Mar a Fuair Cú Chulainn a Ainm

Bhí gabha darbh ainm dó Culainn, in Ulaidh. Fear críonna, cáiliúil ba ea Culainn. Chuir sé fleá mhór ar bun, agus chuaigh sé go hEamhain Mhacha chun cuireadh a thabhairt don Rí teacht chuig an bhfleá. Ghlac an Rí leis an gcuireadh, agus ar a bheith ag imeacht dó chun na fleá in ardtráthnóna, chuaigh sé tríd an bhfaiche, agus chonaic sé na Macraí ag imirt a gcuid cluichí, agus sheas sé ar a chois ag breathnú orthu. Céard a d’fheicfeadh sé ach a gharmhac óg ag fáil an cheann-i-bhfearr ar na Macraí ins gach uile chluiche dá raibh ar siúl acu.

There was a blacksmith by the name of Culainn, in Ulster. A wise, renowned mane was Culainn. He organized a great feast, and he went to Eamhain Mhacha for an invitation to give to the King to come to the feast. The King accepted the invitation, and on his departing for the feast in the early evening, he went to the field, and he saw the Youths playing their games, and he stood on his feet viewing them. What would he see but his young nephew getting the upper hand over the Youths in each and every game that they had happening.

Bhí áthas ar Chonchobhar nuair a chonaic sé sin, agus mar sórt luachsaothair, thug sé cuireadh do Sétanta teacht leis go dtí an fhleá. Sé an freagra a thug Sétanta air nach raibh a sáith imeartha déanta ag na Macraí fós, agus nuair nach raibh, níor mhaith leis iad a fhágáil nó go mbeadh a ndóthain imeartha déanta acu. Ach gheall sé don Rí go leanfadh sé é, agus go bhfaigheadh sé amach é le lorg rothaí na gcarbad a leanúint.

There was happiness on Conchobhar when he saw that, and as a sort of reward, he gave an invitation to Sétanta to come with him towards the feast. It was the response that Sétanta gave to him that the Youths hadn’t had their fill of playing yet, and as they hadn’t, it wouldn’t be good for him to leave them or until they would have done their fill of playing. But he promised to the King that he would follow him, and that he would find him out by following the tracks of the chariots’ wheels.

Chuaigh Conchobhar chomh fada le teach an gabhann, agus nuair a chuaigh chonaic sé go raibh gach uile rud curtha i gcóir agus in ordú roimhe, ar ba cheart agus mar ba chuí. Tar éis tamaill d’fhiafraigh an gabha den Rí a raibh aon duine eile de mhuintir an Rí-theaghlaigh chun teacht ina dhiaidh an oíche sin. Rinne an Rí dearmad faoi Sétanta beag, agus dúirt sé leis an ngabha nach raibh aon duine eile ag teacht. Mhínigh an gabha ansin don Rí fios fátha na ceiste a chuir sé air, mar gheall ar an gcú mór, fiata, fiáin, a bhí aige. Bhí spreacadh céad capall sa chú sin, agus ní ghéillfeadh sé do dhuine ar bith, ná níorbh fhéidir le aon duine smacht a chur air, ach amháin an gabha é féin.

Conchobhar went as far as the house of the smith, and when he went he saw that each and every thing was put in proper condition and in order before him, as was correct and as was fitting. After a while the smith asked of the King was anyone else of the people of the King’s household to come afterwards that night. The King forgot about little Sétanta, and he said to the smith that there wasn’t anyone else coming. The smith explained then to the King the reason for the question that he asked him, because of the great, fierce, wild wolfhound that he had. The vigor of a hundred horses was in that wolfhound, and it would not yield to anyone at all, nor could anyone control him, except only the smith himself.

“Maith go leor,” arsa an Rí, “baintear na slabhraí dó i riocht is go ndéanfaidh sé an áit a chosaint.”

“Good enough,” said the King, “let the chains be removed from him so that he will make to protect the place.”

Rinneadh amhlaidh, agus ní túisce a baineadh na slabhraí dó, ná d’imigh leis de sciotán chun gach cúinne agus coirnéal den cheantar timpeall na háite a fheiscint. Agus nuair a bhí sin déanta aige tháinig sé ar ais arís go dtí an áit ar ghnách leis an oíche a chaitheamh agus luigh sé ansin ar gárda chun teach an ghabhann a chosaint. Bhí sé ina luí siar ansin, a chloigeann idir a dhá cois tosaigh, agus é ag féachaint chomh fiáin agus chomh drochmhúinte is dhearc aon ghadhar riamh roimhe, nó ó shin.

It was done thus, and no sooner had the chains been removed from him than he departed at a rush to see every nook and cranny of the area around the place. And when he had done that he came back again towards the place that was usual for him to spend the night and he laid there on guard to protect the house of the smith. He was lying back there, his head between his two front legs, and him watching as wild and as poorly trained as any dog ever looked before that, or since.

Ar an bhfad sin bhí na cluichí a bhí ag na Macraí ag Eamhain Mhacha thart, agus na buachaillí óga imithe abhaile. Maidir le Sétanta bhí seisean ar a bhealach mar a raibh an fhleá, agus é ag leanúint lorg carbaid Rí Chonchobhair go dtí teach Chulainn, an gabha. Mar ba ghnách leis, bhí sé ag giorrachan an bhóthair dó féin lena chuid imeartha - an liathróid, an camán, an bhonsach agus an tsleá.

During that time the games that the Youths had at Emhain Macha were over, and the young boys were gone home. Concerning Sétanta, he was on his way to where the feast was, and him following the chariot tracks of King Conchobhar towards the house of Culainn, the smith. As was usual with him, he was shortening the road for himself with his playing - the ball, the hurley-stick, the javelin and the spear.

Nuair a shroich sé chomh fada leis an áit a raibh Culainn ina chónaí chaith sé uaidh a dheis imeartha ach amháin an liathróid. Chonaic an Cú Catha an buachaill beag a teacht ina ghaobhar, agus nuair a chonaic, lig sé gnúis as, agus ní túisce a rinne sé sin ná mar a chuir sé sceamh uafásach sin is gur cluineadh í ins gach cúinne den cheantar thart timpeall ar feadh mílte. Rith an Cú Catha ceann ar aghaidh go dtí Sétanta, mar bheadh sé ar tí é a alpadh agus é a shlogadh síos ina bholg d’aon iarracht amháin.

When he reached as far as the place where Culainn was living he threw down his playing equipment except only for his ball. The War Hound saw the little boy coming near to him, and when he saw, he let out a snort, and no sooner than he did that, than did he make an awful howl that [it] was heard in every corner of the surrounding district for miles. The War Hound ran forward toward Sétanta, as that he would be on the verge of gobbling him up and swallowing him down in his stomach in a single go.

Ní raibh tada ag an mbuachaillín beag chun é féin a chosaint ar an gcú catha ach an liathróid, ach chaith sé an liathróid chomh díreach sin, agus chuir sé an oiread sin de theannadh léi, is go ndeachaidh sí caol díreach síos i scórnach an chú agus amach trína cholainn - ag tabhairt cuid dá stéigeacha amach léi. Nuair a bhí an cú sínte, mín, marbh ar an mbán aige, rug sé ar a dhá chois deiridh, chas sé timpeall a chinn é, uair nó dhó, agus bhuail sé a chloigeann in aghaidh an ghalláin a bhí i ngar dó, i riocht is go raibh colainn an chú mhóir briste, stiallta, stróicthe, agus mionsmidiríní déanta dó ar an talamh thart timpeall.

The young boy had nothing to protect himself from the warhound but the ball, but he threw the ball so straight, and he put such a force with it, that it went directly down into the hound’s throat and out through its body - bringing a part of its intestines out with it. When he had the wolfhound stretched, smooth and dead on the grassy plains, he caught on its two back legs, he turned it over his head, one or two times, and he struck its skull against the standing stone that was next to him, so that the body of the great wolfhound was broken, tattered, torn, and tiny smithereens made of it on the surrounding ground.

Chuala Rí Conchobhar, agus é istigh ag an bhfleá, uallfairt uafásach an chú chatha, agus tháinig imní agus eagla mhór air, mar chuimhnigh sé an tráth sin go dtug sé cuireadh don ghasúr beag lena theacht ina dhiaidh go dtí an bhfleá. “Mo chreach is mo chás,” arsa an Rí, “tá Sétanta, mac mo dheirféar agus mac Sualdaimh, stiallta, stróicthe ag madra an ghabhann!”

King Conchobhar heard, and him inside at the feast, the awful yell of the warhound, and worry and great fear came over him, as he remembered at that time that he gave an invitation to the little lad to come following him towards the feast. “My ruin and my torment,” said the King, “Sétanta, the son of my sister and son of Sualdamh, is tattered, torn at the dog of the smith!”

Leis sin ghread na hUltaigh go léir amach, ach ba é Fearghas an chéad duine acu a bhí le taobh an bhuachalla, agus níorbh iontaí leis an sneachta dearg a theacht anuas ó neamh, ná Sétanta a fheiceáil ina bheatha, slán, sábháilte, gan an oiread is scríob ar a éadan, agus d’ardaigh sé leis ar a bhaclainn é gur thug sé os comhair an Rí é.

With that the Ulster people all pushed out, but Fearghas was the first person of them that was by the boy’s side, and wasn’t it as surprising as the red snow coming down from heaven, than Sétanta to see alive, whole, safe, without so much as a scrape on his face, and he lifted him up on his arms until he brought him before the King.

Nuair a rith Culainn amach agus chonaic sé a chú mór catha ina píosaí beaga os comhair a shúl amach bhí a chroí líonta le brón. Chuaigh sé ar ais go dtí halla na fleá, agus dúirt sé leis an mbuachaill beag mar seo:

When Cualainn ran out and he saw his great warhound in little pieces before his eyes, his eyes were filled with sorrow. He went back to the feasthall, and he spoke to the little boy like this:

“Tá fáilte romhat as ucht d’athar agus as ucht do mháthar, ach níl fáilte ar bith romhat as d’ucht féin.”

“You are welcome for the sake of your father and for the sake of your mother, but you are not welcome at all on your own account.”

“Céard atá i gcoinne an ghasúir agat?” arsa Conchobhar, agus is mar seo a d’fhreagair Culainn é: “Ní ádhúil an rud domsa go dtáinig tú chuig an bhfleá, mar tá mo mhaoin agus mo chuid den tsaol caillte, agus táim féin mar a bheadh meirleach ann. Ba mhaith dílis an giolla domsa an cú a mharaigh tú, mar chosain sé mo chuid beithíoch, mo chuid caorach, agus a raibh ar mo sheilbh.”

“What do you have against the lad?” said Conchobhar, and it is like this that Culainn answered him: “It is not a fortunate thing for me that you came to my feast, as my possessions and my earthly store are lost and I myself am as would be a villain. It was good and loyal the servant for me the wolfhound that you killed, as he protected my livestock, my sheep, and that which was in my possession.”

“Ná bíodh fearg ort, a mháistir Culainn,” arsa an buachaillín beag, “mar bhéarfaidh mé breith chóir sa chás.”

“Don’t let anger be upon you, oh master Culainn,” said the young boy, “as I will give a proper judgement in the case.”

“Agus cé an bhreithiúnas a bhéarfaidh tú?” arsa an Rí.

“And what judgement will you give?” asked the King.

Arsa an buachaillín beag: “Má tá coileán óg de shíol an chú seo le fáil in aon chearn de thalamh na hÉireann gheobhaidh mise é, agus múinfidh mé é go mbíonn sé chomh hoilte lena athair. Go dtí sin beidh mé féin mar chú chun beithígh, is chun caoirigh, is maoin is tailte an ghabhann a chosaint agus a chumhdach.”

Said the little boy: “If there is a young puppy of this wolfhound’s progeny available in any corner of the land of Ireland, I myself will get it, and I will teach it until it be as trained as its father. Until that I myself will be as a wolfhound for the livestock, and for the sheep, and possessions and lands of the smith to defend and to protect.”

“Is maith an bhreith í sin atá tugtha agat,” arsa an Rí, “leis an bhfírinne a rá, níorbh fhéidir le neach againn féin breith níos fearr a thabhairt.”

“That is a good judgement that you have given,” said the King, “To tell the truth, none of us ourselves could give a better judgement.”

“Cad chuige nach dtabharfaí Cú Chulainn ort ón lá seo amach?” arsa Cathbhadh, an Draoi.

“Why isn’t [the name] Cú Chulainn given to you from this day on?” said Cathbhadh, the Druid.

“Ná tugtar,” arsa an buachaillín beag, “mar is ansa liom go mór m’ainm dílis féin - Sétanta, mac Sualdaimh.”

“Don’t give,” said the young boy, “as I most love my own loyal name - Sétanta, son of Sualdamh.”

“Ná habair sin, a ógánaigh bhig,” arsa Cathbhadh, “mar beidh an t-ainm sin Cú Chulainn i gcluais agus i mbéal gach duine in Éirinn agus in Albain an fhad is a bhéidh uisce ag rith agus féar ag fás.”

“Don’t say that, oh little young one,” said Cathbhadh, “as that name Cú Chulainn will be in the ears and in the mouth of every person in Ireland and in Scotland as long as there will be water running and grass growing.”

“Táim sásta glacadh leis an ainm mar sin,” arsa an buachaillín beag, agus ón lá sin amach, ní tugadh aon ainm eile air ach an t-ainm uasal sin, Cú Chulainn.

“I’m happy to accept the name like that,” said the young boy, and from that day on, he was not called any other name but that noble name, Cú Chulainn.

Adapted from: Ua Concheanainn, Tomás agus a chéile. ND. Eamhain Macha. Brún agus Ó Nóláin: Corcaigh.