XV. 1HERE FOLLOWETH THE COMBAT OF LOCH AND CUCHULAIN ON THE TÁIN,1 2AND THE SLAYING OF LOCH SON OF MOFEMIS2
Joseph Dunn translation
XV. 1HERE FOLLOWETH THE COMBAT OF LOCH AND CUCHULAIN ON THE TÁIN,1 2AND THE SLAYING OF LOCH SON OF MOFEMIS2
Medb sought counsel, what was best to be done with Cuchulain, for she was sore grieved at all of her host that had been slain by him. This is the counsel she took: To despatch keen, high-spirited men at one time to attack him when he would come to an appointment she would make to speak with him. For she had a tryst the next day with Cuchulain, to conclude the pretence of a truce with him in order to get a chance at him. She sent forth messengers to seek him to advise him to come to her, and thus it was that he should come, unarmed, for she herself would not come but with her women attendants to converse with him.
Now it was on Ard ('the Height') of Aignech which is called Fochard to-day that the meeting took place. Then fared Medb to the tryst and she stationed fourteen men of those that were bravest of her bodyguard in ambush against him. These were they: the two Glassinè, the two sons of Buccridi, the two Ardan, the two sons of Liccè, the two Glasogma, the two sons of Crund, Drucht and Delt and Dathen, Tea and Tascur and Tualang, Taur and Glesè.
Then Cuchulain comes to meet her. The men rise against him. Fourteen spears are hurled at him at the same time. The Hound defends himself, so that neither his skin nor protection (?) is touched and he turns in upon them and kills them, the fourteen men. Hence these are the 'Fourteen men of Fochard.' And they are also the 'Men of Cronech,' for it is in Cronech at Fochard they were slain. And it is of this Cuchulain spake:—
Valorous are the strokes I deal
On the brilliant phantom host.
War with numerous bands I wage,
For the fall of warlike chief—
This, Medb's purpose and Ailill's—
This is the reason why the name Focherd clung to that place, to wit: Fo 'Good' and Cerd 'Art,' which signifieth 'Good the feat of arms' that happened to Cuchulain there.
"Rise, O Laeg, arouse the hosts, Say for me in Emain strong: I am worn each day in fight, Full of wounds, and bathed in gore!
"My right side and eke my left:
Hard to say which suffers worse;
Stanching blood with strips of wood!
W. 2329.
"Bring this word to Conchobar dear, I am weak, with wounded sides. Greatly has he changed in mien, Dechtire's fond, rich-trooped son!
"I alone these cattle guard, Leave them not, yet hold them not. Ill my plight, no hope for me, Thus alone on many fords!
"Showers of blood rain on my arms, Full of hateful wounds am I. No friend comes to help me here, Save my charioteer alone!
"Few make music here for me,
Joy I've none in single horn.
This is sweetest from the drone!
"This old saying, ages old:— 'Single log gives forth no flame;' Let there be a two or three, Up the firebrands all will blaze!
"One sole log burns not so well As when one burns by its side. Guile can be employed on one; Single mill-stone doth not grind!
"Hast not heard at every time, 'One is duped'?—'tis true of me. That is why I cannot last These long battles of the hosts!
"However small a host may be, It receives some thought and pains; Take but this: its daily meat On one fork is never cooked!
"Thus alone I've faced the host,
By the ford in broad Cantire;
Many came, both Loch and Badb,
"Loch has mangled my two thighs;
Me the grey-red wolf hath bit;
And the eel has dragged me down!
"With my spear I kept her off; I put out the she-wolf's eye; And I broke her lower leg, At the outset of the strife!
W. 2371.
Down the stream—like swarm of bees—
That sharp deadly spear I hurled,
"Will not Ulster battle give
While I linger here in pain,
Full of wounds and bathed in blood?
LL. fo. 75b.
"Tell the splendid Ulster chiefs
They shall come to guard their drove.
And have portioned them all out!
"Fight on fight—though much I vowed, I have kept my word in all. For pure honour's sake I fight; 'Tis too much to fight alone!
"Vultures joyful at the breach In Ailill's and in Medb's camp. Mournful cries of woe are heard; On Murthemne's plain is grief!
"Conchobar comes not out with help; In the fight, no troops of his. Should one leave him thus alone, Hard 'twould be his rage to tell!
In these single-handed fights;
Warrior's deeds I cannot do,
Now that I must fight alone!"1
This then is the Combat of Loch Mor ('the Great') son of Mofemis against Cuchulain on the Driving of the Kine of Cualnge.