Early Irish Myths and Sagas - Jeffrey Gantz [106]
He came in this guise and stood beneath the forked beam at one end of the fire. ‘Do you find the house so narrow,’ said Dubthach Dóeltenga, ‘that there is no place to stand but under the forked beam? You may wish to contest the position of house candlebearer, but you are more likely to burn the house than to illuminate the company inside.
‘Although that is my gift,’ the churl replied, ‘perhaps you will grant that, despite my height, the entire household may be lit without the house’s being burnt. But that is not my primary gift, and I have others. That which I have come to seek I have not found in Ériu or the Alps or Europe or Africa or Asia or Greece or Scythia or Inis Orc or the Pillars of Hercules or Tor mBregoind or Inis Gaid. Nowhere have I found a man to keep my bargain. Since you Ulaid surpass the hosts of every land in anger and prowess and weaponry, in rank and pride and dignity, in honour and generosity and excellence, let one of you keep faith with me in the matter over which I have come.’
‘It is not right,’ said Fergus, ‘to dishonour a province because of one man’s failure to keep his word – perhaps death is no nearer to him than it is to you.’ ‘It is not I who shirk death,’ replied the churl. ‘Then let us hear your proposal,’ said Fergus. ‘Only if I am allowed fair play,’ said the churl. ‘It is right to allow him that,’ said Senchae son of Ailill, ‘for it would be no fair play if a great host broke faith with a completely unknown individual. Besides, it would seem to us that if you are to find the man you seek, you will find him here.’ ‘I exempt Conchubur, for he is the king, and I exempt Fergus, for he is of equal rank,’ said the churl. ‘Whoever else may dare, let him come that I may cut off his head tonight, he mine tomorrow.’
‘After those two,’ said Dubthach, ‘there is certainly no warrior here worthy of that.’ ‘Indeed, there is,’ said Muinremur son of Gerrgend, and he sprang into the centre of the house. Now, Muinremur had the strength of one hundred warriors, and each arm had the strength of one hundred. ‘Bend down, churl,’ he said, ‘that I may cut off your head tonight – you may cut off mine tomorrow night.’ ‘I could make that bargain anywhere,’ said the churl. ‘Let us rather make the bargain I proposed: I will cut off your head tonight, and you will avenge that by cutting off my head tomorrow night.’ ‘I swear by what my people swear by,’ said Dubthach Dóeltenga, ‘such a death would not be pleasant if the man you killed tonight clung to you tomorrow. But you alone have the power to be killed one night and to avenge it the next.’ ‘Then whatever conditions you propose I will fulfil, surprising as you may find that,’ said the churl, whereupon he made Muinremur pledge to keep his part of the bargain the following night.
With that, Muinremur took the churl’s axe, whose two edges were seven feet apart. The churl stretched his neck out on the block, and Muinremur so swung the axe that it stuck in the block underneath; the head rolled to the foot of the forked beam, and the house was filled with blood. At once, the churl rose, gathered his head and his block and his axe and clutched them to his chest, and left the house, blood streaming from his neck and filling the Cráebrúad on every side. The household were horrorstruck by the wondrousness of the event they had witnessed. ‘I swear by what my people swear by,