Cuchulain, the Hound of Ulster — Inside the Classic
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d and mighty Queen of Connaught. This was the cause of the war between them. When Conor was but a lad, his mother was a widow, and there was no thought that Conor would be king. For the King of Ulster at that time was Fergus mac Roy, a powerful and noble king, whom his people loved; and though Conor was of high rank and dignity, he stood not near the throne. But his mother, Ness, was ambitious for him, and she used all her arts to bring it about that he should be called to the throne of Ulster. Ness was a handsome woman, and a woman of spirit, and in her youth she had been a warrior; and Fergus admired her, and she wrought upon him so that in the end he asked her to be his wife. She made it a condition that for one year Fergus would leave the sovereignty, and that Conor should take his place; “for,” said she, “I should like to have it said that my son had been a king, and that his children should be called the descendants of a king.” Fergus and the people of Ulster liked not her request, but she was firm, and Fergus all the more desired to marry her, because he found it not easy to get her; so, at the last, he gave way to her, and he resigned the kingdom for one year into the hands of Conor.
But, as soon as Conor was king, Ness set about to win away the hearts of the people of Ulster from Fergus, and to transfer them in their allegiance to Conor. She supplied her son with wealth, which he distributed secretly among the people, buying them over to his side; and she taught him how to act, so that he won over the nobles and the great men of the province. And when, the year being out, Fergus demanded back the sovereignty, he found that the league formed against him was so strong that he could do nothing. The chiefs said that they liked Conor well, and that he was their friend, and they were not disposed to part with him; they said, too, that Fergus having abandoned the kingdom for a year, only to gain a wife, cared little for it, and had, in fact, resigned it. And they agreed that Fergus should keep his wife, if he wished, but that the kingdom should pass to Conor. And Fergus was so wrath at this, that he forsook his wife, and went with a great host of his own followers into Connaught, to take refuge with Queen Meave and with Ailill, her spouse. But he swore to be revenged upon Conor, and he waited only an opportunity to incite Meave to gather her army together that he might try to win back the sovereignty, or at least to revenge the insult put upon him by Conor and by Ness.
Now Fergus mac Roy was of great stature, a mighty man and a famous warrior, and his strength was that of a hundred heroes. And all men spoke of the sword of Fergus, which was so great and long that men said that it stretched like a rainbow or like a weaver’s beam. And at the head of his hosts was Cormac, the Champion of the White Cairn of Watching, a son of Conor, who liked not the deed of his father; for he was young, and he had been one of the bodyguard of Fergus, and went with Fergus into exile to Connaught. And that was called the Black Exile of Fergus mac Roy.
Queen Meave and the Woman-Seer
Craftily Fergus wrought upon Queen Meave that she should espouse his cause and lead an army into Ulster’s coasts, to win the kingdom back for him again. And Meave was no way sorry to make war, for Connaught and the North at all times were at strife, and frays and battle-raids were common between them. So with light heart Queen Meave sent heralds out and messengers through Connaught to collect her armed bands, bidding them meet her within three months’ space before her palace-fort of Cruachan. And in three months a goodly host was gathered there, and tents were pitched, and for awhile they tarried round the palace-courts, eating and drinking, so that with good heart and strength they might set forth to march towards Ulster’s borders.
Eleanor Hull's Cuchulain, the Hound of Ulster opens with a striking image: the severed head of Sualtach, still crying out for Ulster to arise, while the Grey of Macha stands gaunt and headless in the hall. This macabre scene exemplifies Hull's method: she renders the legendary material with a focus on sensory detail and the rhythms of spoken narrative. The head's repeated call—'Your men are being slain, your cattle driven away'—echoes the urgency of oral recitation, and the warriors' slow return to life, 'rubbing the rust that dulled their scabbards,' grounds the myth in tangible, physical action.
The Voice of the Severed Head
Hull's prose in the excerpt from Chapter XVI relies on repetition and incremental intensity. The head cries out three times, each time louder, and the warriors' responses escalate from drowsy dismissal to full awakening. This structure mirrors traditional storytelling, where a refrain builds tension. The dialogue—King Conor's 'Too noisy is that head'—is terse and idiomatic, contrasting with the more elaborate descriptive passages. Hull also uses the horse's stillness ('gaunt and stock-still') to create a visual anchor amid the chaos, a technique that recurs throughout the work.
The King's Sleep and the Rust of Idleness
The magical sleep that binds Ulster is described not as a curse but as a physical lethargy: the warriors 'rust here in sleep,' and their weapons are dulled. Hull emphasizes the tactile—'to try the edges of their swords, to rub the rust'—making the enchantment concrete. King Conor's confusion upon waking, 'remembered not the dead from the living,' adds a psychological layer; his call to the dead as if alive blurs the boundary between the natural and supernatural. This detail, drawn from the legend, is rendered with restraint, avoiding melodrama.
The Boy-Corps and the Structure of the Cycle
The table of contents reveals that Hull organizes the saga into discrete episodes, each with a clear narrative arc: 'How Cuchulain got his Name,' 'The Combat with Ferdia,' 'The Hound at Bay.' This episodic structure reflects the oral origins of the tales, where each chapter could stand alone. The inclusion of the Boy-Corps (Chapter XVII) and Deirdre's story (Chapters XXII–XXVI) shows Hull's effort to weave multiple threads into a cohesive whole. Her headings often use active verbs ('How Cuchulain took Arms'), emphasizing action over reflection.
Diction and the Heroic Register
Hull's language oscillates between formal epic diction and colloquial speech. Phrases like 'the strong solid earth give way beneath our feet' belong to the heroic register, while 'Too noisy is that head' is almost conversational. This mix keeps the narrative accessible without sacrificing grandeur. The repeated use of 'arise' and 'awake' in the excerpt creates a rhythmic call to action, and the final image of the warriors 'itching to be upon their swords again' uses a physical metaphor to convey psychological readiness. Hull avoids archaic affectation, preferring clarity over archaism.
Readers approaching this edition should note that Hull, a noted folklorist, draws on multiple manuscript sources (as indicated in the 'Notes on the Sources'). Her retelling prioritizes narrative momentum over scholarly annotation, but the attentive reader will detect the underlying structure of the Ulster Cycle. Pay particular attention to how Hull handles dialogue: the contrast between the king's formal oaths and the warriors' blunt exclamations reveals the social hierarchy of the legendary world.
That rainy afternoon, Eleanor Hull’s Cuchulain left me with the peculiar ache of a hero who fights alone, even among his own awakened kin. I sat with that loneliness for a while, then—almost by accident—my hand found The Aeneid — A Reader’s Guide. Different wars, but the same quiet question: what does it cost to carry a people forward when your own heart stays behind?
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