# Celtic Stories/The Battle of the Companions

THE BATTLE OF THE COMPANIONS
The rest of Erin was fighting with Ulster to win for Queen Maeve the brown bull of Cooley in Ulster. But Maeve with all her cleverness and the strength of her champions could not overcome Cohoolin, even though the rest of Ulster, to a man, lay powerless under a magic sleep. He took no rest from fighting until Sualtam, his father, gave him a sleeping draught, unknown to him. In three days and three nights of sleep his wounds were healed, so that he rose as fresh as the sun. None could defeat him.
At last Queen Maeve persuaded Ferdia to go against him. Ferdia had been Cohoolin's mate in the fighting schools of his boyhood, and he was the equal of Cohoolin save in one feat only. For a time Ferdia had long refused the battle, for he had no wish to fight with his old companion. But Maeve sent to him men with clever and poisonous tongues who excited him by threats of shame and disgrace. He was persuaded because he had rather suffer the swords and arrows of a warrior than these men's speeches. If he conquered he was to have great rewards.
When Cohoolin heard that Ferdia was coming against him he said to Fergus: 'This battle will make a story.'
Ferdia's men were sad because they knew that either he or Cohoolin was sure to die. On the night before the battle Ferdia fell asleep slowly and then slept heavily until dawn. After that he could sleep no more for thinking of the battle. His charioteer, seeing that he ​was anxious, tried to keep him back, but he went down early to the ford where he was to meet Cohoolin. 'The raven,' he said, 'is going to croak over that ford.' When they reached the water his charioteer spread out skins for him in the chariot and he slept again.
Cohoolin had gone easily to sleep and though he also wakened early he was not anxious, and he lay in bed until the sun was above the hills, lest it should be thought that anxiety had kept him from rest. As he started the demons and powers of the air muttered and whimpered and shrieked round about him and they made him very terrible to see. His chariot's thunder and the clashing of his arms awakened Ferdia beside the ford. The charioteer looked hard at the two horses of Cohoolin, the grey one with the long mane, and the black one with the tufted mane. It seemed to him that the chariot bore down upon them like a hawk from a cliff.
Ferdia looked up and saw the clods of earth scattered high by the two chariot horses. Through these clods, which were like birds in the air, he saw the grey horse and the black, the chariot pole of silver rising and falling, the yoke of gold, the purple hood and green fittings of the chariot. The rider was a man with thick black hair, as smooth as if a cow had licked it, and grey eyes gleaming under black brows. This, Ferdia knew at once, was Cohoolin, famous for his beauty, his wisdom, his skill in games and battle, and his too great daring. His purple tunic with white borders floated over his shoulders, clasped at his breast by a brooch of gold. His long white cloak had a border of flaming red. His gold-hilted sword lay across his knees: his right hand grasped a spear of ash wood. The shield on his back was purple surrounded by a circle of silver and chased with gold in the shapes of beasts. A dart lay ready ​beside him. The charioteer was a tall, stooping man, with a freckled face and curly red hair: he wore a winged cloak and he goaded the horses with a little goad of red gold. Ferdia's charioteer was fain to admire Cohoolin, and praised him so that Ferdia said angrily: 'Thou wert paid for this praise.'
Cohoolin rose up and looked forward out of the chariot. Recognizing the figure and look of this man Ferdia forgot that Cohoolin was his adversary. He was about to hail him cheerfully when their eyes met across the ford. They looked in silence. The few years since they had met had done something which kept the words on their lips unspoken. 'I am happy at thy coming,' said Ferdia. But these were the words of a foe. 'This is not a friend's welcome,' said Cohoolin. 'A welcome from thee would have pleased me at any other time, and it is I should give the welcome, for this is my country.' 'But thou wert never in my country,' Ferdia replied, a little angry. He reminded Cohoolin that at school, he being the younger, he used to tie up Ferdia's spears for him and make his bed. 'A year's difference among lads,' said Cohoolin, 'is much. What is it to men, Ferdia? But why shouldst thou fight because Maeve desires it? Thou wert my heart companion.' But Ferdia interrupted: 'Have done. We have to fight and to-morrow thy head shall be on a pole.' Cohoolin went on:
'When we were last in the same battle, Ferdia, we were fighting side by side against the enemy of both. We have fought together. We have been in troubles together. We have journeyed together in the wild places. We shared thoughts about all things. We were not separated night or day. Break not thy vow of friendship to please a woman.'
​Ferdia remained silent; then he said: 'Enough, Cohoolin!'
'Choose then,' said Cohoolin, 'the weapons for to-day, Ferdia. For thou wert the first at the ford, and by a long time, I think.'
Ferdia chose hurling weapons, and they began to fight. The air hummed with the flying to and fro of the javelins. Each warrior was a deadly perfect thrower, but each was also able to guard himself against any throw. No blood was drawn.
'That is enough ceremony,' said Ferdia after a time, 'let us fight with spears.' Then they took their long spears. Both were so eager in the conflict that they attacked better than they guarded. Each bled and each drew blood, and at evening Ferdia said: 'Let us rest for a time, Cohoolin.'
'If it is time, let us rest,' said Cohoolin. They threw down their weapons and kissed one another. For a moment they drew apart somewhat and looked keenly in one another's faces; but they saw no evil. That night their charioteers sat together about one fire, and the horses of both men shared a stable. Whatever good ointments and lotions for his wounds were applied to Cohoolin, he sent some to Ferdia lest it might be said, if he had the victory, that it was because he was better healed. Whatever good foods and inspiriting draughts were brought to Ferdia, he sent half to Cohoolin; for there were more men to provide for him than for Cohoolin.
On the next day Cohoolin chose the weapons. They fought in their chariots, using heavy broad spears. They carved one another with hideous wounds, and they fought without resting until evening. The charioteers as well as the warriors were tired out. 'Let us ​stop,' said Cohoolin, 'our horses are weary and our charioteers have no spirit left.' And Ferdia said: 'So let it be.' They kissed one another and forgot their anger. The professors of healing came with ointments and spells and charms; and as before Cohoolin sent part of the best of everything to Ferdia, and Ferdia sent him the best meats and drinks. Their horses were together and the charioteers lay down by the same fire.
Ferdia's face the next day was clouded. 'Thou art not thyself,' said Cohoolin. 'I know not what it is,' he answered, 'but it is not fear.' Cohoolin reproached him again for having come at the bidding of a woman.
'A man must die,' said Ferdia, 'and he cannot keep away from the place where he has to die.'
'But thou thyself,' said Cohoolin, 'art the cause of this trouble. A woman has persuaded thee.'
'I could not return except in disgrace,' was the reply.
'Oh, Ferdia!' said Cohoolin, 'there is no man or woman who could have persuaded me to do thee evil.'
Ferdia was gloomy. 'Maeve has destroyed me,' he said, 'not thou. The victory is thine, not the fault.'
'I have no strength,' said Cohoolin, 'to fight thee.'
Nevertheless, in spite of their old spotless friendship, they fought again. They used their great swords and attacked one another as if they were nothing but swords to cut and bodies to be hewn and pierced. The sword of Cohoolin could not rest away from Ferdia, nor Ferdia's away from Cohoolin. They were well matched for courage, for stubbornness, and for bloodiness, but in the evening it was Ferdia that said, 'Let us stop now, Cohoolin.' 'If it is time,' said he, 'then let us stop.' Both were sad and silent. That night the horses and charioteers of the two champions were not together.
Ferdia rose early on the next morning. He knew ​well that this day would be the last of the fight, and for one or both of them the last day of life. He went down alone to the ford. Before Cohoolin appeared, he had put on his battle dress, his helmet of many jewels, his apron of brown leather, and over that a stone like a millstone, and over that again an apron of iron. Already he grasped his sharp spear in his right hand, his curved sword hung against his left thigh, and he had slung his huge bossy shield upon his back. On this day he was expecting Cohoolin to use against him the thirty-barbed harpoon which no man had yet escaped.
They were slow to begin the fight. At first they put forth their powers, not against each other, but to show off their many warlike and athletic feats of dazzling skill and unimagined strength. They seemed to forget one another in the pride of this display, except that once or twice an extraordinary sign of strength or cunning made the adversary pause from his part to give a look of curiosity—of admiration—even of dread. Once Cohoolin paused, and, after watching Ferdia, turned to his charioteer and told him that if he showed signs of yielding in the coming battle, he was to taunt and jeer at him to increase his rage. But, after one of these pauses, Ferdia had no heart left for the vain show. He began to fight in earnest.
This was, from the beginning, the worst battle. Their strength and their fury had grown together. Cohoolin had never been so furious or so strong but Ferdia was his equal. Then Cohoolin's charioteer began to taunt his master and to praise Ferdia. 'Art thou playing, Cohoolin?' he asked. 'Ferdia is playing with thee. He is like a hawk among small birds.' Then Cohoolin was contorted by one of the violent rages which had made him as famous as his beauty and prowess. He ​quivered all over. His muscles were bunched together, his veins stood out like ivy-stems about a tree. One of his eyes sank deep in his head, the other bulged. His mouth was stretched from ear to ear, and twisted so that he who looked at it could not take away his eyes. Foam dropped from his lips. His heart hammered aloud. His hair, already tangled in the fight, stood up stiff until it was like some mass of thorns filling a hedge-gap. So swollen was he that he seemed another man, or not a man, but a giant.
Cohoolin and Ferdia grappled one another until they were more like one writhing four-armed and four-legged monster than two men. Spear after spear had been bent up or broken in pieces. They could no longer see one another, but they had eyes in arms and feet and weapons. The spears and shields had eyes to wound and to avoid wounds. The inhuman glen folk and goblins that are as light and quick as echoes and more frightful than any dream, clung to their shield-rims, their sword-hilts, their spear-shafts, and flew away and returned again like swallows to a roof. The trampling of the heroes turned the river out of its course, but the river-bed where they fought was none the drier for that because of their blood. As they reeled this way or that, in the drunkenness of the fight, their followers rushed to and fro like children when a chained bull suddenly breaks loose. The bellowing and the groaning alarmed the horses, and sent them all galloping away in madness of fear. All the men who had not been trampled down by the fighters and horses set off in pursuit. The women hid themselves. Only Cohoolin's charioteer remained looking on. It was well that he did. For Ferdia gave Cohoolin a great wound with his sword, and the hero staggered. Then he called for his gaebolg with its ​thirty barbs that opened like the fin of a perch inside the wound. At the mere sound of the weapon's name, when Cohoolin called to his charioteer, Ferdia made a downward motion of his shield to where he already had the aprons of iron and leather and the millstone to protect him. In so doing, his unguarded breast was pierced by a spear. The gaebolg followed the spear. It penetrated the aprons, it split the stone asunder, and it passed into Ferdia's body and expanded its barbs. 'That', said Ferdia, 'is enough. That is the last blow. It would be well with me now, but that I mourn for having fallen by thy hand, O friend.'
Cohoolin ran to save him from falling, and bore him in his arms to his own side of the water, away from the men of Erin, who were returning to the now silent ford. There he laid Ferdia down. As he looked at the body, he grew faint, and this the men of Erin saw, and they began to move as if to come over against him. His charioteer urged him to rise. 'Why should I rise, charioteer,' said Cohoolin, 'after such a man has fallen? What use is my strength after the deed that I have done? Ferdia will never ride again. Oh, it was treachery to make him fight against me. This is not according to the vow of friendship we made when we were scholars with Queen Scathach. It is wretched that thou shouldst die thus and I remain, O Ferdia. When we were with Scathach we were never angry with one another. If thou hadst died fighting a foe, I would not have survived thee. This was an evil combat. I know now that thou wert dear to me with thy ruddy face, thy clear blue eye, thy perfect form, thy wisdom and eloquence. No one ever bore shield like thee in battle. Now I remember how I slew Eefa's only son—my own son, but unknown until too late. Since that ​youth, I have never found one like thee in might and courage, nor one whom it was so ill to have slain. It is vain for thee now to expect Finnavar, Maeve's beautiful daughter, O Ferdia.'
Presently he ordered his charioteer to take the gaebolg out of the body. The weapon was drawn out of Ferdia, and Cohoolin looked long at it and at the man whose death it was. 'Come now, Cohoolin,' said the charioteer, 'let us be going. We have been here too long.' 'Yes, we will go,' he said. 'O charioteer, every other fight of mine was a game compared with this. Fighting was a sport without a sting until to-day. O Ferdia, yesterday thou wert greater than a mountain. To-day thou art less than a shadow.' The men of Erin buried him.
Cohoolin had so many wounds that all were as one. Only his shield hand was untouched. They bore him to be bathed in the rivers of Muirhevna, rivers of his boyhood, mingled with healing herbs. His father Sualtam heard his groans and came to him. But Cohoolin bade him not to weep and think of revenge, but to go to Navan and tell King Conachoor that now he could not alone defend Ulster against all Erin. So his father mounted Cohoolin's warhorse and galloped to Navan. Twice he shouted in the palace courts: 'Men are dying, women are carried off, cattle are stolen, in Ulster.' The men of Ulster were not roused from their magic sleep. He shouted a third time and wakened Cathbad the Druid, but the druid only cursed him for shouting while Conachoor slept. Sualtam turned his horse round in a fury. The horse reared, and struck the sharp edge of his shield against the rider's neck, so that he died. But his dead head was carried by the galloping steed still ​crying about the palace: 'Men are dying, women are carried off, cattle are stolen, in Ulster.'
King Conachoor was wakened. He gathered the men of Ulster, and they fought a great battle with the rest of Erin. The sound of the uncertain conflict roused Cohoolin from his repose among the rivers of Muirhevna. He mounted his chariot and drove quickly, and his fury decided the victory for Ulster; and with a great slaughter of Maeve's warriors he took vengeance for Ferdia's death.