“Defend yourself if you can little fox.  I’ll make you famous,” shouted Fer Ulli, Champion of the Airgialla.

“You’ll never know the tenth part of my fame,” said CuRuada hefting his spear in an overhand grip and limbering his shield arm.

“Oh? Why is that?” scoffed Fer Ulli wading through the ford.

“You’ll not know anything beyond today.” CuRuada crouched as the big man came splashing toward him.

Fer Ulli drove his heavy headed spear hard toward CuRuada’s legs, hoping to wound him, but CuRuada knocked it away easily even as his spear dug a furrow in Fer Ulli’s shield.  The two men traded blows, each catching and diverting the other’s blows as they churned the water of the ford to brown mud.

Fer Ulli was the older of the two by far, so as the battle continued, and he could not get his spear past the boy’s shield to wound him, the shrewd champion attacked less and sought to conserve his strength for an opening.  Using his bulk he worked CuRuada into a deeper place in the ford, hampering his movements.  Fer Ulli feinted weakly with his spear and CuRuada struck it aside with more power than was needed.  Fer Ulli seemed to follow that weak jab, staggering and exposing his side.  CuRuada lunged and his spearhead grated along the rings of the champion’s mail.  Suddenly CuRuada was reeling from a shield edge smashed against his head on the way to striking his arm and carrying away his spear with his balance.

Fer Ulli pressed his advantage, thrusting again and again, but CuRuada’s momentary unbalance was gone.  Now with his short sword in hand, CuRuada began to press the older man.  Fer Ulli should have had an advantage in range with his spear, but CuRuada, angered now, seemed able to slip past Fer Ulli’s guard at will and his sword cuts were telling.

Worse yet, as Fer Ulli’s strength ebbed with each cut, flowing away like his blood on the river, CuRuada seemed to strengthen and his anger seemed to grow. 

To look on him now was a fearsome thing.  Where Fer Ulli had struck the young man was a deep bruise that had nearly closed his eye, but around the purple his face was almost as dark a red as the purple of the bruise.  While one eye squinted the other gaped wide with madness.  The boys hair stood on end like his name sake, and he now moved with animal quickness.

Gasping, Fer Ulli tried his best to defend himself.  CuRuada’s attacks seemed more like the maddened onslaught of a rabid animal than a warrior.  Then, for a moment, CuRuada seemed to slip and Fer Ulli tried to gather the last of his reserves.  He let his shield drop low and reared back to attempt a fight finishing thrust.  Too late, for CuRuada was already erupting from the water.  The feat was the Salmon Leap and last thing Fer Ulli ever saw was the arching body of his nemesis above him before the edge of CuRuada’s shield tore his shoulder from it’s socket and his sword found its way down beside his neck, through muscle and bone to find his heart.

This then is the order of battle when CuRuada went West on his first ranging with his companions of the Boys Troop.  CuRuada and Felmid were together in the King’s own chariot, but with them went several of those boys who took up arms that day.

These then went out at Concubar’s command to range along the East bank of the White Dash and then North to the Ridgeline that overlooks the inland sea above the Plain of Muirthemne.  His thinking, with Fergus, was that these were deserted borders of Ulster and that the lads would find no trouble nor cause any.

With CuRuada was his charioteer, Felmid, who’s arm was not yet fully set, these two rode in the King’s chariot with the reins in Felmids good hand and the goad beneath his arm.  Following was Conall, the son of the Champion, and with him was Fionn, who was older than the rest and had taken up his arms the year before.  A third chariot held Diarmid, with Aengus, and Morna who held the reins.  Last of all came Conor and Braen and an older lad named Rinnchu who drove the fourth chariot.

So it was that all these came to the vale in which is the White Dash, the cold lively mountain fresh river that falls quickly from the Mountains of the West to rush across the broken bones of the mountains at their feet along the Westmost part of Ulster.  As they topped the ridge they all saw the gentle fall of the good land of Ulster as it goes down to the river and the harsh land of rock and tree that is beyond.

There below them also was the fording place called the Ash Ring for the trees that circle the slower place in the river where men can cross if they seek timber or trade with the men of the mountains.  For miles up and down the White Dash there is no such place where folk can safely pass across the waters.

“See you there,” asked CuRuada, “I see a man at the fording place.  What mischief might he be at here at the West gate of Ulster?”

“Not hard to learn,” shouted Felmid, “and with a whoop, he set the team to racing, the chariot leaping down the fall to the Ash Ring.”

“This is like to be trouble,” said Fionn to Conall.

“How could it be other?” said Conall, his face set hard and grim.  “Let us go quickly lest that youth leads all these others to death.” Nodding Fionn set the whip to their team and they started down behind CuRuada and the other two chariots.

This is how the first ranging of the hero, CuRuada, came to be.  After CuRuada and several of the Boy’s Troop of the Red Branch warriors took up their arms, these were exhibiting their skill at arms before the hosting of the Red Branch and before the king, Concubar.  The Boy’s Troop lads were all sons of the Red Branch warriors for none was admitted to the Boy’s Troop unless he was a son of one of the Red Branch knights.  Indeed this was true of everyone, proud fathers looked on as their sons showed their prowess, and none was so proud as Concubar, for though he was not married, CuRuada was indeed his son, though secretly to most, by the faerie woman, Fand.

These lads were in very high spirits, and with their martial display they were a danger to themselves and to others.  Perceiving the potential for disaster, Fergus, who was the commander and main instructor in arms of the Boy’s Troop, advised the king to send CuRuada and the rest out on a ranging where their high spirits would do no harm and likely some good.  This seemed wise to the King, for though a king is the leader of his warriors, he is established and maintained by the peace and prosperity that he brings for his people.

Now the King, Concubar, had a great shield that would roar when the king was in danger, and too Concubar could wield it so that its roaring could gain the attention of warriors even in the noise of combat.  So Concubar took his great shield and made the roaring that brought the king to the attention of the lads and brought them immediately to heal, even the hound, CuRuada.

When they were all gathered, the King, Concubar said, “Welcome all you new warriors to the knights of the Red Branch, and you have arrived at a fortunate time for Ulster.  You may all have heard the words of our chief druid, Cathbad.  Though harvests are plentiful, though calving will bring wealth, there may be war too, in fact we know that one almost always brings the other from jealous neighbors.  For this reason we must be vigilant and we must expect danger from places where we do not expect it, and threat where there has never been before.  So my lads, it is important that we send you, young heroes, on an urgent quest to range our borders to the North and the West where we do not expect trouble and, having seen to their security, return to report their condition.”

So saying the king gave their war-like, rambunctious, pugilistic, contentious, battle anxiousness a direction where he thought it would do no damage, for in the West of Ulster were the great mountains of the West and true, there were hill men there in the foothills below, but none below the White Dash, the violent stream of water that fell rapidly from the foothills. 

To the North the King had still more confidence, for there beyond the ridge that later fell down to the great lake of the north, was no neighbor at all save the deer.  Perhaps too might be the folk of Fand the faerie woman, but who knew if they even inhabited the same world as Concubar and his Gaels, for Fand seemed born of the mist where he found her and to which she later returned after their trysting.

So, while the other fathers were advising their sons on what the proper manner of a warrior on a ranging should be, Concubar took under his arm, Son, named by his mother, Fand, and sent to Concubar, and known by all as CuRuada, the Hound of Ulster.  Concubar gave some martial advice and he advised CuRuada to go West from Emain Macha and to the White Dash but no further.  Then, said the King, turn along that stream and go northward to the ridge above the forest that falls to the great inland sea, but no further, said he.  Then go you and your mates along that ridge’s base, and not the heights, until you come to the forester’s road, and so by that way back to Emain Macha.  This do you, for yours will be the command and when you return we will all go a’hunting in the South. 

This then was good to CuRuada’s hearing because, having taken up his arms, his would be the command of the expedition.  Then too, he was not unaware that South along the way was the Ford across the Red Branch river where lived Emer.  This too seemed very good to him as he meant to have her as his wife. 

Thus CuRuada began his border ranging, but he did not know that Concubar had met with Wil McCullen, Emer’s father, and they had spoken of a marriage and made sureties.  For this reason Concubar meant for this hunting trip to lead to a feast at that same hostelry where Concubar would see his bride to be, the daughter of McCullen, Emer, who CuRuada loved.

In the first section of this story, we are introduced to Ulster (in this world, Tir na Nua, a young country in the North and West by the Western mountains), the king, Concubar, and of course, CuRuada and Emer.  This post begins the heroic deeds of CuRuada and what leads, finally, to tragedy.

It was the time of the sacrifice of the bull and the subsequent seeing of Cathbad.  Nobody knew what the chief druid would see, what he would divine from the liver, and from reading the entrails of the sacrifice.  Ever since Cathbad had risen to the chief druid this sacrifice had always been a great show.  People crowded around, hoping to hear a good word, fearing to hear bad.

Concubar found it all a bit too theatrical for his taste.  The process could have been finished in a quarter of the time and all the show could be put aside in favor of the point of the thing, the oracle.  In the main, the visions were not for the rabble, the visions involved the king, his men, and his leadership of the Tuath.  As such, though he found Cathbad’s show an annoyance, there was no denying the power of the chief druid’s auguries.

Concubar sat with Fergus and a few captains of his Red Branch warriors.  They were comfortable enough, but this kind of thing was not for men of action like them, it was the purview of magicians.  As such they sat, feeling like men awaiting the judgement of the Brehon.

Fergus huffed, “by the Dagda above, why can’t they get to the point?”  There was mumbled agreement and Concubar felt the same without being able to express it.  Still it felt good to know that his fellows felt like he did.

It was his bull that was going to get the knife, it always was, and standing there among all the druids it looked as befuddled as Concubar felt, poor fellow.  Cathbad thrust the long thin knife into the air and there was a hush that fell over the crowd.  Quick as lightning Cathbad reached under the young bulls neck and with a quick slice slit it ear to ear.  All the druids hemmed it in and before it truly knew its end it collapsed to its knees and moments later was dead.

Blood was carried away, and Cathbad and his druids fell too with knife and skill.  Cathbad, red to the elbow in sacrificial blood, dominated the center of the maelstrom of druidic activity.  His concentration was absolute, focused on what remained of the animal as his assistants took away parts with practiced efficiency.  “Good water, good crops, good birthings, good wine, all this I see.  Good increase, good trading, good. . .”  Cathbad frowned and bent lower over the entrails, “. . . I see gold, good mining.”

The massed people gasped, the word gold spread to every mouth, whispered  throughout the crowd.  

“Wait!” shouted Cathbad, “Good wheat, good cattle, good oats, but tragedy and woe . . .” Cathbad cut into the liver and examined it avidly, ”Good mining, good milling, good calving, good fishing, but there is trouble.  There is war, there is loss, there is death.”

Concubar sat forward.  This was a telling that he must address, “Tell on druid, what is our path?”  Cathbad turned toward the king, his eyes were dead, vacant as they were when he was thus entranced, dark portals to a wider, darker, world.  “Speak, what should we do?”

“There is no ban, no geasa, no sacrifice that can forestall this.”

“War and doom and no way to avoid it?” Concubar frowned, concentrating, “Who is this augury for?  War certainly, but from where, and who might die?”

“Will.  There is no might in this augury,”

Concubar laughed, “Will die!  But don’t we warriors all hope for this?  Is this woe to a druid, but glory in battle for a man?  Why all the hand wringing Cathbad?  Who dies?  Tell me that so that he can put his affairs in order and make certain there is a bard near to remember his glory.”

Concubar’s statement was reinforced by the men around him, but Cathbad sneered, “Oh yes, a good rousing song is better than you deserve.  Do you think you are the only ones who suffer in war?”

“Tell us then, who suffers loss, who will die?”

Cathbad frowned and looked down at what remained of the sacrifice, “The signs are not clear.”  Cathbad looked puzzled, “Kingly, but not you oh king. A battler, a warrior, a youth. . .”

“This is meaningless”

Cathbad stared hard at the ground, but then shook his head violently, “I can not see.  Maybe if I do the consumption vision.  I can not say for sure.”  Cathbad’s assistants looked appalled.

“Advise me chief druid,” said Concubar, “If this is truly important then choose.  If not. . .”

“I will seek the consumption vision.”  A forceful nod from Cathbad sent his assistant druids scattering.

There was an inn, an hostelry and place of rest for travellers, at the fording of the Red River known to all as the Gael Ford, which king Concubar maintained for hospitality, as is proper for a king.  The lord and master of this house was a man named Wil MacCullen, and he had a daughter named Emer.

Now Emer was skilled in needle-work more than any other maid and so at the great meet that came with the funerary games of Macha for three years she went up to Emain Macha to sell some of the fine work she had worked the previous year.  Her father Wil, being prideful, but also thrifty, found it pleasing that she had such renown that brought great credit on him and worth to his family so that he allowed it.  And not for that one reason did Wil of Gael Ford send this daughter before the kings of tuaths and the cattle lords and the princes of Ulster for Emer was fair and well spoken and wise so that Wil knew well that some high lord would pay a surpassing bride price for his daughter.

Emer for her part was not pleased that her father should parade her like a prize heifer, but she enjoyed the freedom she found at the fair.  Emer, though she would not have boasted of it, knew she was possessed of the six womanly gifts.  Though many were taller, and many fairer, and a few brighter of eye, still Emer, no one would deny, possessed the gift of beauty, Some sang sweeter, some spoke stronger, but none could fault her for she possessed the gift of voice, of all other women she was kind in word and generous as a king with her gift of sweet speech, renowned was her gift of needle-work, in spite of her father or by witnessing his faults she possessed the gift of wisdom, and because she knew her own great worth her discretion followed her wisdom and she was known for the womanly gift of chastity.

That day Emer and some other maidens had watched the hurling championship and had seen CuRuada lead the boys troop.  At least for Emer the game had been exciting and she was very impressed by CuRuada’s skill and also by his form.  For many of the other girls, some of the men who were defeated by the troop were even more interesting as were some of the taller boys among the red branch warriors’ sons.

Emer walked with her hangers-on in such a manner that she came up to a group of the boys who were congratulating Cu.  CuRuada was in high spirits from his win and enjoying the attention of his fellows, but when he saw the group of girls he became awkward, blushing slightly, and casting his eyes away from the other girls, but always looking up through long eyelashes to Emer herself.

The boys and the girls soon sorted themselves out, some leaving in a huff, some running off laughing, and some strolling arm in arm until none remained but Emer and CuRuada.

“What do you see, boy?” asked Emer of CuRuada.

“I see a fair country,” he said, though he couldn’t look her in the eye, “And I’m no boy.”

Emer laughed, “mmm, it would take a man to rest in my country.” Saying this she tugged her shawl to cover where his eyes had rested. “I don’t think you are that man, you’ve no beard at all.”

“I’m no boy,” he said stubbornly, “Is it really a beard you need?  I would lay my weapon there.”

“What do you know of weapons?  I’ll grant, you are marvelous with a cam, but it takes more than that to please me.”

Curuada met her gaze and he reached out and tugged lightly at her shawl, “What would please you?  I would lay my weapon there.”

There eyes rested in each other’s gaze and both knew that they were beautiful one to the other.  It was Emer who looked away first, mindful of her chastity, for it seemed impossible that this young man could please her father.  It made her sad in a way she had never been before, “It is no use, my father demands a very high bride price for me.”

“Why should he not?  You are beautiful, you are lovely in voice, in speech,” Cu pulled her closer, caressing her shoulders, “And if you wear your own needle-work then it is exceedingly fine. . .”

Emer shrugged away, and placing her hands on his chest, gently pushed him away, “mmmm, yes, and chaste and above all, wise.  So you see. . .”

“I see the woman I would marry.”  CuRuada smiled so brightly that Emer found her spirits buoyed as well.  “See you, I will get the cows your father demands, but my dear-heart, what would please you?”

He carried himself like a prince, it almost made Emer hope, but he hadn’t even the beginnings of a beard, “If you would please me, then you must know me.”

CuRuada laughed, delighted, “You are indeed wise, there can be no other for me, you are the most virtuous woman in all of Ulster.”

Emer smiled with pleasure, because she knew it to be true. “Who are you?  What is your name, bold stranger?”

“My name is Son. . .” He blushed for shame having broken his gesa, but he quickly corrected, ”They call me CuRuada.  I live here with King Concubar and I train with the boys troop.”

“Hound of the red hair, are you well named CuRuada?  I thought you said you were a man, but you are of the boys troop of the Red Branch Warriors.”

“That is a matter of a day only.”  CuRuada scoffed with supreme confidence, “Today is the day that the best of the boys take up arms and I am the very best of the best of them.  Today I will take up my arms and I will be a man in truth, a warrior of the Red Branch.”

A group of warriors and boys from the boys troop were hurrying toward the event field.  Several of the boys called for CuRuada, hailing him and urging him to come show his skill at the spear.  Emer shoved him away toward the men and boys, “Go play your games. . .” She said.

“I will win the competition.  No one can match my skill with the spear.  Come see if I don’t.”

Emer stepped away smiling, “Be careful you don’t swear a boast you can’t fulfill.” She teased.

CuRuada stopped dead, his face hardened  and his eyes grew fiery, “It is no boast, not this of the competition, nor that I will make you my wife.  These things must be.”

He was so serious that she almost believed that he could, but such was the stuff of legend and not truly wise to contemplate, “I meant no slander she said kindly.  I will come watch you win at the spear.  I promise.”

He nodded, relieved by her words and Curuada turned to go to the competition.  Before he could step away he turned suddenly back, he cleared his throat and was the blushing boy again, “I swear, I will marry you my lady, and no other, but I will find you much easier if I know your name.”

She laughed with joy to see him both boy and man and, she realized, beloved, “I am called Emer and my father’s name is Wil of Gael Ford.  I warn you, he is a hard man and not likely to want to hear that a beardless youth seeks my hand.”

He only smiled and repeated her name, “Emer”

For her own part Emer felt he said her name better than anyone else ever did.  She watched him go with his friends and wondered if it was wise to hope.