The Collected Works in Verse and Prose of William Butler Yeats. Volume 4 of 8. The Hour-glass. Cathleen ni Houlihan. The Golden Helmet. The Irish Dramatic Movement. Yeats William Butler

      It is here I will spend the night, but I won’t tell you why till I have drunk. I am thirsty. What, the flagon full and the cups empty and Leagerie and Conal there! Why, what’s in the wind that Leagerie and Conal cannot drink?

      It is Cuchulain.

      Better go away to Scotland again, or if you stay here ask no one what has happened or what is going to happen.

      What more is there that can happen so strange as that I should come home after years and that you should bid me begone?

      I tell you that this is no fit house to welcome you, for it is a disgraced house.

      What is it you are hinting at? You were sitting there with ale beside you and the door open, and quarrelsome thoughts. You are waiting for something or someone. It is for some messenger who is to bring you to some spoil, or to some adventure that you will keep for yourselves.

      Better tell him, for he has such luck that it may be his luck will amend ours.

      Yes, I had better tell him, for even now at this very door we saw what luck he had. He had the slope of the ground to help him. Is the sea quiet?

      There is nothing stirring.

      Cuchulain, a little after you went out of this country we were sitting here drinking. We were merry. It was late, close on to midnight, when a strange-looking man with red hair and a great sword in his hand came in through that door. He asked for ale and we gave it to him, for we were tired of drinking with one another. He became merry, and for every joke we made he made a better, and presently we all three got up and danced, and then we sang, and then he said he would show us a new game. He said he would stoop down and that one of us was to cut off his head, and afterwards one of us, or whoever had a mind for the game, was to stoop down and have his head whipped off. ‘You take off my head,’ said he, ‘and then I take off his head, and that will be a bargain and a debt between us. A head for a head, that is the game,’ said he. We laughed at him and told him he was drunk, for how could he whip off a head when his own had been whipped off? Then he began abusing us and calling us names, so I ran at him and cut his head off, and the head went on laughing where it lay, and presently he caught it up in his hands and ran out and plunged into the sea.

      I have imagined as good, when I had as much ale, and believed it too.

      I tell you, Cuchulain, you never did. You never imagined a story like this.

      Why must you be always putting yourself up against Leagerie and myself? and what is more, it was no imagination at all. We said to ourselves that all came out of the flagon, and we laughed, and we said we will tell nobody about it. We made an oath to tell nobody. But twelve months after when we were sitting by this table, the flagon between us —

      But full up to the brim —

      The thought of that story had put us from our drinking —

      We were telling it over to one another —

      Suddenly that man came in with his head on his shoulders again, and the big sword in his hand. He asked for payment of his debt, and because neither I nor Leagerie would let him cut off our heads he began abusing us and making little of us, and saying that we were a disgrace, and that all Ireland was disgraced because of us. We had not a word to say.

      If you had been here you would have been as silent as we were.

      At last he said he would come again in twelve months and give us one more chance to keep our word and pay our debt. After that he went down into the sea again. Will he tell the whole world of the disgrace that has come upon us, do you think?

      Whether he does or does not, we will stand there in the door with our swords out and drive him down to the sea again.

      What is the use of fighting with a man whose head laughs when it has been cut off?

      We might run away, but he would follow us everywhere.

      He is coming; the sea is beginning to splash and rumble as it did before he came the last time.

      Let us shut the door and put our backs against it.

      It is too late. Look, there he is at the door. He is standing on the threshold.

      Go back into the sea, old red head! If you will take off heads, take off the head of the sea turtle of Muirthemne, or of the pig of Connaught that has a moon in his belly, or of that old juggler Manannan, son of the sea, or of the red man of the Boyne, or of the King of the Cats, for they are of your own sort, and it may be they understand your ways. Go, I say, for when a man’s head is off it does not grow again. What are you standing there for? Go down, I say. If I cannot harm you with the sword I will put you down into the sea with my hands. Do you laugh at me, old red head? Go down before I lay my hands upon you.

      So you also believe I was in earnest when I asked for a man’s head? It was but a drinker’s joke, an old juggling feat, to pass the time. I am the best of all drinkers and tipsy companions, the kindest there is among the Shape-changers of the world. Look, I have brought this Golden Helmet as a gift. It is for you or for Leagerie or for Conal, for the best man, and the bravest fighting-man amongst you, and you yourselves shall choose the man. Leagerie is brave, and Conal is brave. They risk their lives in battle, but they were not brave enough for my jokes and my juggling. [He lays the Golden Helmet on the ground.] Have I been too grim a joker? Well, I am forgiven now, for there is the Helmet, and let the strongest take it.

      It is my right. I am a year older than Leagerie, and I have fought in more battles.

      Give it back to me, I say. What was the treasure but withered leaves when you got to your own door?

      Give it to me, I say.

      You are too young, Cuchulain. What deeds have you to be set beside our deeds?

      I have not taken it for myself. It will belong to us all equally. [He goes to table and begins filling Helmet with ale.] We will pass it round and drink out of it turn about and no one will be able to claim that it belongs to him more than another. I drink to your wife, Conal, and to your wife, Leagerie, and I drink to Emer my own wife. [Shouting and blowing of horns in the distance.] What is that noise?

      It is the horseboys and the huntboys and the scullions quarrelling. I know the sound, for I have heard it often of late. It is a good thing that you are home, Cuchulain, for it is your own horseboy and chariot-driver, Laeg, that is the worst of all, and now you will keep him quiet. They take down the great hunting-horns when they cannot drown one another’s voices by shouting. There – there – do you hear them now? [Shouting so as to be heard above the noise.] I drink to your good health, Cuchulain, and to your young wife, though it were well if she did not quarrel with my wife.