Like many sacred places, Emain Macha is surrounded by a wall and a ditch.
I walked in the ditch (deosil), but honestly, you can’t really see what it looked like, and definitely can’t tell what it is, or why it's here separating this hill from the rest of Ulster, without magic words, like the words of this story.
The Story of Emain Macha
There once was a hard working farmer, Crunnchu. Although he had lands and cattle and children, his household was chaotic and his bed was cold after the death of his beloved wife.
One day a woman appeared in the yard outside his door. He knew she was of the Otherworld, for she spoke no word, and when she entered his house, she turned deosil, that is to say she turned in the proper direction. And so she set his household right, and she warmed his bed.
They lived well together, and indeed Crunnchu prospered. His cattle and horse herds doubled, and his fields grew great heaps of oats and barley. His children grew strong and were never sick.
Eventually it came time for the fair, the annual gathering at the house of King Conchobar. Amid the revelry, it was at the fair when every householder declared his wealth. Thereby each man would be ranked among his neighbors, and the king would know his tax.
But this year, the time of this fair was also near the time when the mysterious woman would deliver her child. Before Crunnchu left, she reminded him to tell no one of their arrangement. Once again, he promised he would say nothing.
And Crunnchu kept his promise. He truthfully declared his lands, his herds, his yields. When the other men asked the source of his increased wealth, he gave them a thousand reasons. He told them he could spread manure better than nine men, that he worked a day before the sun rose, and a third day after it set, he said he owned a cow that always gave twins. He poured out boasts in a torrent of ridiculous lies. The other farmers laughed and called him a lucky bastard.
But one man did not chuckle along with Crunnchu’s stories, and that was King Conchobar. The King recognized Crunnchu increased wealth might be from the same source as his own. In those days sovereignty flowed from the blessing of the land, of Macha, not by a son’s inheritance. A king who lost his favor could be thrown into a bog.
When all the farmers had told their wealth and received their ranking, King Conchobar took his turn, and counted out his wealth in cattle, fields, and children. He even had acquired an tiny hairy man with a tail from far off Spain. He was clearly the richest man in the kingdom and enjoyed Macha’s favor.
And then he brought out his horses. The finest horses ever seen in Ulster, high spirited, black and shining like jet, their eyes flashing with intelligence, their great lungs snorting, tails held high. They looked like they could outrun the winds of winter.
Clearly this king ranked above all men. Though King Conchobar had nothing to fear, he had seen the turn of Crunnchu’s luck, and feared it.
“Does any man have horses that could beat mine?” King Conchobar bellowed. “If any man has horses better than these, declare it now, on pain of death.”
At these gatherings, people declared their wealth on their honor, never under threat. This demand made the people uneasy. The crowd fell silent. It was a wicked demand, far outside the bounds of kingship.
That day Crunnchu and his neighbors had had the craic, and the King had spoiled it. Crunnchu knew he had to speak the truth to preserve his honor, but he would tell it in a joke, as truths often are.
“Horses? My wife could race those horses, and beat them by a furlong.”
So Crunnchu spoke the truth, but a truth so outrageous it would be forgotten in laughter and so he would keep his sacred promise and also obey his king.
The Ulstermen laughed. A final silly boast that topped them all.
But the face of the king drew dark and twisted by envy. He demanded Crunnchu fetch his wife and race his horses.
When Crunnchu’s mysterious wife heard the King’s imprudent demand, she returned to the fair to save the life of her husband.
At the foot of the mountain, along the valley, the people gathered to watch the king’s horses race a woman heavy in her pregnancy. The king’s closest advisors said that to force such a contest was poor judgement, a violation of justice and rectitude. But the king in his reckless envy closed his ears to all wisdom.
The woman raced the king’s horses, faster than any horse alive, and when she reached the end of the green, Macha declared herself and everyone saw the mysterious woman for who she was. For Macha is the sun-drenched wide pasture whereon horses are born. Macha is both the land and the blessing upon it.
Macha strode to the hill claimed by the king and there Macha began her labor. As she labored, she reminded King Conchobar the curse of a laboring woman cannot be contested.
“As you have treated me, men of Ulster, so shall you suffer. From this day to the end of time, when Men of Ulster require vitality, they shall be as weak as I am now, a woman in labor.”
And after laying her curse, Macha birthed twins. Their names were Truth and Generosity. There they died, and there they were buried. And that is why the hill is called Emain Macha, the Twins of Macha.
You can hear Chris Thompson’s version of the story in an episode of the Story Archeology podcast, and so much more as these two amazing and entertaining scholars uncover layers of evidence and meanings.
Chris Thompson and Isolde Carmody said in their remarks that perhaps people told the story to explain a time of hardship, when the pastures were not as full of swift running horses as in earlier times, when people looked back on a remembered prosperity and told a story that explained why their land had lost its vitality. It seems to teach a wisdom about a right relationship to the land and if ill-used, the land herself will withdraw her blessings.
This is the second of four posts: Emain Macha, the Myth of Emain Macha, Armagh Cathedrals, and Armagh Monuments.
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