This is my second round for this re-telling. Some of this is based on source material. Some of this is goddess-inspired. I get the feeling there is a bit more to the story but I will wait until she shows me before re-writing this a third time. In the meantime, enjoy the tale and may it inspire you this Lúgnasad (one ‘s’ please) season.
Tailtiu ~ The Heart of Ireland
O peoples of the land of Eire, sit awhile for a blessing, relax as I tell you a legend of Ireland! The story of Tailtiu, daughter of Magmor, wife of Eochaid mac Eirc and foster mother of Lúg Lámhfada. This is the tale of her love for the people and the sacrifice she made for them.
In the days before the Tuatha Dé Danaan came to the shores of Ireland, a race known as the Fir Bolg ruled the land. They were the fourth wave of inhabitants, descendants of the Muintir Nemid who had abandoned Eire and pursued settlements in distant places. These Fir Bolg, upon returning to their homeland, had divided Ireland into five provinces —one for each Chieftain— and ruled peacefully for more than 300 years. Eochaid, destined to become the last High King of the Fir Bolgs and also known as the most perfect of kings, took to wife the beautiful Tailtiu – daughter of Magmor the ruler of the underworld which the people called Spain. She had brought a great dowry to her husband and the halls of their court were filled with laughter and joy. White-sided Tailtiu was loved by the people for her beauty, wisdom and fairness. A skilled healer, huntress and gardener, many sought remedies and advice from her for all living things.
It came to pass that Tailtiu began to be troubled by dreams of a strange people. Tall, warrior-like, they laid waste to the land she treasured. She had seen new halls and richly decorated tables, though none she recognized. Outside the halls the ground was brown, as in winter, though the sun shone bright with summer’s heat. Her attention would be drawn from the brightness of the sun to a light that out-shone its rays lying quietly on the ground before she would wake with tears upon her cheeks. Unable to sleep with these images in her head, she sought out the advice of her husband’s Druid, Fintan the Wise. He was rumored to have been living in Ireland since before the Flood, and had taken the form of a salmon, an eagle, a hawk and finally a human again before coming to Eochaid’s court. Finding him within the gardens, Tailtiu approached the sage and begged an audience. He listened attentively as Tailtiu described her strange, nightly visions and after she had finished he took a moment to read the dreams and consult the omens. Sighing deeply he spoke,
‘Your dreams, my queen, are prophetic. There will be a great war and many will die. These invaders you have seen will sweep across the land and make it their own. They will demand tribute and when none is given they will then demand blood. You will lose many that you love but through your acts of kindness you will find a place within their halls. There you will guide and teach one whom will bring great prosperity to your kingdom, a child not of your loins but of your heart. During those early years a great famine will cover the land. What war did not destroy, the famine will. You must make a choice at that time. Life or Death.’
Devastated by this news Tailtiu pleaded, ‘Who’s Life, who’s Death? I don’t understand. Must so many suffer? Is there no way to stave off these invaders and preserve our peace?’
‘No, they will come. It is written in the visions you have been given and the omens agree. Share your wisdom, do not withhold it and the people will survive. Fail to share that which you know and they will surely die.’ With that, Fintan left her to her thoughts. He had never in all his years been prone to many words.
Three years passed, and Tailtiu had begun to think that perhaps her visions were wrong. Though they now occurred nightly and with more intensity, there were no other signs that Fintan’s words rang true. After the tenth year of Eochaid’s reign has begun a rider came swiftly into the courtyard one afternoon and ran over to the King. He was clearly distressed and spoke in quick, hushed tones. After a few moments of consultation, the King quickly called for his guard and ordered that the hall prepare for battle. Tailtiu sensed that this was the battle which Fintan had spoken of and in despair ran to her room to prepare for the outcome she knew was to occur. She began weeping for the end of the world she knew had come and so many lives were about to be lost. She knew it was they, the invaders, those who were the Tuatha Dé Danann come to Ireland from the northern lands. In this manner they came, sweeping across the provinces like dark clouds. They landed on the mountains of Conmaicne Rein in Connachta; and to show their power they brought darkness over the sun for three days and three nights. Tribute of kingship was demanded from the people of the Fir Bolg. When it was denied, the first battle of Magh Tuiredh was fought between them, the invaders and the Fir Bolg, in which a hundred thousand fell. Eochaid was killed by the Morrigan on the strand at Beltra Co Sligo in his search for water to quench his thirst. At the end of those bitter days, the Tuatha Dé Danann were the clear victors. Thereafter the kingship of Ireland passed from Eochaid and the Fir Bolgs to the Tuath Dé, the fifth wave.
Tailtiu, now a widow and hostage of the Tuath Dé, quickly became a part of the new household. Recognizing that the people held her in such high esteem, the new king, Bres, realized that to put order to the land quickly, keeping Tailtiu in a position of honor was warranted. The seizing of a kingdom is never easy, however, and after the battles had been won the Tuath saw the damage done to the land and its people. Though their keeps were well stocked and beautifully adorned, famine spread and disease prevailed outside the walls. Tailtiu saw the hardships of the people and began to dedicate all of her arts and skills to helping those in need. When Cian Mac Diancecht, king of Mag Tuired, saw the kindness and hard work that Tailtiu willingly gave to the people, asking nothing in return, his gaze softened towards her. He entrusted his son, Lúg Lámhfada, into her care for fosterage. Tailtiu shared all of her knowledge with the young boy and loved him fiercely as if he were her own. That same love and devotion the young boy returned just as vehemently. One look had shown Tailtiu that this was the one that Fintan had spoken of from her visions. Though her womb had never quickened with Eochaid this child had all of the love that Tailtiu could give as a mother.
The years passed but the famine did not lift from the land. More and more people died of starvation and pestilence despite all she did to help. Her heart breaking for her people, Tailtiu cried out to the goddess of the Tuath Dé, Danu, The Mother. Begging for guidance her tears fell to the earth as she cried out her anguish. Danu turned her gaze upon the beauty of Tailtiu and touched by her tears spoke:
‘Tailtiu, why do you weep so?’
‘The people are starving and the land is dry as bone. I have used all my skills and yet there is no end to the suffering. What must I do?’ Tailtiu cried.
Patiently Danu replied, ‘Once many years ago you were given dreams. Do you not yet realize that this time has long been known? Even your Druid recognized that which was told you. You have always had the answer, my dear. Life or Death. The decision is yours, now choose.’
Tailtiu was left to her own counsel in order to contemplate the goddess’ words.
For many hours Tailtiu thought upon her dreams and the words of both Danu and Fintan. It was then that Tailtiu knew what her choice was, Life or Death. With renewed purpose she quickly went to the stables for the required supplies. Now that she understood her role there would be no hesitation. Her people needed her. Taking up the axe she walked beyond the walls and began to cut down all the brush and trees for as far as the people could see. Her work was fast and sure and she used all her skills in magic to aid her. The people watched in awe for she would allow none to lend her aid for this task was hers alone. Once finished with the clearing, she quickly went back to the stables and pulled the largest plow within the stalls out to the newly cleared fields. She spoke an incantation over it and then hooked the harness onto her back. Slowly she began to pull. The work was hard, painful and at first did not seem to accomplish anything. Rocks and roots constantly caused her to stumble and fall. She pulled harder, reciting every chant, every incantation, and every healing word she knew. Each step forward became surer and more stable as she pulled. Row after row she ploughed with only her own strength of heart to guide her. She had begun this labor at morning’s first light and she did not relent even after the sun had set beyond the western waves. Nothing and no one could entice her away from what she now believed her sacred duty. Throughout the night she continued, sweat pouring from her heated brow, her chest rising and falling with her exertions all the while maintaining her chants. With the rising of the sun, the people returned to the site and were amazed at what they saw, a huge field tilled and ready for planting as far as the eyes could see in every direction. In the middle of the field sat Tailtiu, tired and hurting but shining with a radiance that rivaled the sun itself.
Tailtiu collapsed upon the field exhausted after her long ordeal. Long was her sorrow, long the weariness of Tailtiu, in sickness after heavy toil. The people of the island of Erie, as well as her foster son Lúg, ran to her side only to receive her last behest. Lúg held her in his arms, his own tears mingling with hers, mourning the mother he loved so dearly and begged of her the knowledge to save her life. Smiling, she told him that they should hold games to honor her each harvest year. She told him that her death was for the life of the land and the people, of whom she loved so deeply, and thus she would give her all to it gladly. She spoke words of prosperity and abundance to the ground and sighed deeply while laying her hands upon it. Quickly, clover began to grow across the entire plain until it was covered. As her last act Tailtiu uttered to all present a true prophecy for the land, that so long as every prince should accept her, Erie should not be without perfect song. In that moment, after her toils of the nights, her heart burst from the strain beneath her royal vest and she died.
Lúg did indeed honor his foster mother’s request and held the first Áenach Tailteann at Telltown, the capital city that King Eochaid had once named in her honor so long ago.
Tailtiu has been remembered every Lúgnasad since with a harvest festival and funeral games of strength, skill, and endurance in her honor. With gessa and feats of arms were they performed, a fortnight before Lúgnasad and a fortnight after. A peace was declared during this time for all within those shores. We continue this tradition today with our observances of the first harvest and the playing of games to honor Tailtiu, the Heart of Ireland.