The eye of faith is needed to appreciate the connection of Ardee with one of the most moving stories of the Táin Bó Cuailgne (The Cattle Raid of Cooley), the great epic of the Celtic Iron Age. The tale tells of the efforts of Maeve, queen of Connacht, to gain possession of the Brown Bull of Cooley. Great battles were fought and many heroes died, but at Ardee there is not much to see of the old heroic days, apart from the small River Dee and a few stones marking a ford. However, as the poet Patrick Kavanagh said when he talked of the hills around his home, ‘gods make their own importance’, and so too do heroes. Ardee lies at the centre of Muirtheimhne, the territory of Cú Chulainn’s birth and one that played an important part in the power struggles of the Iron Age.
The stream flowing on the outskirts of this comfortable and prosperous town was once the site of the epic battle between Cú Chulainn and his foster brother, the great hero of Connacht, Ferdia, who is commemorated in the town’s name, Baile Áth Fhirdia, ‘The Town of Ferdia’s Ford’.
Ardee Castle, County Louth.
It marked one of the boundaries of Ulster – a province cut off from the counties to the south by bogs and mountains – and for many centuries was one of the heartlands of the Gaelic tribes. By the reign of Elizabeth I, Ulster was a separate, impenetrable area, almost immune to the English monarch’s control. By this time, however, the town of Ardee had become a town of the Pale – a community which existed well within the borders of English control. The walls, gates and castles of the new settlers had replaced whatever settlement had been there in pre-Norman times.
The county of Louth has preserved much of its medieval heritage, and the castle in Ardee, built in the thirteenth century by Robert de Pippart, has recently been restored. Both James II and William of Orange lodged at the castle on their way to the momentous Battle of the Boyne in 1690.
The ford is easily reached by following the left bank of the river from the Dublin side of the bridge on the N2. Close one eye to block out the modern houses and factories and try to hear the noise of the battle above the roar of traffic going through the town – not an easy task. To be fair to the good people of Ardee, a park has been made on the banks of the river and the fine stone bridge has been carefully preserved, unlike many Irish towns where the demands of traffic have been put before respect for such venerable structures. On the banks of the river, the people of Ardee have even erected a statue of the two heroes of the combat, with Cú Chulainn holding Ferdia in his arms as he sings his lament for his dead companion.
Ardee is also a good central point for touring Louth and neighbouring Meath, including the Boyne Valley complex. Within easy distance lies the village of Slane, with its dramatic approach from the south and its magnificent castle. Other small towns and villages in the vicinity, such as Castlebellingham, demonstrate a palpable sense of pride in their past. These towns hold the echoes of a Norman rather than a Celtic history. The land is good and has been cultivated for a long time; the houses are old and have been in families for generations. If this heritage lacks the dramatic power of the wild heroes of the legends, it is nonetheless equally worthy of preservation.
THE FIGHT AT THE FORD
The curse of Macha had come upon the men of Ulster. In their time of greatest need, they lay helpless on their backs, screaming and writhing in the pains of childbirth as the warrior goddess had prophesied. Only one man was free of it – this was Cú Chulainn, the warrior known as the Hound of Ulster, who though he was still but seventeen was already the greatest fighter the land of Ireland had ever known. The armies of Maeve of Connacht were marching forward, intent on capturing the Brown Bull of Cooley from Conchobhar Mac Neasa of Ulster, so that the queen’s herd could be as fine and finer than that of her husband, Ailill. She sent hundreds of men against the hero Cú Chulainn and he killed them all, as effortlessly as a bull flicks away flies on a hot summer’s day. Then, loath to lose so many good men, she chose great champions to meet the defender of Ulster in single combat where he held her army at bay at the ford on the River Dee. However, every day her champion was slain, and Cú Chulainn hurled insults at her across the river from where he camped with his charioteer and a small group of followers.
Maeve consulted with her council, and they all spoke with one voice – the only champion capable of defeating Cú Chulainn was Ferdia, who had trained with him at the warrior-queen Scáthach’s school in Alba. However, when Maeve called Ferdia to her, he refused point blank to fight with Cú Chulainn, for not only was he the Hound’s foster-brother, suckled by the same wet-nurse, long-time sharer of his secrets and his dreams of glory, but he loved the champion with the love of those who have suffered and fought together, in a bond closer than that of blood. Ferdia remembered their sense of comradeship as they ran wild through the woods in the glory of young freedom, before they took on the warrior’s code; he remembered the mock battles that always ended in laughter, and although Maeve promised him gold and jewels and her own ripe body, he shook his head. In desperation, Maeve arranged a great feast. Whole cows were roasted, the finest of boars and the most succulent of deer. There was ale and wine, and Maeve’s own special drink, mead – sweet and heavy as the honey from which it was made. Maeve plied Ferdia with good things and turned his head with praise, and finally she said, ‘You need not worry about your friend sharing your scruples, Ferdia. I have heard it said that he has mocked you, saying that it would not worry him to skewer you as well as the rest of the champions, and it would take no effort for him to do it.’
A statue in Ardee depicting Cú Chulainn holding Ferdia in his arms, singing a lament for his dead companion.
Ferdia, fuddled with drink and flattery, shouted out, ‘Indeed, then I will fight him and change his tune.’
So Maeve smiled coolly, and, promising him a great brooch and the body of her fair daughter, Fionnabhair, she left him to sleep off his hangover and remember his promise in the cold light of morning.
After all the court had retired to sleep, Fergus Mac Róich lay tossing and turning in his bed. Fergus had joined the Connacht camp because of Conchobhar Mac Neasa’s treachery against the Sons of Usna, but he loved Cú Chulainn as a son. Finally, he got up and crept from the camp. He crossed to the other side of the river and warned the Hound that Ferdia was coming against him. Cú Chulainn lamented bitterly that he should be forced to fight his friend, but Fergus said, ‘Do not let your affection blind you. Ferdia will be the hardest of your enemies to defeat, for he wears the great skin of horn that shields him from every weapon.’
‘And do I not have the Gáe Bolga?’ said Cú Chulainn proudly. ‘The great mace that goes into a man’s flesh and splits into thirty darts, punching holes throughout his inside? Who can defeat that?’
And Cú Chulainn went that night to feast and sleep with his wife, Emer, in her fort at Dún Dealgan, so that none should say that he was afraid of the contest on the morrow.
In the pink and gold dawn, the champions faced each other through the mist on the river. They were dressed in their finest armour – the bronze and gold and silver glinted in the sun; their sleek horses whickered in welcome when they saw each other, and their charioteers called greetings over the water. When Ferdia, tall and brown-haired, saw the beloved face of Cú Chulainn, he bowed low, and Cú Chulainn, small and broad and dark, returned his bow.
‘Greetings to you, Ferdia,’ said the Hound.
‘And greetings to you, Hound of Ulster,’ said Ferdia.
‘How shall we fight today?’
‘Let us use the throwing spears and darts,’ said Ferdia.
So they fought, each one as skilled as the other. At first, it seemed to them almost like one of the games in Scáthach’s training camp. They pitted skill against skill, each one knowing the tricks and feints that the other put forward. However, as the battle became more serious, they began to shout insults at each other. They dredged up all the old, hurtful names from the past …
‘You were my little servant, Cú,’ whispered Ferdia as he held Cú Chulainn’s neck in a vice-like grip. ‘My little bed-maker, my little shadow, copying me when I practised my skills, often not able to keep up with me.’
‘That was then; this is now; and it was only because you were years older than me,’ responded Cú Chulainn furiously, wrenching his neck out of the other’s grasp and forcing him onto his knees in the river-bed. ‘Now I am the stronger, and you have lost many of your skills and half your strength through drinking mead and sleeping with loose women like Fionnabhair. Did Maeve promise you her? Sure that bitch is promised to every dog in the camp …’
‘Is she indeed? Well, there’s not so many women will want to sleep with you by the time I am finished with you, you black-visaged squint eye!’
‘Ah shut up, bladder breath!’
‘Gorse head!’
‘Old lard-belly!’
But then Ferdia was wounded, and he caught and ripped open the Hound’s arm; and by the time the sun went down, both champions were bleeding and exhausted. As they parted that night, they kissed each other fondly, and Cú Chulainn sent medicines over to the other side of the river to his friend, while Ferdia sent the best food from the Connacht camp to Cú Chulainn. Their horses shared the same paddock and their charioteers sat together at the same campfire. The next morning, the two champions rose and greeted each other across the bank. On this day, Ferdia gave Cú Chulainn the choice of weapons, so that they fought with javelins and spears. And that night too, Ferdia sent food, and Cú Chulainn sent healers to chant incantations over Ferdia, for their wounds were so severe that salves or medicines could no longer heal them.
The ford on the River Dee at Ardee.
On the third day, they fought with swords, with such ferocity that the river stopped in its course, and those who watched from either side of the bank were covered in the blood of the champions as it sprayed from their veins. Most of the watchers fled in terror, and those who stayed could see little, only a whirling cloud of dust and blood, and sharp flames when the swords crashed against one another.
That evening, the two men did not embrace one another, but turned as soon as the sun went down and made their way wearily to their camps. There was no sharing of food or medicines, and the horses and charioteers stayed on opposite sides of the river. In the grey morning, the warriors made no greeting to each other as they watched each other perform feats of arms. Then they moved closer and closer to each other, so that they were fighting hand to hand, and only the charioteers had the courage to stay to watch the flesh and blood fly. They fought in utter silence.
As the evening drew in, they fought more and more furiously, so that their great bronze shields burst as they crashed together; and as this happened, and before Laeg, Cú Chulainn’s charioteer, could hand Cú Chulainn another, Ferdia forced his sword into Cú Chulainn’s chest, lifting him into the air on its point. He threw him towards the northern bank of the river, shouting, ‘Go home for your bone, Dog!’
Laeg, fearing that Cú Chulainn would be defeated, shouted. ‘Look you, Cú – he has tossed you like a mother tosses her baby!’
Then the battle fury came upon Cú Chulainn. He called to Laeg to bring the Gáe Bolga, and he whirled around with war demons circling him like black crows. Within seconds, the great mace had plunged into Ferdia’s chest and pierced through the hide that covered it. He fell to the water, screaming in his last agony.
A moment later, Cú Chulainn, the battle-rage passed, had fallen beside his friend and lifted him in his arms, watching the life fade from his face. Ferdia’s charioteer came forward to take the body, but Cú Chulainn dragged it, crawling himself and grievously wounded, onto the Ulster side of the river. The charioteer called, his voice broken in sorrow and shame, ‘Is it his weapons and armour you want? Take them then, but leave us the body so that it will not be mocked and shamed by the Ulster army.’
Cú Chulainn looked up from where he lay on the ground, his face twisted with rage and grief: ‘Get away from this river before I kill you too, man. Ferdia will be buried with the honour of a prince and a great warrior; I will wash his fair body myself for the ceremony. It is not for the spoils of war I have taken him, but because I need to hold his head in my arms a last time, and a last time tell him how dear he was to me. No one could have had a truer friend or a braver companion. It is to me now as if I have killed a part of myself. I had thought of war as an honourable thing, not this bloody mess, brought on by the whims and greed of the great ones, and turning friend against friend. It seems to me now that every battle I ever fought was nothing – was the game of a child – compared to this one I fought with Ferdia, my beloved brother.’
Cú Chulainn continued to defend Ulster against the armies of Connacht until the Ulster warriors were able to fight once again. For the origin of the Táin, see ‘Pillow Talk’; for the end, see ‘The Battle of the Bulls’. For the reason behind the sickness of the Ulstermen, see ‘Macha’s Curse’.