Irish Fairy Tales [80]
going to the feast.
Mongan and his servant sat against a grassy hedge by the roadside and watched the multitude streaming past.
Just then Mongan glanced to the right whence the people were coming. Then he pulled the hood of his cloak over his ears and over his brow.
"Alas!" said he in a deep and anguished voice.
Mac an Da'v turned to him.
"Is it a pain in your stomach, master?"
"It is not," said Mongan. "Well, what made you make that brutal and belching noise?"
"It was a sigh I gave," said Mongan.
"Whatever it was," said mac an Da'v, "what was it?"
"Look down the road on this side and tell me who is coming," said his master.
"It is a lord with his troop."
"It is the King of Leinster," said Mongan. "The man," said mac an Da'v in a tone of great pity, "the man that took away your wife! And," he roared in a voice of extraordinary savagery, "the man that took away my wife into the bargain, and she not in the bargain."
"Hush," said Mongan, for a man who heard his shout stopped to tie a sandie, or to listen.
"Master," said mac an Da'v as the troop drew abreast and moved past.
"What is it, my good friend?"
"Let me throw a little, small piece of a rock at the King of Leinster."
"I will not."
"A little bit only, a small bit about twice the size of my head"
"I will not let you," said Mongan.
When the king had gone by mac an Da'v groaned a deep and dejected groan.
"Oco'n!" said he. "Oco'n-i'o-go-deo'!" said he.
The man who had tied his sandal said then: "Are you in pain, honest man?"
"I am not in pain," said mac an Da'v.
"Well, what was it that knocked a howl out of you like the yelp of a sick dog, honest man?"
"Go away," said mac an Da'v, "go away, you flat-faced, nosey person." "There is no politeness left in this country," said the stranger, and he went away to a certain distance, and from thence he threw a stone at mac an Da'v's nose, and hit it.
CHAPTER XV
The road was now not so crowded as it had been. Minutes would pass and only a few travellers would come, and minutes more would go when nobody was in sight at all.
Then two men came down the road: they were clerics.
"I never saw that kind of uniform before," said mac an Da'v.
"Even if you didn't," said Mongan, "there are plenty of them about. They are men that don't believe in our gods," said he.
"Do they not, indeed?" said mac an Da'v. "The rascals!" said he. "What, what would Mananna'n say to that?"
"The one in front carrying the big book is Tibraide'. He is the priest of Cell Camain, and he is the chief of those two."
"Indeed, and indeed!" said mac an Da'v. "The one behind must be his servant, for he has a load on his back."
The priests were reading their offices, and mac an Da'v marvelled at that.
"What is it they are doing?" said he.
"They are reading."
"Indeed, and indeed they are," said mac an Da'v. "I can't make out a word of the language except that the man behind says amen, amen, every time the man in front puts a grunt out of him. And they don't like our gods at all!" said mac an Da'v.
"They do not," said Mongan.
"Play a trick on them, master," said mac an Da'v. Mongan agreed to play a trick on the priests.
He looked at them hard for a minute, and then he waved his hand at them.
The two priests stopped, and they stared straight in front of them, and then they looked at each other, and then they looked at the sky. The clerk began to bless himself, and then Tibraide' began to bless himself, and after that they didn't know what to do. For where there had been a road with hedges on each side and fields stretching beyond them, there was now no road, no hedge, no field; but there was a great broad river sweeping across their path; a mighty tumble of yellowy-brown waters, very swift, very savage; churning and billowing and jockeying among rough boulders and islands of stone. It was a water of villainous depth and of detestable wetness; of ugly hurrying and of desolate cavernous sound. At a little to their right there was a thin uncomely bridge that
Mongan and his servant sat against a grassy hedge by the roadside and watched the multitude streaming past.
Just then Mongan glanced to the right whence the people were coming. Then he pulled the hood of his cloak over his ears and over his brow.
"Alas!" said he in a deep and anguished voice.
Mac an Da'v turned to him.
"Is it a pain in your stomach, master?"
"It is not," said Mongan. "Well, what made you make that brutal and belching noise?"
"It was a sigh I gave," said Mongan.
"Whatever it was," said mac an Da'v, "what was it?"
"Look down the road on this side and tell me who is coming," said his master.
"It is a lord with his troop."
"It is the King of Leinster," said Mongan. "The man," said mac an Da'v in a tone of great pity, "the man that took away your wife! And," he roared in a voice of extraordinary savagery, "the man that took away my wife into the bargain, and she not in the bargain."
"Hush," said Mongan, for a man who heard his shout stopped to tie a sandie, or to listen.
"Master," said mac an Da'v as the troop drew abreast and moved past.
"What is it, my good friend?"
"Let me throw a little, small piece of a rock at the King of Leinster."
"I will not."
"A little bit only, a small bit about twice the size of my head"
"I will not let you," said Mongan.
When the king had gone by mac an Da'v groaned a deep and dejected groan.
"Oco'n!" said he. "Oco'n-i'o-go-deo'!" said he.
The man who had tied his sandal said then: "Are you in pain, honest man?"
"I am not in pain," said mac an Da'v.
"Well, what was it that knocked a howl out of you like the yelp of a sick dog, honest man?"
"Go away," said mac an Da'v, "go away, you flat-faced, nosey person." "There is no politeness left in this country," said the stranger, and he went away to a certain distance, and from thence he threw a stone at mac an Da'v's nose, and hit it.
CHAPTER XV
The road was now not so crowded as it had been. Minutes would pass and only a few travellers would come, and minutes more would go when nobody was in sight at all.
Then two men came down the road: they were clerics.
"I never saw that kind of uniform before," said mac an Da'v.
"Even if you didn't," said Mongan, "there are plenty of them about. They are men that don't believe in our gods," said he.
"Do they not, indeed?" said mac an Da'v. "The rascals!" said he. "What, what would Mananna'n say to that?"
"The one in front carrying the big book is Tibraide'. He is the priest of Cell Camain, and he is the chief of those two."
"Indeed, and indeed!" said mac an Da'v. "The one behind must be his servant, for he has a load on his back."
The priests were reading their offices, and mac an Da'v marvelled at that.
"What is it they are doing?" said he.
"They are reading."
"Indeed, and indeed they are," said mac an Da'v. "I can't make out a word of the language except that the man behind says amen, amen, every time the man in front puts a grunt out of him. And they don't like our gods at all!" said mac an Da'v.
"They do not," said Mongan.
"Play a trick on them, master," said mac an Da'v. Mongan agreed to play a trick on the priests.
He looked at them hard for a minute, and then he waved his hand at them.
The two priests stopped, and they stared straight in front of them, and then they looked at each other, and then they looked at the sky. The clerk began to bless himself, and then Tibraide' began to bless himself, and after that they didn't know what to do. For where there had been a road with hedges on each side and fields stretching beyond them, there was now no road, no hedge, no field; but there was a great broad river sweeping across their path; a mighty tumble of yellowy-brown waters, very swift, very savage; churning and billowing and jockeying among rough boulders and islands of stone. It was a water of villainous depth and of detestable wetness; of ugly hurrying and of desolate cavernous sound. At a little to their right there was a thin uncomely bridge that