SOURCE: "The Táin as Literature" in Aspects of "The Táin," edited by J. P. Mallory, December Publications, 1992, pp. 69-102.

[In the essay that follows, Kelly analyzes the Táin in the general context of early Irish storytelling in order to discern its intended meaning and audience; in doing so, Kelly provides the background necessary to assess the poem's literary value.]

An approach to Táin Bó Cúailnge as literature is dependent on an understanding of early Irish saga in general. This wider perspective, however, provides neither readily applicable analytic methods nor instant solutions, for 'we are still at an early stage in the investigation of the nature of Irish saga' (Ó Cathasaigh 1986a, 123). While mediaeval Irish literature is, compared with other mediaeval European vernacular literatures, extensive, varied and remarkably early, any given text is more likely to have been treated as a source of information about mythology and (pre)history than examined for its literary properties.¹ An appreciation of this material as literature has also been hampered by the fact that many tales still stand in need of considerable linguistic analysis before literary critics have a reliable text to work on. A perhaps more fundamental obstacle to the development of orthodox literary criticism of Irish saga has been a belief in its 'otherness', its alleged irrationality or primitiveness. Murphy illustrated the critical mood of the time when he contrasted 'the maturer literatures of other countries' with Irish narrative, which offers 'something to delight [the reader] from the youth of the world, before the heart had been trained to bow before the head or the imagination to be troubled by logic and reality' (Murphy 1955, 5). In the same year this long-prevailing orthodoxy was challenged by Carney in a controversial and seminal book, Studies in Irish Literature and History, which presented a diametrically opposed view of these texts. For Carney, early Irish literature, while it incorporated traditional materials, was the conscious artistic product of the learned Christian milieu of the monasteries. Carney's views have been vindicated by the convincing results of a recent dramatic change of paradigm in Early Irish Studies: a fresh consideration of many of these texts shows them to be much more amenable to standard literary analysis than was heretofore realized. The results of this on-going research have greatly sharpened our understanding of the detail, structure and overall purpose of many early vernacular narratives.² Among the sagas which have been illuminated by scrutiny under the new paradigm are the major tales of the Mythological and King Cycles, viz Cath Maige Tuired (The battle of Moytura) and Togail Bruidne Da Derga (The destruction of Da Derga's hostel), respectively. Some of the Ulster tales have also been satisfactorily explicated along these new lines, but Táin Bó Cúailnge, the primary text of this cycle, remains a conspicuous Cinderella. While the Táin admittedly holds a unique place in early Irish literature, there is no reason to think that in theme or treatment it is qualitatively different from contemporary tales, or would resist the kind of analysis which has yielded such convincing results to date. Encouraged by these considerations, we may attempt a fresh evaluation of Táin Bó Cúailnge. First, however, it may be helpful to touch on some general aspects of saga texts which have come into focus in the scholarship of recent years.

Manuscripts and Mandarins

Earlier generations of scholars were apt to remark disparagingly on what they saw as flaws in mediaeval Irish narratives. Recension I of the Táin is a case in point, featuring as it does strata of different linguistic dates, doublets, variants, inconsistencies and interpolations, and passages so compressed as to be barely intelligible. The extant text is clearly not self-contained, as it makes allusions which require prior knowledge of the situation: for example, the purpose of the expedition from Crúachu is not revealed, and the first reference to the Donn Cúailnge calls him simply 'the bull' (TBC I 132).

A number of explanations of the alleged shortcomings of some manuscript versions of tales have been put forward. The most frequent was a charge of general narrative incompetence levelled against bungling copyists, who ignorantly interfered with the texts in their exemplars. A recent study (Ó Corráin 1986) of some examples of allegedly faulty narratives has challenged the traditional assumptions about the function of both the manuscripts and the texts preserved in them. Ó Corráin argues that it was not the purpose of many of the extant manuscripts to present finished products, in the form in which they were delivered to the patrons, but to assemble materials which could be used to that end. The great mediaeval codices thus resemble, not so much libraries (a frequently made comparison), as filing cabinets, in which potential components of complete texts are stored. The scholars who produced all the secular and ecclesiastical materials of early Ireland, whether in Latin or in the vernacular, far from being clumsy copyists, were 'a highly trained, highly self-aware mandarin class' (ibid 142).

That the eleventh-century compiler of Recension I of the Táin had a primarily scholarly purpose was recognized by Thumeysen (1921, 101): 'His aim is not to create an artistic whole, but to try not to omit any of the individual strands he finds.' While Thurneysen doubts (ibid 30 and 113) that it will ever be possible to reconstruct the original work of literature from the 'crude jumble' which is all that has survived, this paper will argue that even in this detritus it may be possible to excavate the tale 'that was once regarded as a masterpiece' (O' Connor 1967, 30).

Creative Literature or Functional Writing?

A separate but related issue is that of the functions of the texts themselves. Ó Cathasaigh (1986a, 123) warns against taking it for granted 'that the sagas represent the organisation of the narrative lore into literary form.' One important element of native narrative lore (senchas) was genealogy. This can be preserved in the form of 'straight' genealogical trees, of the 'A begat B and B begat C variety. Irish tradition also encodes such data, more colourfully and memorably, in narrative. This treatment is generally only accorded major figures, such as the founders of important dynasties, whose biographies are recorded in the 'origin tales' of their royal line. The best documented case is that of Cormac mac Airt, the ancestor of the Uí Néill, the dominant royal dynasty from the seventh century to the tenth century. Native tradition assigns Cormac a floruit in the third or fourth century, but the tales about him linguistically date from the eighth century at the earliest. Though the plots are ostensibly about Cormac's life and reign, at a 'deeper level' they can be read as 'political scripture' (Carney 1969, 169; 1968, 155): they explain and justify Uí Néill supremacy and relations with dependent kingdoms at the time of composition. Though such narratives may be so well-written as to have a literary quality, and appeal to a modern taste for this reason, their primary purpose is not to provide an aesthetic experience, but to convey information. This purpose can be met by a functional style, in which literary effects may be incidental. Camey (1969, 169) attributes what he sees as a certain lack of unity in many early narratives to the writers' indecision about which hat they are currently wearing, that of the sober historian or the story-teller.

Some tales, such as Fingal Rónáin, (How Rónán killed his son) are generally agreed to be primarily literary in intention. What then of Táin Bó Cúailnge? While the earliest references 'to the events of the tale occur in a genealogical context,³ as early as the eighth century the Ulster Cycle would seem to have acquired a literary autonomy. For instance, the originally independent saga Táin Bó Fróich (Fróech's cattle-driving) was adapted in the eighth century to function as a foretale to the greater Táin. Motifs of the cycle are already parodied in two eighth-century tales, Scéla Muicce meic Dathó (The story of Mac Da Thó's pig), and Fled Bricrenn (Bricriu's feast).⁴

While Recension II of the Táin conforms more to modern expectations of an aesthetic creation, presenting a smooth narrative in a unified style,⁵ the focus of this article will be on Recension I, which, it is hoped to show, is more than 'a mass of workshop fragments, not yet assimilated or amalgamated' (O'Rahilly 1976, xviii). Recension II will occasionally be drawn on where it supplies extra material or helps to clarify the terse account of the earlier version.

New Wine in Old Bottles

It would seem to be a general rule that early Irish sagas are sited in times long anterior to the date of composition. The events of the Ulster Cycle, and thus of the Táin, relate to the time of the Pentarchy (government by five provincial kings), which according to tradition preceded the era of the High-Kingship of Tara. This is fixed by (pseudo-historical) annalistic obits to around the beginning of the Christian era. Other tales, such as those of the Mythological Cycle, are of course anterior to this time, and yet others, for example the cycles of kings such as Cormac mac Airt, are located some centuries later. That narratives set in a pre-Christian past, portraying pagan gods and depicting a society some of whose practices were contrary to Christian teaching, should have been preserved for posterity by Christian monks was long considered surprising by scholars: they took the texts at their surface value as traditions of a remote past, and envisaged that these must have been transmitted orally for centuries before being captured in writing by remarkably tolerant monastic scribes. However, we have seen above that an origin legend purporting to recount events in, say, the third century A.D., can be interpreted as validating either aspirations or a state of affairs at the time of its redaction. This device, of encoding statements about the present in terms of events of the past, is not confined to the genre of origin legends, but has been demonstrated in the other narrative cycles. The validation can be sought as far back as the time of the gods. Cath Maige Tuired, for example, is ostensibly a tale about the conflict between two races of gods, and until recently elicited bafflement rather than analysis. A new generation of scholars, however, working within the new paradigm, have succeeded in decoding much of the meaning of this text.⁶ It deals with issues of perennial and immediate concern to its tenth-century audience, ranging from the familial (kinship, father-son relations) to the social (the role of kingship and the functions of the learned class) and political (the need for unity in the face of the Viking threat). The controlling hand of the Christian redactors can be seen not just in the exploration of the requirements of an ideally organized society, but in the characterisation of some of the dramatis personae in terms which recall major OldTestament figures.

This technique, of exploring contemporary issues by means of narratives set in the past, or by association with famous figures of the past, is so widely attested that one needs to ask whether it is not applied in the Táin also. The opposing claims of the historical and mythological interpretations of the Ulster sagas, and the ongoing debate about the influence of postulated oral predecessors on early Irish tales in general, have deflected attention from the question of the contemporary relevance of the Táin for the milieu in which it first received its extant form.

The present analysis will focus on this latter concern. It will proceed via an examination of specific salient episodes and characters, which it is hoped will cast light on the narrative meaning of the tale, and lead to a thematic interpretation of the Táin as a whole. We begin with the macgnímrada, the account of Cu Chulainn's boyhood deeds. This is not just possibly the best-known section of the Táin, but also the one which has enjoyed the closest scrutiny, revealing ramifications which may sensitize us to the potential implications of other portions of the tale.

The Boyhood Deeds of Cú Chulainn

The central and most lengthy episode in the macgnímrada shows Cú Chulainn taking up arms when only seven years of age, defending the borders of Ulster, killing three fearsome enemies and bringing back a prey of birds and wild animals. The young boy expresses the heroic ethos memorably when he declares that he values everlasting fame more than life: Acht ropa airderc-sa, maith lim cenco beind acht óenlá for domun 'Provided I be famous, I am content to be only one day on earth' (TBC I 640-641). Much of the action of the Táin shows Cú Chulainn living out his heroic ambitions. He fulfils his early promise when he compensates for the Ulstermen's inability to defend their province, and wards off the Connacht offensive in a series of single combat encounters. A mimetic interpretation of the macgnímrada episode would view it as a depiction of the initiation of a young man into warrior status as a fully integrated member of his túath (kingdom), and Cú Chulainn's characterisation in the body of the narrative as an exemplification of the warrior ideal. But Cú Chulainn's heroic biography also has mythological resonances, and these are reflected in this section by the scene in which the triumphant returning warrior is greeted by the bare-breasted Ulster women. This has been explained as a reflex of Cú Chulainn's original role as the vigorous young male who brings about the renewal of the year in an old seasonal vegetation drama (Ó Broin 1961-63, 282 n.28).

The preceding episode is an even better indication of how densely-layered the meaning of an ostensibly straightforward narrative can be. Aided con na cerda, 'The death of the smith's hound', explains how the boy Sétantae acquired his adult name: forced to kill the fierce hound of Culann the smith-hospitaller in self-defence, he undertakes to substitute temporarily as a guard-dog, and accepts Cú Chulainn 'the hound of Culann' as his new name. Greene describes this as a 'simple well-told story' and signals disapproval that 'scholars have looked for deeper meanings' (1968, 103). That the story can be appreciated at the surface level of plot is undeniable, but in view of the sophistication of many early sagas, as recent scholarship has demonstrated, it seems implausible that the 'national epic' (ibid 98) should be an anomalous case of naiveté. And indeed it has been shown that there is more to this 'simple story' than is immediately apparent.

Given the literary convention that tales set in the distant past were primarily of relevance to the time and milieu in which they were redacted, it is clear that a knowledge of social idiom and particularly of the legal system is crucial to a deeper understanding of early Irish saga. The role of the warrior was obviously vital to that society. A number of recent studies⁷ have illuminated the institution of the fian(n), 'an association of propertyless and predominantly young, unmarried warrior-hunters on the fringes of settled society' (McCone 1990, 163). The Männerbund culture of such sodalities of young men is well attested in Germanic and Greek traditions, so that here we have a trace of Ireland's pagan inheritance. The fian's wild life was expressed in the wearing of wolf-skins or wolf-heads, which is reflected in the proliferation of names incorporating elements meaning 'wolf: such an element is cú, which signifies both the canine and lupine kind. Members of a fian were traditionally credited with the ability to experience ecstatic distortions. Both these features, the canine/lupine aspect and the distortion, are expressed in the warrior-hero of the Táin: Cú Chulainn's name marks him as a 'hound' or 'wolf, and the contortions he undergoes in his ríastrad are mentioned frequently. With this background knowledge, Aided con na cerda can be read as a predictable stage in Cú Chulainn's martial career. By killing the hound Sétantae appropriates its martial spirit. The symbolism of the episode and its wider societal implications would presumably not have been lost on an early Irish audience.

Aided con na cerda is not the only literary reflex of the warrior's initiation to be expressed in terms of a confrontation with a canine adversary. In two other tales the motif of the killing of a magnificent hound figures prominently. In the concluding scene of Scéla Muicce Meic Dathó, Fer Loga, a charioteer and thus an unlikely hero, wins a brief fame by killing the hound of the Leinster hospitaller which both Connacht and Ulster have sought to obtain. Aided Cheltchair maic Uthechair (The death of Celtchar mac Uthechair) revolves around a series of warrior/hound conflicts sparked off by Celtchar's murder of an Ulster hospitaller. In these three narratives McCone (1984a) detects a basic story pattern involving heroes, hounds and their hospitaller owners: in the 'normal' paradigm, as reflected in Aided con na cerda, the hero, by killing the hound, acquires his martial qualities, and-in continuing his guardian functions can be seen to be exercising his martiality to the benefit of the túath. The unjustified killing of a hospitaller, as in Aided Cheltchair, leads to protracted and unresolved conflicts between warrior and hound, eventually causing the death of the luckless protagonist by the hound. Aided Cheitchair, then, represents an inversion of the desirable paradigm, ar;d an appreciation of the implications of the tale requires an understanding of the underlying story pattern. In Scéla Muicce Meic Dathó, the story pattern is parodied, as the death of the hound is not achieved by Fer Loga through any heroic efforts or abilities, but by an ignoble act, and as a charioteer he can only cut a ludicrous figure as a would-be champion.

We see that a full aesthetic enjoyment of Irish saga on occasion calls not just for background knowledge of the society and its customs, but also an appreciation of the literary forms in which the traditional material was cast, as well as the possible permutations of these forms.

Playing variations on story patterns seems to have been part and parcel of the repertoire of narrative devices of early Irish redactors. The story patterns can be traditional or borrowed. The Deirdre story has been read as a reversal of some of the 'heroic biography' pattern (McCone and Ó Fiannachta 1992, 105-108). Carney considers Echtrae Chonlai, in which a man is tempted to a land without sin by an Otherworld woman proffering an apple, to be an inversion of the Biblical story of the Fall (1969, 162-165). A familiarity with the convention, and a knowledge of the basic story patterns were presumably shared by author and audience of the early period, but may require a considerable effort of explication today.

The Táin Bó Tale Type

As analysed above, the macgnímrada are seen to be based on at least two basic story patterns of the initiation of the young warrior. The Táin as a whole, however, is identified by its title as belonging to a particular class of tale. A native mediaeval classification of tales grouped them according to the first element in their titles. Thus we get, for example, comperta 'births', aideda '(violent) deaths', tochmarca 'wooings', tána bó 'cattle raids' and so forth. Thirteen táin bó titles (Mac Cana 1980a, 154) have survived, but there are only seven such tales extant, some in fragmentary form.

On the subject matter of this tale type Mac Cana says: 'The tána are the literary reflex of a social practice which was not merely Irish, but Celtic and Indo-European, and which is found elsewhere among cattle-rearing peoples … For the Celts the successful cattle-raid was an assertion of the integrity of the tribal community vis-á-vis its neighbours and a vindication of its leader's claim to primacy over his people … It is no mere accident, therefore, that the greatest of Irish tales, Táin Bó Cúailnge … belongs to the category of the tána' (ibid 79-80). What was at stake in Táin Bó Cúailnge on the political level was therefore the continued independence of the kingdom of Ulster. Such a conflict could easily provide the stuff of narrative, but surely does not exhaust the literary meaning of the tale. That something more than a normal, albeit major, cattle raid is involved is shown by the fact that the defeat of Ailill and Medb does not end the tale: the climax is not the battle between Connacht and Ulster forces, but the fight of the two bulls and their ensuing deaths. As the various encounters between Cú Chulainn and his adversaries leave an abiding mark on the landscape in the form of new place names, so too the battle of the bulls gives rise to a new onomastic inventory. The rivalry of the two bulls and the cosmogonic significance of the final scene, in which the physical landscape is recreated, is thought to reflect the original mythological nucleus of the tale. Between these two poles, the mimetic and the mythic, must lie the literary significance of the tale.

The other táin bó tales may give an indication of what is involved in a literary presentation of the cattle-raid. They all function as fore-tales (remscéla) to Táin Bó Cúailnge, the motivation for the raid being of no great political importance, but merely to provide food for the duration of the larger foray. None of the raids is conducted by a reigning monarch, or against such a major political opponent, and as one would expect, the protagonist is always a man. Finally, as Carney noted (1955, 62) there is often a love interest: the driving off of cattle goes hand in hand with the acquisition of a woman. I suggest that these two narrative strands are figuratively linked, via a metaphor which equates cattle with humans, and particularly women with cows.

This metaphor is memorably exploited in a famous passage from another Ulster Cycle tale, Longes mac nUislenn (The exile of the sons of Uisliu). The beautiful Deirdre, who is being raised in seclusion as a future consort for Conchobar, meets and is smitten by Noísiu, a handsome young warrior. Their conversation is couched in figurative language:

—'A fine young heifer that that is going by,' he said.

—'The heifers are bound to be fine where there are no bulls,' she answered.

—'You have the bull of the province: the king of Ulaid,' Noisiu said.⁸

Thus the identification of cows and women in the plot of the táin bó genre is supported in the language by a metaphor in which terms for cattle can denote humans. In Táin Bó Cúailnge, of course, the roles of male and female are reversed. It is a woman who is the initiator of the raid, and her primary objective is not cattleherds, but a particular prize bull, the Donn Cúailnge, the 'bull of the province' of Ulster, i.e. the Ulster king, Conchobar. The choice of a female protagonist therefore brings about a variation on the normal táin bó pattern, and the interpretation of Medb's anomalous behaviour is seen as crucial to the understanding of this tale.

Medb: Sovereignty Goddess or All-too-human?

Medb's role in the Táin is pivotal. She identifies herself at the outset as the chief instigator of the foray: is mé dorinól in slúagad sa (26) 'it is I who have mustered this hosting', and remains the driving force throughout the narrative. Her decisions are carried even against the advice of Ailill and Fergus. She has a major say in the choice of warriors sent against Cú Chulainn and the rewards they are promised. In her marriage she is the dominant partner: Ailill is a complaisant husband, virtually conniving in her cuckoldry of him with Fergus, as a means of securing Fergus's support in their expedition. It is she who quells the disturbance in the ranks caused by the attack of the war-goddess and the dire prophecy of Dubhthach (212-213). She leads a sub-expedition of her own for a fortnight to Dál Riata (1531-1534). At the end of the tale she participates actively, and initially with success, in the actual fighting (4037-4039).

While much in the presentation of Medb's character has the impact of a tour-de-force of verisimilitude, her exercise of power is unlikely to reflect the reality of early Irish society. Ó Corráin (1978, 10) comments: 'On the political level, women never inherited political power as such and never governed as independent sovereigns or rulers, though, of course, strong-minded women had a powerful influence on the political activities of their husbands. Indeed, Medb… is the archetypal strong woman—determined, domineering and wanton—and we need not doubt that there were many like her in real life'. Kelly (1988, 69) points out that 'the annals provide no instances of a female political or military leader. Indeed, the male imagery which surrounds the office of kingship … would seem to preclude even the possibility of a female ruler.' The imagery of kingship is well-attested in the literature of all periods. Its fundamental element symbolizes the land as a woman, with whom the prospective king must mate if his reign is to be legitimate. Various reflexes of this mythic female have been identified, but Medb is considered 'the outstanding figure of the territorial goddess in Irish literature' (Mac Cana 1955-56, 88). One of the ways the goddess signalled acceptance of a would-be king was to offer him a drink: this aspect is conveyed in Medb's very name, which has been explained as a derivative of the word med 'mead', meaning 'the intoxicating (or intoxicated) one'. Medb Lethderg of Tara who is considered to be the original sovereignty goddess, of whom her namesake, the queen of Connacht in the Ulster Cycle, is a literary reflex. Medb Chrúachna's divine aspect is only 'vestigial in Recension I of the Táin,⁹ but Recension II is more explicit when it has her stipulate the qualities she demands in a husband: he should be cen néoit, cen ét, cen omon (TBC II 28) 'without meanness, without jealousy, without fear'. Absence of jealousy is necessary 'for I was never without a man in the shadow of another' (i.e. without one lover quickly succeeding another) (TBC II 37-9). This was once seen as a reference to the loose morals of pre-Christian Ireland, but Medb's promiscuity has been more plausibly explained (Ó Máille 1927) as a reflection of her original role as the mythic sovereignty figure, union with whom is constantly sought by candidates for the kingship.

For all that some contexts do identify Medb as a classic sovereignty figure, this aspect is certainly not to the fore in Táin Bó Cúailnge. O'Rahilly (1943, 15-16) notes that here 'she is no longer a goddess but a masterful woman, with the inevitable result that her character has sadly degenerated, so much so that at times she is no better than a strong-willed virago with unconcealed leanings towards a multiplicity of husbands and paramours.' I suggest that O'Rahilly's view of Medb's 'degeneracy' is shared by her literary creator, and that it is a central purpose of the Táin to depict her in a thoroughly unflattering light.

Medb's conduct of her expedition is shown to be severely wanting. She makes an inauspicious start when she rejects the vision of the prophetess Fedelm, whom she has asked 'How do you see the fate of the army?' Fedelm replies three times, chillingly, 'Atchíu forderg, atchíu rúad' 'I see it bloody, I see it red'. Twice Medb disputes the veracity (fir) of this prediction, and finally dismisses it as of little significance (ní báa aní sin trá) (TBC I 46-65). She proposes to kill the crack regiment, the Gaileóin, lest they gain all the credit for the success of the raid, or eventually turn against the Connacht forces and defeat them. Ailill remarks laconically: 'Ní chélam as banchomairle' 'I shall not deny that is a woman's counsel' (163). That following a woman's advice can only have negative results is a topos in many texts, and in a later scene Fergus pleads with Ailill not to heed the 'foolish counsels of a woman' (banairle baetha) when Medb predicts victory (2438). She airily discounts Fergus's lengthy eulogy of Cú Chulainn (382-395). When the river Cronn floods, Medb rejects the possibility of travelling upstream to its source to find a passage, but sets the troops three days and nights digging up the mountain to make a pass through it, since that will remain as a permanent insult to the Ulstermen (1007-1010). The Connacht leaders repeatedly violate the warriors' honour code (fír fer literally 'truth of men', usually translated 'fair play') against Ulster warriors (TBC I 915, 1552, 2031, 2494), but Medb is the only one who personally recommends this course: Brister fír fer fair 'Let terms of fair play be broken against him' (1885). Other characters make negative comments which reveal her reputation. When she plans a 'mock peace' (sída celci) to lure Cú Chulainn to a meeting unarmed, his charioteer warns: At móra glonna Medbi … Atágur lám ar cúl aci 'Many are Medb's treacherous deeds … I fear that she has help behind the scenes' (1932). Although she fights actively, and initially with success, in the final pitched battle, in the end she is in the ignominious position of having to beg Cú Chulainn to spare her (4115).

The last scene in which Medb appears shows her viciously disparaged as a woman for aspiring to military leadership. Her admission to Fergus that their forces are routed elicits this savage riposte from him: Is bésad … do cach graig remitét láir, rotgata, rotbrata, rotfeither a moín hi tóin mná misrairleastair' (4123-4) 'That is what usually happens… to a herd of horses led by a mare. Their substance is taken and carried off and guarded as they follow a woman who has misled them.' The implication is that a 'stallion' would have been a more suitable choice of leader, and Fergus's patronymic mac Roeich 'son of great horse' marks him out as an ideal candidate. The final verdict of the narrative on Medb is therefore that she has usurped a man's function, and this is what has doomed the expedition from the start.

The positioning of this comment of Fergus's at a crucial point in the tale suggests that this aspect is of greater importance to the overall meaning of the Táin than has been acknowledged. Frank O'Connor noted 'the rancorous anti-feminist irony that occurs again and again through the story', and declared his conviction that 'the purpose of the original author would seem to have been to warn his readers against women, particularly women in positions of authority' (1967, 34 and 32), O'Connor's thesis is considered 'clearly extreme' by O'Leary (1987, 43-44), though even he concedes that 'distrust of women is by no means an insignificant theme' in the tale.

A further indication that Fergus's jibe may provide a clue to part of the central message of the Táin is that it echoes a phrase which occurs at other significant points in the narrative. The phrase is tóin mná, which has also been rendered less delicately as 'the rump of a woman' (Kinsella 1970, 251) or 'a woman's buttocks' (Charles-Edwards 1976, 47). The first use of the term in the tale certainly requires the literal translation. When the Morrígan in the guise of a beautiful young woman tries to distract Cú Chulainn from his task he dispatches her brusquely: Ní ar thóin mná dano gabus-sa inso (1855) 'it is not for a woman's body that I have come'. Conall Cernach taunts Fergus by implying a dishonourable motive for his Connacht allegiance: 'Ba ramór in bríg sin,' ar Conall Cernach, 'for túaith 7 cenél ar thóin mná drúithi' (4068-9) 'Too great is that force which you exert against (your own) people and race, following a wanton woman as you do,' said Conall Cernach.¹⁰ The editor's discreet rendering notwithstanding, the sexual innuendo is again clear.¹¹

Conall Cernach's description of Fergus has further derogatory connotations. The phrase tóin mná occurs in a legal context which lists the kinds of men whose honour price is dependent on that of their wives. One of these is fer inetet toin a mna tar crich (Thumeysen 1931, 64) 'a man who follows his wife's buttocks across a boundary',¹² i.e. a man who marries a woman from outside the túath. This is a dishonourable union, as normally a woman's honour price is assessed as half that of her husband. Fergus himself acknowledges that his dalliance with Medb is ill-advised: when Ailill laughs at him on their first meeting after the adulterous scene, Fergus assigns the blame to búaid mná misrálastar (1071) 'a woman's triumph [which has] misdirected (me)'.¹³

The conversation between Ailill, Fergus and Medb here is unfortunately not fully intelligible, as the difficult, 'alliterative rhythmical exchanges still await a full edition,¹⁴ but it is clearly an important scene (1065-1146), which the 'rhetorical' style is perhaps chosen to reflect. Not only have Fergus and Medb been discovered in flagrante, but Ailill has had Fergus's sword removed from its sheath, while he was engaged in lovemaking. This too dishonours Fergus, as another scene reveals. Cú Chulainn is admonished by his charioteer not to forget his sword when he goes to parley with Medb: ar ní dlig láech a enecland dia mbe i n-écmaic a arm. Conid cáin midlaig no ndlig fón samail sin 'for if a warrior is without his weapons, he has no right to his honour-price, but in that case he is entitled only to the legal due of one who does not bear arms' (1935).¹⁵ And O'Connor (1967, 38) is surely right to suggest that the loss of the sword is also a metaphorical castration. Thus Fergus's union with the 'sovereignty goddess' leads, not to kingship, but to loss of his warrior status, and of his manhood.

Medb is therefore not just a 'heavily rationalized' (Mac Cana 1958-59, 61) reflex of the sovereignty goddess, but a negative manifestation of the figure. Granted, the classic 'straight' version of the myth of the sovereignty woman can depict her as mentally deranged or physically unattractive or deformed; but this when she is bereft of a suitable lover. The negative depiction of Medb in the Táin has also been interpreted in this light: 'It is of the essence of the myth that the beautiful sympathetic goddess is transformed into a harpy or a harridan whenever the cosmic plan is out of joint—as when usurpers or unworthy pretenders lay claim to her favours—and in this instance the monastic redactor has chosen to present her as a lusty and overbearing autocrat with a puppet husband' (Mac Cana 1980, 28). Medb however retains all her beauty (3205-3210), and the focus of the text is not on Ailill's failings as a spouse, though of course they are a precondition for his wife's excesses. Of Medb's two male partners, it is Fergus who comes off the worst in the Táin; but he is rehabilitated as an honourable figure at the end.

One realization of the goddess which might be seen to merit the 'harpy or harridan' formulation is Sín, in Aided Muirchertaig meic Erca (The death of Muirchertach mac Erca). Sín is 'a diabolical sovereignty woman who bewitches the Tara monarch [Muirchertach], causes him to abandon his former wife, and leads him to conflict and death' (McCone 1990, 133). Here again, however, the narrative does not put the burden of blame on Muirchertach's inadequacy as king: 'Sín leads a hitherto flawless sovereign astray out of personal malice' (ibid). O'Hehir (1983, 168) characterizes this tale as an 'anti-goddess story, reversing the pagan polarities' and attributes it to a 'Christian redactor bent on discrediting otherworld goddesses as queens'. Aided Muirchertaig meic Erca can thus be seen as an inversion of the 'normal' sovereignty goddess story pattern, and this strengthens the case for reading the Táin in a similar way.

There is some support therefore for the view that the characterisation of Medb as a negative paradigm of the sovereignty goddess is a serious thematic concern of Táin Bó Cúailnge. Its author takes the matter a step further, however.

As we have seen, Medb does not confine herself to traditionally female spheres of activity. And the narrative judges her in accordance with the traditional criteria for the male role she aspires to. This can be seen in the legal implications of a number of incidents.

As mentioned above, in the final battle Medb is reduced to asking Cú Chulainn for his protection. He complies úair nád gonad mná 'because he used not to kill women' (4117). Medb, however, is a would-be combatant and should maintain the warrior ethos she seeks to embody. And 'pleading for quarter' is listed by the laws among the seven things which 'reveal the falsehood of [one party in] a duel' (Kelly 1988, 212-213). That doing so amounts to an admission of cowardice is shown by a contrasting instance where a defeated adversary asks a favour of Cú Chulainn. The full import of the scene is spelled out in Recension II: the dying Lóch asks that his body be let fall in such a way as to allay any suspicion that he was killed in flight. He justifies his plea: Ní ascid anacail nó midlachais iarraim-se fort 'No favour of quarter do I ask nor do I make a cowardly request', and Cú Chulainn concurs: is láechda ind ascid connaigi 'it is a warrior's request you make' (TBC II 2005-2010).

The examples adduced so far which present Medb in a negative light all refer to traditionally gendered behaviour. A further incident through reference to a specifically female biological function highlights the incongruous results of Medb's invasion of male domains. In Recension II when Cú Chulainn comes upon her she is immobilised by a prodigious menstrual flow which fills three great trenches (TBC II 4824-33).¹⁶ The Old Irish term for menstruation is galar místae, literally 'monthly sickness'. This too points up Medb's failure on the battle-field, for another sign of 'the falsehood of [one party in] a duel' is to suffer an attack of illness (galar) after coming onto the field of combat (Kelly 1988, 212-213).

By sparing Medb, 'because he used not to kill women' (4117), Cú Chulainn is shown to be observing the strictures of the late seventh-century law tract Cáin Adamnáin 'not to slay women' (Stokes and Strachan 1903, 306). But he is simultaneously withholding acknowledgement of her as a legitimate participant in the battle, on the grounds of her sex. The sphere of activity envisaged by the monastic literati as appropriate for women is also a biologically determined one, that of motherhood. A Middle Irish preface to Cáin Adamnáin draws an emotive picture of a slave-woman driven into battle with her babe on her back, and ends with a paean of motherhood: 'For a mother is a venerable treasure, a mother is a goodly treasure, the mother of saints and bishops and righteous men, an increase of the Kingdom of Heaven, a propagation on earth' (Meyer 1905, 5 4). The hagiography also emphasises maternal qualities, even in virgin saints (Davies 1983, 158). Medb's interpretation of her maternal role is more exploitative than protective: she subordinates the interests of her children to those of the expedition, and only once, in the case of her foster-child Etarcomol, does a death elicit any 'motherly' protest from her (1382). Both she and Ailill indiscriminately offer their daughter Findabair as a bribe to prevail on warriors to fight with Cú Chulainn. On one occasion Findabair is promised to seven kings concurrently (3357).

But the criteria by which Medb is judged and condemned are even wider still. This can be seen in some further incidents and their correlation with legal maxims. At the very start of the tale, as the Connacht forces set out, and before the encounter with Fedelm, Medb remarks to her charioteer:

'Cach óen scaras sund trá indiu … fria chóem 7 a charait, dobérat maldachtain form-sa úair is mé dorinól in slúagad sa'

'All those who part here today from comrade and friend will curse me for it is I who have mustered this hosting' (25-26).

Carney is puzzled by this 'humanistic observation', which he considers 'quite out of keeping with the spirit of conventional Irish saga' (1955, 68).¹⁷ The purpose of the passage, I suspect, is rather to illustrate the most fundamental and far-reaching of Medb's shortcomings, and its positioning at the beginning of the tale is not insignificant. A legal tract on kingship includes the following among the characteristics of a just king: ní firflaith nad níamat bí bendachtnaib 'For he whom the living do not glorify with blessings is not a true ruler' (Kelly 1976, 18 sec. 59). Thus Medb acknowledges herself not to be a 'true ruler', and the contrast is conveyed through the antonyms maldacht 'curse' and bendacht 'blessing'. The same text describes a further sign of the rightful king: fris-tibi fírinni indecluinethar 'he smiles on the truth when he hears it' (ibid). Medb, for her part, dismisses Fedelm's prophecy twice as Ní fír són (51, 56) 'that is not true'. The outcome of the final battle also disqualifies her pretensions to rule, for maidm catha 'defeat in battle' is one of the 'seven living candles … which expose the falsehood of every king' (McCone 1990, 144). The animal image employed in Fergus's final jibe to her (graig remitét láir 4123-24) is a further pointer to the fact that ultimately it is the quality of her 'kingship' which is at issue. While martial features are expressed in canine/lupine terms, and the associations of cattle are with fecundity and prosperity, horses have a ritual significance as symbols of kingship (McCone 1990, 112). Medb is therefore being assessed here with respect to sovereignty: she is found wanting, and it is her sex which disqualifies her. More than merely a negative paradigm of the sovereignty goddess, Medb is thus a failed embodiment of kingship itself, the supreme male role which she seeks to usurp.

The requirements for kingship are of a threefold nature, viz material, martial and mental, reflecting the king's role as the ideal representative of the three main functional divisions of society, the landowning class, the warriors, and the men of art (McCone 1990, 127-128). Medb's failure to measure up to the ideal in the martial sphere has been discussed above. At an earlier point in the tale, she herself seems to anticipate criticism of the other two aspects of her rule. In the 'rhetorical' exchange with Ailill and Fergus after the love-making scene she declares: Nita cailtech esbrethach (1097) 'I am not niggardly and given to unjust judgements'.¹⁸ Generosity and justice exemplify the material and mental qualities of a righteous king, so that here Medb can be understood to be protesting her suitability for the role in respect of these two areas.

A Biblical Analogue

The possibility of Biblical and classical influence on early Irish literature was acknowledged long ago by Gwynn, who had observed repeated parallels between Cormac mac Airt and King Solomon of the Old Testament: 'the mediaeval authors who rehandled the native stuff were men of scholarly training, versed especially in Biblical and patristic learning; and it is as well to allow for the influence of their literary studies; their erudition and their patriotism alike tempted them to discover and underline points of resemblance between the culture and history of primitive Ireland and the elder civilizations of Rome and Palestine' (Gwynn 1903, 74). Despite this insight, the dominant scholarly paradigm of this century has focused more on the vestiges of pagan and Indo-European traditions preserved in the texts. In recent years the pendulum has swung back to an emphasis on the unitary nature of the learned classes of early Ireland. If the vernacular sagas are considered to emanate from the same intellectual environment which produced ecclesiastical texts in both Latin and Irish, Christian and classical influences on them are more readily allowed. Such influences can consist either of a Christian message conveyed by the theme, or of stylistic and narrative models drawn from the written materials current in the monastic milieu.¹⁹

Noting Thurneysen's suggestion (1921, 96-97) that the author of the Táin was aiming to produce an Irish Aeneid, O'Connor (1967, 32) perceptively recommended consideration of the Old Testament story of Samson and Delilah (Judges 16) as a possible model for the relationship between Medb and Fergus. The parallel between Samson, characterised through his relations with women as lacking in moral fibre, and Fergus, who is portrayed as forsaking his own people ar thóin mná, is indeed striking. The symbolic castration of Fergus is perhaps an echo of Delilah's enfeeblement of Samson by causing his hair to be cut. In the Táin too there is a hair-cutting scene, but again the roles of male and female are reversed. Findabair, who is offered to Cú Chulainn in exchange for a truce, suffers a double humiliation at his hands: he cuts off her plaits and penetrates her symbolically with a pillar-stone (1602).²⁰ Edel (1989, 116) notes the similarity between the list of places which the Connacht army passes on its route to Cúailnge (114-130) and the 'journeys of the children of Israel' from Egypt to the plains of Moab (Numbers 33). Carney (1956, 72) remarks that the atmosphere of the early tales in general is redolent of the world of Eastern splendour.

One of the details thought to be a reminiscence of classical epic is the flooding of the rivers to impede the progress of the Connachtmen (1000, 1018, 1024, 1164); this has been compared with a passage in the Iliad, where the river Scamander rises up against Achilles (Thumeysen 1921, 96). The attribution to classical influence is still a point of controversy, and the Biblical parallel may be more pertinent. In the Song of Deborah, one of the two great Old Testament canticles, the river Kishon floods and sweeps away the army of the Canaanites, the occupiers of the Promised Land (Judges 5, 21).

A cluster of similarities and contrasts between the story of Deborah and the Táin prompts one to pursue the analogy further. Deborah, a prophetess and judge, is notable for being one of the few female figures in the Old Testament to exercise political power, and she wields it successfully. Among her achievements is that she overcomes tribal divisions to unite the Israelite tribes against their Canaanite enemies. Medb however is a failure as a political leader. She succumbs to tribal jealousies, being prepared to weaken her own army and alienate her Ulaid supporters rather than permit the crack regimeut of the Gaileóin to exist. Deborah prophesies the outcome of the battle correctly, and predicts that the victory of the day will go to a woman. Medb, for her part, ignores the prophecy of Fedelm at the outset, and is herself denigrated as a woman in the end.²¹

To take Medb as an anti-Deborah implies reading the Táin as a whole as a further example of the pointed inversion of familiar story patterns. Medb then suffers a triple negative characterisation: as an anti-goddess, as a failed sovereign, and as the diametrical opposite of the great Biblical heroine.

Themes

In keeping with the view that Táin Bó Cúailnge is epic or heroic literature, the main thematic concern has been formulated as 'the celebration of the martial heroism of Cú Chulainn; of his courage and ingenuity, his mastery of the martial arts, his unswerving loyalty' (Ó Cathasaigh 1986b, 156). Certainly the greatest bulk of the tale is devoted to Cú Chulainn's exploits, and he is depicted in a wholly favourable light. This rubs off on the Ulaid, who are the victors in the contention. Some scholars however dispute the apparent corollary that the whole heroic age in general is also being celebrated. Radner (1982, 55) notes that the tale emphasises the negative effects of war, summarised in Cú Chulainn's statement on hearing the clamour of the final battle: conscar bara bith 'anger destroys the world' (4076). 'Thematically', she argues (1982, 47), 'the Ulster Cycle as a whole tends to present the tragic breakdown of those relationships on which early Irish society was founded: the relationships between host and guest, between kindred, between fosterbrothers, between men and women, between lords and clients and kings and overkings, between the human world and the gods. Behind the immense vitality, humor and imagination of the Ulster stories is a picture of society moving to dysfunction and self-destruction'.

Yet the blame for the breakdown of social order is not laid impartially on both sides, or on all participants. As far as 'societal' virtues such as goire 'filial piety' and condalbae 'love of kin, patriotism' are concerned, as exemplified in the behaviour of the Ulster characters, they prove resilient in the end. Fergus's kin-love (condalbae) causes him to sabotage the Connacht venture (216, 229), he can be prevailed upon to desist from attacking the Ulaid in the final battle (4068-73), and his ties of fostership with Cú Chulainn preclude their engaging in direct combat (2501-2518; 4103-7). The Ulaid are presented as strongly motivated by condalbae (3834-37) in relation to Conchobar's grandson. It is Medb who sets foster-brothers, foster-fathers and foster-sons against each other, who offers her daughter as a bribe to any likely opponent of Cú Chulainn, and who seduces Fergus into disloyalty to his kin.

The most negative point about the Ulaid is their inability to support Cú Chulainn through the winter months, and Radner makes the attractive suggestion that their mysterious sickness, the ces noínden, is 'the tangible and persistent symbol of a radical flaw in the Ulstermen' (1982, 49).²² Aitchison (1987, 110) also notes the ambiguous tone in the depiction of Ulster glory, but his conclusion that the Ulster Cycle is anti-Ulaid propaganda is informed less by the Táin than by other Ulster tales. In the Táin the Ulaid are certainly not singled out for criticism, but I would agree that whole-hearted approval of war is withheld. The tale does not dwell indulgently on descriptions of the large-scale battle, and the final encounters, between Fergus on the one hand and Conall Cernach and Cú Chulainn on the other, pass off without human casualties. This I would interpret as a reflection of a general pacifist stance, which would accord well with a hypothesis of clerical authorship.

The immediate catalyst for the chaos and killing is the cattle raid itself. Though such raiding may have been 'the most typical and abiding event recorded in the annals down the centuries' and 'a commonplace, not to say routine, experience to every individual in the population' (Lucas 1989, 125), there is evidence that efforts were made by the Church to put a stop to it, or to alleviate the destruction it could entail. Killing plough oxen and stealing milch kine are said to be among the three most serious offences which Patrick proscribed (Kelly 1988, 276). The canons of Adamnán, no later than the ninth century, lay down that 'cattle seized in a raid are not to be taken by Christians whether in trade or as gifts' (Bieler 1963, 178 sect. 15). An ecclesiastical Cáin attributed to a sixth-century nun Dar Í enjoined 'not to kill cattle' (Stokes and Strachan 1903, 306). The annals record its promulgation four times between 810 and 826 (Lucas 1989, 189). This concern with the destructive potential of cattle-raiding is perhaps only implied in the narrative message of Táin Bó Cúailnge, but may have found more explicit literary reflection elsewhere in the Ulster Cycle: a passage in Táin Bó Regamna has been interpreted (Russell 1988, 253) as advice to Cú Chulainn to give up cattle-raiding.

As the instigator of the cattle raid, Medb is the primary culprit, who as a woman has unjustifiably arrogated power and status to herself. It is her challenge to male superiority, the bedrock of a patriarchal society, which upsets the natural balance and destabilises society. One of the thematic concerns of the tale, then, is the perennial question of the relative roles in society of men and women. More specifically, it concentrates on Medb's unseemly aspirations towards the supreme male role, that of the king. This is a theme worthy to elicit a first-class performance from a clerical author: 'The mandarin managers of the past are at their best when they engage in polysemic discourse on the nature of kingship, its possession and legitimation' (Ó Corráin 1987, 31). And such a weighty theme, and a superb narrative treatment of it, could justify the warranty of a year's protection for anyone who hears the tale (Meyer 1906, 8 sect. 62).

One could go a step further and see in the Táin, not just an exploration of the nature of legitimate kingship, but a comment on the literary treatments of the topic, and on the dangerous potential of the sovereignty goddess myth to privilege the female at the expense of the male. While most discussions of this myth emphasise the endurance of the image of Ireland as woman in the literature down to the vision poetry of the eighteenth century, a recent study has drawn attention to a development in the presentation of the woman which diminishes her role. In the oldest traditions she exercises choice in conferring the kingship, but in Baile in Scáil 'The Phantom's Vision' she acts at the behest of her divine spouse Lug, showing that 'the locus of power has shifted from female to male' (Herbert 1992, 269). I suggest that the Táin is a more elaborate narrative expression of the same iconoclastic impetus. The first of the dire results Fergus predicts for the raid, which include vultures feasting on corpses, and the rampaging of werewolves, is the inflation of the power of queens: Bíait rignai dermara 'Great queens will be there' (2412).

Contemporary Relevance: tempus, locus, persona et causa scribendi

The previous section was an attempt to establish the general thematic import of the Táin. To particularise this requires the examination of the text in its own context of dynasty, time and place. Radner's suggestion (1982, 53-57) that its purpose was to make propaganda for firm overkingship by the Ui Néill dynasty does not permit a location in a narrower time framework than the sixth to the tenth centuries. A linguistic analysis allows a more precise dating, for the main body of the prose of Recension I points to the first half of the ninth century.²³

The most circumstantial anchoring of the Táin in time and place and politico-dynastic context is that of Kelleher (1971, 122-125), who suggests tentatively that Recension I is a political allegory for the struggle between traditional and reforming clergy for control of Armagh in the first quarter of the ninth century. According to this interpretation Emain Macha in the Táin is code for Armagh. The fight for power over Armagh had a local dimension in the dissensions between branches of the Airgialla, who had displaced the historical Ulaid from the territory around Armagh, and had long-standing claims to the prestigious ecclesiastical offices of the monastery, and a wider dimension in the rivalry between the northern and southern branches of the Uí Néill. A turning point in the struggle was the battle of Leth Cam in 827, at which the Ulaid, allied with the Airgialla sept of the Ui Chremthainn, both supporters of the reform party, were defeated by the Cenél nEógain king Niall Caille. Kelleher suggests that the Táin was written some years previous to this battle, by Cuanu, the reforming abbot of Louth, who identifies himself with Cú Chulainn, on whose shoulders the burden of the defence falls. Is the Táin then à roman a clef? If so, one is tempted to take the Ulster king as fictional code for his namesake Conchobar (mac Donnchadha), Clann Cholmáin rival of, and successor to, the Cenél nEógain King of Tara, Aed Oirdnide.²⁴

Intriguingly, the mother of Áed Oirdnide's son Niall Caille, who succeeded Conchobar in the high-kingship, was one Medb, a Connacht woman (Dobbs 1930, 310; 1931, 225).²⁵ This neat solution unfortunately fails to account for the fact that the Connacht king Muirgius mac Tomaltaig (d. 815) supported Conchobar mac Donnchadha and opposed Áed Oirdnide. Perhaps Muirgius's entry onto the stage of all-Ireland politics (Byrne 1973, 251) was unwelcome to some party whose point of view is reflected in the Táin. It is clear that a full decoding would require detailed knowledge about 'the appallingly complex political situation that lay behind the disruptions in Armagh' from the mid-eighth to the mid-ninth century (McCone 1984b, 319). Could we see the pacifist stance discussed above as a plea from the Armagh clerics for a cessation of hostilities in this long-drawn out struggle?²⁶ The victory of the Ulaid in the Táin is at best Pyrrhic: the Donn Cúlailnge is lost to both sides, and before dying it turns on and kills the innocentes, the non-combatant women and children, of its own tribe (TBC II 4115-6).

Two more of the general themes identified above may also have had a more immediate relevance in the ninth century. The diminution in the role of the sovereignty goddess in Baile in Scáil is present in its oldest section.²⁷ This stratum must have been composed during the high-kingship of Mael Sechnaill, whose reign began in 846. The trend to subtly alter the sovereignty myth so as to redress the female/male imbalance may therefore have been an on-going one at this time.

An early ninth-century drive to eradicate or curtail cattle-raiding is perhaps reflected in the fact that Cáin Dar Í was promulgated three times between 810 and 813, in Munster, Connacht and Uí Néill territory respectively. Thirteen years later it was re-issued in Connacht: this may point to a resurgence of the problem in the western province in the intervening period, which would have facilitated the depiction of the Connachtmen as aggressors in the Táin.

If even some of the above suggestions are valid, there are grounds for thinking that Recension I of the Táin, for all its timeless appeal, may also be satisfactorily mapped onto a specific historical background by the coordinates of tempus, locus, persona et causa scribendi.

Style and Structure

It is generally agreed that one of the best features of early Irish storytelling is the terse, fast-paced style, consisting of taut, almost elliptical, sentences or phrases. It is deployed to striking advantage in conversation, lending passages of direct speech a staccato-like effect. As an example I quote from the touching exchange between Cu Chulainn and his mother in the first section of the macgnímrada …

"Cú Chulainn asked his mother to let him go to join the boys.

'You shall not go,' said his mother, 'till you be escorted by some of the Ulster warriors.'

'I think it too long to wait for that,' said Cú Chulainn. 'Point out to me in what direction is Emain.'

'To the north there,' said his mother, 'and the journey is hard. Slíab Fúait lies between you and Emain.'

'I shall make an attempt at it at all events,' said Cú Chulainn" (TBC I 406-14).

In general, the older the text, the more economical the prose. A comparison with the Recension II version of the above scene may serve to illustrate the development in style between the ninth and twelfth centuries:

'It is too soon for you to go, my son,' said his mother, 'until there go with you a champion of the champions of Ulster or some of the attendants of Conchobar to ensure your safety and protection from the youths.' (TBC 11 751-754). The effect is smoother, but tends to the verbose.

In another instance from Recension I, the succinctness of Medb's speech is a perfect vehicle for the stark message it conveys. She feels threatened by the superiority of the Gaileóin. Ailill tries to divine her intentions …

'Well then, what shall be done with them,' asked Ailill, 'since neither their staying nor their going pleases you?'

'Kill them!' said Medb (TBC I 160-162).

The limpid quality prevails even in descriptive passages, as in the following extended word portrait of the prophetess Fedelm, which consists largely of verb-free nominal phrases …

'She had yellow hair. She wore a van-coloured cloak with a golden pin in it and a hooded tunic with red embroidery. She had shoes with golden fastenings. Her face was oval, narrow below, broad above. Her eyebrows were dark and black. Her beautiful black eyelashes cast a shadow on to the middle of her cheeks. Her lips seemed to be made of partaing. Her teeth were like a shower of pearls between her lips. She had three plaits of hair: two plaits wound around her head, the third hanging down her back, touching her calves behind. In her hand she carried a weaver's beam of white bronze, with golden inlay. There were three pupils in each of her eyes. The maiden was armed and her chariot was drawn by two black horses' (TBC 1 30-39).

An eleventh-century addition to Recension I, which contains a description of Cú Chulainn's hair, provides a contrast and highlights the later tendency to heap up adjectives: 'Fair was the arrangement of that hair with three coils in the hollow in the nape of his neck, and like gold thread was each fine hair, loose-flowing, bright-golden, excellent, long-tressed, splendid and of beautiful colour, which fell back over his shoulder. A hundred bright crimson ringlets of flaming red-gold encircled his neck' (2342-47).

Some stretches of direct speech in the Táin are in a rhythmical alliterative style called rosc(ad) or retoiric. Their syntax is frequently marked, and they have therefore often been held to belong to an older linguistic stratum of the text. Corthals (1989a, 219) points out, however, that in the Táin such passages are fully integrated into the surrounding 'straight' prose as regards narrative content. Rather than reflecting a chronological divide, they exemplify one of the possible varieties in the 'supple stylistic continuum' (McCone 1990, 50) of early Irish writing. A lengthy stretch of roscad occurs in the exchange between Ailill, Fergus and Medb after the love-making scene (1069-1146). Another context which features this style is the Morrígan's prophecy to the bull (958-961). The style here is even more highly marked, through the use of metre for the words of the actual prophecy, contained in the two central lines below, which are linked by alliteration to the surrounding rhetorical prose (alliterating consonants in boldface) …

'… I have a secret which the Black one will find out: 'If he will (=would) eat in May (?) the very green grass of the bogland, he would be overpowered (and driven) out of his field by fire (and) contest of strong warriors.' The flowering splendour of the host seduces the Bodb' (Corthals 1989b, 56).

Another variation in style is brought about by an alternation between prose and syllabic verse. Some sections have no syllabic verse at all, e.g. the macgnímrada, while the eleventh century Fer Diad episode (2567-3142) features almost a half-and-half distribution between these two modes. After this episode the remaining thousand or so lines are entirely in prose, with some short passages of roscad.

The narrative technique also features diversity. A popular means of ringing the changes on conventional exposition is the 'watchman device'. This consists of description presented by a knowledgeable participant in the events (the 'watchman'), rather than by an omniscient narrator. The device has not found favour with the taste of modern scholars, who have dismissed instances in other texts as 'long and tedious', or 'repetitive and wearisome'. With an effort of empathy, however, it is possible to see some virtue in its employment in the Táin.

If it is correct to suggest that it is no concern of the tale to glorify war, the author is faced with the problem of how to create a credible battle scenario without direct description of the carnage. He conveys a sense of the strength of the defending army in the lengthy account of the approach of the Ulster warriors as viewed by the Connachtmen (3544-3870). The use of the watchman device here is far from mechanical: a reconnaissance man is sent out and returns with descriptions of individual warriors, who Fergus, their one-time comrade, is asked to identify. His answers are not stereotyped, and his personal reactions are varied. Another sophisticated use of the technique furnishes a post hoc and indirect account of bloody combat in The hard fight of Cethern' (3161-3282). The wounded Ulsterman Cethern will not suffer any physician near him, so the diagnosis of his injuries is conducted at a distance: he describes the warriors who wounded him, and here it is Cu Chulainn, all too familiar with the Connacht adversaries, who identifies them. In contrast, the account of Cú Chulainn's own participation in the final fray is a gem of understatement …

'It was midday when Cú Chulainn came to the battle. When the sun was sinking behind the trees in the wood, he overcame the last of the bands, and of the chariot there remained only a handful of the ribs of the framework and a handful of the shafts round the wheel' (4110-13).

This stunning image is expressed with all the eloquence and brevity of the most admired passages of early Irish prose, but the other narrative responses to the task of describing the battle need not therefore be denied structural validity and artistic intent.

The structure of the opening scenes of the Táin has evoked unanimous critical approval. Some of the best literary effects here have been analysed by Carney (1955, 67-71). In the initial portion, some eight hundred lines, from the mustering of the Connacht forces to the end of the macgnímrada, he detects the hand of a literary personality, 'not a mere story-teller' (ibid 68). The pièce-de-résistance is undoubtedly the 'Boyhood deeds' (398-824). After the advance of the Connachtmen has been held up by some displays of Cu Chulainn's prowess, the forward movement of the narrative is interrupted with a flashback to enable the exiled Ulstermen to recall the most striking martial feats of his precocious childhood. The build-up to this flashback is also impressive. The narrator's attention is initially directed entirely to the Connacht side. The prophecy of Fedelm soon casts an ominous shadow on their proceedings. Cú Chulainn only slowly comes into focus: he is first referred to, but not named, in the prophecy of Dubthach (194), as the army traverses the centre of the country. When they reach the east, Fergus sends him a warning. From then on, Cú Chulainn's presence is increasingly felt, until he kills four of the vanguard of the invading army and sets their heads up on spits to confront the Connachtmen when they arrive. It is at this point that Ailill and Medb inquire about their formidable opponent, and the Ulstermen each contribute their memories of his 'boyhood deeds': this sets the scene for the ultimate triumph of the Ulster defence, and reinforces the sense of foreboding which dogs the Connacht forces throughout. Such 'tricks of presentation' Carney (ibid 71) considers to be evidence of a wholly literary sophistication, of a quality rare even in the early texts.

The remainder of the tale has not received anything like the same accolades. Greene's judgement (1954, 32) that 'the long series of single combats becomes wearisome and the story tails off badly' is probably representative of modern scholarly opinion. For Carney (1955, 67) the decline in the quality of the narration sets in with the very first of the single combats, the interpolated 'Death of Fróech' (833-857). Admittedly 'after this point … there are a greater number of incidents which are merely of antiquarian interest' (ibid), but perhaps there are some points of significance encoded in the placenames or personal names in the single encounters which may yet be elucidated. However that may be, O'Rahilly concedes that 'the skill with which these encounters are varied in circumstance and detail is remarkable' (1967, xxiii).

Literary Impact

The earliest comprehensive assessment of the Táin is contained in the famous Latin coda to the Book of Leinster recension: 'But I who have written this story, or rather this fable, give no credence to the various incidents related in it. For some things in it are the deceptions of demons, others poetic figments; some are probable, others improbable; while still others are intended for the delectation of foolish men' (TBC II 4021-4025).

Modern critical comment on the value of the Táin as literature differs in content, but not in its negative thrust. While some individual components are universally applauded for their literary excellence, the consensus among scholars is that, judged as a whole, the Táin is a failure. Greene attributes the alleged lack of artistic success to the fact that 'even to the present day, the native genius has felt more at home with short stories than with long works of complicated construction' (1968, 104). As against that one could advert to recent scholarly work on two other lengthy and complex early tales, Togail Bruidne Da Derga and Cath Maige Tuired, which shows them to be not wanting in coherence and artistry.

A reliable verdict is, however, only possible if the text's aims have been correctly identified. As the present discussion has shown, there is scope for considerable work on such a basic matter as the meaning of the narrative, before the techniques of presentation can be assessed.

On the basis of the analysis presented here I would take issue with Greene's conclusion (ibid) that 'there is nothing in the fragmentary Táin we have that would allow us to suspect the existence of a planned and developed prose epic—nothing to suggest that the Táin was ever otherwise than jerky and episodic', and argue that even the 'hotch-potch' (ibid 103) of Recension I allows us more than a glimpse of a coherent whole, in which consciously chosen elements are deployed in a carefully planned order, and expressed in an appropriate form. Ultimately concerned with the theme of kingship, the tale deals with the three fundamental areas of mental, martial and material qualities and functions, and comments on their relative importance. The animal imagery and symbolism—equine, canine and bovine—reflect the tale's concerns on a metaphorical plane, and supply an artistic cohesion.²⁸ The narrative can be read as a series of conflicts on these three levels. Medb's exchange with Fedelm is a confrontation in the spiritual domain: her faulty judgement reveals the defect in the Connacht kingship, and portends her inevitable defeat. The main body of the narrative is devoted to physical encounters, which express the martial function. Far from tailing off badly after the series of single combats, the narrative works up to a resounding crescendo in which pacifism triumphs and the proud queen is dishonoured. The Ulstermen win the battle, but the victory is hollow: the final conflict, that of the animal forces, sees the destruction of the two bulls, the symbols of fertility and material wealth. The last scene²⁹ can be read as a powerful image of the futility of martial victory achieved at the expense of fecundity.

Further analysis will surely reinforce this vindication of the literary skill and artistic purpose of the author of Táin Bó Cúailnge.

Notes

¹ Reviews of the types of investigation to which these texts have been treated to date are found in Herbert (1988) and Ó Cathasaigh (1984).

² McCone (1990) exemplifies the new paradigm and contains a comprehensive bibliography.

³ The genealogical poem Canailla Medb míchuru is discussed by Ó hUiginn in this volume.

⁴ Mac Eoin (1983, 121) disagrees with Thurneysen's (1921, 449 and 667) eighth-century date for Fled Bricrenn, finding nothing in the oldest portions to warrant a date before 900.

⁵ The later recension is also linguistically more accessible, and has been translated virtually in its entirety by Cecile O'Rahilly. Large chunks of Recension I, however, particularly the rhythmical dialogue passages, still await edition and translation.

⁶ Cf. Gray (1980-81, 1982-83), Ó Cathasaigh (1983), McCone (1989).

⁷ See McCone (1990 Chapter 9) for a thorough discussion, which incorporates his own earlier articles (1984a, 1986, 1987) and Sharpe (1979).

⁸ Translation according to Gantz (1981, 260).

⁹ Thurneysen (1930, 108) sees traces of Medb's divinity in the references to places named after her in Ulster territory (TBC I 1534-36).

¹⁰ The prose introduction to Conailla Medb míchuru also says that Fergus fought against his own people ar imtóin mná (Meyer 1912, 305) 'for a woman's great buttocks'.

¹¹ Another tradition about Fergus also represents him as having dishonoured his people for a woman's body. He cedes the kingship of Ulster for a year to Conchobar in return for the sexual favours of his mother Ness. When the year is up the Ulstermen decide not to allow Fergus to regain the kingship, for 'they deemed it a great dishonour that Fergus had given them (to Ness) as a bride-price' (hi tindscra) (Stokes 1910, 24 §7).

¹² Translation from Charles-Edwards (1976, 47).

¹³ O'Rahilly (1071) follows the translation of Binchy (1972, 35), who adopts the manuscript reading misrairlustair: This form is repeated in Fergus's final taunt to Medb (4124).

¹⁴ Corthals (1989) has in some cases provided fuller translations than O' Rahilly (1976).

¹⁵ The usual meaning of midlach in the sagas is 'coward, weakling'.

¹⁶ De Paor (1923, 126-128) makes no use of this incident in her discussion of the personal contribution of the author of Recension II to the characterisation of Medb.

¹⁷ De Paor (1923, 127) considers that the utterance 'fails altogether to illumine the character of the Connacht queen' and contrasts the corresponding LL passage with approval: 'There are many who part here today from comrades and friends,' said Medb, 'from land and territory, from father and mother, and if not all return safe and sound, it is on me their grumbles and their curses will fall. Yet none goes forth and none stays here who is any dearer to us than we ourselves' (TBC II 177-181).

¹⁸ O'Rahilly (1976) translates 'destruction' here.

¹⁹ McCone (1990) contains a wealth of evidence for Biblical and patristic parallels.

²⁰ There may also be an echo of the story of Salomé and John the Baptist (Matthew 14.3-12) in the scene in which Findabair is offered as a bribe to Láiríne mac Nóis to induce him to bring back the head of Cú Chulainn as a trophy (1818-1823).

²¹ Note also the similarities between the calls which rouse Deborah and Barak for the battle (Judges 5, 12: 'Awake, awake, Deborah; awake, awake, utter a song; arise, Barak') and the series of exhortations 'Arise, (valiant) kings of Macha!' in the Táin (3905, 3918, 3930).

²² Ó Broin (1961-63) argues that the debility is in origin a death or winter sleep which is an element of an old vegetation myth of cyclic decline and renewal.

²³ Thurneysen's dating (1921, 666) has been confirmed and refined by Manning (1985).

²⁴ He may also have been the father of the reform candidate for the abbacy, Artrímac Conchobair (Kelleher 1971, 124).

²⁵ The identification of her father with Innrechtach, King of Connacht, who died in 723, would indicate that her son Niall Caille (d. 846) was already an old man at the time of the battle of Leth Cam.

²⁶ The earliest 'authorial' ascription of the Táin, in the ninth-century Triads, is to a seventh-century Airgialla poet Niníne Éces, the direct ancestor of Fethgna, abbot of Armagh from 859 to 874 (Ó Fiaich 1960-62).

²⁷ Murphy (1952, 150 n.1) considers the early portion to extend up to §50, which names Mael Sechnaill as King of Tara: the dates of his reign, from 846 to 862, suggest a mid-ninth century date for this stratum of the text.

²⁸ The Rees brothers make the only other attempt known to me to interpret the Táin in terms of the tripartite ideology, but in taking the bulls to symbolize the warrior function they conclude—I would say erroneously—that the tale 'appears as an example of the classic struggle between the priestly and the warrior classes, each of which tends to usurp the functions and privileges of the other' (Rees 1961, 124).

²⁹I follow O'Rahilly (1967, xxxvi) in taking lines 4156-59 to be an addition of the YBL scribe or his exemplar.

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