The Tain

“They decided, ‘What Fergus sold let it stay sold; what Conchobor bought let it stay bought.’” 

This moment marks the official transfer of power from Fergus to Conchobor as ruler of Ireland. It was accomplished through Nes’s cunning but maintained through Conchobor’s ability to gain the admiration of Ulster during his temporary rulership. It also sets up an ongoing conflict in the text, where two legitimate kings of Ulster must coexist, which ultimately results in Fergus’s exile and alliance with Ailill and Medb. This theme is also present in Fergus and Ailill’s tenuous alliance.

“Five days and four nights, or five nights and four days, the pangs lasted. For nine generations any Ulsterman in those pangs had no more strength than a woman on the bed of labor. Only three classes of people were free from the pangs of Ulster: the young boys of Ulster, the women, and Cúchulainn.” 

This is the curse of Macha who, despite serving her husband well, is betrayed by him and ignored by the whole of Ulster as she goes into labor while saving him from death. Because they abandon her, she curses them with her labor pains, and this curse prevents them from fighting Ailill and Medb’s invasion. As a result, Cúchulainn begins his “hero’s journey” to protect Ulster until the men rise from their debilitating pangs.

“Conchobor was outraged, and on a day soon afterward battle was joined between them, and three hundred among the men of Ulster fell. Before morning Dubthach had massacred the girls of Ulster and Fergus had burned Emain. Then they went to Connacht, to Ailill and Medb—not that this was home for Ulstermen, but that they knew these two would protect them.” 

Because of Conchobor’s trickery, Fergus, who was sent to escort the sons of Uisliu, must break with his own people or lose his honor. Conchobor forces him into an impossible position, and with his exile, Fergus flees to Medb and Ailill, enemies of Ulster, for asylum. This is the origin and motivation for Fergus, a former king of Ulster, to abandon his own people and provide crucial information to his enemies. But since he was acting with honor by defending Ulstermen from their own king, this is also why his alliance with Ailill and Medb is so tenuous.

“‘You can spare your welcome,’ Bodb’s pig-keeper said. ‘We bring you only war-wailing and a fullness of friends’ corpses.’”

The two pig-keepers, both shapeshifters of mythical origins, begin their ongoing dispute that ultimately leads to the conflict of The Táin. While the people welcome them and seek to calm their conflict, Bodb’s pig-keeper speaks ominously to the fact that their dispute will spill over into the lives of the people of Ulster and Connacht. In his reference to the “fullness of friends’ corpses,” he alludes to the fact that this conflict between former best friends will also poison the lives of everyday people, causing further loss of friendships, kinships, and lives in the forthcoming epic.

“It would be an insult if I were more generous than my husband, but not if the two of us were equal in this. If my husband was a timid man our union would be just as wrong because I thrive, myself, on all kinds of trouble.” 

As Medb and Ailill playfully argue about their shared resources and what each person brings to the marriage, Medb reflects on what makes their partnership strong and the importance of equality. However, when she discovers their union is not equal because she does not have a bull to match Finnbennach, the effort to rectify this spurns the conflict between the two kingdoms. This moment also alludes to her role in The Táin, bringing “all kinds of trouble” throughout the tale.

“‘Did you give our famous treasure, the Donn Cuailnge, to Medb’s messengers?’

‘Yes I did,’ Dáire said.

‘That was not a kingly thing to do. What they said is true: if you hadn’t given him up freely the hosts of Ailill and Medb, and the cunning of Fergus mac Roich, would have had him without your leave.’” 

Small gossip between messengers leads to this moment, which forces the conflict between the two kingdoms. Here Dáire hears that the messengers were using the fair and peaceful trade to speculate over whose forces would win in a face-to-face conflict; Dáire is forced by honor to rescind his offer to loan the bull to Medb. From small, insignificant speculations between servants comes an epic conflict between nations.

“Then he ran up to Conchobor’s boys without getting them to pledge his safety. He didn’t know that no one went out to them on their field of play without getting a promise of safety from them.”

Moments like these demonstrate how Cúchulainn learns the rules of conflict and battle, which become central to the way he operates later in the epic. As a young boy his exceptionalism is also demonstrated in these social blunders, where his power crosses the lines of socially acceptable behavior. As such, the audience can be amazed by his strength, primarily because of his errors and overreach. This encounter and others like it illustrate his formation and give the reader a preview of what he is capable of in The Taín.

“‘My life is a waste, and my household like a desert, with the loss of my hound! He guarded my life and my honor,’ he said; ‘a valued servant, my hound, taken from me. He was shield and shelter for our goods and herds. He guarded all our beasts, at home or out in the fields.’” 

When Cúchulainn kills Culann’s dog, he officially assumes the role vacated by the house’s protector. Here Sétanta becomes the “Hound of Culann,” or Cúchulainn, metaphorically and literally stepping into the role of a guard dog for Ulster. Like the dog he killed, he rushes ahead of the troops to hold off the attacking forces. He is their “shield and shelter” of their most important resources, because in early medieval Europe, land, livestock, and goods were essential to a culture’s power.

“Dark one are you restless / do you guess they gather / to certain slaughter / the wise raven / groans aloud / that enemies infest / the fair fields / ravaging in packs / learn I discern / rich plains / softly wavelike / baring their necks / greenness of grass / beauty of blossoms / on the plains war / grinding heroic / hosts to dust.”

The Morrígan’s chant comes like a whisper in the ear of the Brown Bull of Cuailnge, warning him that destruction and death are to come. Being the goddess of birth and death herself, her chant reflects this pairing, juxtaposing the rich, feminine beauty of the landscape with the useless, dark destruction of war, where virile male heroes are ultimately ground to dust. The contrast of empty slaughter against the backdrop of a beautiful countryside is likewise present throughout The Táin, as Cúchulainn’s brutal combats physically alter the Irish countryside.

“Then Cuillius found the couple together at Cluithre, where they had lingered behind as the army moved on. Cuillius moved closer. They didn’t hear him spying on them. It happened that Fergus’s sword was laid down close by him. Cuillius drew it out of its sheath, leaving the sheath empty.” 

Fergus is disarmed during a moment of vulnerability with Medb, who has been known to use her sexuality as a tool for negotiation. The sword drawn from the sheath carries some sexual innuendo and could likely only be stolen while Fergus is distracted by a woman (and never by force). Upon learning of this tryst, Ailill is not jealous, and he does not retaliate against the other king; instead, he uses this disarming to his advantage, for Fergus is beholden to him as long as he does not have his weapon. This backfires later when Cúchulainn must yield to Fergus because he only has a wooden sword, for this yield is repaid at the end of the epic, to Ulster’s favor.

“‘Are you really Cúchulainn?’

‘What if I am?’ Cúchulainn said.

‘If you are,’ Nadcranntail said, ‘how can I take a little lamb’s head back to the camp? I can’t behead a beardless boy.’”

Here Cúchulainn is set to battle with Nadcranntail, a renowned warrior who refuses to fight someone who looks so young (Cúchulainn is 17). The moment demonstrates the rules of combat at the time, which honorable warriors like Nadcranntail follow. But Cúchulainn finds a way to circumvent these rules, using berries and grass to form a makeshift beard so they can fight. It is rare for Cúchulainn engage in deception, but in this moment it is necessary. He must defend Ulster in these single-combat matches, and he is more than ready to take on a seasoned warrior.

“‘Who are you?’ he said.

‘I am King Buan’s daughter,’ she said, ‘and I have brought you my treasure and cattle. I love you because of the great tales I have heard.’

‘You come at a bad time. We no longer flourish here, but famish. I can’t attend to a woman during a struggle like this.’” 

The Morrígan makes several appearances in the epic, here appearing to Cúchulainn as a temptation in the form of a beautiful, high-born woman. It does not seem she is there to undermine him; instead, she appears to be in love with him—the goddess of war has fallen in love with the most powerful warrior ever born. However, her offer is spurned. Being a serious warrior, Cúchulainn has no time for women’s affairs, and this sets them up for a brief conflict. Perhaps ironically, the two are well matched for each other, at least as adversaries, for each is capable of wounding and healing the other, returning them both to their original state.

“The first warp-spasm seized Cúchulainn, and made him into a monstrous thing, hideous and shapeless, unheard of. His shanks and his joints, every knuckle and angle and organ from head to foot, shook like a tree in the flood or reed in the stream. His body made a furious twist inside his skin, so that his feet and shins and knees switched to the rear and his heels and calves switches to the front.”

Cúchulainn’s first warp-spasm is a lengthy description of a demi-god charging up his superpowers. The passage is grotesque—eyes bulging, flesh turned inside out, joints turning, blood spurting—and his ability to withstand this hyperbolic “activation” for battle sets him apart from a normal man. He takes on monstrous proportions and becomes seemingly infallible. This transformation is also metaphoric for the way combat changes a warrior; this “becoming” another person for the battlefield requires inner fortitude to manifest physically in order for the warrior to survive.

“He uttered his warrior’s scream on high, and his cry of unfair fight, so that every living man in Ulster heard it, except those that lay asleep. Fiacha leaped from his chariot when he saw their hands all raised against Cúchulainn and he hacked off all twenty-nine hands.” 

This is an example of a rare moment when outside help saves Cúchulainn from death. While he mostly performs his feats and battles solo, Fergus comes to his aid in this case, sending Fiacha mac Fir Febe to help Cúchulainn in a fight that has been skewed to his disadvantage on a technicality. Remaining honorable and following the rules of combat is crucial for Cúchulainn’s legitimacy as a hero. However, while Fiacha’s help breaks the rules of single combat, it is excused by the narrator as the encounter was unfairly deemed single combat because the father and 27 sons share the same blood. As with crafting a fake beard, bending the rules is sometimes necessary for Cúchulainn to undermine more blatant or unfair deception.

“‘What did he say, Medb?’ Ferdia said.

‘He said he wouldn’t count it any great triumph if his greatest feat of arms were your downfall,’ she said.” 

Medb lies to and manipulates her allies throughout The Táin, and this moment demonstrates her cunning in effectively convincing a reluctant warrior to go up against Cúchulainn. Ferdia is his foster brother and has shown no interest in the material goods or sexual conquests Medb has used to tempt him to fight Cúchulainn. However, she hits on the right strategy when she concocts this lie, saying Cúchulainn insulted his honor by calling Ferdia a mediocre warrior who would not be impressive to defeat. For a warrior like Ferdia or Cúchulainn, defending one’s honor is a challenge that cannot be ignored.

“Don’t break our friendship and our bond, / don’t break the oath we made once, / don’t break our promise and our pledge. / Noble warrior, do not come.” 

Cúchulainn’s plea to Ferdia to refuse their battle reveals how desperate he is to avoid this fight with his old friend and foster brother. He speaks to the value of their bond and oath, and the importance of these pledges they made so many years ago while training with Scáthach. In Cúchulainn’s plea, these remembrances contrast sharply with the fickle dishonesty of Finnabair, who has been pledged to Ferdia just as she has been to every man who came before him.

“All play, all sport, / until Ferdia came to the ford. / Misery! A pillar of gold / I have levelled in the ford, / the bull of the tribe-herd, / braver than any man.” 

Cúchulainn repeats this lament multiple times in the whole of this passage, demonstrating his raw sorrow and regret after killing his friend in single combat. He is a savage warrior, but he also shares deep, emotional bonds with his kinsmen. While earlier combat was depicted as effortless and playful, this death is a turning point for Cúchulainn. He suffers both in body and soul, for what was once “sport” has become a very personal and sorrowful undertaking. He will not rise again until the end of the epic, to put an end to the entire conflict.

“After this the healer gave him a choice: either to treat his sickness for a whole year and live out his life’s span, or get enough strength quickly, in three days and three nights, to fit him to fight his present enemies. He chose the second course.” 

The old warrior Cethern must make a choice about his health. Like many people facing their mortality, he angrily rejects each healer’s advice and prognosis. However, he is given one choice that allows him an honorable end: He can preserve his own life after a year of treatment, or he can die honorably in the service of defending Ulster. Cethern, being an honorable warrior, chooses to restore his health so he can take as many enemy lives as possible before dying a hero’s death.

“I studied the plain before me and saw a dense fog filling the valleys and hollows, so that the high places in between looked like islands in a lake. I made out sparks of fire through the thick fog, and a world of different colors, of all kinds. Then I saw flashes of lightening, with uproar and thunder. Though there is only a light breeze out today, a great wind came that flung me down on my back and all but swept the hair from my head.” 

In this moment the men of Ulster are rising from their pangs. The lifting of this curse is like a force of nature, sweeping across the plain like a “great wind.” The imagery is abstract and mysterious, seen through the perspective of Mac Roth, who does not know what he sees. Fergus lifts the veil for the reader and his company, identifying the colors, sparks, fog, and thunder as manifestations of the Ulstermen’s presence on the plain. This wondrous description segues into an introduction of each major figure entering the theater of war.

“‘Bring me that flesh-piercing sword. I swear by my people’s god, if its bloom has faded since the day I gave it to you on that hillside in the land of Ulster, not all of Ireland will save you from me.’

They brought Fergus’s sword and Ailill said:

‘Now take your sword / lay Ireland low / but spare us at Gáirech / mighty man among boys’” 

In this moment Ailill finally rearms Fergus to let him loose against his kinsmen. For most of The Táin Fergus has been disarmed and disempowered, functioning primarily as an informer and observer for both sides, managing to remain almost neutral in the conflict. It is an important moment that is the culmination of the long-delayed return of power to Fergus; the tide of the battle will change, but not necessarily in Ailill and Medb’s favor.

“‘Harshly, harshly, friend Fergus,’ Cormac said. ‘That would be mean and shameful, and spoil friendships. These wicked blows will cheapen your enmity and break your pacts.’

‘Then where am I to strike?’ Fergus cried.

‘Turn your hand aside. Strike out anywhere. Strike crosswise at those three hills. But remember that Ulster’s honor was never thrown away, and never will be unless you do it today.’” 

As Fergus goes to strike a deadly blow to Conchobor, thereby exacting his revenge for the murder of the sons of Uisliu and many others, he is stopped by Cormac, who successfully thwarts the attack. He does not stop Fergus with strength, although he does halt Fergus’s sword. Rather, Cormac speaks to their bond and friendship, reminding Fergus of their honor above all. Despite his long exile, Fergus is convinced and strikes at the hillside, redirecting his anger to the landscape instead of killing Conchobor. This moment demonstrates there are honorable ways for warriors to avoid conflict and preserve bonds; not every dispute must end in death.

“‘What man in Ireland talks to me like that?’ Fergus said.

‘Cúchulainn, the son of Sualdam and Conchobor’s sister,’ Cúchulainn said. ‘Give way before me.’

‘I promised to do that,’ Fergus said.

‘It has fallen due,’ Cúchulainn said.”

After Ferdia’s defeat, tension has been building for an impending conflict between Fergus and Cúchulainn, and now the latter has risen to fight. However, Fergus is essentially disarmed (again) at this crucial moment, here by the obligation of his honor, as he previously promised to yield to Cúchulainn when the time comes. This is the climax of the epic, or perhaps the anticlimax, as a final battle between the two warriors never occurs. Their truce represents the last obstacle standing between Ulster and a defensive victory, for with Fergus standing down against Cúchulainn, the path is cleared for the demi-god to defeat the Irish armies. In the act of keeping his oath, Fergus again preserves his honor and kinship, and simultaneously allows the battle to end without harming his friends.

“Medb said to Fergus:

‘We have shame and shambles here today, Fergus.’

‘We followed the rump of a misguided woman,’ Fergus said. ‘It is the usual thing for a herd led by a mare to be strayed and destroyed.’” 

As the Irish armies are overcome and Medb surveys their defeat, Fergus drives home his view that women are incapable of leadership. His insults sexualize Medb, blaming her “rump” for his own inability to discern good leadership. Despite numerous talented warrior women introduced in the tales preceding The Táin, the misogynistic views shared here are consistent with the depiction of women throughout the tale, who operate primarily through manipulation, surprise, and sexual temptation.