Cuchulain and the Hound of Culain

That evening at supper Meave sat silent, thinking. When the meal was over, she sat in the door of her tent by the fire with her husband Ailill, with Fergus and with a few of her chief captains. Out across the camp the soldiers rested by their fires in the forest, singing and telling tales as they always did after supper.

“A while ago you called that little boy Setanta,” Meave said to Fergus, “but I have heard him called Cuchulain, Culain’s Hound. How did he get that name?”

Cormac, the son of King Conor, answered eagerly. “I’ll tell you that story myself, for I was there and know just how it happened.”

“Tell us, then,” said Meave and Ailill together.

So Cormac began. “In Ulster there lived a great craftsman and smith called Culain. Now it is the custom that every wealthy man and every landowner in Ulster should, every year or so, invite the King and his chiefs to stay at his house for a week or two and entertain them. Culain had no land and no riches, only what his hammer, anvil and tongs earned him. All the same he wanted to give the King a feast, so he went to Emain to invite him. ‘I have no land and no great wealth,’ he said, ‘so please bring only a few of your best warriors, for my house cannot hold a large company.’ The King promised to come with just a small band of followers.

“Culain went home to get the feast ready. When the day came, towards evening, the King put on his light travelling clothes, and before setting off he went down to the playing field to say goodbye to the boy-troop.

“There he saw something so remarkable that he could not tear himself away. At one end of the field a hundred and fifty boys were guarding a goal, trying to stop the ball of one small boy who was playing against them all. Yet whatever they did, he won, and drove his ball into the goal. Then they changed sides, and the little lad guarded his goal while the hundred and fifty boys all hit their balls at it together. Not one got in, for he caught every ball just outside the hole and sent them flying this way and that. And when it was his turn to attack, he drove all hundred and fifty balls into their hole, for all they could do.

“Then they played at pulling off each other’s cloaks without tearing them, and he had every one of their cloaks off before they could even undo the brooch that held his. When they wrestled, it was the same: he had them all on the ground before all of them together could knock him over or make him move a foot.

“The King watched all this and said, ‘Lucky is the land this boy has come to! He is a clever child. If only his deeds as a man turn out as well as his youth promises, he may be of real use to us. But we cannot count on that.’”

“That vexed me,” said Fergus, breaking in, “because the King seemed to doubt whether the boy would live up to his promise. So I said, ‘That was not wisely said, King. Have no fear for this boy. Just as his childish deeds go beyond what other children do, so his deeds as a man will outshine those of heroes and great warriors.’ Then the King said to me, ‘Call the child, and we will take him with us to the feast.’

“So Setanta came, and the King invited him. But the boy said, ‘Excuse me for now. I can’t come just yet.’

“‘Why not?’ asked the King in surprise.

“‘Because the boy-troop haven’t had enough of playing.’

“‘I can’t wait till they have,’ said the King. ‘It is getting late.’

“‘Then don’t wait at all,’ said the child. ‘I’ll just finish this game and run after you.’

“‘But do you know the way, little one?’

“‘I’ll follow the tracks of your company, the chariot wheels and the horses’ hoofs on the road.’”

“So Conor set off,” Cormac went on, “and reached Culain’s house in time for the feast, where he was welcomed with all honour. Fresh rushes were spread on the floor, the tables were set out, fires blazed in the middle of the hall, a tall candlestick gave light, and servants stood round the fires cooking tasty meats on wooden spits. Each guest came in according to his rank and sat in his own place, with his weapons hung above his head. The King took the middle seat, with his poets, counsellors and chiefs on either side.

“As they sat down, Culain the smith came to Conor and said, ‘King, before we eat, I would like to know whether anyone else is following you here tonight, or is your whole company inside?’

“‘All are here,’ said the King, quite forgetting the little boy. ‘But why do you ask?’

“‘Only because I have a fine watchdog, fierce and strong. When his chain is off and he is let loose to guard the house, nobody dares come anywhere near the place. He is savage with everyone but me, and he has the strength of a hundred ordinary watchdogs. He was brought to me from Spain, and no dog in the country can match him.’

“‘Let him loose, for everyone is here,’ said Conor. ‘He will guard us well.’

“So Culain unchained the dog. With one bound it leapt out of the courtyard and over the wall of the fort and ran a circle round the whole district. Then it came back panting, its tongue hanging out, and lay down in its usual place in front of the house with its head on its paws, watching the road from Emain. A cruel, fierce and savage dog it was.

“That night, when the boy-troop broke up and each lad went home to his parents or foster-parents, Setanta set off for Culain’s house, following the trail of Conor’s company. He ran along with his hurley stick and ball, playing as he went, and the road seemed short because he was so busy with his game. As soon as he reached the green in front of Culain’s fort, the great hound saw him and let out a howl that echoed through the whole countryside. Inside the house, the King and his men heard it, but they were speechless with fear and could not move, sure they would find the little boy dead at the door. As for the hound, it meant to swallow Setanta whole in one gulp.

“The boy had nothing to defend himself with but his ball and his hurley stick. He kept on playing until the hound was close. Then, as it charged at him with its jaws wide open, he hit the ball with all his strength straight down its throat. The hound stopped short, choking, and in that moment the boy seized it by the throat and the back of the head and fought with it against the doorposts, until before long the great hound lay dead on the ground.

“Inside, as soon as they found their voices, Culain and the warriors asked each other why the watchdog had howled. ‘Alas,’ said the King, ‘no good luck brought us on this visit. My foster-son and Fergus’s, Setanta, son of Sualtach, promised to follow me here, and now he has surely been killed by Culain’s hound.’ When they heard that it was the King’s foster-son outside, they all jumped up at once. The doors of the fort were thrown open, but they could not wait for that, and they rushed out over the walls and ramparts to find the boy.”

“Quick as they were,” said Fergus, “I was quicker. At the outer gate I found the child, with the great hound dead beside him. I swung him up onto my shoulder, and with all the heroes behind me I carried him to Conor and set him down between the King’s knees.”

“So it was,” said Cormac, picking up the tale. “But let me tell you about Culain. The smith went out to look for his dog, and when he saw it lying there, battered and dead, his heart was heavy. He came back into the house and said, ‘It was bad luck that made me hold this feast for you, King. I wish I had never prepared it. My life is wasted and my goods are wasted without my dog. He guarded my property and my cattle, every beast I had and my house too.’ Then he turned to the boy. ‘Little boy, you are welcome for your family’s sake, but not for your own. You have taken from me a fine member of my household, the guardian of my goods and my flocks and herds.’

“‘Don’t be angry,’ said the child, ‘for I will choose my own punishment. If there is a pup of that dog’s breed anywhere in Ireland, I will raise it for you until it is fit to take his place. And until it is grown and able to do the work, Culain, I myself will be your hound. I will guard your cattle and yourself and your land, and nothing of yours will be taken without my knowing it.’

“‘A fair judgement!’ they all said. ‘And from now on your name shall be changed. You shall no longer be Setanta. Cu-Chulain, the Hound of Culain, shall be your name.’

“‘I like my own name best,’ said the child.

“‘Ah, don’t say that,’ said a magician who was there, ‘for one day the name of Cuchulain will be on everyone’s lips. Among the bravest men in the whole wide world Cuchulain’s name will have its place. He will be famous and renowned, loved and feared by all.’

“‘If that is so, I am content,’ said the boy.

“So the name Cuchulain stuck to him, until the time came when people thought of him less as the hound of Culain’s fort and more as the guardian and watchdog of the whole province against its enemies. Then they liked best to call him the Hound of Ulster.

“Now,” said Cormac, “it would be fair to expect that a little boy who, at six or seven, killed a dog that a whole company would not dare go near, would be a fearsome enemy to Ulster’s foes when he was a grown youth.”

And Meave had to admit that this was very likely.

About this story

Eleanor Hull tells this story in Cuchulain, the Hound of Ulster, as a tale told to Meave by Cormac and Fergus one evening by the fire in her camp. In her introduction she explains that the stories of King Conor and Cuchulain are supposed to have taken place around the first century, though the earliest written copies are no older than the eleventh and twelfth centuries.

Hull writes that for centuries these tales were passed on by word of mouth, with at least one professional story-teller in every great man’s house who had to know many of them by heart, and that over a hundred distinct tales of this cycle are known to have existed.

In Hull’s telling Setanta dashes the hound’s head against the doorposts; here the fight is told more briefly. The vat of ale in Culain’s hall is left out.

Read the original: Eleanor Hull, Cuchulain, the Hound of Ulster (Project Gutenberg #52963, How Cuchulain Got His Name)

Suggested for ages 9–12 with an adult: includes a dog attacking a child and being violently killed. Setanta’s strength is legendary, not a realistic model for children.

The king forgets; the child pays

Culain asks whether anyone is still coming, and Conor incorrectly says everyone has arrived. Setanta’s defence is extraordinary, but the danger begins with that adult mistake. His offer to replace the hound’s work recognises Culain’s loss; it does not mean the boy alone caused the encounter or deserves punishment.

The name turns a single obligation into a wider identity. In the camp, Cormac and Fergus tell the episode as evidence of the defender Ulster now possesses, so the audience matters as much as the childhood adventure.

Account for the invitation

List what Setanta, Conor and Culain each know before the dog is released. Identify the message that would have prevented the danger. Then explain how “Culain’s Hound” comes to mean more than replacing one watchdog.

Talk about it

• Why did Setanta stay behind instead of going to the feast with the King?
• How did Setanta make up for killing Culain’s hound? Do you think it was a fair punishment?
• Why do you think the story is told by Cormac and Fergus to Meave, instead of just being told straight?

Related stories

• The Children of Lir — another of the great old tales of Ireland
• The Salmon of Knowledge — another story of a young Irish hero’s beginnings
• The Voyage of Bran — another tale from the ancient Irish story-tellers