Morraha

Morraha got up in the morning, washed his hands and face, said his prayers and ate his breakfast, and he asked God to bless the day for him. Then he went down to the edge of the sea, and he saw a short green currach coming towards him. There was only one person in it, a young champion who was playing hurley from the front of the boat to the back. His hurley was gold and his ball was silver. He did not stop until the currach ran up on the shore, and then he hauled it onto the green grass and tied it fast for a year and a day, whether he would stay all that time or only for an hour by the clock.

Morraha greeted the young man politely, and the young man greeted him the same way and asked whether he would play a game of cards. Morraha said he had nothing to play with. The other answered that he was never without a candle or the means of making one, and he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a table, two chairs and a pack of cards. They sat down and began to play.

Morraha won the first game, and the Slender Red Champion told him to name his prize. He asked that the land above him should be full of sheep in the morning. So it was. He played no second game but went home.

The next day Morraha went down to the shore again, and the young man came in his currach and asked him to play. They played, and Morraha won. This time he asked for the land to be full of cattle in the morning, and so it was, and he went home without playing another game.

On the third morning it happened in the same way. Morraha won, and when he was told to name his prize, he said he would have a castle and a wife, the finest and fairest in the world. And they were his. The Red Champion went away.

On the fourth day his wife asked him how he had come to get her, and he told her. “And I’m going out to play with him today,” he said.

“I forbid you to go near him,” said she. “You have won a great deal, and if you play on, you will lose more. Have nothing more to do with him.”

But he went against her wishes. He saw the currach coming, with the Red Champion knocking his silver balls from end to end with his golden hurley, and the champion pulled the boat ashore and tied it for a year and a day as before. They greeted each other and sat down to cards, and this time the champion won.

“Name your claim, then,” said Morraha.

“You’ll hear it soon enough. I put on you the bonds of druid magic: you shall not sleep two nights in one house, or finish a second meal at one table, until you bring me the sword of light and news of the death of Anshgayliacht.”

Morraha went home, sat down in a chair and gave a groan, and the chair broke in pieces under him.

“That is the groan of a king’s son under a spell,” said his wife. “You would have done better to take my advice than to have those bonds put on you.”

He told her what he had to bring to the Slender Red Champion.

“Go out tomorrow morning,” she said, “take the bridle that hangs in the window and shake it, and whatever beast puts its head into it, handsome or ugly, take that one with you. Do not say a word to her until she speaks to you. Take three pint bottles of ale and three sixpenny loaves, and do whatever she tells you. When she reaches my father’s country, she will stand on a height above the castle and shake herself, and the bells will ring, and my father will say, ‘Brown Allree is in the land. If it is the son of a king or a queen who is with her, carry him in to me on your shoulders; but if it is a poor man’s son, let him come no farther.’”

In the morning he took the bridle from the window, went out and shook it, and Brown Allree came and put her head into it. He took the three loaves and the three bottles of ale and rode away. As they went, the mare bent her head down to catch her own feet in her mouth, hoping he would speak without thinking, but he never said a word. At last she spoke to him herself and told him to get down and give her her dinner. He gave her a toasted sixpenny loaf and a bottle of ale.

“Get up now and ride,” she said, “and hold on well. There are three miles of fire ahead that I must clear in one leap.”

She cleared the three miles of fire in a single jump and asked whether he was still on her back. He said he was. They went on, and she asked for another meal, and he gave her a loaf and a bottle. She ate them and told him that ahead of them lay three miles of hill covered with thistles of steel, and she must clear that too. She leaped over the hill and asked whether he was still riding, and he said he was. They had not gone much farther when she wanted another meal, and he gave her the last of the bread and ale. Then she sprang over three miles of sea and came to the land of the King of France.

She went up on a height above the castle, shook herself and neighed, and the bells rang. “That is Brown Allree in the land,” said the king. “Go out, and if it is the son of a king or a queen, carry him in on your shoulders. If it is not, leave him where he is.”

They went out, and they saw the stars of a king’s son on his breast, so they lifted him high on their shoulders and carried him in to the king. They spent the night merrily with games and drinking and fun until the white light of the next morning came.

Then the young king explained why he had come, and he asked the queen for advice and good luck, and she told him everything he must do. “Take the best horse in the stable,” she said, “and ride to the door of Rough Niall of the Speckled Rock. Knock, and call on him to give you news of the death of Anshgayliacht and the sword of light. Keep the horse’s back to the door, and then put in your spurs and away with you.”

In the morning he did exactly that. He rode the best horse to Niall’s door, turned its back to the door, demanded news of the death of Anshgayliacht and the sword of light, then spurred off. Niall came after him hard, and as Morraha passed through the gate, Niall cut the horse in two. Niall’s wife was there with a dish of puddings and meat, and she flung it in her husband’s eyes and blinded him. “Fool!” she said. “Whoever it is that’s mocking you, isn’t that a fine state you’ve put your father’s horse in?”

The next morning Morraha took another horse from the stable, went to Niall’s door, knocked, made the same demand and spurred away. Niall followed, and as Morraha passed the gate, Niall cut the horse in two and carried off half the saddle with it. But his wife met him and threw meat in his eyes and blinded him.

On the third day Morraha went to the door, and Niall chased him, and this time, as he went through the gate, Niall cut the saddle from under him and the clothes from his back. Then Niall’s wife said to him, “The fool who is mocking you is out there in the little currach, going home. Take good care of yourself and don’t sleep a wink for three days.”

For three days the little currach stayed in sight. Then Niall’s wife came to him and said, “Sleep as much as you like now. He is gone.” Niall fell into a heavy sleep, and Morraha came in and took hold of the sword that lay on the bed at his head. The sword tried to pull itself out of Morraha’s hand but could not. Then it gave a cry and woke Niall, and Niall said it was a rude, rough thing to come into his house like that.

“Stop your talking,” said Morraha, “or I’ll cut your head off. Tell me the news of the death of Anshgayliacht.”

“Oh, you can have my head.”

“Your head is no use to me. Tell me the story.”

“Oh,” said Niall’s wife, “you must have the story.”

“Well,” said Niall, “let us sit down together and I’ll tell it. I thought no one would ever get it out of me, but now everyone will hear it.”

“When I was growing up,” said Niall, “my mother taught me the language of the birds, and after I was married I used to listen to them talking, and laugh. My wife kept asking me why I was laughing, but I did not want to tell her, because I wanted to keep the knowledge secret. One fine morning we were out walking, and two birds were arguing. One said to the other, ‘Why do you compare yourself with me, when there’s not a king or a knight who doesn’t come to look at my tree?’ And the other answered, ‘What is your tree beside mine, which has three rods of magic power growing on it?’

“When I heard that, and knew the rods were there, I started to laugh. ‘Why are you always laughing?’ said my wife. ‘I believe it’s at me you’re jeering, and I’ll walk with you no more.’ ‘It isn’t you I’m laughing at,’ I said. ‘It’s because I understand what the birds say.’ Then I had to tell her what they were saying, and she was delighted. She took me home and ordered the cook to have breakfast ready at six o’clock the next morning. I didn’t know why she wanted to go out so early. In the morning she asked me to walk with her, and she went straight to the tree and told me to cut her a rod.

“‘I won’t,’ said I. ‘Aren’t we better off without it?’ ‘I won’t leave this place till I have the rod, to see if there’s any good in it.’ So I cut it and gave it to her. She turned away, struck a stone with it and changed it, then struck me a second blow and turned me into a black raven, and she went home and left me there.

“I thought she would come back, but she never came, and I had to sit in a tree till morning. At six o’clock a bellman was out, crying that anyone who killed a raven would get a fourpenny bit. Soon there wasn’t a man or boy without a gun, and you could walk three miles without finding a raven left alive. I had to make a nest at the top of the parlour chimney and hide all day, and go out at night to pick up a bite to keep me alive, and so I spent a month. Here she is herself to say whether I’m lying.”

“You are not,” said she.

“Then I saw her out walking,” Niall went on, “and I flew to her, thinking she would give me back my own shape. Instead she struck me with the rod and made me an old white horse, and she had me put to a cart with a man, hauling stones from morning to night. I was worse off than ever. She spread the word that I had died suddenly in my bed, got a coffin, held a wake and buried me, and after that she had no trouble. But when I grew tired of the work I began to attack everyone who came near me. Every night I went into the womangard and wrecked the stacks of corn, and if a man came near me in the morning, I chased him till I broke his bones. Everyone grew afraid of me.

“When she saw the harm I was doing, she came to me, and I thought she would change me back. She did change me, but into a fox. When I saw that she meant me nothing but harm, I left her. I knew of a badger’s hole in the garden, and I hid there till night and then made a great slaughter of the geese and ducks. There she is herself to say whether I’m lying.”

“You’re telling nothing but the truth,” said she, “only less than the truth.”

“When she had had enough of my killing her fowl,” said Niall, “she came out to the garden, for she knew where I was hiding, and she made a wolf of me. I had to escape to an island where no one would see me, and now and then I killed a sheep, though there were not many of them, and I was afraid of being seen and hunted. So I spent a year, until a shepherd spotted me among the sheep and they came after me. When the dogs were close, I had nowhere to run, but I saw the king’s sign among the men, and I made for him. The king called off the hounds. I leaped up onto the front of his saddle, and a woman behind cried out, ‘My king and lord, kill him, or he’ll kill you!’ ‘Oh, he won’t kill me,’ said the king. ‘He knew me. He must be spared.’

“The king took me home and ordered that I should be well looked after. I was so wise that when food was brought I would not eat a bite until I had a knife and fork. The servant told the king, and the king came to see for himself. I was given a knife and fork, and I took the knife in one paw and the fork in the other and bowed to the king. The king called for drink, filled a glass of wine and gave it to me, and I took it in my paw, drank it and thanked him. ‘On my honour,’ said he, ‘some king or other has lost this creature on the island, and I’ll keep him, since he’s so well trained. Maybe he’ll be of use to us yet.’

“Now this king had no child living. Eight sons and three daughters had been born to him, and every one of them had been stolen on the very night of its birth. No matter what guard was set, the baby was gone in the morning. A twelfth child was born to the queen, and the king took me to watch over it. The women did not like that. ‘What was all your watching ever worth?’ said the king. ‘Not one child born to me have I kept. I’ll leave this one in the dog’s care, and he won’t let it go.’

“A chain was fastened between me and the cradle, and when everyone went to sleep I kept watch until the day nurse woke. I had been there only two nights when, near daybreak, I saw a hand coming down the chimney. It was so big that it closed round the whole child and began to lift him away. I seized the hand above the wrist, and since I was chained to the cradle, I did not let go until I had bitten the hand off at the wrist, and there was a howl from whoever was outside. I laid the hand in the cradle beside the child, and being tired, I fell asleep. When I woke, both the child and the hand were gone.

“I began to howl, and the king heard me and sent servants to see what was wrong. The messenger found me covered in blood and no child, and he told the king. The king came and saw the cradle stained with blood and cried out, ‘Where is the child?’ Everyone said the dog had eaten him. ‘He has not,’ said the king. ‘Let him loose, and he will follow the trail himself.’

“When I was loosed, I followed the scent of the blood to the door of a room where the child was. I ran back to the king, took hold of him, then went back and began to tear at the door. The king followed and asked for the key, and a servant said it was in the stranger woman’s room. The king had the woman sought, but she could not be found. ‘I’ll break the door,’ said the king, ‘since I can’t get the key.’ He broke it, and I went in to a trunk, and the king asked for its key. There was none, so he broke the lock. When he opened the trunk, there lay the child and the hand side by side, and the child was asleep. The king took the hand and called a woman to take the child, and he showed the hand to everyone in the house. But the stranger woman was gone, and she never faced the king. And here she is herself to say if I tell lies about her.”

“It’s nothing but the truth you have!”

“The king would not let me be tied any more,” said Niall. “He said the greatest wonder of all was that I had bitten off the hand while I was chained. The child grew until he was a year old and began to walk, and no one cared for him more than I did. When he was three he was running out every minute, so the king had a silver chain put between me and the child to keep him from wandering. We were out in the garden together every day, and the king was as proud as the world of the boy and watched him wherever we went. But the child grew so clever that he would undo the chain and slip away. One day he loosed it and I could not find him. I ran into the house and hunted through it, but he was nowhere. The king ordered everyone out to search for the child that had got away from the dog. They searched but did not find him.

“When they gave up at last, the king had no more liking for me. Everyone turned against me, and I grew weak, for half the time I did not get a morsel to eat. When summer came, I made up my mind to try for my own country. One fine morning I set off, swam, and with God’s help reached home. I went into the garden, for I knew of a hiding place there, and I was afraid my wife would see me.

“In the morning I saw her out walking with a child held by the hand. I pushed forward to see the child, and as he looked all about him he spotted me and called out, ‘I see my shaggy papa! Oh, my heart’s love, my shaggy papa, come here till I see you!’ I was afraid the woman would see me, for she was asking the child where I was, and he told her I was up in a tree. The more he called, the deeper I hid. She took him home, but I knew he would be up early.

“I went to the parlour window, and the child was inside playing. When he saw me he cried, ‘Oh, my heart’s love, come here till I see you, shaggy papa!’ I broke the window and went in, and he began to kiss me. I saw the rod in front of the chimney, so I jumped up and knocked it down. ‘Oh, my heart’s love,’ said he, ‘no one would ever give me the pretty rod.’ I hoped he would hit me with it, but he did not. Time was short, so I lifted my paw and scratched him below the knee. ‘Oh, you naughty, dirty, shaggy papa, you’ve hurt me so! I’ll give you a blow of the rod.’ He struck me lightly, and I came into my own shape.

“When he saw a man standing there, he cried out, and I took him up in my arms. The servants heard him, and a maid came in to see what was wrong. When she saw me she shrieked, ‘Oh, if the master isn’t come to life!’ Another came and said it was really I. When the mistress heard, she came to see with her own eyes, for she would not believe it, and when she saw me she said she would drown herself. But I said to her, ‘If you keep the secret yourself, no living man will ever get the story from me until I lose my head.’ Here she is herself to say if I’m telling the truth.”

“It’s nothing but truth you’re telling.”

“Now that I was a man,” said Niall, “I decided to take the child to his father and mother, for I knew how they were grieving for him. I got a ship and took the child with me, and on the way I landed on an island where I saw no living soul, only a dark and gloomy castle. I went in to see who might be there. There was no one but an elderly woman, and she asked, ‘What sort of person are you?’ I heard someone groaning in another room, so I said I was a doctor and asked what ailed the one who groaned. ‘It is my son,’ she said. ‘His hand was bitten off at the wrist by a dog.’

“Then I knew it was he who had taken the child from me. I said I would cure him for a good reward. ‘I have nothing,’ said she, ‘but there are eight young lads and three young women here, as handsome as any eyes ever saw, and if you cure him you shall have them.’ ‘Tell me first where his hand was cut off.’ ‘Oh, it was in another country, twelve years ago.’ ‘Show me the way, so that I can see him.’

“She took me into a room, and there he was, with his arm swollen up to the shoulder. He asked if I would cure him, and I said I would if he gave me the reward his mother had promised. ‘I’ll give it,’ said he, ‘only cure me.’ ‘Well, bring them out to me,’ said I, and the woman brought them out of a room.

“I said I would have to burn the flesh of his arm. He was howling with pain, and I promised not to leave him in pain for long. The wretch had only one eye, in the middle of his forehead. I prepared to attack him while pretending to treat him, and I said to the woman, ‘He’ll howl at first, but soon he’ll fall asleep, and don’t wake him till he has slept as long as he wants. I’ll shut the door as I go out.’ I attacked the giant through his single eye, fatally wounding him. He bellowed and grabbed at me, but I was out and away with the door shut behind me.

“‘Why is he bellowing?’ asked the woman. ‘Oh, he’ll be quiet in a moment and sleep a good while, and I’ll come back to look at him. But bring me out the young men and women.’ I took them with me and said to her, ‘Tell me where you got them.’ ‘My son brought them home with him,’ she said, ‘and they are all children of one king.’

“I was well pleased, and I had no wish to wait about and risk the woman, so I took them on board along with the child I had nursed myself. I thought the king might let me keep that one. When I came to land with all those young people, the king and queen were out walking, and both of them were very old. When I came up to speak to them, with the twelve beside me, they began to weep. ‘Why are you crying?’ I asked. ‘With good reason,’ said the king. ‘I should have as many children as these, and here I am, withered and grey at the end of my life, and I have not one.’

“I told him everything I had gone through, and I put the child into his arms and said, ‘And these are your other children who were stolen from you. I give them to you safe and sound. They have been gently reared.’ When the king heard who they were, he smothered them with kisses and drowned them with tears and dried them with fine silk cloths and with the hair of his own head, and so did their mother. Great was his welcome for me, since it was I who had found them all. ‘I will give you the last child,’ said the king, ‘for you have earned him best. But you must come to my court every year with the boy, and I will share my wealth with you.’ ‘I have enough of my own,’ said I, ‘and when I die I will leave it to the child.’ I stayed till my visit was over and told the king all my troubles, only I said nothing about my wife. And now you have the story.”

Then Niall told him what to do next. “When you get home, and the Slender Red Champion asks you for news of the death of Anshgayliacht and for the sword of light, tell him how his brother was killed and say that you have the sword. He will ask you for it. Then say to him, ‘If I promised to bring it to you, I did not promise to bring it for you,’ and throw the sword up into the air, and it will come back to me.”

Morraha went home and told the Slender Red Champion the story of the death of Anshgayliacht. “And here,” said he, “is the sword.” The Slender Red Champion asked him for it, but Morraha answered, “If I promised to bring it to you, I did not promise to bring it for you,” and he threw it into the air, and it flew off to Blue Niall.

About this story

Jacobs took “Morraha” from W. Larminie’s West Irish Folk-tales. The outer story, about the card games and the sword of light, was collected from P. McGrale of Achill Island, County Mayo; the story Niall tells inside it came from Terence Davis of Rendyle, County Galway. Jacobs admits that the opening is muddled about whether Niall’s mother or his wife taught him the birds’ language.

Jacobs notes that the trick at the end, keeping a promise to bring the sword without handing it over, seems to have been a favourite in Achill tales and turns up in two more of Larminie’s stories. For the framework, a hero winning what he needs by hearing or telling a story, he points to his note on “Conal Yellowclaw,” where he suggests the plan came from the East.

Read the original: Joseph Jacobs, More Celtic Fairy Tales (Project Gutenberg #34453, Morraha)

For older readers: a magical debt, animals killed, abusive transformations, child abduction, a severed hand, a suicide threat and a fatal attack disguised as healing. The story contains serious harm as well as verbal tricks.

Reading the story closely

Niall’s account changes the meaning of the frame story. At first he looks like the violent keeper of a treasure; after he speaks, we learn that he has also been a captive and a protector of stolen children. His wife, who helps Morraha obtain the story, confirms her own role in Niall’s suffering. Make a timeline of her actions rather than assigning her one fixed label such as helper or enemy. The tale reports both roles without explaining a change of heart.

The wolf episode repeatedly separates appearances from evidence. Blood at an empty cradle suggests guilt to the household, but the king permits a search that finds the living child and severed hand. Later, when the older child disappears, that trust collapses and Niall is neglected. Compare the two responses to a missing child. At the end, precise wording protects Morraha from surrendering the sword, while Niall’s testimony supplies the other half of the demand: the giant he killed is identified as Anshgayliacht, the Red Champion’s brother.

Questions to ask

• Why did Morraha’s wife tell him not to play cards on the fourth day?
• Name the different animals Niall was turned into. How did he get his own shape back?
• How did Morraha keep his promise to the Red Champion without giving up the sword?

Related stories

• Conal Yellowclaw — Jacobs links the two tales: a hero tells a story to win freedom
• The Black Horse — another Irish tale with a wise and magical horse
• The Russet Dog — a Gaelic tale of a man changed into an animal