Celtic Stories/Father and Son

by Edward Thomas

FATHER AND SON

When Cohoolin was a youth he went to Scotland to learn tricks of fighting from Scathach, one of the wild queens of that country. He was with her for a long time, and used to fight in her battles. Her most powerful enemy was another queen, named Eefa, and Cohoolin first slew Eefa's chief warriors, then overcame the Queen herself at single combat. This he did by a trick. Before going into battle he had asked Queen Scathach what it was Eefa most loved, and she told him: 'Her two horses, her chariot and her charioteer.' So when Eefa had broken Cohoolin's sword in the fight he called out suddenly, 'Look, look, Eefa's chariot has fallen over the precipice!' At this Eefa looked round towards where Cohoolin was looking, and instantly he seized her, and had her in his power. Having conquered this queen, he did not return at once to Scathach's country, but stayed with Eefa and made her his bride. When at last he was about to leave her, he said that if the child born to her were a boy, he should bear the name Conla. He left a ring for the expected boy, and as soon as it would fit his finger he was to come to Erin; but he was to tell no one his name and history; and he was never to refuse a challenge to battle.

The child was born and, as Cohoolin had hoped, it was a boy, and he was called Conla. He grew up worthy of such a father and such a mother, tall and beautiful and strong, and he knew not fear.

Cohoolin forgot Eefa, and Conla he never knew. It was part of Cohoolin's reputation that he had no children. Men said that this was why Cohoolin was so little afraid of death, because he had no son to watch growing up. They said that this also was why he thought so much of fame after death, because no son of his would be living after him to carry on his name and some likeness of his beauty and courage. As Cohoolin lived without a child, so Conla lived without a father. His mother taught him the same arts of battle as Cohoolin, and he became a great warrior. He asked his mother about his father, and, under promise of secrecy, she told him that his father was Cohoolin. Sometimes the boy had a great longing to see so glorious a warrior; sometimes he felt that he could hate the man who had left Queen Eefa and himself and never returned. When Conla had learned everything that can be learnt without wrinkles and grey hair and hollow teeth, she gave him Cohoolin's ring, and sent him to Erin. 'Remember,' she said, 'tell no man thy name or history, and whatever man shall challenge thee to combat, fight him. Thy father would do the same.'

In Erin every one loved him at first for his comeliness and his open ways. Many a girl would have been glad to have him for a lover or husband, but to those who spoke of love he answered:

'No. This is not my country, and I shall return alone to whence I came. I will not leave a son behind me as my father did, nor a wife as my mother was left.'

They asked who was his father, and who his mother, and if they were still alive; but he would not tell. He would not even tell his name. Nevertheless he made one exception. One maid who loved him looked at him with eyes which he could not resist, and he said, 'I am bound not to refuse a challenge, and there is one in thine eyes now which I must accept.' Her eyes said that she feared him to be treacherous, unwilling to tell her anything because he could thus easily slip away to his own country and not be followed. Therefore he told her that he was Cohoolin's son, and had come from Scotland where lived his mother, Queen Eefa; and he gave her the ring from off his finger. He begged her to tell nobody, and she promised. Then, angry with her for making him break his promise, he tore himself away and left her.

The men did not take it quite so easily when Conla refused to tell his name. But when they challenged him he did not refuse that, and, each and all, he either slew them or drove them away running at such a pace that they were invited to become messengers for the king. Of every one whom he met upon the roads of Erin he inquired about Cohoolin. They told him grand and fantastic tales of combat against odds, and how the hero's face looked when he was angry and in a difficulty, how his hair stiffened and his eyes bulged, and he seemed many times the size of his opponent, and how a light, which they called 'the hero-light', shone upon him at such times, and upon him alone.

Conla knew from the stories that he would have no difficulty in recognizing Cohoolin. Time after time, when he had listened to some one telling of Cohoolin's courage or generosity, he started forward again on his road to seek his father. But then he remembered that when he found Cohoolin he would not be able to reveal himself. If his father recognized him, and said, 'Art thou Conla, the son of Eefa?' he would not have to deny it, or even be silent. But if his father asked, 'Who art thou?' he must refuse, as he had done to many others. At this thought he became gloomy, and wished to turn back. His mother had, however, laid him under another promise, which was that he was never to turn back. Remembering this, he went on until he came to Dundalk, by the sea.

In Dundalk, Conall the Victorious, riding in a chariot, stopped him upon the road and saluted him, saying:

'Young man, come up with me into the chariot, and tell me where dost thou come from, what is thy name, and what thou seekest.'

'Gladly would I ride,' said Conla, 'but I may not answer thy questions.'

'Why not?'

'I am bound not to tell my history.'

'And who bound thee?'

'I must not tell.'

'Neither shalt thou ride with me.'

'I can run as fast.'

'I warrant thou hast had practice at running.'

'If thy meaning is that I run away from enemies, I can tell thee that I have not yet learnt to do so. Wilt thou teach me?'

'Ay, easily! '

'Master, I thank thee.'

'But wilt thou fight?'

'Certainly!'

So Conla and Conall fought, and Conla was a stronger and cleverer fighter than Conall, and ended by striking his sword out of his hand. Looking into Conall's woebegone face, he said, laughing, 'I cannot run away from a man without a sword, O warrior.'

At this moment came up another chief and, with a smile, picked up Conall's sword from the grass, and gave it to him, asking:

'Why, Conall the Victorious, are you giving away your sword as well as your name to this youth?'

'That may be. Let him be called Victorious. He will give his birth name to no one.'

'How so?'

'He refuses to tell me or any man.'

'I pray thee, tell me the name of the conqueror of Conall the Victorious,' said the new-comer, turning his face still smiling upon Conla.

At first the youth could not speak, but lost his tongue by looking long into the man's face, he knew not why. The smile of the man had annoyed him, yet he was fascinated also. He on his part seemed to be looking at Conla in the same way, and neither spoke for a little time. The elder was the first to speak. He began slowly, as if thinking of something else.

'Tell me thy name, young man, for even our enemies do not conceal their names; and, as for thee, I have a feeling that thou mightest be a dear companion to me, though thou hast begun by damaging my cousin, Conall. If it had been possible I should have said that I had known thee long ago. But long ago thou wast only an infant.'

'Chieftain,' said Conla, 'I cannot tell my name. Yet if I could for any man break my promise not to tell, it would be, I think, for thee. I also think like thee: "If it had been possible, I should have said that I had known thee long ago." Cease then to ask me…'

'It is possible,' interrupted the man, 'tell me, wert thou ever in Scotland?'

'I was.'

'Didst thou know there one called Eefa, a queen in those wild glens?'

'Chieftain, I cannot answer. I am what thou seest me, a youth acquainted with war, and, I trust, open of heart, though condemned by another to silence about myself.'

'Tell me, I pray thee.'

'I can tell nothing.'

'Wilt not?' said the man, getting angry. 'Perhaps thou wilt tell me, didst thou ever learn at the school of Scathach in Scotland?… Thou art silent… Then thou shalt answer by deeds. Wilt thou fight?'

'I must.'

'Thou shalt,' said the man, his face now utterly changed into a grisly face such as might make a man wonder why warriors do not eat their enemies. It did not frighten Conla; neither did it make him quick to defend himself. He had not forgotten the strange love which he felt for this chieftain at the first sight, and he said:—

'I am ready. Nevertheless, O chieftain, if I could refuse any man battle it would be thee.'

His opponent was restless to begin, and opened the fighting. At first they were so nearly matched that an onlooker might have thought each was only striking blows to give the other the glory of showing his skill in avoiding them. The two fighters were like twin trees in a storm; they rock together, and however their great arms may plunge they never wound one another, though the little twigs may chafe and a few leaves fall to the ground. Conla first drew blood, and was astonished. He was sorry for this, but sorrier when he saw the result. His enemy's head was now lit up by a strange light that touched nothing else, and he knew that this was the hero light of the stories, that this man was certainly his father. He began to think rapidly of what he should do, what he should say, how to stop the fight; and he tried at the same time to use all his defensive cunning with the sword, for he could not bear to die just now, But thinking spoilt the skill of his eyes and arms; he was bewildered; for one moment he ceased to be able either to think or to use his sword except for wild slashes. In that moment Cohoolin struck him a great blow; and now he had no need any longer of thinking or using the sword, because he was near death.

As Cohoolin bent over the youth, he remembered how twenty years before he had bent over Queen Eefa. Conla's hair was over his face, hiding all but his eyes, and the conqueror saw that the eyes looking through the hair were like Eefa's.

'Young man,' he said, 'I would rather it was I that had to die. I fear that thou gavest me thy life, for it was too easily taken from such a warrior as thou wert. And now since thou hast given thy life, give also thy name, for that is nothing.'

'Nay. but it is something,' muttered Conla.

'How so?'

'I may not tell.'

'Then I will make an exchange. I will give thee mine. If a name is something, then mine is something. It is Cohoolin.'

'Thou givest me nothing. I knew thee already. Farewell, Cohoolin.'

Cohoolin kissed him, and then he died.

The hero stood long in thought over the body, until he heard a strange woman's voice crying. She came nearer and nearer, crying so bitterly that it made Cohoolin's mouth quiver. When she caught sight of him a fearful look came into her eyes, but she ceased to cry and ran towards him, saying:

'O mighty Cohoolin, hast thou seen a young man passing by, a beautiful young man, a very brave young man, a generous young man?'

'Maidens find many such, O maiden.'

'There is no other like this.'

'What is his name?'

'I cannot tell,' she said, coming up to Cohoolin; then seeing the body, with one cry of 'Conla!' she fell over it.

'Conla! yes, it was Conla!' cried out Cohoolin. 'Conla! Conla! I slew thee half in anger, because thy mother hates me; and thou perhaps had loved me. I looked in vain for thy ring, and I see that thou hadst given it to one thou lovedst above thy father.'

His sorrow was horrible to see, and his cries drew many thither. His face wore the same look as in battle, but worse than his companions had ever seen. They looked on in silence, now and then stepping forward as if to lead him away, or beg him to spare himself, but stepping back again hastily from that ghastly face. He gripped his sword, and every moment they expected him to set upon them. At last Cathbad the Druid put him under a spell. By this spell Cohoolin saw the waves of the sea close by like a host of his enemies, and he rushed among them, striking greater blows than he had ever struck before. Night fell, and still he fought with the waves. Not until morning broke did he cease, because he was too tired to lift up his sword. He fell forward into the waters, and would have drowned had not those who watched him rushed in and carried him ashore.