(The king asks:
Who among you
is the greatest warrior?
Sing me your praises,
one at a time,
and let us decide.
And one by one the liars rise
on the winds of delusion;
boasts clash like blades,
eyes spark like stone striking stone
then a youth rises quietly
and the racket of self-celebration
fades like dew in sunlight,
the hall becomes
as quiet as a hilltop,
and he speaks.)

I am Cu Chulainn,
the Hound of Culann.
Some of those who've spoken
know my name.  My deeds.

You hear their silence now.

I am Cu Chulainn,
wondrous even as a child,
when I slew the boy-corps.
One hundred and fifty of them -
gone.

I plucked their hundred and fifty spears
like feathers from a dead goose
out of the air, with one motion.
Then I slew fifty
with one toss of my spear,
lopped fifty heads off
with a stroke of my blade,
broke fifty necks
with a snap of my fingers.

Quicker than a candle's blowing out,
they were gone.

No man can challenge Cu Chulainn
and live to sing of it.
Certainly nobody here has.
Gentlemen?  Ah.

I can cut your head off,
and hand it to you,
and you would thank me.

The tallest tree you fell
I can replant,
plunging it back into earth
so hard it would spit forth fruit
at once!

I am Cu Chulainn,
fairest of heroes,
greatest of lovers.
Men envy the strength
and shape of my limbs,
the wealth of my hair,
the gems of my eyes.
My smile is a shower of pearls
that could blind an eagle -
or lead a virgin into
smiling back.
And bulls and stallions
flee in anger and awe.

And you men here?  Ah.
Is the answer in your goblets?

Who among you brave, brave men
has performed the Three Thunder-feats?
What?  None of you?

The Blade-feat?  The Spear-feat?
Not even the Heros Salmon-leap?

Conall the Victorious?
Loegaire the Triumphant?

Ah.

You glare, do you?
Brave my back with your
eyes and curled-back lips?
Such warriors!

Who among you is fit to lick
the blood from my sword?
Step forward.  Please.
Who are any of you
greater than those
who have tried me and failed.

Ferdiad?  There was a warrior.
For three days, dawn to dusk,
we battled by the river,
with swords, with spears,
with arrows,
and drank and fed
together at night.
But he fell at last,
his blood and his glory
ran into the sand, and vanished.

Connla?  The finest man
I ever killed.  The bravest.
Brave enough to fight his father
and almost defeat him.
But I slew him at the last,
my blood poured onto him
as he bled to death, shattered -
and he looked up
and smiled.

That
was a warrior.
What are any of you
to him?


I am Cu Chulainn.
I am unbeatable.
Enchantments, witches'
noxious spells and brews,
insidious potions -
these have slowed me,
even stopped me, for a while.
But always I have risen
and triumphed.

I can outshout the sea,
outfly the hawk,
outstare the sun.
I've slain giants and witches,
battle-hungry soldiers,
heroes and knaves,
singly, in groups.
All who have fought me
will testify.  Gravely.  Ha!

I am Cu Chulainn,
who cracks the earth with his stride,
tears the sky with his bellow.
While I live,
all tremble before me.

And when I die -
and I will die young,
the witches have prophesied,
a warrior's death -
then the world will mourn,
skies will cloud
with the cries of women,
their tears will drown rivers,
and men will moan
louder than storms.
They will honor my name,
and pray for a son like Cu Chulainn.

Judge for yourself, your majesty,
who is the greatest.
But now I must leave
this august assembly
of brave and mighty battlers.
I am off to fight, to conquer.
I leave the rest of you to feed.

Good king, to your health and prosperity.

Loeg, you red-headed drunkard!
Fetch me my horses!
Harness them quickly!

There are battles waiting,
foes impatient to die.
Glory that calls me
to sign my name to the deed.

I take up my life
like a sword bleeding flame.
Let weak eyes turn away!
I am Cu Chulainn.
I burn!