Tales for the Telling Read online

  ‘By all means,’ said Oonagh and she took his hand and she stuck it straight into Finn’s mouth explaining that the child’s best teeth were in the back of his head. McConigle was amazed to find a baby with a full set of grinders and more amazed when he felt something snap and then felt his finger detach itself and when he pulled out his hand there was a big wound where his finger of knowledge had been. Finn had eaten it. So shocked was he and so horror-stricken that he fell down. Finn rose from the cradle and laid roundly on the monster with his bare hands. He could easily have killed him with his sword but that McConigle begged for his life and Finn being a chival­rous hero gave it to him. After that McConigle made his peace, picked up his teeth and his accoutrements and promised to go home to Scotland and never set foot in Ireland again.

  The Leprehaun

  Bridget was sent out as usual to fetch a bucket of water but when she got to the well near the house she found it had dried up so she had to go across some fields to another well that was near an old disused monastery. Now as she was walking along she suddenly heard tap tap, tap tap, and she stopped and thought to herself ‘could it be’, because Bridget like every other girl knew that the little fairy cobbler came up from underground and mended shoes. But not only that, but that the leprehaun1 had the power of bestowing wealth on anyone who caught him and who kept him in their sight.

  Oh,’ said Bridget to herself, ‘this is my chance to be a rich woman.’

  So she put the bucket down and she went in near the hedge and she crept along until she caught sight of him. Quite a beau he was in his red coat laced with gold and cocked hat with a green feather, an apron over his knees and he hammering away at a little silver dance shoe. Beside him was a little vessel full of drink. So up she came behind him and she seized hold of the back of his coat with the command, ‘Deliver or die.’

  ‘Oh moidy,’ says he in a squeaky voice, ‘a highway­ man.’

  ‘Wirra man,’ said Bridget, ‘I’m just a young girl.’

  ‘You’re hurting me,’ said the leprehaun and he tried to wriggle out but of course she had a tight hold of him and informed him that she had no intention of letting him go until he told her where the crock of gold was hidden.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he whimpered.

  ‘You sly boots,’ said Bridget and she squeezed harder.

  ‘Such a purty colleen ketchin’ a body as if he was a robber.’

  ‘If you don’t tell me I’ll cut the head off you,’ said Bridget.

  ‘What wrong did I do to be thrated2 like this?’

  ‘No wrong yet,’ said Bridget, enquiring what was in the vessel.

  ‘Beer,’ said the leprehaun, ‘strong beer.’

  ‘Did you steal it from a house?’ said Bridget.

  ‘I brewed it,’ said he and boasted that he learnt brewing off a Dane.

  ‘In that case, you know where the crock of gold is,’ she said. ‘You’re a smart sprite.’

  ‘I’m a poor cobbler,’ he protested.

  Bridget threatened to carry him into the village and to plonk him down on the big weighing scales in the market place where the entire town would see him and where he would first be cross-examined and then squeezed like a sausage by stronger men than her.

  ‘I’m bested, I’m bested3,’ he said.

  ‘You are,’ said Bridget. ‘So you might as well get down to business.’

  ‘Who’d think it, a nice girl like you,’ said he.

  ‘Give over your plamais4,’ said Bridget, ‘and bring me to where the loot is.’

  ‘We have a bit of a walk,’ said he. Then he asked to be let down. But Bridget was taking no chances; she picked him up in her arms and she carried him like a baby.

  ‘It’s demasculating,’ he said, kicking and yelping, but Bridget gave him a few clouts and threatened to dump him in the well if he didn’t behave himself.

  They crossed a field and climbed over a gate, then into a paddock, past the lime kiln and over a ditch into a huge field that was covered in ragwort. It stretched from one end to another, great high stalks of yellow ragwort.

  ‘Let me down,’ said the leprehaun.

  ‘It’s under here,’ said the leprehaun, ‘dig there and you’ll get your guineas.’

  ‘Dig!’ Bridget exclaimed in a huff. She had expected to pull the stalks up and find the booty she was not in the mood for digging.

  ‘You’ll have to dig deep,’ said the leprehaun, ‘ten feet or maybe more.’

  ‘With what, my hands!’

  ‘With a spade,’ said the leprehaun, a bit saucily.

  Bridget wanted him to accompany her back to the farm to get the spade but he convinced her that that was a mistake. He said that he had to keep an eye on the stalk in case another leprehaun came, because they were avaricious, like humans, and they were bound to be passing by as day began, and they betook themselves to the burrows and chambers that led to their secret abodes.

  ‘They wouldn’t trick you,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, they would, they’re all thieves,’ he said.

  ‘Suppose you do a disappearing act,’ cautioned Bridget.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said the leprehaun, ‘I’ll put a garter around it and you’ll recognise it even if I’m not here.’

  ‘Right,’ said Bridget.

  He slipped off a tiny little red garter that was keeping up his wool sock and hung it over the piece of ragwort.

  Bridget ran for dear life. She crossed the fields, she passed the ruin, she took the stepping stones over the stream and went directly to the farmyard where shovels and implements were kept.

  Back she was, panting but delighted at her speed. However, a nasty shock was in store for her: what did she see but a red garter on every single stalk of ragwort and no sign of Mr Slimy Leprehaun.

  ‘Oh thunder and sparables,’ she cried and she started to dig. Well, she dug and she dug and she dug and all she found was clay with worms and maggots in it, and she swore by the vestments that if ever she caught that bucko she’d squeeze him into putty, but she never did find him and the chances are she never will.

  1 Leprehaun – Leithe Brogan or Fairy Shoemaker

  2 thrated – treated

  3 bested – beaten

  4 plamais – sweet talk

  The Fool

  There was a king in the western part of Ireland and he had a son that was called Amada. Amada’s mother died and the king married again but the stepmother didn’t like the son and she never gave him anything tasty to eat. She fed him just on meal and water, and nettles. However, he did grow up to be strong and the stepmother was afraid that he would harm her own children so she asked her husband, the king, to send him away. The king agreed to send him away but Amada refused to go until his father would give him a sword that was so sharp it would cut a fleck of wool falling on it. The king knew a famous blacksmith, who was in debt to him, and he asked him to make a sword that had no equal in the land and they called this sword the ‘Invincible’.

  Now he travelled for many days and many nights and eventually he came to a castle and when he went in he found no people there, but a great feast spread out on a table, so he sat down and he tucked in. When he had finished the dinner in staggered three princes, gashed and wounded.

  One of them struck a bit of the wall of the castle with a flint and at that moment the whole castle looked as if it was on fire. So Amada sprang up and said, ‘What do you think you’re doing putting a castle on fire?’

  ‘Oh, Amada,’ said one of them, ‘don’t say that to us for we are nearly killed as it is. The castle is not on fire, it’s a ruse. Every day we have to go out and fight three giants, Big Slat, Medium Slat, and Little Slat. We fight them all day long and just as night is falling we kill them, yet they always come to life again and are as ferocious as ever by morning. If they didn’t see this castle lit up they would come here and murder us while we slept.’

  They set out the next morning and they travelled to the glen where they met the three giants. Amada told the princes to take on Medium Slat and Little Slat and that he’d tackle Big Slat himself. Big Slat strode towards him and took a furious buffet at his face but Amada dodged him and held his sword crosswise and chal­lenged him to a battle. They made the hard ground into soft and the soft ground into spring wells and they made rocks into pebbles and pebbles into gravel and the gravel fell all over their heads like hailstones and the birds of the air came to witness the fight and so did the beasts of the forest. In the end Amada split the giant open from the mouth to the tail and the two halves of him fell apart like two pieces of timber. Then he went to the rescue of the princes and very soon the other two giants were on the ground as dead and as mute as their leader.

  Amada told the princes to go on home and that he would sit by the corpses and observe if they came to life again. However, he was so exhausted from his fierce fight that he fell asleep, and as he slept a very old hag in a grey wool mantle appeared. Her mouth was twisted to one side and she had a green tooth. She also had a goose feather and a jar of ointment and straightway she began to brush the ointment on to the giants’ wounds. The giants were up and eating bowls of porridge when Amada wakened.

  ‘You dirty bog trotting profligate,’ said Little Slat as Amada stood up.

  ‘You tattered Demalion,’ said Medium Slat and they set on him with spades, pitchforks, scythes and a flail. Their fight took them lurching and punching across the province and when Little Slat met his gory end Medium Slat cried out, ‘I thank God for the chance of killing you,’ and he hewed and he hacked until poor Amada was gashed from head to toe but in the end Amada got the better of him.

  ‘You have killed my brothers, it will cost you your life,’ said Big Slat who had been pursuing him across the hills. They fell into grips and they made th
e hard ground into soft ground and the soft ground into spring wells and they made rocks into pebbles and pebbles into gravel and the gravel fell over their heads like hailstones and the birds of the air came to witness the fight and so did the beasts of the earth. At last Amada ran his sword a forearm’s length through the giant’s temple and knocked him senseless to the ground.

  This time the giant was doomed because it was only at a precise moment in the thick of night that the hag could bring them back to life, and by now it was near morning. In revenge the hag put Amada under a bond. It was this: he would lose the power of his feet, his sight and his memory if he did not go and fight the Black Bull of the Black Wood. Having said this she disappeared but she left behind the feather and the jar of ointment. Amada began to brush his wounds with the ointment and soon he was fresh and unblemished again. So he buckled on his sword and he started off to fulfil his obligation to meet the Black Bull of the Black Wood.

  He travelled that day and that night, and next day as night was falling again he came to a little hut in the middle of a wood, its roof covered with wings of many coloured birds and a yew tree beside it. There was a red-haired woman standing in the doorway.

  ‘Come in,’ she said, ‘you will have neither loss nor hurt in my house.’

  In he went and he told her about his series of fights and about the bond the hag had put him under. She said there was one thing that could be a protection against the bull and she went and fetched it. It was a cloak. Then she explained what he had to do.

  ‘Throw it over the rock, hide behind the rock and when the bull comes tearing forward he will dash at the red cloak and will crash against the rock and stun himself. Then you are to jump on his back and with that sword of yours fight for your life. If you win the fight I will be glad to welcome you back.’

  Amada went to the spot. He saw the bull tearing towards him, he spread the cloak over the rock, hid behind it and with the fury of his thrust the bull split the rock and stunned himself. Amada lost no time, jumped on the bull’s back and with his sword again hacked and hewed and yet the bull tossed him and threw him off. A horrible fight ensued. They made the hard ground into soft and the soft ground into spring wells and they made rocks into pebbles and pebbles into gravel and the gravel fell over their heads like hailstones and the birds of the air came to witness the fight and so did the beasts of the forest. After a long time Amada ran his sword a forearm’s length through the bull’s neck and the bull’s head fell off and he died letting out the death groan. But as he was dying the severed head spoke and put Amada under a bond and it was to fight the White Stag of the Hill of the Waterfall.

  Amada healed his wounds with the ointment, went back to the little hut and told the red-haired woman that he was now under an obligation to fight the White Stag of the Hill of the Waterfall.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry for you because no one has ever met the White Stag and come back alive.’ She gave him food and drink and in the morning she directed him to the waterfall. She said the sword was never made that could go through the White Stag’s hide except for one place – above his heart was a tiny little lozenge-shaped spot and if the sword could pierce there the stag would be killed.

  Amada went to the appointed spot and saw the stag bounding towards him in a bellicose mood.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ asked the stag.

  ‘With this sword I have killed Big Slat, Medium Slat and the Black Bull of the Black Wood,’ said Amada.

  The stag scoffed, threw a mound of earth in the air in disdain, then lifted Amada up on his horns and swung him around so viciously that Amada saw the four corners of the field and the far ends of the sky in one terrible spin and was certain that he would end up in the next world. However, the stag swung him back to earth again and tossed him into the next field, presuming him dead. But the stag was rash in think­ing that. Amada lay there, put a little ointment on his wounds and soon he was able to get up and face his assailant. The stag was drinking at a brook and Amada had the advantage of coming on him from behind.

  ‘Oh rash stag,’ he called out and the stag turned and they fenced, the one using his sword, the other his slate-coloured horns. They made the hard ground into soft and the soft ground into spring wells and they made rocks into pebbles and pebbles into gravel and the gravel fell over the country like hail and the birds of the air came to witness and so did the beasts of the earth. After a long and wizard struggle Amada had the stag pinioned against a wall and when he saw the lozenge-shaped spot he struck at it and drove his sword the length of a forearm through the stag’s heart. As the stag was dying he put Amada under a bond to fight the Emissary of the King of Transylvania .

  Amada healed his wounds, went back to the hut and told the red-haired woman of his next obligation. She explained how the tall spectre from Transylvania would appear in the sky, and would land in a sphere of cloud and stand up with the whole world between his legs. She said, ‘If ever he’s fatigued he goes up in the sky in his Chairoplane cloud and stays there until he is refreshed. You can let him go up once but if you let him up a second time he will vanquish you when he comes down – that is his strategy.’

  As the woman gave him the most lavish supper of all Amada feared that his next opponent was worse than all the others, having the strength of a beast and the cunning of a man. He didn’t sleep a wink all night and next morning he set out with a pounding heart. The clouds parted and the Emissary of the King of Transylvania soared down and stood with the whole world between his legs.

  ‘You yalla squid,’ he said as he spotted Amada. Amada told him that he had killed Big Slat, Medium Slat, the Black Bull of the Black Wood, the White Stag of the Waterfall and that now he had come to kill the Emissary of the King of Transylvania.

  ‘I give you a choice,’ said the Emissary, ‘do you want to die by my squashing you with my hand or, by my sword?’

  ‘I am a knight and if I have to die I’d rather die by the sword,’ said Amada.

  So they both drew their swords.

  However, he sank several feet and while he was trying to rescue himself Amada crawled out of the bog hole, all black and smeared and leapt over the beds of turf until he came to a lake. The lake was surrounded by rushes and he hid among them and as he did he saw the Emissary coming towards him and he saw a mist gathering around the Emissary and he realised that he was going up in the sky as foretold. Remembering the words of the red-headed woman he did not lose heart; he took a big gout of air and jumped into the sky as limber as a shuttlecock. He got above the Emissary’s head, drew his sword and struck the Emissary and killed him dead.

  The last words of the Emissary were that Amada had to fight the Silver Cat of the Glen.

  Amada rubbed his wounds and went on back to the little hut where the red-haired woman was sur­prised to see him. He told her that his next adversary was the Silver Cat of the Glen.

  ‘Well,’ said she, ‘this time I have to say that I think it’s hopeless because that cat has powers that are not of this earth.’

  She gave him his supper and put him to bed and in the morning she told him the one thing that might help him but added that it was a slender chance. The cat had a weak spot inside the stomach and she said it was probably impossible to get to and was as small as a grain of pepper. ‘I am very afraid that we will not meet again,’ she said and this time she kissed him goodbye.

  Amada went to the cliffs above the sea and looked down and there under a huge precipice he saw that there was a cave with a horseshoe over it and it was in this cave the cat lived. Amada let himself down by rope and waited. When it was midday the cat came out to sun herself. Seeing Amada she let out a hiss that actually stopped the tide and she asked him how he had the impudence to come to her lair. ­

  ‘I have killed Big Slat, Medium Slat, Little Slat, the Black Bull of the Black Wood, the White Stag of the Waterfall and the Emissary of the King of Transylva­nia, and before night I will have killed the Silver Cat of the Glen.’

  ‘You will be in shreds,’ she said and she sprang. He raised his sword and he struck out and they both fell to a great vicious fight and they made the hard ground into soft and the soft into spring wells and the rocks into pebbles and pebbles into gravel and the gravel fell above their heads like hailstones and the birds of the air came to watch and so did the wild beasts of the forest and the seals came out of the sea and the fishes popped up and the whole of nature was stunned by the massacre.