by Wayne Keysor
The great god Dagda once kept his household at the place called Brugh na Boinne. In that wondrous house, he lived with all his mighty sons and kept a magnificent court. His house was an enchanted place where the sun always shone warm and pleasant, and the apple trees were always heavy with golden-red fruit. To walk about those grounds was to smell air rich with the scents of many different kinds of wonderful plants, and to feel the breeze, always gentle and refreshing, against one’s face.
Now, there were many musicians of exceptional skill who dwelled at Dagda’s court because the Dagda, being a musician himself, appreciated this art above all others. However, the greatest of all of these, except for perhaps the Dagda himself, was the harper, Corann, who was retained by Dagda’s son, the wise Diancecht. Corann was so skilled that he could make the very trees and rocks dance or weep, depending on the tune he struck.
Corann once traveled through the kingdom of Connacht, where he was invited by the king to pass the night at the royal court, which was seen as fitting hospitality for a bard in those days. Corann was feasted with all the proper honors; he was given a seat of honor near the king and allowed first choice of all the best meats. But when it came time for him to perform, the champions of Connacht, who had had too much to drink that night, would not yield the floor. Every time he went to strike a chord on his wondrous harp, one of the champions would make a joke and the whole company would explode into gales of laughter. Now, the king tried to correct their outrageous behavior, but the great champion Niall could not control his tongue. He had drunk the most of all of them that night. The king’s rebukes only made him laugh all the harder, and the others were quick to follow his example.
Corann, seeing that he would not be able to perform that night, gracefully yielded the floor and sought to retire to his bed. The king offered him many apologies and presented him with numerous lavish and kingly gifts to take with him when he left for he knew the power of a true bard. After Corann had returned to Brugh na Boinne, there came a time when the Dagda sponsored a contest among all the musicians of his court. Many wondrous songs were shaped that day; songs that can be still heard along the length and breadth of Ireland today.
When it came Corann’s turn, he struck a tune of surpassing beauty upon his harp, a tune designed to call to him Cailcheir, the great swine of Connacht, one of the legendary swine of Debrann. And such was the power of his harping that Cailcheir immediately ran due east with all the power of his mighty legs, never deviating from his path for field or farmhouse, churning up immense furrows in the land as he went. Now the champions of Connacht, not understanding the game to which they were being set, took up the chase with all their hounds for it would be a terrible blow to their honor and the honor of Connacht to lose such a valuable prize.
So they ran with all their strength, following that terrible swine over field and forest, through rivers and streams, but always he stayed one step ahead of them. The champions of Connacht reached as far as Ceis Corain before their strength gave out, and they collapsed from the effort of such a mighty run; all but Niall that is. Niall with his faithful hound roused himself to a supreme effort, and ran on with all of his considerable heart. He barely missed the hulking beast in the oak-wood of Tarba as its mighty hooves, driven by the power of that unearthly music, carried it beyond the towering trees and out over the Plain of Ai.
Yet still he followed it over the Plain, running as only a great champion could. When that great swine came to the shining lake that lay upon the plain, he ran straight into it. Without a second thought, Niall and his faithful hound followed, but by this time, the strength of both man and hound was flagging. Cailcheir, however, besides being born of legendary forbearers, was also driven on by the power of Corann’s harping, so he plowed straight through the lake. But Niall and his faithful hound, run down to their last breath, foundered in the water, and drowned. And for Corann’s feat that day, the Dagda gifted him with a fertile piece of land, and he gained his revenge upon Niall and the champions of Connacht.
And, of course, the moral of this story is that if you are rude to a bard, you will end up drowning, alone with your dog, in a lake in Ireland, while chasing a feral pig.
