Emain Macha (the name means ‘the twins of Macha’) or Navan Fort, as it is also known, lies close to the town of Armagh in a countryside of rounded hills and hidden valleys, the south Armagh borderland. The great bowl-shaped mound is sited on a hill, surrounded by a circular rampart and ditch and with commanding views over the countryside. This is the place that was the main home of the Red Branch warriors, the army of Conchobhar Mac Neasa. Conchobhar was the king who was said to rule Ulster during the period when the great epic, the Táin, was set. He was the arch-enemy of Maeve and the sovereign lord of the great hero, Cú Chulainn. Emain Macha is an impressive structure and has a long history. The main remaining structure dates from around 100BC but the original settlement date was earlier, possibly as early as 700BC. It is one of the great royal sites of the pagan Celtic Iron Age – an honour shared with Tara, Cruachain and Dún Ailinne. Excavations on the mound began in 1963, and involved carefully removing the earthen mound and examining what lay beneath.
A view of Armagh by H McManus.
There seem to have been various phases of activity on the site. It was established that the inner structure was rebuilt nine times and the outer stockade six times during the period 700–100BC. It appears that, originally, five rings of huge oak posts were set up, which were then filled with thousands of limestone boulders to form a cairn 2.8 metres (9 feet) high. Then, the timber building was deliberately burnt and the remaining structure was covered with turf. This indicates that there was a ritual element in the construction, the meaning of which has been lost to us. The evidence seems to point to strong connections with the cult of sovereignty of the priest kings of the Iron Age who had sacred, as well as secular, duties. There are no historical sources on the founding of Emain Macha although it was certainly a palace, according to the descriptions in the stories. It is said that Conchobhar had three households at Emain Macha – the Craobh Ruadh, or Red Branch; the Téte Brec, or Place of the Shining Hoard, where the king kept his weapons and treasure; and the Craobh Dearg or Ruddy Branch, where he kept the severed heads of his enemies. Emain Macha, as ritual centre as well as the home of the king, was a centre for the aonach, the seasonal meeting where buying and selling went on, games and horse races and feasts were held, and rituals were celebrated by the tribe.
There are actually two mounds on the site, both of which have been excavated. By the late Iron Age, the centre of one of these mounds seems to have held a huge central pole – perhaps of oak. The word ‘branch’ in the associated place names and the fact that nearby in Armagh there was a sacred oak grove seems to indicate that trees played an important role in the ritual here; the oak was sacred to the great god, the Daghdha. However, the place was undoubtedly also linked with Macha, the goddess of sovereignty, associated most particularly with war and horses – the epitome of a warrior-caste deity. Cú Chulainn’s horse was called the Grey of Macha; this was the horse who wept tears of blood when his master died.
Macha is an ambiguous figure, appearing in different tales under different guises. Her name signifies ‘pasture’, indicating a strong connection with the land and with fertility. In one account, she is recorded as being ‘of the Red Tresses’ and the daughter of Aed Ruadh, a pre-Christian king of Ireland. The redness, associated with gold, with glory and power, but also with blood, is reflected in the warriors of the Red Branch, and the redness of Conchobhar’s three houses. When Macha appeared to Cú Chulainn, she had red eyebrows, red hair and a red cloak. When her father died and she claimed sovereignty, her claim was disputed by her cousins and she did battle for the kingship. The story of her victory over her enemies includes an account of her sleeping with each of them in the guise of a leper – no doubt, an echo of the ancient ritual where the king was seen as mated with the land. Macha was the victor and, in this particular account of the founding of Emain Macha, she brought her enemies in chains to build the great mound. She is said to have traced the outline of the fort with her brooch.
The hill has fine views of old farms and fertile pastures with peacefully grazing cattle. Five kilometres away, the twin towers of one of Armagh’s two cathedrals can be seen. The importance of the area continued into Christian times. St Patrick is said to have founded a church on what is now called Cathedral Hill and it became an important centre of Christianity in Ireland – Ard Macha. Armagh became a famous centre of learning and the victim of centuries of Viking attacks because of the wealth of its monastery.
The drumlin hills give a feeling of entering a hidden country, and the Emain Macha complex itself gives the visitor a feeling of moving into a ritual enclosure, as you walk the circular route through banks covered in with bluebells and primroses, where gnarled trees shelter nests of singing birds. There are two mounds, two cathedrals, and two towers – all these doubles echo the twins of Macha and reflect her ambiguous nature. The gentle, folded hills of South Armagh have witnessed Macha in her guise of bloody goddess as well as that of fertile mother. In the distant past, the hilly, boggy Fews acted as a barrier to invasion from the Pale, and, during the years of trouble in Northern Ireland, the twisting roads of south Armagh saw more than their share of violent death. However, on a fine day in April, it is possible to see only Macha’s other face – the smiling face of the goddess of rich pastures and green life.
MACHA’S CURSE
Crunnchu of Ulster had always been a silent man, small and dark and of quiet ways; but nonetheless, women liked him. After his wife died, though, he became more silent and sombre and spent his time either out on the hills with his cows or in his house alone, watching the fire and often drinking heavily. On one such day, as he sat there on his own, a woman entered the house – a tall, finely built woman with hair the colour of polished copper, and green eyes. She looked down to where Crunnchu was stretched on the couch but said nothing, only seated herself at the hearth and stirred the flames. Crunnchu too said nothing, unsure as to whether he was half-asleep and dreaming this beauty before him. But later, when the woman began to prepare food for the evening meal and went outside to milk the cows, he knew that it was no dream. He went outside after her. The mist was gathering over the low hills around his farm, and the cows rubbed up against her as if they knew her. He said, ‘Woman, who are you, and why have you come to me?’
She smiled. ‘There is no need for you to learn my name,’ she said. ‘Call me one of your own liking. But I have watched you and know that you are a man of silent ways and a steady heart, and in truth also I like your looks. So I have come to be with you.’
Crunnchu did not know quite what to make of this, but that evening, when he lay in his bed by the fireside, the woman came to him and laid a hand on his thigh, and, from that day, they were together.
Nine months passed, and with the woman’s hard work and canny ways, and the seemingly miraculous bounty of his land, Crunnchu became richer than ever. He marvelled at his wife’s strength – how she could run like the wind halfway up the mountain after a straying horse or heifer, her hair streaming behind her. How she could lift tubs of butter and pull a ploughshare as cleanly as an ox; how she never tired, whether in dairy or stable or field, or in his bed at night. He wondered sometimes if she was of the Sídh, but never dared to ask her, though sometimes his ignorance gnawed at his heart, especially when he thought of the child she was carrying in her womb.
Then, one day when the winter snows had melted from the hills and the scent of the first primroses was in the air, strangers came travelling through his dún, telling of a great gathering to be held, with horse races and tournaments and feasting. Crunnchu, proud of his success, decided that he would like to see something of the world beyond his farm and asked his wife to come with him to the gathering.
‘For I’m sure,’ he said, ‘that I will have the finest lady of anyone there.’
His wife grimaced and shook her head; she was never comfortable with his compliments, which was just as well, as he gave them rarely.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I will not go with you, for I am near my time, and I would ask you to stay with me. We do not need such entertainment.’
‘But I wish to go,’ said Crunnchu, hurt by her tone. ‘Can I not show you off?’
‘Neither show me off nor speak about me at the fair,’ said the woman. ‘Or it will be the worse for both of us.’
Crunnchu went off a little sulkily, but soon recovered when he reached the great assembly, with its stalls and races and heroes showing off their feats of arms. He watched the races with eagerness and drank more deeply than he had for many months. At the ninth hour, the king’s chariot came forward, and his horses – a pair of twinned greys – won every race. Crunnchu’s companion, seeing them pass the post for the fifth time, said, ‘Indeed, there is nothing faster in Ireland than those horses.’
However, Crunnchu, fuddled with drink, said proudly, ‘Indeed, my wife could run faster then those two!’
It chanced that the king overheard his shout, and had Crunnchu brought before him.
‘So what is this about your wife running faster then my best beasts? Do you mean to mock me?’
Crunnchu, feeling considerably more sober now that he had been manhandled and dragged before the king, shook his head and said, ‘Indeed, I meant nothing by it.’
But the king looked angrier than ever and said, ‘What false boast was this, then? Are you a liar to be flogged before the people?’
Stung by the king’s words, Crunnchu replied, ‘Indeed, I do not lie – for it is the truth. My wife could outrun your horses if she were here today.’
The king laughed. ‘Then, let her be brought here, and if she cannot do so, you will be put to death.’
When the messengers went to Crunnchu’s farm, at first the woman refused to come with them, begging to be left alone to have her child, for her time was very near. But finally, when they told her that Crunnchu would be put to death if she did not come, she agreed to go to the king. They travelled to where the assembly was, and the red-haired woman turned to her husband and said, ‘You have been unwise, my husband. It is not right that I should be stared at by this crowd, and I so near my time. What is it that the king wants?
Emain Macha, County Armagh.
The king himself replied. ‘Your husband has boasted that you can outrun my two best horses. We have set up a racecourse for you to do this.’
The woman went pale.
‘Do not ask me to do this, noble king, for the children in my womb will come very soon. I beg your mercy – wait until after I have given birth and then I will run for you. Do not shame me in my hour of weakness.’
The king refused.
The woman looked at Crunnchu. ‘Can you not save me from this, husband?’ she asked.
But he only hung his head.
Then she looked around the great crowd of men. ‘Someone among you plead for me,’ she said. ‘For has not a mother borne each of you?’
However, there was no mercy on any of the faces looking at her – only greedy anticipation of wagers laid and the thrill of the race. Perhaps in some there was even a desire to see the woman shamed and humiliated; but most of the men there, if they were thinking at all, thought only of possible loss or gain. Finally, the woman shouted, ‘Shame on you all then, and shame on your children.’
The king said, ‘Enough of this – start the race.’ Then he asked, ‘Woman, what is your name?’
The woman replied, ‘My name is Macha and well you shall all remember it.’
The race began, and some turned their eyes away when they saw the woman, who seemed hardly able to stand, pull herself to the starting post. She took off her heavy robe and let down her long red hair, standing in her shift, her belly out before her like a plum ready to burst. At first, it seemed as if she could have no chance against the chariot drawn by the two swift horses, for she staggered forward for the first few yards. But as the race went on, something seemed to take her over, as if her anger had given her a strength beyond the lot of humans. By the halfway mark, she was running like the wind, and those who had betted on the king’s greys were beginning to look downcast.
As she raced past the finish post, far ahead of the two sweating horses, the sky darkened and Macha gave a great cry and fell to the ground. There on the race track, before anyone could come to succour or shield her, she gave birth to two children – a boy and a girl.
All the men who heard the cry she gave were seized with a weakness, so that each one felt he had no more strength than that of a woman in childbirth. Macha drew herself up from the ground and stood before them. And now all that were there knew that she was no farmer’s wife, but a goddess. She said to them, ‘I have won the race, men of Ulster; and know that as punishment for your greed and your cruelty to a woman in pain, I put on you this curse. In your time of greatest need, the men of Ulster will be laid on their backs with a sickness which will have them crying in agony, weakened, at the mercy of their enemies. You will be like women at the time of their travail; you will know agony and helplessness; and there will be no one to help you. This sickness will remain on you for five days and four nights and it will continue to sicken your children until the ninth generation. And, as this is the place where my shame was seen, it will be called forever Emain Macha, or the place of the twins of Macha.’
‘And as for you,’ she said, turning to give her husband one last cold glance. ‘You could have known riches and happiness such as no man has ever been granted. But instead you will live in sorrow and want, and misfortune brought on by your boasting tongue.’
Then she gathered up her children and walked away from the red blood that spattered the green grass and from the men who lay groaning in their seats, unable to move, powerless as new-born infants against the curse of Macha.
