CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The End of Fáthach Ufásach

Ulric, his anger dispersed by the fearful phenomenon which was bearing down upon them shrewdly adopted an attitude of camaraderie with the powerful Ulstermen. Standing behind Cúchulainn he ventured an opinion:

"It may be some new sorcery devised by the druids of those fierce Fir Bolgs who were banished to the Western Isles."

A trumpet sounded the alarm up on the battlements of Cruachan. Drums began to roll to the accompaniment of running feet, galloping hooves and the rumble of chariot wheels as the fort's guard reserve turned out to join the duty warriors. A contingent of retired soldiers joined them too, hastily donning armour and strapping on weapons.

Clutching his javelin and shield, Maghnus, the other boy warrior joined his fellow trainee with the Ulstermen.

"What is that new thing? There! It looks like the burnished copper dome of some fabulous eastern palace."

Conal was the first of the three champions to betray his anxiety, staring wide-eyed at the advancing apparition.

"I don't believe what my eyes are reporting!"

A mounted messenger galloped up.

"Gentlemen, Queen Maeve fears for your safety since you are in her care as her honoured guests. She wants you three at once to harness horse and chariot and leave for Eamhain Macha with all speed."

Cúchulainn regarded the man absently. Why he wondered, do galloping horsemen always perspire and pant so agonisingly while the horse, which is doing all the work, remains cool and relaxed?

"Thank you, but please inform her Majesty that we feel fully obligated to offer her our services, after all we are the emissaries of her ally The King of Ulster, a monarch who holds her majesty in the highest of high esteem."

Then covering his mouth with his hand he muttered to his two companions:

"She'll not get shot of us that easily!"

The messenger inclined his head and spurring his horse, galloped back towards the fort.

Laoghaire gave Cúchulainn a quizzical look.

"What leads you to believe Queen Maeve would want to see the back of us? After all has she not fixed a predatory eye on you, my friend? I saw the way she looked at you, mentally fondling your fetlocks, appraising your haunches the way an old brood mare might estimate the virility of a comely stallion."

Cúchulainn kept his eyes fixed on the approaching phenomenon.

"For one so long acquainted with the wily ways of women Laoghaire buach, your innocence surprises me. Queen Maeve would not be one to take too tardily to ANY mortal man."

Laoghaire recognised his rival's mood. Immediately before a battle he always lapsed into this state of deadly coolness.

"In truth she would prefer a travelling tinsmith in her bed, than her reluctant choice of Ireland's champion knight paying off in carnal coin, his debt of gratitude, knowing that she had amassed full twice a debt of enmity by spurning his two rivals."

The messenger returned, extremely agitated and this time both horse and horseman were panting and perspiring.

"Gentlemen of Ulster! I beg of you flee! Her majesty vows she'll have my head for a knitting box if I fail by whatever means, fair or foul to persuade you!"

Cúchulainn eyed the man dispassionately.

"How can we be so precious to your Queen, considering the paltry, cut-price terms she offers you to make us disappear?"

"Dear, brave men of Eamhain Macha, can you not feel the trembling of the ground beneath your feet? Or see that monstrous head that rises from behind the hills of Connemara?"

Conal, affecting the coolness of Cúchulainn gave a scornful laugh.

"Just what is the connection between her Majesty's concern for us and a lumbering old giant?"

The messenger sadly shook his head.

"If you do not know the answer to that question, you can't have heard of this infernal creature, Fáthach Ufásach."

The giant was now head and shoulders above the hilly horizon, the top of his bronze helmet glinting in the sun, his spear going up through the clouds. By now foot-soldiers and chariots were swarming in towards Cruachan from all over Connacht and fanning out into battle lines three miles wide from north to south. As the awesome apparition drew nearer, the thunder of its footsteps and the shuddering of the ground was causing large chunks of masonry to fall from the outer walls of Cruachan Fort.

Laoghaire gave a short laugh and addressed the messenger:

"That, you call that harvest mouse a giant? Why, we swatted bigger flies in Scotland while lying on our beds of a summer's night!"

"Aye," added Conal, barely controlling the tremor in his voice, "back at Eamhain Macha our womenfolk set traps for bigger rats than this, your shambling Fáthach Ufásach!"

"Yes," agreed Laoghaire.

The messenger protested.

"But gentlemen, this is not your ordinary giant. This one is Fáthach Ufásach, well named 'Gruesome Giant' conjured up from hell by wicked Firbolg witchery!"

His horse was growing restive and began to whinny softly, showing an inordinate amount of white in its eyes.

Cúchulainn laid a soothing hand on the animal's neck and immediately it calmed.

"Listen messenger, stay here beside us."

The man, like his horse, seemed to regain his composure, and Cúchulainn grinned.

"At this very moment, it's the safest place in Connacht. If we should fail to stop your so-called giant, your Queen will not be here to take your head. She'll be too busy making work for your Fáthach Ufásach's gastric juices."

The messenger laughed uncertainly. Conal, likewise laughing with little conviction, ventured:

"Why don't we take the giant alive and chain him in Maeve's chamber? Fáthach Ufásach would surely be the most Ufásach warrior your Queen will ever see! I can hear her now:

"Oo! Fáthach! You are Ufásach!"

The sky darkened as the Giant, now looming up to the clouds, glared murderously, his bulging yellow eyes blazing with evil, his huge, jagged teeth set off against the blackness of his ragged beard.

The earth trembled with increasing violence at his every step and part of the fortress's outer wall collapsed in a cloud of dust. Soon the monster would be able to stomp the fort into the ground as though it were no more substantial than a lark's nest. Even the battle-hardened horses which so far had stood their ground were now growing restive and difficult to control.

A chorus of gasps arose from the gathering warriors as the giant casually bent down and gathered up an entire hill as easily as a man might tear a morsel from a loaf. With a roar he hurled it clumsily and stones and clods rained down on Maeve's army. The sun reflected a blaze of light from thousands of bronze shields as the warriors turned them protectively skywards. Seconds later there was a distant boom as a plume of earth, trees and cattle rose into the air from the point of impact.

"Right, Men of Ulster," cried Cúchulainn, "let's swat this pesky oaf before he does more damage to our frail ecology!"

He began to rummage in the folds of his garments and muttering.

"Where are you, prickly little one?"

Conal laughed, raising his sword in readiness.

"What a time to have a furtive fondle!"

Cúchulainn, producing his enchanted javelin Gae Bolga and roared at the towering giant, now no more than a few lumbering paces away.

"Ah! There you are my trusty weapon, now let's see how you like this, you monumental amadán!"

Gae Bolga flew with stunning force and a with a sound like a cannon shot and buried itself out of sight in the giant's chest.

The giant looked directly at them in contempt, lazily scratching the spot where the javelin had disappeared and in the eerie silence even the smallest of creatures fled for cover.

"Let's see how tickled he will be as Gae Bolga sprouts her branching points like a growing tree," said Cúchulainn

"And however long it takes," agreed Laoghaire, "Gae Bolga will continue to multiply her wicked points until there's one in every cubic cubit of Fáthach Ufásach's body."

Thousands of Javelin heads, accompanied by great gouts of blood began to break out through every inch of the giant's body.

"Run," roared Cúchulainn, "before we drown in the monster's blood or he crashes down on top of us. Pray to Mannanán that he falls away from the fort or he will do more damage dead than if he were alive."

When the mountainous body finally struck the ground, it caused an earth tremor that lifted Cruachan Fort several feet off its foundations and dropped it again. The giant's feet were straddled on either side of the playing field and his head was in a forest to the north-east.

Deep in that forest a huge pair of canine eyes watched with interest.

Queen Maeve, with her multicoloured cloak and her hair streaming behind her, arrived in her ceremonial chariot flanked by two dozen colourfully attired outriders. They stopped in front of the three Ulstermen and she stood up in the chariot, tight-lipped and tearful. Her knuckles showed white as she wrung the chariot rail in an effort to get her emotions under control.

"Mighty Men of the North, you have saved my fort, most of my warriors, my Kingdom!"

"Have your giant stuffed and stand him upright on the plain of Muirtheimhne where he may serve the useful purpose of scaring would-be invaders from your eastern shores. Now come into Cruachan's Fort everyone, and let us celebrate this great deliverance."

As she raised her hand to order her charioteer to drive on, Cúchulainn stepped forward boldly placing his hand on the chariot rail.

"Your Majesty, it is important that I recover my weapon from the body of this creature. It is .... "

"It is the javelin of Gae Bolga. I know, your enchanted weapon of the multiplying points. There must be more points in that creature than stars in the Milky Way. It will take a thousand men a hundred years to butcher all that flesh."

"That is what I fear. But the corpse will not last a hundred years, can you imagine the stench? Also there is the risk of plague your Majesty. It would take wild scavengers years to dispose of such a mountain of carrion, perhaps the body should be burned?"

"It would cost Ireland half its great oak forests to build a pyre that would consume such a giant. What would a woodless posterity have to say about that, and about us?"

A ragged little man stepped out of the throng of horses and men and unceremoniously interrupted the royal conference. It was the hermit from the lakeside, full of good humour, his yellow rat's teeth bared in an impish grin. It was Mickser Kelly.

"Aha, Cúchulainn," he laughed without a trace of self consciousness, "I knew y'd make short work of Fáthac Uafásach, cut 'im off in 'is yoot, like. Ah, yes, y'made him Fách Oof all right, in a gigantic hurry, wha'! Wouldja lookarum der, wouldn't he feed a quare few carnivores?"

Fixing Mickser with a withering eye Maeve snarled:

"Aren't you that dreadful man who lives across the lake? Who invited you here?"

Mickser winked at Cúchulainn before answering.

"I didn't come here to embarrass anyone Ma'am, I couldn't but hear and see the commotion when the big fella came on the scene, the giant o' the Fir Bolgs."

"When you have quite finished talking out of turn, I shall formally invite you to be my guest and to join us at the feast."

"Oh, Janey, Ma'am, I didn't mane t'be impurdnt at all, honest. And tank ye kindly for your invitation. I'm delirah wit' meself. And der's sump'n I can do for ye Ma'am that I hope will plaze ye."

Maeve started visibly, looking Mickser up and down with a distasteful grimace.

"To please me? I don't dare imagine the nature of what you might have in mind that would please me."

"I'mm talkin' about the quare fella, yer man there on the ground!"

"But what can you do about this mountain of carrion?"

"Arra, Ma'am, problem solved. Whar I mane t'say is I'll have your man, er de longfella, I mane, I'll have him shifted, blood, mate, bones an' hair, down to his eyebrows and toenails, before cockcrow tomorra. I'll even get shut of his clo'es. I'll have him owa der before y'can say Mactíre Sidhe."

"Mactíre Sidhe?" Echoed the Queen, one eyebrow arched. "Fairy wolf? I never heard of such a creature."

"Oh, bedad, there's such a craithur all right, Ma'am. Didn't I feed him one night an' he starvin' - shared me birra supper wirrum. When he kem t'me door, y'coulda playin' tico-tico on his poor oul' ribs. Den he spoke t'me in plain Irish, Dublin Irish, I main. I needn't tell ye, it frightened the heart and sowl 'ithin in me. He towl' me he was the Mactíre Sidhe and dat if ever I had a labour to be done that was beyond me natchirdle powers t'call on him, and he towl' me how to call him, bur it's a secret."

"Very well, tell your Mactíre Sidhe that a service rendered to you is one rendered to Maeve, the Queen of Connacht. Whatever I may be able to do in return I shall do."

Mickser, noting the change of temperature smiled engagingly.

"Well, now, Ma'am, if it's all the same t'you I'll get weavin' on the job right away."

"You will come to the celebration in Cruachan tonight, won't you?"

Whether it was a question or a royal command Mickser could not be sure, but he wanted to be there anyway.

"Y'can betcher borrom dollar Ma'am. My wish is your command, in a manner o' spakin'."

As the Queen's chariot wheeled sharply and rumbled away, and the royal hosehold prepared for the feast.

Trying not to reveal their chagrin at having to endure yet a third such feast in three days, telescoped by Amtashtalee into two, Cúchulainn, Laoghaire and Conal, were seated as the guests of honour on a raised platform with their friends, Laeg, Homofeeb and Farbeg. There was, Cúchulainn noted with some satisfaction, a place reserved for Mickser Kelly at his right hand.

He addressed Laoghaire with a weak smile:

"I think, I would rather go another round or two with Fáthach Ufásach than face yet a third night of this."

Glad of the opening, Laoghaire answered with similar simulated humour.

"Another round or two with Maeve and her nymph of a daughter might be even less desirable than an encounter with an ogre."

Cúchulainn's face darkened and his eyes flashed.

"Another round or two?" he echoed. "What do you mean ANOTHER? You mean you ....? "

Oh really Laoghaire, mother and daughter for goodness sake!! Log on every Sunday for further Chapters.