Folk Tales of Scotland (25 page)

‘Even if the stag is better than the trout, we’re seven times tired of it,’ said Finn.

‘I’ve heard there’s a member of the Feinne called the Swift One, who can catch the March wind,’ said the Prince. ‘I’d like to meet him.’

‘We’ll send for him,’ said Finn.

The Swift One came, and Finn shouted to him across the river:

‘We’ve a job for you! Will you catch the stag?’

‘I’ve wasted days, chasing that beast,’ said the Swift One. ‘I’ve not been able to catch it but I’ll try again.’ And off he ran,
after the stag.

‘What will the Swift One look like at top speed?’ asked the Prince.

‘He’ll have three heads at top speed,’ said Finn.

‘How many heads will the stag have at top speed?’

‘There’ll be seven heads on the stag at top speed.’

‘How far has he to go before he reaches the end of his journey?’ asked the Prince.

‘Seven hills and seven glens.’

‘Let’s go on fishing,’ said the Prince. But, after a while he said:

‘Put your finger under your wisdom tooth, Finn, and see how far they are from each other.’

Finn put his finger under his wisdom tooth and said:

‘The Swift One has two heads and the stag has two heads.’

‘How far have they gone?’

‘Over two hills and two glens, and they’ve five more to go.’

‘Let’s go on fishing,’ said the Prince. Then after a while he said:

‘Put your finger under your wisdom tooth and see how far they are from each other.’

‘There are three heads on the Swift One and four heads on the stag,’ said Finn.

‘How many hills and glens have they still to go?’

‘There are four behind them and three in front of them.’

‘Let’s go on fishing,’ said the Prince, but after a while he said:

‘Finn, what distance has the stag to go before he reaches the end of his journey?’

‘One glen and one hill,’ said Finn.

The Prince threw the net from him, and set off at top speed.

He caught the March wind, and he caught up with the Swift One, and left him a blessing as he passed. Going over the ford of Struth Ruadh, the
stag gave a spring. The Prince
made the next spring and caught the stag by the hind leg. The stag roared. Then the Old Carlin appeared.

‘Who has caught the beast I love best?’ she cried.

‘I, the son of the King of Erin,’ said the Prince. ‘I did.’

‘Son of the King of Erin, let my stag go!’

‘I will not,’ said the Prince. ‘He is my beast now.’

‘Then you must give me a fistful of his bristles or a piece of his flesh,’ said the Old Carlin.

‘Not one scrap shall you get,’ said the Prince.

‘The Feinne are coming,’ she cried, ‘with Finn at their head. I’ll bind them back to back!’

‘Do as you like,’ said the Prince, ‘I’ll not be here.’

And away he went, taking the dead stag with him, till he met Finn and the Feinne. And he gave the stag to Finn.

‘Finn MacCoull, keep this stag for me while I go to the smiddy.’

From the smiddy, the Prince took a number of iron hoops and a hammer. He returned to the Feinne, fixed three hoops round the head of each man of the Feinne, except Finn, and then he tightened
the hoops with the hammer.

Out came the Old Carlin, and screamed:

‘Finn MacCoull, let me have my stag!’

Her screams were so terrible that the first hoop round each head of the Feinne burst. She screamed again and the second hoop round each head of the Feinne burst. Then she screamed a third time,
and the third hoop burst. She was indeed a terrible Old Carlin. She tore off the green branches of willow trees and with these withies, she bound the men of the Feinne back to back, all except Finn
MacCoull.

Meanwhile, the Prince had skinned the stag’s carcass and prepared it for the pot, which he filled with water. He put the meat into the cauldron and lit a fire under it. Then he turned to
Finn.

‘Finn MacCoull,’ said he. ‘Would you rather fight the Carlin or mind the cauldron?’

‘Well, if one little bit of the stag’s flesh is uncooked,’ said Finn, ‘the stag will jump out of the pot alive, so it is better that I should stay
and mind the cauldron, and see that the meat is properly cooked.’

So the Prince fought the Carlin alone. They fought so furiously that they sank into the ground up to their knees when they fought least and when they fought hardest they sank into the ground up
to their eyes.

Then the Prince seized the Carlin and threw her from him.

‘Finn MacCoull,’ she cried, as she lay on the ground, ‘I’ll lay you under a spell. Three hours before dawn you will be with the Green Griffin’s wife!’

‘Old Carlin,’ said the Prince, ‘I’ll lay you under a spell. You shall lie with one foot on one side of the ford at Struth Ruadh and one foot on the other side, with the
waters of the river running over you.’

‘Take your spell off me and I’ll take mine off Finn.’

‘I will not,’ said the Prince. And they left the Old Carlin lying in the ford, the river running over her.

When the Prince took the cauldron off the fire, he cut a piece of venison and ate it. He then cut a dry turf from the ground and laid it on top of the cauldron.

‘Finn MacCoull,’ said he, ‘it’s time for us to go. The sooner we reach the Green Griffin’s castle, the sooner you’ll be free of the Carlin’s spell. Take
this rod and strike me with it, then I’ll take you there in no time.’

Finn struck the Prince with the rod and the Prince changed into a horse. Finn mounted the horse and away they galloped. With the first leap, the horse jumped over nine mountains. With the second
leap, he jumped over nine more mountains, and Finn did not fall off. At last they reached a town and in the distance they could see the Green Griffin’s castle.

‘Dismount,’ said the horse to Finn. ‘Take a comb, three stoups of wine, and three wheaten loaves from the store. When we get to the castle, I’ll tell you what to do with
them.’

Finn did as the horse told him, and on they rode till they came to the
high castle walls. Finn took the comb, the wine and the loaves, and got down off the horse.

‘Give me a stoup of wine, a loaf of bread, and comb me from head to tail and from tail to head,’ said the horse.

Finn did this. The horse sprang at the wall but got only a third of the way up, so Finn gave him a second stoup of wine and a loaf of bread and combed him from head to tail and from tail to
head. Again the horse missed the top of the wall, but this time sprang up it two thirds of the way. When Finn gave him the third stoup of wine, and the third loaf and combed him as before, the
horse sprang to the top of the wall. He looked over it into the Green Griffin’s castle.

‘You’re in luck, Finn MacCoull,’ he cried. ‘The Griffin’s not at home, but his wife is!’

The horse sprang back down from the wall, and Finn climbed over it, into the castle. The Griffin’s wife welcomed him, gave him food and a soft bed. By the time it was three hours before
dawn, there was Finn with the Griffin’s wife. The Carlin’s spell was broken.

In the mouth of morning, Finn left the castle, climbed over the wall and found that the horse had changed back to the Prince. Away they went, but not before the Griffin saw them and chased after
them. He would have caught them if he had had his magic book with him, but he had not: so instead he changed himself into a bull.

‘Take this cloth,’ said the Prince to Finn when he saw the Griffin-bull, ‘I’ll tell you what to do with it when the time comes.’

Then the son of the King of Erin shape-shifted himself into a bull and attacked the Griffin-bull, who roared with pain and changed into an ass. So the Prince also changed into an ass and bit the
Griffin-ass, who changed into a hawk. At once, the Prince changed himself into a hawk. He caught the Griffin-hawk, who fell like a stone, quite dead.

The Prince-hawk flew down, and perched on Finn’s wrist.

‘Wrap me in the cloth I gave you,’ he commanded. ‘Cut a turf from
the ground and bury me wrapped in the cloth. Cover me with the turf, then stand on
it.’

Finn had no sooner done all that the Prince had told him than along came the Griffin’s wife, weeping.

‘Finn MacCoull,’ said she, ‘you’re one who never tells a lie. Tell me who killed my husband.’

‘I know no one on earth who killed your husband,’ said Finn, standing on the turf and telling the truth.

When she had gone, Finn stepped off the turf, lifted it and removed the cloth-wrapped hawk from the hole in the earth. He carried the bird carefully to the castle, as the Prince had instructed
him.

Now who should open the castle door but Green Kirtle herself! Finn handed her the hawk wrapped in the cloth and waited while she went into the castle with it.

Soon she returned, smiled at Finn and said:

‘Come with me. The son of the King of Erin is here!’

Finn followed her and there, in the great hall, stood the Prince, looking as though nothing unusual had happened to him. Green Kirtle had prepared a fine meal for them, but the Prince looked at
Finn, and Finn looked at the Prince. They thanked her, but refused to eat. They explained that there was a task they must do before they were free to eat with her.

‘We must free the Feinne from their bonds,’ they said, ‘and we must make sure every scrap of venison we left in the cauldron is eaten up.’

They went to the place where the Feinne lay, still bound back to back by the Carlin’s bonds. After their release, the Feinne, who were very hungry, ate the venison that had been cooked in
the cauldron and there was not a scrap left. Then they all returned to the castle with Finn and the Prince.

Green Kirtle welcomed them and they all sat down to the feast she had prepared for them. After the feast, they rose to leave. The Prince thanked her, then he turned to Finn.

‘My blessings on you, Finn MacCoull,’ said he. ‘Thanks to you I’ve found what I was looking for. Now I must return to my father, the King of
Erin.’

‘Son of the King of Erin,’ said Green Kirtle, ‘will you go without me?’

‘I will not,’ said the Prince. ‘You are the one I looked for under the four brown quarters of the earth. Now I’ve found you I cannot leave you.’

So Green Kirtle went with the Prince to Erin. There they were married, and Finn and the Feinne were at the wedding. It is said that the feasting and the merriment, the music and the dancing
lasted a year and a day without stopping.

ONG
, long ago, there were folk in this country called the Picts. Wee short men they were,
with red hair, long arms, and feet so broad that when it rained they could turn them up over their heads for umbrellas.

The Picts were great folk for the ale they brewed from the heather. Many wanted to know how they made it, but the Picts would not give away the secret, handing it down from one to the other.

Then the Picts were at war with the rest of the country, and many of them were killed. Soon only a handful of them were left, and they fought a great battle with the Scots. They lost the battle,
and all but two of them were killed. These two were father and son.

The King of the Scots had these men brought before him, to frighten them into telling him the secret of the heather ale. He told them that if they did not reveal the secret, he must torture
them.

‘Well,’ said the older man to the King, ‘I see it is useless to resist. But one condition you must agree to before you learn the secret.’

‘What is that?’ said the King.

‘Will you fulfil it if it does not harm you?’

‘I will,’ said the King, ‘and promise to do so.’

‘Then,’ said the Pict,

The King was astonished, but he ordered the lad to be put to death immediately.

When the Pict saw his son was dead, he stood up before the King, and cried:

‘Now do what you like with me. You might have forced my son, for he’s but a weak lad, but you’ll not force me.

The King was very angry. He had been outwitted by a wild man of the hills. It was useless to kill the Pict, so he was thrown into prison.

And there he lived until he was an old, old man, bedridden and blind. Everyone had forgotten him, then one night some lads sharing his prison cell boasted about their feats of strength. The old
Pict leaned out of bed and stretched out his hand.

‘Let me feel your wrists,’ he said. ‘I want to compare them with the arms of the Picts.’

Just for fun, the lads held out a thick iron bar for him to feel. The old Pict grasped the bar between his fingers and thumb, gave it a twist and snapped it in two, as though it was the stem of
a clay-pipe.

‘It’s rather gristly,’ said he, ‘but the wrists of the Picts were much harder and stronger.’