve women and children down by the fires.  They can hold a weapon, but not much more.”

“They will look a proper army on the hill,” Niall said, confidence in every word  “Did you see the sunset?  It will rise at our back as I’d hoped.  We will press them for an early fight, our eagerness will be just another worry to them.”

Chariots kept rolling in filled with eager men.  The energy was contagious.  “We could attack them now, sweep them from the field.”

“If its a fight you want then go at night, five or six chariots together, there will be more lurkers still.  We must keep that horde from going around and keep them blinded too.  Change the drivers and the fighters each round so everyone stands a rolling watch.  We can’t let them sneak around us and they won’t know if all the racket is the same chariots or all your lords coming to your aid.”

“This is a masterful plan,” said the king, “I was wise to put the defense in your hands.”

Sadly, this post has gone on too long.  I think all this but sets the stage for the story I mean to tell of the origin of the Red Hand associated with Niall and his progeny.  I should add geographical and dynastic information and may do that when I revise this.  But the real meat of the story is yet to be revealed.

LSO

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