The Enchanted Cave

Long, long ago Prince Cuglas, master of the hounds to the High King of Ireland, rode out from Tara to hunt. As he left the palace, the morning mists were drifting off the hilltops and the sun was slanting onto the sunny bower of the Princess Ailinn. Cuglas swept off his plumed and jewelled hunting cap, and the princess waved her little hand, as white as a wild rose in June, and leaned out to watch him until his plumes vanished among the green branches of the woods.

The Princess Ailinn was head over heels in love with Cuglas, and Cuglas was head over heels in love with her, and he believed no summer morning was ever half so bright or sweet as she. That glimpse of her filled him with such delight that he almost forgot about hunting, until the musical cries of the hounds rang out, echoed from a hundred groves. The dogs had started a dappled deer, and it bounded away through the forest.

Cuglas spurred his horse after it. The deer raced through soft green paths and flowery hollows, out of the forest, up heathery hills, across long stretches of moorland and brown rushing streams, sometimes in sight of the hounds, sometimes lost, but always ahead. The chase went on all day, and at sunset the dogs were close on the panting deer and the prince was sure of his prize, when the deer vanished into the mouth of a cave. The hounds followed it in. Cuglas tried to rein in his horse, but the eager animal carried him on, clattering over the stony floor in total darkness.

Ahead he heard the hounds’ cries growing fainter until they stopped altogether, and the only sound was his horse’s hoofs echoing in the hollow cave. He tried to pull up, but the reins snapped in his hands, and in that instant he felt the horse plunge into a chasm and sink down and down, like a stone dropped from a cliff into the sea. At last it struck ground so hard that he was nearly thrown, but he kept his seat, and the horse galloped on through the dark until it burst into light so bright that for a while the prince could not bear it.

When his eyes grew used to the brightness, he saw that he was galloping across a grassy plain, and far off the hounds were racing towards a wood that showed faintly through a shining summer haze. As he neared the wood, a handsome champion came towards him in a gleaming brown cloak fastened with a bright bronze brooch, carrying a white hazel wand in one hand and in the other a single-edged sword whose hilt was carved from a walrus tooth. By his dress and wand and sword, Cuglas knew he was a royal herald. As the herald came up, the prince’s horse stopped of its own accord.

“Welcome, Cuglas,” said the herald. “I have been sent by the Princess Crede to greet you and lead you to her court, where you have long been expected.”

“I don’t understand how that can be.”

“I’ll explain as we go. The Princess Crede is Queen of the Floating Island. One day, when she was visiting her fairy kinsfolk who live in one of the pleasant hills near Tara, she saw you hunting with the High King and the princes and nobles of Ireland, and her heart went out to you. Wanting to bring you to her court, she sent one of her nymphs in the shape of a deer to lure you through the cave, which is the entrance to this land.”

“I am deeply honoured,” said Cuglas, “but I cannot stay at her court. In Ireland there is the Lady Ailinn, the loveliest lady in the royal palace, and before the princes and chiefs of Ireland she has promised to be my bride.”

“Of that I know nothing,” said the herald, “but I know that a true champion like you cannot refuse to come with me to the court of the Princess Crede.”

They entered the wood on a mossy path that grew wider until it was as broad as one of the great roads of Ireland. Soon the prince heard silver bells tinkling and saw a troop of warriors on coal-black horses coming towards him, in shining silver helmets and blue silk cloaks, with silver crescents hung with tiny bells on their horses’ breasts. As he came near, they lowered their spears, parted into two lines to let him and the herald through, and closed up behind him.

Beyond the wood, on a green plain speckled with flowers, came a hundred champions on snow-white horses with golden crescents and golden bells on their breasts. They wore golden helmets and golden sandals, their spear shafts were gold, and yellow silk mantles hung from their shoulders. They lowered their lances to the prince and turned to ride in front of him. Soon, above the jingle of bells, came the sound of music, and a band of harpers in green and gold saluted the prince and marched ahead of the procession, playing.

They came to a stream that wound like a blue ribbon round a green hill crowned by a sparkling palace. A golden bridge crossed the stream, so narrow that the riders had to go two by two. The herald asked Cuglas to wait while all the champions went first, and they climbed the hill with sunlight flashing on helmets and spears and drew up round the palace walls. When at last the prince and herald crossed the bridge and began to climb, Cuglas felt the ground moving under him. He looked back, and the golden bridge was gone, and the blue stream had already widened into a great river and was growing wider every second.

“You are on the Floating Island now,” said the herald, “and before you is the palace of the Princess Crede.”

At that moment the queen came out of the palace door, and the prince was so dazzled by her beauty that he might almost have forgotten Princess Ailinn, but for the golden bracelet he wore on his right arm under the sleeve of his silk tunic. This bracelet had been made by the dwarfs who live in the heart of the Scandinavian mountains, and the King of Scandinavia had sent it with other rich gifts to the King of Ireland, who gave it to the princess. Its power was this: whoever wore it could not forget the person who gave it, and no art or spell could loosen it from the arm, but if the wearer liked anyone better than the giver, even for a single moment, it would fall off at once and could never be fastened on that arm a second time. When the princess promised to marry Cuglas, she closed the bracelet on his arm. The fairy queen knew nothing of it, and she hoped that after a little while on the Floating Island the prince would forget all about Ailinn.

“Welcome, Cuglas,” said the queen, holding out her hand. He thanked her, and they went into the palace together. “You must be weary after your long journey,” she said. “My page will take you to your rooms, where a bath of cool blue lake water is ready, and then the pages will bring you to the banquet hall, where the feast is laid.”

At the feast he sat beside the queen, and she told him of all the pleasures waiting for him in fairyland, where there is no pain or sickness or sorrow or old age, and every rosy hour is brighter than the last. When the feast was over she opened the dance with him, and the moon was high above the Floating Island before he went to bed. He slept soundly. In the morning he heard bells jingling and hounds baying outside, and his heart stirred at memories of the happy days he had led the hunt across the plains and woods of Tara. From the window he saw the fairy champions mounted for the chase with the queen at their head, and the pages came to ask whether he would join them. He found his horse ready saddled, and they spent the day hunting in the forest behind the palace and the night feasting and dancing.

The next morning the queen led him down to the lake with all her courtiers. At the water’s edge she waved her wand, and a thousand boats shining like glass shot up from under the lake and laid their bows against the bank. The queen and Cuglas stepped into one, with two fairy harpers in the prow, and the other boats filled with fairies. At a second wave of the wand, a purple silk awning rose over the royal boat and awnings of every colour over the others, and the fleet moved off. At the third wave, a harper in every boat struck his golden harp, and they glided over the sunlit lake to the sound of lovely music.

They sailed up a gentle river between wooded banks, close under the drooping trees, until at a bend where the lake was out of sight they ran their prows against the bank and went ashore. They walked under the trees to a mossy glade, and the queen waved her wand, and silk couches appeared beneath the trees. She and Cuglas sat on one apart, with the courtiers in their proper places. At another wave, a wind shook the branches and the most delicious fruit ever tasted fell into their hands. After the feast there was dancing in the glades to the harps, and when they were tired of dancing, they sailed home under the rising moon.

So the days went by in hunting, sailing and dancing, but all the time the prince was thinking of Princess Ailinn. One moonlit night, as he lay awake thinking of her, a shadow fell across the floor. On the window sill outside sat a little woman tapping the pane with a golden bodkin. He jumped up and opened the window, and she floated in on the moonbeams and sat down on the floor.

“You are thinking of the Princess Ailinn,” said the little woman.

“I never think of anyone else.”

“I know that, and it is because of your love for each other, and because her mother was a friend to me in days gone by, that I have come to help you. But there is little time for talk. A boat is waiting for you at the bank below. Step into it, and it will carry you to the mainland, where you will find a path to the green fields of Ireland and the plains of Tara. I know you will have to face danger, though I don’t know what kind. Whatever it is, do not draw your sword before you set foot on the mainland, for if you do, you will not reach it, and the boat will carry you back to the Floating Island. Now go, and good luck go with you.” And she climbed up the moonbeams and was gone.

The prince went down to the lake and found a glistening boat. He stepped in, and it carried him on and on under the moon until he could see the mainland and a winding path leading up from the shore. His heart leaped, but suddenly the milk-white moonlight died. The moon turned fiery red, the silver lake turned the colour of blood, and a wind rose and tossed the little boat from side to side. Then with an unearthly noise a bristling monster rose beside the boat, lifted its claws out of the water and drove one into the prince’s left arm, deep into the flesh. Maddened by the pain, Cuglas drew his sword and chopped off the claw. The monster sank, the water changed colour, and silver moonlight shone down, but the boat no longer went towards the mainland. It sped back to the Floating Island, and from the island came a fleet of fairy boats to meet it, led by the queen’s own. The queen greeted the prince as if she knew nothing of his attempt to escape, and to the music of harps they sailed back to the palace.

The next night, as he lay thinking of Ailinn, the shadow fell on the floor and the tapping came at the window, and the little woman slipped in. “You failed last night,” she said, “but I have come to give you another chance. Tomorrow the queen must visit her fairy kinsfolk in the green hill near the plain of Tara. She cannot take you, for if your feet touched the green grass of Ireland, she could never bring you here. As soon as she is gone, go to the banquet hall and look behind the throne. There you will find a small trapdoor in the floor. Lift it and go down the steps. I cannot tell where they lead or what dangers you will meet, but this I know: if you accept anything at all from anyone you meet on the way, you shall not set foot on the soil of Ireland.” And she floated out through the window.

As soon as the queen had left the next morning, the prince hurried to the banquet hall, found the trapdoor and went down the steps, and found himself in a gloomy, lonely valley. Jagged mountains as black as night rose on both sides, and huge rocks seemed ready to topple on him at every step. A watery moon gave a faint, fitful light through broken clouds driven by a moaning wind. Cuglas pushed boldly on until a bank of cloud blotted out the moon and covered the valley like a pall, and he was in utter darkness. At the same moment the wind died, and every sound died with it.

The darkness and the deathly silence chilled him to the heart. He held his hand up to his eyes and could not see it. He shouted, and could not hear his own voice. He stamped on the rocky ground and rattled his sword in its bronze scabbard, but no sound came. His heart grew colder and colder, until suddenly the cloud split in a dozen places, lightning flashed through the valley and thunder rolled over the mountains. In the lurid glare he saw a hundred ghostly figures sweeping towards him, shrieking so terribly that the deathly silence would have been easier to bear. He turned to flee, but they surrounded him and pressed their clammy hands against his face. With a yell of horror he drew his sword and slashed about him, and at once the figures vanished, the thunder stopped, the cloud passed, and the sun shone out as bright as on a summer day. Then Cuglas knew that they had been the wild people of the glen.

With fresh courage he went on through the valley, and after a few turns it brought him out onto a sandy desert. As soon as he set foot on it, he heard a crash louder than thunder behind him. The mountain walls he had just passed had fallen into the valley and filled it, so that he could not tell where it had been. The sun beat down fiercely, and the sand was almost as hot as burning cinders. As he crossed it, his body dried up and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and when his thirst was at its worst, a fountain of sparkling water sprang up a few paces ahead. But when he came close and stretched out his parched hands to cool them, it vanished. Choking with heat and thirst, he struggled on, and the fountain sprang up in front of him over and over, always just out of reach.

At last he came to the edge of the desert and saw a green hill with a path climbing it. But at the foot of the hill, sitting right in his way, was a beautiful fairy holding out a crystal cup brimming over with water as clear as crystal. He could not resist. He seized the cold, bright goblet and drank, and his thirst vanished, but so did the fairy, the green hill and the burning desert, and he was standing in the forest behind the fairy queen’s palace.

That evening the queen came home, and at the feast she talked as gaily as if she knew nothing of his escape, and the prince answered as cheerfully as he could, though his heart was sad, for if only he had dashed the crystal cup away, he would have been sitting beside Princess Ailinn in the royal hall of Tara. The feast seemed endless, but at last it was over. That night he kept his eyes on the window for hours, and when he had given up all hope, the tapping came, and the little woman came in.

“You failed today,” she said, “just when you were about to step onto the green hills of Ireland. I can give you only one more chance, and it will be your last. The queen goes hunting in the morning. Join the hunt, and when you are separated from the others in the wood, throw the reins on your horse’s neck, and he will take you to the edge of the lake. Throw this golden bodkin into the lake towards the mainland, and a golden bridge will stretch across, on which you can pass safely to the fields of Ireland. But take care not to draw your sword, for if you do, your horse will carry you back to the Floating Island, and here you must stay for ever.” She gave him the bodkin, said goodbye and was gone.

In the morning the queen, the prince and the whole court went hunting. A swift white deer started up, and the royal party chased it. The prince’s horse outran the rest, and when he was alone, he threw the reins on its neck, and soon he came to the edge of the lake. He threw the bodkin onto the water, and a golden bridge stretched across to the mainland, and his horse galloped onto it. When he was more than halfway over, he saw a champion riding towards him in a silver helmet, with a silver shield on his left arm and a gleaming sword in his right hand. As he came nearer, he struck his shield with his sword and challenged the prince to fight.

At that warlike sound the prince’s sword nearly leaped from its scabbard of its own accord, and like a true knight of Tara he charged his enemy, swung his sword above his head and with one blow split the silver helmet, and the strange warrior reeled from his horse and fell on the golden bridge. Content with that, the prince spurred on to pass the fallen champion, but his horse would not move, and the bridge broke in two almost at its feet. The half between him and the mainland sank into the lake, taking the champion and his horse with it. Before the prince could recover from his surprise, his own horse wheeled round and galloped back to the island and through the forest, and Cuglas could not pull him up until they reached the palace door.

All that night he watched the window, but no shadow fell and no tapping came, and he joined the hunt in the morning with a heavy heart. Day followed day, and he grew sadder and sadder and found no pleasure in the delights of fairyland. When everyone in the palace was asleep, he would roam through the forest thinking of Princess Ailinn and hoping against hope that the little woman would come, until at last he began to despair of ever seeing her.

One night he wandered as far as the edge of the lake, to the very spot where the golden bridge had stretched across, and as he gazed sadly at the water, a boat shot up and came swiftly to the bank, and in the stern sat the little woman.

“Ah, Cuglas, Cuglas,” she said, “I gave you three chances, and you failed in every one.”

“I should have borne the pain of the monster’s claw,” said Cuglas. “I should have borne the thirst in the desert and dashed the crystal cup from the fairy’s hand untasted. But I could never have faced the nobles and chiefs of Ireland if I had refused the challenge of the champion on the golden bridge.”

“And you would have been no true knight of Ireland, and not worthy of the dear girl who loves you, the bonny Princess Ailinn, if you had refused it,” said the little woman. “But for all that, you can never go home to the fair hills of Ireland. Still, cheer up, Cuglas. There are mossy paths and forest ways and snug bowers in fairyland. They seem lonely to you now, I know, but maybe,” and she laughed like a ripple on a summer stream, “maybe you won’t always think them so lonely.”

“You think I’ll forget Ailinn for the fairy queen,” said Cuglas, sighing.

“I think nothing of the kind.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“Oh, I mean what I mean. But I can’t stay here all night talking to you, and it’s in your bed you ought to be. Good night. I have nothing more to say, except that if you happen to be here a week from tonight at this very hour, when the moon is on the water, you may see… but never mind what you’ll see. I must be off.” And before he could say a word, the boat sped away and he was alone. He went back to the palace and fell asleep that night only to dream of Princess Ailinn.

As for the princess, she was pining away in the palace of Tara. The colour had gone from her cheeks, and her eyes, which once could have lit up the darkness like stars, had lost almost all their shine. The king’s doctors could do nothing for her, and at last they gave up hope, and the King and Queen of Ireland and the ladies of the court watched by her bed night and day, sadly waiting for her last hour. Then one day, when the sun was shining over the plain of Tara and its softened light was falling into the sickroom through the curtains, the watchers saw a sweet change come over her face. The bloom of love and youth came into her cheeks, and the old soft, tender light shone from her eyes, and they began to hope she would get well. Suddenly the room went dark, as if night had swept across the sky and blotted out the sun. They heard fairy music, and over the bed they saw a gleam of golden light, but only for a moment, and then the darkness was complete and the music stopped. As suddenly as it had come, the darkness lifted and the soft sunlight filled the room and fell on the bed, but the bed was empty. The watchers looked at one another and said in low voices, “The fairies have carried the Princess Ailinn away to fairyland.”

That very day the prince wandered alone in the forest, counting the hours until the moon rose. When it was shining full on the water, he went down to the edge of the lake and watched for the vision the little woman had promised. He could see nothing and was about to turn away when he heard faint fairy music. It came nearer and clearer, and far off, like drops of glistening water breaking the surface of the lake, he saw a fleet of fairy boats, and he thought it was the fairy queen sailing in the moonlight. So it was. Soon he could make out the royal boat leading the others, and as it came close to the bank, he saw the little woman in the prow between the little harpers, and in the stern the fairy queen, and beside her the lady of his heart, the Princess Ailinn.

In a second the boat was at the bank and the princess was in his arms, and he kissed her over and over. “And have you no kiss for me?” said the little woman, tapping his hand with her golden bodkin. “A kiss and a dozen!” said Cuglas, catching the little fairy up in his arms.

“Oh, fie, Cuglas,” said the queen.

“Oh, the princess isn’t one bit jealous,” said the little woman. “Are you, Ailinn?”

“Indeed I am not,” said Ailinn.

“Nor should you be,” said the fairy queen, “for no lady ever had a truer knight than Cuglas. I loved him, and I love him dearly. I lured him here hoping that in the delights of fairyland he would forget you. It was all in vain. Now I know there is one thing that no fairy power above or below the stars, or beneath the waters, can ever conquer, and that is love. Here together you and Cuglas shall live for ever, where old age will not touch you and pain, sorrow and sickness are unknown.”

So Cuglas did not go home to the fair hills of Ireland. Ages have passed since the morning he followed the hounds into that fateful cave, but his story was kept alive at the firesides, and in Leamy’s closing image, a herdboy minding cattle in the fields sometimes hears the musical cry of hounds and follows it to a dark cave. As he listens fearfully to the sound growing fainter and fainter, he hears hoofbeats clattering over the stony floor, and the cave still bears the name of the prince who rode into it and never came out.

Where this story comes from

“The Enchanted Cave” is one of the stories Edmund Leamy wrote for his Irish Fairy Tales, turning to Ireland’s Gaelic past for children. Leamy’s closing footnote gives the name Uaimh Belaigh Conglais, “the cave of the road of Cuglas,” and identifies it with Baltinglass in County Wicklow. This is the book’s explanation of its legendary setting.

The preface to the 1906 Dublin edition says Leamy wrote these tales some seventeen years earlier, before the Gaelic movement, when the books of O’Curry and Dr. Joyce were almost the only Gaelic sources open to a writer who was not a scholar.

Leamy’s notes quote O’Curry, who lists “The Cave of the Road of Cuglas” among the old tales named in the Book of Leinster. In O’Curry’s summary Cuglas was the son of Donn Desa, King of Leinster, and master of the hounds to the High King Conaire Mor; he followed the chase from Tara into a cave and was never seen after. O’Curry adds that the full tale has not come down to us; Leamy built his story on that bare outline.

Read the original: Edmund Leamy, Irish Fairy Tales (Project Gutenberg #29311, The Enchanted Cave)

Suggested for ages 9–12 with guidance for captivity, frightening apparitions, injury, extreme thirst and a violent duel. The lovers’ reunion does not return them to their home.

Three tests with conflicting demands

Cuglas draws his sword to escape a painful attack, drinks when dangerously thirsty, and accepts a challenge to satisfy the code of honour he has been taught. The last choice exposes a contradiction: the little woman says he could not be a worthy knight if he refused, although fighting destroys his chance of escape. These are incompatible storybook demands, not a practical lesson to endure injury, refuse water or accept a fight.

The queen eventually recognises his love for Ailinn, but she still decides where the couple will live. Ailinn’s joy at the reunion is clear; her agreement to leave Tara forever is not separately described. The ending therefore offers companionship without restoring the freedom taken at the beginning. The protective bracelet also complicates the queen’s claim that love alone defeats her magic: a magical gift has helped preserve Cuglas’s memory throughout.

Compare the three routes out

Draw three columns labelled rule, immediate pressure and result. Fill them with the claw, the cup and the champion. Which rule clashes with bodily need, and which clashes with the little woman’s own idea of honour? Then identify what the final reunion repairs and what it leaves unresolved.

Think about it

• Why did the fairy queen lure Cuglas to the Floating Island?
• What were the three chances the little woman gave Cuglas, and why did he fail each one?
• How did the story end for Cuglas and Princess Ailinn?

More stories like this

• Connla And The Fairy Maiden — another Irish prince drawn away to a fairy land
• Princess Finola and the Dwarf — another of Edmund Leamy’s Irish fairy tales
• How Cormac Mac Art went to Faery — an Irish king’s journey into the Otherworld