The Champion’s Portion

Cuchulain is the greatest of all heroes from the Ulster myths from Northern Ireland. Fearless and brave, he fought many battles, often winning them in single combat. Once in warrior mode, Cuchulain would shed his handsome, boyish visage and transform into a terrifying persona.

Cuchulain was the nephew of King Conor of Ulster and when our story begins he is already one of the royal elite Red Branch Knights. He was no ordinary mortal for his father was the great Celtic sun god, Lugh. After his marriage to fair Emer, daughter of Forgall, a powerful druid, he made his home in Armagh, the capital city of Ulster.

Now there was another among the Red Branch Knights by the name of Bricriu of the Bitter Tongue. Bricriu’s crabby personality could be attributed to an injury he suffered in his boyhood. A flying javelin crashed into his kidneys and he never really recovered from that unfortunate accident. He could never consume anything but plain and insipid fare like buttermilk or gruel. As a result, he could never partake in any of the victory feasts the warriors had (which were often) and this made him a very sour man indeed. Little wonder then that he was always trying to spread malice or create trouble one way or the other.

Bricriu decided to host a dinner for the king and his Red Branch Knights and went to the royal court of Ulster to invite them—Laegaire, Conall Cearnach, who was Cuchulain’s cousin, and Cuchulain himself. The Red Branch heroes knew better and politely declined the dinner invitation but Bricriu did not give up. ‘Believe me, it will be a sumptuous feast and I will not be party to it. After welcoming you all, I shall retire to my tower and you can dine in peace.’

Later, he visited each of the knights privately and let it be known that Curadmir or the Champion’s Portion was theirs. Curadmir was a custom of the time where the bravest of warriors at a feast was given the choicest fare—a roasted boar, a cauldron of wine, a hundred wheat cakes baked in honey. On the appointed evening, King Conor and the rest of the Red Branch Knights arrived with their retinue. After leading them to the great hall where the feast was spread, and as soon as they had all taken their places, Bricriu dramatically indicated he was withdrawing as promised. Pausing at the door, he announced, ‘The Champion’s Portion will be served to the best hero of Ulster!’

All hell broke loose as the chariot drivers of the three heroes made a clamour for their master’s share as was the custom. Before a big fight broke out among his knights, King Conor intervened. ‘Share the Curadmir equally amongst you now and we shall have King Ailill of Connaught decide who is the champion.’

And the three heroes rode to Cruachan in Connaught to seek King Ailill’s counsel. Queen Maeve, who watched the heroes ride into their kingdom, was terrified. ‘These heroes of Ulster are dangerous, especially Cuchulain. We’re doomed if he unleashes his wrathful self on us,’ she said to her husband.

The three heroes presented themselves to King Ailill and conveyed to King Conor’s decision to make him the judge of the championship. ‘Hmm . . . that’s a difficult one and I can see my friend in Ulster has put me in a tough position. Stay here for three days and three nights. By then, we should be able to choose the best amongst you.’ King Ailill was courteous and kind and the heroes were treated to a grand feast that evening.

While the feast was being served, the king went to the fairy people, who were always happy to help. They conjured up three magical creatures who appeared like monstrous cats in the room where the feast was going on. As soon as they saw the beasts, Laegaire and Conall rose from their seats and quickly climbed the rafters and stayed safely up there. Cuchulain faced the beasts bravely but did not attack until one of them did.

At that, he drew his sword and struck the creature. But the monster cats posed no danger after that and disappeared at daylight. When King Ailill came into the room shortly after, he laughed at the sight of the two knights atop the rafters. ‘Now we have no doubt about the championship question, for Cuchulain has clearly won!’

But the others would not hear of it. ‘That was a very unfair test, Your Majesty! We fight men, not monstrous beasts.’ So King Aillill sent them to Ercol, his foster father, a warrior himself, so that he could test them. Ercol received them warmly and after a great feast that night sent them, one by one, to fight some terribly fierce witches in the valley. The first to be sent was Laegaire, who was beaten badly by the witches who seized all his weapons and tore his armour to shreds.

Next to go was Conall, who fared better than his comrade. The witches took his spear but he managed to escape with his sword. Then came Cuchulain’s turn and he went out there and fought the wicked witches long and hard. In the end, he defeated them and came away with their battle cloaks. Even after this victory against the witches of the valley, the others refused to acknowledge that Cuchulain was the best among them.

So Ercol engaged them in one-on-one combat. Both Laegaire and Conall were badly defeated and ran all the way back to Connaught. But Cuchulain, to no one’s surprise, managed to defeat his host and returned with Ercol tied to his chariot wheels, much to the dismay of King Ailill. ‘What next? The other two will never admit that clearly, Cuchulain is the champion,’ he said exasperatedly to his queen as the heroes began to quibble once more. ‘Leave it to me,’ whispered Queen Maeve. She had a plan!

On their last night at Cruachan, King Ailill and Queen Maeve summoned the Red Branch heroes, one by one, to their private chambers. First to be called was Laegaire, to whom they presented a bronze cup with a silver bird embossed on it. ‘Laegaire, take this cup to King Conor in Armagh and present it in court. We name you the champion and you can now claim the Champion’s Portion with this. But do not let anyone know till you present yourself at court tomorrow.’

As soon as Laegaire went away, smiling and content, they summoned Conall, to whom they gifted a silver cup with a golden bird embossed on it. With that, they tricked him into believing that he could claim the Champion’s Portion in Armagh the following day.

After Conall had left with his silver cup, they summoned young Cuchulain, who was so immersed in a game of chess that he needed a lot of coaxing to visit the royal chambers. To him was given a golden cup with an embossed bird encrusted with precious gems. ‘There is no doubt in our minds that you are the one truly deserving the champion’s portion. Now return to Armagh and claim your right.’

Returning to King Conor’s court the next day, the Red Branch Knights gathered for their customary feast that evening. Predictably, Laegaire rose first with his bronze cup to claim the Champion’s Portion, only to be shouted down with Conall brandishing his silver cup.

At this, Cuchulain quietly took out his golden cup. ‘Now can any of you beat this?’ he asked and King Conor was quick to endorse his claim. But the older heroes once again created a scene, claiming that young Cuchulain had bribed the King and Queen of Connaught. King Conor shook his head in disapproval.

‘Go at once to Curoi of Kerry and seek his counsel. Surely, there is none wiser and more just than he!’ The three heroes rode to Kerry but discovered that Curoi was away. Curoi lived in a magic dun, a hill fort. His wife, who received them graciously, asked them to take turns to guard the dun for the night.

Laegaire was asked to do sentry duty on the first night outside the dun, which the good lady locked with enchantments so that none may enter. But a giant hurled a spear, made of a huge oak tree, and Laegaire scaled the wall in fright. The next night, the same fate awaited Conall and he, too, leaped over the wall, frightened. The final night was Cuchulain’s, who fought the giant, leaping high in the air with his axe and cutting off his adversary’s head with one swift stroke. The next morning when Curoi’s wife declared that Cuchulain had proved beyond doubt that he was the best among them, the others refused to listen. ‘Hmm . . . go home now and await Curoi’s word,’ she said, shaking her head in disapproval. ‘This will be settled once and for all.’

Once again, they were back in Armagh. Cuchulain was past caring by now. That night, he did not come to the traditional feasting hall. As the others sat down to eat, there was a terrible, crashing sound and they turned to see a grotesque stranger, a giant of a man clad in rough hide, crudely sewn. His eyes were a glittering yellow and, as he towered over them, they saw that he held a gleaming silver axe in his hand.

King Conor was quick to inquire, politely of course, about the purpose of his visit. The giant surveyed the gathering very slowly and said, ‘I’m Uath the Strange. If you call yourself Red Branch Knights, let’s see who amongst you can keep his word.’

‘What is your challenge, Uath? Certainly, we’re not afraid to take it up!’ King Conor rose from his seat, hand on his sword.

‘No, not you, Your Majesty! I shall not fight a monarch.’ Uath’s voice was respectful when he addressed the king and he bowed, lowering his axe.

Laigaire, who had watched the drama unfold, spoke up, ‘I’m ready to take up your challenge. What is it?’

‘Behold my axe! Take it and you may cut my head off today, and I shall return tomorrow to cut off yours. Now, are you ready for that?’ asked the stranger, brandishing his shiny weapon.

‘I’m ready!’ retorted Laegaire, at which the giant handed him the axe. Then he stooped low and laid his head on a block. Laegaire raised the axe and cut off his head, which rolled across the floor of the hall. The headless giant now rose, picked up his head and the axe and walked out of the hall. The next night, the stranger, head intact, returned to the feasting hall but Laegaire was nowhere to be seen!

‘So there are no real heroes in Ulster,’ he laughed.

‘Of course there are!’ It was Conall.

The giant handed him the axe and, once again, put his head on the block. The scene of the previous night was repeated and the following evening when Uath returned, there was no sign of that ‘brave’ hero either!

That night, however, Cuchulain was at the dinner table and he took up the challenge. The next evening, unlike the other cowardly heroes, he was present in the hall. The stranger arrived as usual and found the young hero ready. ‘I have one request, stranger! Behead me in one swift stroke like I did you!’ With that request, Cuchulain put his head on the block, closed his eyes and waited.

As everyone watched in horror, the giant lifted the silver axe high, almost touching the rafters, and brought it down. But the axe did not so much as graze Cuchulain’s head. Instead it came down, with the blunt edge to the ground.

And in the place of the giant stood Curoi, the wise magician! ‘Arise, Cuchulain! You’ve proven that there is none as brave and honourable as you. You’re the true champion of all Ireland and will be hailed so for centuries to come.’ All of Ulster cheered in one voice for there was certainly no doubt as to who deserved the Champion’s Portion anymore!