On the Táin | Intro and Transcript – Originally Published: Sligo, November 2022

It’s a story I grew up knowing. I can’t be sure when I was first told it, but I can’t remember not knowing I was named after a great Celtic warrior, a fact on which I do remember incessantly informing all the other kids in primary school. My childhood best-friend was called Fionn. Fionn and Ferdia – how could we not feel ourselves shrouded in some mystical essence amongst the rake of Brian’s, Grainne’s, Oisin’s, and Niamh’s which, although all fine mythological names themselves, seemed to pale in prestige to being called Ferdia. Of course, a seven-year-old convincing himself he’s the reincarnation of Connacht’s greatest warrior assuredly led him to believe he was bigger and stronger than he actually was, a head above the rest as it were; something I can’t be sure isn’t completely uncoincidental with Fionn not only being my best childhood friend, but my only childhood friend. Or maybe it’s simply that none of the other kids really believed that they could escape from the school yard by charging at the railings, flapping their arms and jumping. They tried, for a bit, but inevitably bored of my little game and returned to playing ‘chasing’ and telling tales. The fools! They simply couldn’t see that anything was possible if only you flapped hard enough. It was to their utter astonishment therefore when at last, one Thursday morning during the eleven o’clock break, I finally took off and soared over the high black railings in a frenzy of flapping and jumping, gliding down Carysfort avenue, doing a single circle above my home in Blackrock before spreading my arms wide and streaming out across Dublin bay; free at last, if only in my head, drifting off during Irish class. Such are the dangers of filling a child’s mind with fantastical notions of fate and destiny. What’s in a name? Probably more than we consider. I’ve been asked why I’m named after “the one who died”, the one who “lost”. That’s hardly heroic, is it? That never occurred to me. Even as a child it seemed obvious: the end comes to all sooner or later, but how one conducts oneself in the meantime is what counts. Honour, dignity, pride and honesty; wrongly antiquated concepts in this age are nevertheless characteristics I inherited through the tale of Ferdia, through trying to live up to the name I was given. So what’s in a name? As little or as much as you care to read into it I guess. Fortunately or unfortunately, as a child I read into it a lot. I remember first reading the Táin in full when I was fourteen or so, a tired paperback edition from a library in Letterfrack. This was the real deal. No child-friendly versions here. The noble Ferdia I grew up idolising was an arrogant loner, easily manipulated and drunkenly goaded into fighting his brother. There are no heroes and villains in the Táin, but deeply flawed and complex characters who find themselves caught up in events they can’t control, haplessly pursuing their self-interested goals whilst doing the bare minimum to fulfill their oaths and obligations, desperately trying to balance their morals with the messy world they find themselves in, and forever being thwarted by gods; in other words, just life. And in Ferdia’s defense, against this background he is the paradigm of honour, if not dignity. For yes, whilst he did get black-out drunk, and whilst he was indeed manipulated by Medb who preyed on his pride, he drew the line at compromising his integrity, a principle Medb openly shirks. Integrity in this context is the name. This was a society in which one’s name and word, especially amongst the warrior elite class, was the ultimate attribute and possession. You could have all the wealth in the world, but without your name, you were worthless. Ferdia took this to the extreme: he had all the name in the world but none of the wealth, and even when given the opportunity to exchange a little of one for the other, he simply wouldn’t, even if it meant fighting his best friend and brother. And fight he did. It broke both of their hearts to do so, but both acknowledged the circumstances in which they found themselves. Anyways, Ferdia was assured of victory. He and Cu Chulainn had both been trained by the Scáthach, a legendary warrior woman and teacher on a mystical Scottish isle. The two brothers knew each other inside and out (some interpretations suggest Ferdia and Cu Chulainn were also lovers, drawing on similar practices in Greek mythology and antiquity), and Ferdia reckoned that the battle would be bloody, but that he was capable of wearing the boy demi-god Cu Chulainn down and ultimately defeating him. It played out exactly such, up until the point where on the brink of defeat Cu Chulainn used the Gae Bolga – a magic spear given to him by the Scáthach. This broke the rules of engagement, but saved his life – much as the horn-skin armour given to Ferdia by the Scáthach must have surely done hitherto. Yet again, it’s hard to say who’s right and who’s wrong. I have my own take on it, but make up your own mind and we can discuss it some time in the future. 

I used two different translations of the Táin: Ciaran Carson (2007), and Thomas Kinsella (1969). 

I recommend reading both for their differing take on the language.  

I also used the following paper evaluating the supposed route and place names of the Táin: “The Route of Táin Bó Cúailnge Revisited”, Paul Gosling, 2014.  

Available at: https://www.researchgate.net/publication/325011589_The_Route_of_Tain_Bo_Cuailnge_Revisited  

The route I took is only loosely accurate to the suggested locations: priority had to be given to locations convenient to shooting and travelling to, as opposed to following the route to the letter. In order of appearance in the video, the locations are: 

Rathcroghan 

Oweynagat 

Rathcroghan Visitor Centre (Tulsk) 

A random bridge (in Ardee) 

Cu Chulainn’s castle (Dundalk) 

Drogheda 

Ardee 

Slanemore 

Athlone 

Rathcroghan 

A huge thank you to Sanne and Olivia for their artwork in the video, and to Shauna and Fionn for their voiceovers. Thanks too, as always, to Marina for hanging on over countless kilometers of terrible Irish roads, and in general just putting up with me!  

On The Táin  

Have you ever had that moment with your partner where you say something you think is funny or insignificant, but they perceive as quite flippant and offensive, and then, instead of apologising, you find yourself making excuses, defending yourself, and then the whole thing snowballs out of proportion and next thing there’s shouting and cursing and plates flying across the room? Well, that’s how the greatest story in Irish mythology begins. 

The Pillow Talk 

Medb, queen of Connacht, is getting ready to go to bed with her husband Alill, probably after a great night of feasting and drinking, and they’re getting in the mood, when Alill says probably the stupidest thing a man can say. “‘It’s true what they say, girl. Well-off woman, wealthy man’s wife.” Right, says Medb, what makes you say that? And the absolute eejit, completely ignoring the sirens and flashing red lights, goes on and says, oh you know, “‘just that you’re better off now than the day I took you.” 

So Medb, being a daughter of a High King of Ireland who could trace her noble lineage through the generations, renowned for her skill in combat and her able rule, but above all not one to take shit from any man, especially her husband, rebukes him, listing all the ways she was rich long before she married him, “and in fact, now that I think of it, it is you who is better off after marrying me”, she says. “Whoever brings you shame or strife or trouble, you’ve no claim to compensation or redress, beyond what I claim, for you’re a man dependent on a woman’s wealth.” 

You can see where this is going. Alill’s dug himself into a hole and damnit he’s gonna keep digging, so they begin to try and out-wealth each other: all their material wealth was gathered up and counted, and then their sheep and cattle, their horses and pigs, and in every form their wealth was found to be equal…but one, for Ailill possessed the prized white bull (or white-horned bull) called Finnbennach. Only one other bull in the world could match Finnbennach, the Brown bull of Cooley that was owned by a chieftain of Ulster, Dáire mac Fiachna. But Ailill owning Finnbennach, the white bull, tipped the scales, the Tain tells us “And to Medb it was as if she hadn’t a single penny, for there was no bull to equal Finnbennach among her cattle.” 

All this happens in Cruachan, the sacred capital of the kingdom of Connacht. And this is it (supposedly). This is called Rathcroghan today; 6.5 km2, 4 square miles of archaeological sites dating from the neolithic to the early medieval period. And over here is Oweynagat, the gate to hell. 

Oweynagat 

This is an early Medieval Souterrain, 600-800ish, and that’s where the history stops and mythology takes over. Oweynnagat means “the cave of the cats”, or maybe “the cave of the battle”, but in mythology it’s called “Uaimh Cruachan”, ‘Crochans Cave’. Rathcroghan, Crochan, Cruachan, it’s all the same name; a woman named Crochan Crogderg, (‘blood-red cup’). She was the handmaiden of Étaín, wife of the High King of Ireland. Étaín was on the run (she eloped with her demi-god lover Midir), and Cruachan went with her. One night they hid out here, and Cruachan felt an overwhelming draw to this place, so much so that Étaín, being Queen, granted this place to Cruachan where she would later give birth to a daughter whom she named Medb. There are more stories attached to this place of course, over here we see an inscription in Ogham which reads “[cave] of Fráoch, son of Medb”, and all of these figures have their own rich narratives in Irish mythology, far too much to cover here, but probably the most widely recognisable is the Morrigan, a goddess associated with war and fate. In legend, Owenynagat was a portal to the otherworld, or for Christians, hell. The Morrigan will be in the shadows throughout the story of the Tain, but in general folklore this is where she would burst forth from every Samhain, riding a chariot and driving her otherworldly beasts out into the land to ravage it and make it ready for winter. You’d know it as Halloween. 

The army assembles.

But back to the Tain. We left Medb fuming and furious that she had no bull to match Finnbennach, the prize white bull of Alill. She simply wouldn’t be out-done, so Medb sent her messenger to Daire, the Ulster Chieftain who owned the Brown Bull of Cooley, to ask for a years-loan of the Donn Cuailnge, the bull. Daire, persuaded by the payment (take a wild guess) Mebh was offering, gladly agreed to lend her his bull. However, that night an Ulster servant overheard the drunk messengers of Connacht boasting that even if Daire had refused, they would’ve taken the bull anyway. Understandably, when Daire heard of this he refused to lend Medb the bull. But not one to be put off by such a minor inconvenience, Medb assembles her army for a massive cattle-raid into Ulster to loot, pillage, and steal the Donn Cuailnge. 

Medb and the see-er 

‘What is your name?’ said Medb to the young woman.  

‘My name is Fedelm, one of the women poets of Connacht.’  

‘Where have you come from?’ said Medb. 

‘From learning poetry in Alba,’ said the young woman. 

‘Have you the Second Sight?’ said Medb. 

‘I have that too,’ said the young woman. 

‘Look for us, then, and see how our expedition will fare.’ 

The girl looked. 

And Medb said: ‘For our army, Fedelm, what lies ahead?’ 

Fedelm replied: ‘I see it crimson, I see it red. 

(Carson, 2007) 

The army cross into Ulster. 

Despite the warning, Medb is feeling confident. The men of Ulster had been cursed with the pains of childbirth, meaning she can cross the border without a fight and raid with impunity. But as the army snakes across the land, two terrifying eyes are watching from a distant hilltop. Cu Chulainn, the hound of Chulainn: the mightiest warrior in the land. 

Although he is a man of Ulster, he has been spared the curse, and now is the only one standing between Medb’s army and the undefended kingdom of Ulster. Cu Chulainn has got his priorities though and decides to pop down to Tara for the night to see his girlfriend, so he leaves behind a challenge in the shape of an oak sapling tied into a hoop with one hand. Unless anyone can do similar, the army is honour-bound not to pass. Medb has no time for this however, so instead of passing the challenge she orders the army to cut a new road through the woods. 

The next day an angry Cu Chulainn again tries to stall the army, this time by blocking a river ford with the fork of a huge tree. Medb’s scouts are unfortunate enough to bump into the warrior at the ford and he decapitates all four of them in a single slash, leaving their heads to greet the army, impaled on the branches. But the fork is eventually pulled out of the river and the army marches on, though probably a little less noisily now.  

Talk of Cu Chulainn 

“‘What kind of man,’ said Ailill, ‘is this Hound of Ulster we hear tell of?” 

‘Is he the hardest man in Ulster?’ said Medb. 

‘The hardest, surely,’ said Fergus. ‘You’ll not meet a tougher opponent – no spear-point sharper, quicker or more piercing; no fighter fiercer, no raven more ravenous, no one of his age a third as brave. And there’s no one of his generation to match him for build, for fearsome looks or sweetness of expression; none to match his splendid form and voice, his stern strength, his striking-power and battle-bravery, his doom-dealing fire and fury and his violence in victory, his swiftness, sureness and unconquerable rage – no, there’s none to match Cú Chulainn.’” 

(Carson, 2007) 

Cu Chulainn 

The army marched night and day, while Cu Chulainn waged guerrilla war against them. Sniping solders with his sling, bursting from the woods to slay a dozen warriors in the blink of an eye, assassinating without remorse and besting every champion who sought him out. He was the red destroyer. 

Finally, leaving a trail of blood and severed heads, the army reached Culaigne and set about raiding the peninsula with a vengeance. But the brown bull was nowhere to be found. The Morrigan had warned the Dunn Cuailnge of the approaching army, whereupon he fled into the mountains. The army combed the land, razing and sacking as they went, and all the while Cu Chulainn pursued them, picking them off by the dozen. Finally, the army reached a river they could not ford, for Cu Chulainn waited on the other side. By invoking the rite of single combat, Cu Chulainn was permitted by the code of honour to stall an army of thousands unless he was beaten in one-on-one combat, and indeed many tried; all died. Meanwhile, Medb returned to the camp with the Brown Bull after a fortnight of tracking and raiding in the north. At the same time, the Morrigan appeared to Cu Chulainn in the form of a beautiful girl and requested to sleep with him. The warrior pointed out that he was a little busy at the moment – the Morrigan was not impressed. So while Medb ordered her best champions to meet Cu Chulainn in the ford, the Morrigan appeared in different forms to hinder his defense: as an eel to trip him while he fought, as a wolf driving a herd of cattle towards him, and finally as a huge heifer charging towards the lone fighter. In every form, Cu Chulainn wounded the Morrigan, and in every combat, he bested Medb’s champions.  

Cu Chulainn sleeps 

‘This is brave work, Cú Chulainn,’ he said. 

‘It’s nothing much,’ said Cú Chulainn. 

‘I shall help you now,’ said the warrior. 

‘Who exactly are you?’ said Cú Chulainn. 

‘I am Lug Mac Ethlenn, your father in the other world.’ 

‘My wounds are serious. It’s time they were healed.’ 

‘Sleep now for a while, Cú Chulainn,’ said the warrior, ‘a deep sleep of three days and three nights here on the mound of Lerga, and I’ll withstand the army for that time.’ 

His guardian sang him a low melody until he fell asleep, and he looked over his wounds, and saw to it that they were clean. 

(Carson, 2007) 

The Great Slaughter 

The army had made their way to Drogheda. Whilst Cu Chulainn slept and healed, a hundred and fifty noble youths of Ulster attacked the camp in his stead. All but one was killed, though only after inflicting heavy casualties on Medb’s army. On the fourth day, Cu Chulainn awoke to the aftermath of the carnage. Overcome with remorse for the youths who had died while he slept, and filled with hatred for the raiders, he prepared himself to ride against the army. A terrible warp-spasm came over him, disfiguring and transforming him into a hideous monstrosity of terror and violence. It was a massacre; men, women, children, horses and dogs. The destruction was unrestrained. The next morning Cu Chulainn, back in human form, paraded before the devastated army, dressed in his finest silks and brandishing severed heads. Medb marched what was left of her army south; she had to leave before the army of Ulster recovered from the curse. Cu Chulainn knew this, and he continued to stall the army. At every ford he met them, invoking single combat, but there were few champions left to meet him. Medb was trapped. 

The combat of Cu Chulainn and Ferdia 

The combat of Cu Chulainn and Ferdia is the Irish equivalent of Achilles and Hector dueling outside the walls of Troy (indeed it might well be a Homer rip-off). This is Ardee, and here, or more specifically down there, is where Cu Chulainn met his match: his best friend and foster brother, Ferdiad. Ferdiad wasn’t on the raid, but now Medb had run out of options; on pain of dishonour and ridicule, she summoned Connacht’s greatest warrior. That night Medb offered him the world if he fought and killed Cu Chulainn. He refused; no amount of wealth would make him betray his brother. But now filled up with wine, Medb baited his honour and pride, letting slip that only today Cu Chulainn boasted how killing Ferdiad would be one of his lesser triumphs. It was a lie, of course, but Ferdiad was provoked, and when dawn came he was waiting for Cu Chulainn at the waters edge, spear and shield in hand.  

For two days they battled. They hacked chunks out of each other till the sun set, whereupon they embraced and made up before parting for the night. Their food and medicine they shared with each other; their charioteers slept by the same fire. But at dawn on the third day, a heavy darkness shadowed Ferdiad as he waited at the ford; the final day had come. The fighting was terrible. Gradually Ferdiad wore Cu Chulainn down; his attacks became desperate, his guard untidy until suddenly Ferdiad thrust his sword deep into his brother’s breast. Cu Chulainn was beaten, but before Ferdiad could land the killing blow, Cu Chulainn summoned his magic spear which no shield nor armour could deflect, and with an almighty kick, he sent the spear hurtling towards the defenseless warrior. The Gae Bolga was fatal, its magic barbs spread throughout Ferdiads body; he collapsed in his brothers’ arms.  

The army retreats 

After the combat, Cu Chulainn was too wounded to fight any longer, but he had achieved his aim; the men of Ulster were recovering from the pains of childbirth and in small groups they began to harass Medb’s army as they legged it back to Connacht. Finally, the Ulster army rose en masse, and they assembled over there on the hill of Slanemore, from where they could see Medb’s bedraggled army scurrying towards the Shannon.  

The Morrigans Chant 

ravens gnaw men’s necks  

blood gushes fierce fray  

hacked flesh battle-drunk 

men’s sides blade-struck  

war-torn raking fingers  

battle-brave men of Croghan 

ruination  

bodies crushed underfoot 

long live Ulster woe to Ireland 

woe to Ulster long live Ireland 

(Carson, 2007) 

The Final Battle 

That night, the army of Ulster and the army of Connacht camped across the plain. We’re deep in the heart of Ireland here, we call it the midlands. The battle was a chaotic affair, and there’s no one location where it can be pinned down to. In fact it was more of a fighting retreat than a pitched battle. At noon, Cu Chulainn felt strong enough to join the fray, and contingents of Medb’s army began to break away. Fighting fiercely, Medb and her bodyguard covered the Connachtmen’s retreat towards the River Shannon. It was all she could do to avoid a total rout as the Ulstermen closed in. Suddenly, the Queen was taken short, and who should happen across her while she was relieving herself – Cu Chulainn of course. Yet he did not kill her; he escorted the lone Queen to the ford on the Shannon at what is today Athlone. Why did he spare her? Maybe for honour, or maybe so that Medb would forever be in his debt in defeat. One thing was for certain however, the Tain Bo Cuailnge was over.  

Battle of the Bulls 

So we’re back where we started. Medb returned to Rathcroghan with what was left of her army and the Brown Bull of Cooley. But you know what happens when you put two bulls together. When Finnbennach, Ailill’s white bull, encountered the newcomer, all hell let lose. The two beasts fought all day and all night, and nobody in Connacht could sleep for the noise they were making. Finally, the Brown Bull drove the White Bull into a lake and emerged wounded and injured with various bits of Finnbennach’s anatomy dangling from his horns and hind. He let out a great bellow before bounding across the land, dropping bits of the white bull as he went, before finally reaching Ulster and dying of exhaustion. And that’s it. That’s the end. After all the bloodshed, the violence, the heroics and the heartbreak, nobody ended up any better than they started. There’s probably a lesson in there but I can’t see it. All I see is that crow circling overhead… circling… circling…