The Tain

Following the battle with Ferdia, Cúchulainn is incapacitated by recovering physically and emotionally, and the narrative shifts to a handful of anecdotes ahead of the big battle. In Part 12 most of these brief tales either involve singular attacks from societal outliers—for example, the young, the old, or charioteers (who are secondary to the high-born warriors)—as the men of Ulster gradually recover from their pangs. Many of these brief conflicts result in temporary truces or unusual allies and friendships, functioning as comic relief or a narrative “palate cleanser” prior to the final battle.

After such a devastating battle between friends, the mood is sometimes playful, passionate, and gently mocking of the men who seek to fill the void Cúchulainn left in his absence. A father and son duo (Fintan and Crimthann) fight side-by-side and accept a truce when the son is spared. In the case of Rochad mac Faithemain, the narrative shares a rare love story, where Finnabair finally chooses a man for her husband. This time it is truly driven by her love and desire for him, without manipulation. He is “the handsomest hero in Ulster” (214), and the match allows him to form a pact and survive this episode, so he can return to the battlefield later. However, for Finnabair the choice is a fatal one—when she drops her family’s game of manipulation, she is humiliated and (presumably) dies of shame.

This is followed by the episode with the old man Ilech, whose naked appearance, “with his narrow tool and his balls hanging down through the chariot floor” (216), adds rare grotesque humor to a typically stoic epic. While he is old, he is nonetheless effective and manages to kill many before he is overwhelmed. The next vignette involves a playful stone-throwing contest where the men are fed up with two warriors launching stones at one another, which rain down across the plain. These moments border on silly and playful, as the narrative heads toward the final battle between Irish and Ulster forces.

Part 12 is primarily dominated by Cethern’s combat against the Irish. Like Ilech, he is an old man but another exceptional warrior, and his continual, hyperbolic punishment of each healer he consults borders on slapstick comedy as he is unwilling to accept his physical state. His struggle to accept a diagnosis mirrors the universal struggle to accept one’s own aging and mortality, just as Cethern’s body is a record of all the scars of a lifetime. In this case his body can be read as a map of the major warriors in Ailill and Medb’s camp. Cethern’s ability to heal is only brief, and like a true hero, he opts to die quickly in battle rather than undergo a year of healing to resume his normal life expectancy. He dies with honor, fighting until the end.

Part 12 ends with the death of Cúchulainn’s father, Sualdam, during his attempt to warn the Ulstermen of Ailill’s approach. Though Cúchulainn sends him away for his protection, he is killed by an accident, and yet still his lifeless head proclaims the danger until Conchobor acts. What follows is a long list of those called to battle, commemorating their strength and numbers for the audience.

In Part 13 the narrative perspective shifts back to the Irish camp, where the lookout Mac Roth recounts what he has seen to Ailill and Medb. Fergus is there to listen and interpret his findings, responding to each warrior’s description with an explanation of who it is at the head of the approaching companies. And it is through Fergus’s perspective that the listener, like Ailill and Medb, envisions each warrior in his finest battle garments and weaponry as they meet on the hill of Slemain Midi.

This part centers entirely on describing the men’s appearances as they prepare for battle: their clothing and weapons, their demeanor and strength, their hair and faces, and their places in Ulster’s society. In one tribe there is a diversity of men who gather to defend Ulster, from the “fair and graceful and tall” (225) Conchobor, to the “pleasant, fat, thick-necked” (228) Munremur, to Connad mac Morna, the “sallow warrior” whose hair is “black and curly, his dull-brown eyes scornful and large” (229). In appearance, strength, talent, and age, the men of Ulster present themselves on the hilltop, ready for battle. Compared to the relatively brief depiction of the final battle, this sartorial description of each man adds some insight into the importance of material goods at this time, from the significance of colors, fabrics, and styles of cloaks and tunics, down to the choice of weapon and design of a shield.

Looking at the example of Sencha mac Ailella, he is described as a “wild and willful man […] broad-headed and fair-featured” (226), with curly hair and a forked beard. The narrative gives the listener both an idea of his unpredictable personality but also his open appearance. Known as “the most eloquent man in Ulster” (227) and an advisor of the king, his forked beard could signify his talent for speech (or rhetoric), reminiscent of the forked tongue of the manipulative snake in the Garden of Eden. His attire is natural, linked to the flora and fauna of their world, with a dark-gray and fringed cloak, a white hooded tunic, a light-gold leaf-shaped pin at his breast, and a shield engraved with animals. Sencha’s naked sword bears a silver grip, and he holds a five-pronged spear—a noble and a humble weapon, respectively—and he is ready for close, deadly combat. The ultimate significance of each detail might be lost on modern readers, but they reflect how each company and warrior distinguishes himself before battle.

These details are of immense importance, but ironically, the moment of the final battle comes as a surprise. As Laeg observes, “They are rushing naked to the battle, with nothing but their weapons. Those that were facing to the east have dashed out through the backs of their tents!” (243). Their grandeur is set aside for the naked savagery of battle. As such, Part 13 can be read as a moment of narrative flourish, heightening the anticipation and grandeur before the two massive armies finally clash on the battlefield.

The final part of The Táin opens not with the final battle but with a truce worked out between kings. Throughout The Táin the juxtaposition between the honorable pacts of men such as Cúchulainn, Ailill, and Fergus, and the dishonorable meddling and deception of women or low-born men is evident in the small attempts at alliances that are constantly undermined by trickery or idle gossip. These alliances, which are formed and undone during the long journey to the battlefield, come to a head in this final chapter, with the Morrígan, goddess of war, ensuring the final battle occurs despite the kings’ attempt at a pact.

Her chanting leads to unease in the camps, as she spreads the idea that each army is destined for victory—that the battle must be fought. When the final battle begins, it starts small, as a dispute between peasants and servants outside the camp. It recalls the small moment of gossip between Mac Roth and the servants at the beginning of The Táin that undermined the initial deal struck so Medb could borrow Donn Cuailnge. Like those careless words, this small argument snowballs into a larger dispute, as noblemen and others join the fray over strayed animals. Ultimately, The Táin itself is rooted in a battle over basic resources, such as livestock, housewares, jugs, and house pots, for these are the items that first sparked the argument between Medb and Ailill in Part 1. This argument, which has spiraled out of control into an epic encounter between two kingdoms, likewise reflects the theme of the problematic, unyielding wife, who insists her contribution is equal to that of her husband.

As more and more men join the final battle, Fergus is called into battle, “activated” by the return of his sword. The removal of Fergus’s sword in Part 6 has guaranteed that he cannot use it against Medb and Ailill, but it likewise ensured that he could not have a fair fight with Cúchulainn in their earlier encounter, thus putting into motion their agreement to yield to one another when the time comes. Fergus going to battle is dangerous; he is maybe the only man capable of defeating Cúchulainn and the Ulstermen at this point, and he is essentially Medb and Ailill’s last line of defense. However, his yield “has fallen due” (249), and his honor requires him to yield to Cúchulainn, as previously promised. Cúchulainn chooses the exact right moment to call for Fergus to give way, sparing him from killing his kinsman and clearing the path to victory.

This is the story’s climax and a resolution of the strife at the heart of the text. The cycle of dishonest trickery perpetuated by Medb, and the enduring disputes between friends and kinsmen woven throughout the text, is resolved when Fergus, being an honorable warrior, gives way as required rather than fight his own kinsman. His yield wins the battle for Ulster, and in this transaction between Cúchulainn and Fergus, the tragedy of Ferdia and Cúchulainn finds its resolution as well. Friendship and kinship are finally rehabilitated (and dishonest trickery defeated).

After this, the battle is somewhat anticlimactic. Once Fergus is neutralized, Cúchulainn lays waste to Medb and Ailill’s forces. Underscoring the inherent misogyny of the text, the army is essentially undone by Medb’s menstruation and her need to relieve herself, which is directly tied to her poor leadership, according to Fergus. If the men of Ulster are honorable and brave, Medb’s constant conniving and trickery are the opposite. This difference between male and female leadership is reduced to its most basic, biological difference in the final pages: Medb cannot lead an army when her menstruation spontaneously takes her away from the battlefield at the worst possible moment. This juxtaposition is emphasized when Cúchulainn finds her vulnerable and relieving herself, and he refuses to kill her from behind (and because she is a woman, though he has killed other women). His restraint allows for a truce between the armies.

Conchobor, Ailill, and Medb eventually make peace, but the battle still plays out between the bulls as the humans, and the reader, look on. At multiple times in The Táin, a thwarted blow meant for someone must go somewhere, as if there is an invisible inertia that must find release. This is seen with Fergus, who is stopped from striking Conchobor and instead levels three hills with his sword. This is echoed when Cúchulainn’s death blow for Medb is diverted to nearby hills, for he must strike something. In a greater displacement of this battle inertia, which was interrupted by an anticlimactic truce, the bulls play out the fight to the death. A conflict set into motion stays in motion until its completion. In this case the two bulls, who were once fast friends, must resolve their years-long dispute. Their final combat plays out across the whole of Ireland, moving out of sight as they fight into the night, until only Donn Cuailnge remains (though he is ultimately destroyed by it as well). So while the epic ends with a truce between the kingdoms, the battle between the bulls leaves permanent, physical reminders scattered across the country, reminding listeners of the high cost of conflict between friends, lovers, and allies.