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mystical_mountain_9Well, it’s time for another old Celtic story. This one is from the land of the majority of my ancestors: Scotland. There are many to choose from, but this particular one has a special place in my heart – and, believe it or not, it has a certain resonance with the story that I shared a couple of weeks ago (The Enchanted Pool, from the Indian classic The Mahabharata) though I’ll let the reader figure out the similarity.
The Scottish story of Maighdean Mhara takes place a long time ago by the shores of Loch Fyne, near Inverary. Here there lived a fisherman named Murdo Sean (Old Murdo), who had little luck in catching fish, just like most other fishermen in town. Murdo Sean was in a fix: his meagre catch of fish had resulted in him getting into arrears and now the bailiff of the local laird (The Campbell) had sworn to cast he and his wife out of their ancestral cottage if he did not promptly pay his rent.
Murdo Sean sat in his boat, out at sea, bemoaning his pathetic situation when, suddenly, on the bow of his boat sat a sea-maid (“maighdean mhara” in Gaelic -- a dreaded creature, not to be confused with the more auspicious mermaid). The sea-maid asked Murdo, “Old man, if I fill your nets with fish, what will you give me?”
Murdo replied to the sea-maid, “There is nothing that I have to give you.”
“What about your first-born son?” enquired the sea-maid.
“I have no son,” he replied, “nor am I likely to get one. Both I and my wife are now old.”
Interested, the sea-maid enquired about the old man’s situation.
“All I have in this world is my old wife, an old mare, and an old dog. No doubt all of us will soon be in the Otherworld,” he told her.
“Not so!” said the sea-maid. “Look in my hand – see, there are twelve grains. If you take these from me, your fortune will turn much greater for the better. But you must do as I say. Listen carefully! You must give three grains to your wife to eat; three grains to your mare to eat; and three grains to your dog to eat. The remaining three grains should be planted in the yard behind your cottage: these will sprout into three magic oak trees that will give you a sign – if one of your sons dies, one of the trees will wither.
“Murdo Sean, I promise you that from this day forth your nets will be full of fish. But these blessings come at a price: you must promise to give me your first-born child as payment three years from today!”
Murdo agreed to the bargain, doubting that he would ever have a child, given the advanced age of both himself and his wife.
The sea-maid’s words came true. Murdo’s nets were always bursting with fish and in no time he had three sons, his old mare had three foals and his old dog had three pups. And in his backyard grew three trees.
The three years passed and the day came for Murdo to give his first-born son to the sea-maid. But Murdo did not have the heart to commit the deed.
The sea-maid showed up and sitting on his bow once again, requested of Murdo his first-born son. Murdo claimed to have forgotten. The sea-maid was cross but said to Murdo before jumping back into the sea, “I grant you another seven years; but do not forget to give me your first-born son on the appointed day!”
Seven years passed by so quickly! But when the appointed day came, again Murdo could not commit to sacrificing his son. Again, the sea-maid appeared on his boat; and, again, Murdo Sean claimed to have forgotten. More cross this time, the sea-maid said to him, “I see. Murdo Sean, I grant you one last extension of ten more years. But if you do not give me your son then, you will regret it severely!”
Murdo was not terribly scared of the sea-maid’s warning. After all, he was already the oldest man in Inverary and the chances that he would live another ten years were very small. If he was dead, he would not have to live up to his end of the bargain!
Quickly the years passed by. The eldest son, Murdo Òg (Young Murdo) turned seventeen – the “age of choice” as per ancient custom. Murdo Sean told his son about the deal he had made with the sea-maid. “Don’t worry, father, you will not have to fulfill your promise; I will confront the sea-maid myself,” Murdo Òg replied. The boy got a fine sword made for himself to carry with him and soon afterwards set out to find his way in the world, riding his black horse (the first-born of the family’s old mare) with his black dog (the first-born of the family’s old dog) as his companion.
Soon after leaving Loch Fyne, Murdo Òg came upon a freshly slain deer with nobody around to claim it. He looked around, but all he could see were some animals: a falcon, an otter, and a wild dog. He cut the deer meat into four portions. Keeping one portion himself, Murdo Òg offered a quarter each to the falcon, the otter and the dog. As each animal received its portion, they promised to help Murdo Òg if he ever called out for it.
Murdo Òg shared his quarter-portion of deer meat with his pet black dog and then set out to the great castle of The Campbell to look for work, as he did not want to be personally indebted to the sea-maid. When he presented himself to The Campbell, Murdo Òg was offered a job of cowherd, which he happily accepted.
Now, the land in the area was not good for grazing, and so Murdo Òg went in search of better grazing grounds. He found a fertile green glen that was beyond the Campbell territory. This glen belonged to a giant named Athach: he was mean and irritable, even for a giant! As soon as Athach saw an unknown boy grazing a herd of cattle in his glen without his permission, Athach attacked Murdo Òg with murderous fury, bearing a sword and uttering a terrible battle-cry. However, Athach was no match for the lithe and nimble boy and soon Murdo Òg was standing over Athach’s dead body, his heart pierced by Murdo Òg’s sword.
Murdo Òg entered Athach’s deserted cabin. It was full of wonderous riches. But Murdo Òg did not even touch any of it; instead, he buried the body of Athach and swore to find his next of kin.
Murdo Òg continued to graze The Campbell’s cattle in the glen until the grass was exhausted and then he moved on to a second glen that was as resplendent as the first glen. This glen was owned by a giant named Famhair, who was a brother of Athach. Famhair attacked Murdo Òg and the latter killed the giant in self-defence. Like was done for Athach, Murdo Òg buried Famhair and swore to find his next of kin.
After some time, Murdo Òg returned the herd to The Campbell’s castle. As soon as he approached the castle, Murdo Òg saw that there was a great commotion. A three-headed female monster had arisen from Loch Fyne demanding that The Campbell hand over his only child – his daughter named Finnseang, as a sacrifice. Murdo Òg got details of the situation from the castle’s milkmaid. She assured him that everything will turn out fine because the Campbell had declared that tomorrow his undefeated champion would battle and slay the monster.
At dawn the next day The Campbell’s champion walked down to the loch, accompanied by a huge crowd; but and when he saw the monster with his own eyes, the warrior fled in terror. The monster addressed The Campbell and demanded that his dear Finnseang be brought to the loch the next morning – unless another challenger is found.
The following morning, The Campbell sadly led Finnseang to the water’s edge, leaving her to her fate. Not able to bear the sight of what would happen next, he swiftly returned to the castle with his retinue in tow. However, Murdo Òg stayed behind and while Finnseang was standing alone on the water’s edge, he approached her and told her that he would stay and defend her.
When the monster emerged from the waters of the loch, Murdo Òg attacked it and chopped off one of its heads. The monster slithered back below the waves. Murdo Òg took the severed head and impaled it on a stick of willow.
The next day the same thing happened: Finnseang was placed on the water’s edge; The Campbell’s champion fled, and Murdo Òg battled the monster, severed one head and impaled it on a willow stick. And, again, the following day.
Once the third head of the monster had been put on the stick, Finnseang wanted to let everyone know that Murdo Òg had killed the monster – but he forbade her to say a word because he knew that her father (The Campbell) would not accept a lowly cowherd as a champion. So, Finnseang came up with an idea: she went to her father and told him that she would only wed the man who can remove the monster’s heads from the willow sticks (while knowing full well that only the one who put the heads on the sticks would be able to take them off). Many men went to the hideous impaled heads and tried to remove them from the sticks, but all of them failed – until Murdo Òg removed them with ease.
The Campbell found it hard to believe Finnseang’s story; so, she told her father that she had been under oath to not reveal the name of the warrior who rescued her three times and each time he rescued her, she gave him a gold ornament (a finger ring and two earrings). The Campbell looked at Murdo Òg and saw him wearing them, and immediately accepted him as his son-in-law.
Finnseang and Murdo Òg married and for three years they lived happily and without incident. Then, one day, when the pair were walking on the shore of the loch, the monster emerged from the water, its three heads regrown! The monster snatched Murdo Òg up before he had a chance to pull his sword out of its scabbard and dragged him into the loch.
Finnseang wailed in fear and panic. As she did so, an old man who was passing by asked her what her problem was. He advised her to take off all her jewels, lay them out on the shore of the loch and call the monster to look at the jewels. The monster emerged, still clinging to Murdo Òg, to inspect the jewels. At Finnseang’s request, the monster exchanged Murdo Òg for the jewels and returned below the surface of the loch.
Again, three years passed without incident. Then, one day, while walking along the shore of the loch, the three-headed monster heaved out of the water – and this time she seized Finnseang and dragged her below the waves. This time it was Murdo Òg who did the wailing! And while he did so, an old man came by and told Murdo Òg how to rescue his wife and destroy the monster for good. He advised Murdo Òg to go to the island that dwells in the middle of the loch and go ashore. A white hind dwells on the island. Murdo Òg must catch the hind – and if he does so, a black crow will spring out from the white hind’s mouth; if he catches the black crow, a trout will emerge from its mouth; if he catches the trout an egg will come out of its mouth; and if he crushes the egg, the monster will die.
Successfully getting to the island was a dangerous task, as the monster now patrolled the loch constantly. Instead of trying to swim there or go by boat, Murdo Òg rode his fine black horse and, along with his fine black dog, rode to the point of land closest to the island and successfully leaped from shore to the island.
On the island, Murdo Òg tried to catch the white hind, but try as he might, he was unable to. He wished that he had a hunting dog with him – and as soon as he wished this, the dog whom he had fed deer meat to years before appeared, and together they caught the hind. The hind opened its mouth and out flew a black crow. Murdo Òg wished that he had a falcon to catch the crow – and as soon as he wished this, the falcon whom he had fed deer meat to years before appeared and it caught the crow. Now a trout emerged from the crow’s mouth and jumped into the loch. Murdo Òg wished that he had an otter to catch the trout – and as soon as he wished this, the otter whom he had fed deer meat to years before appeared and it caught the trout and brought it to shore. Sure enough, there was an egg in the trout’s mouth. Murdo Òg took the egg out of the trout’s mouth, put it on the ground and prepared to squash it with his foot.
Immediately the monster emerged from the water and begged Murdo Òg not to harm the egg.
“Give me back my wife,” ordered Murdo Òg. The monster complied. And then Murdo Òg stepped on the egg. The monster keeled over and died.
Once again three years passed without incident. Then, one day, while riding along the loch, Murdo Òg espied a dark castle, set in a gloomy forest, which he had never seen before. Exercising caution, Murdo Òg did not venture any further that day. But his curiosity got the better of him and, so, he rode out at night, under the pretext of hunting, and went to the dark castle. As soon as he stepped into the castle and old crone clubbed him over the head.
Back at Inverary, Murdo Sean saw one of his three oak trees suddenly wither and die – and he remembered that the sea-maid told him that if one of the oak trees withers, one of his sons will have died. Alarmed, Murdo Sean told his second son, named Lachlan, about the meaning of the withering tree and Lachlan vowed to search for his elder brother. Lachlan left, riding the second horse of the family’s old mare and taking with him the second dog of the family’s old dog. After some time, Lachlan saw the dark castle, and as soon as he stepped inside, he was clubbed on the head by the crone.
Murdo Sean saw the second oak tree wither and so he requested his third and youngest son, Aonghus, vowed to find his two elder brothers. He set out, riding the third horse of the family’s old mare and taking with him the third dog of the family’s old dog. Aonghus rode to the castle of the Campbells, where he heard about the disappearances near the mysterious black castle. When he got to the gloomy castle, Aonghus was greeted by the crone, who invited him into the castle. Out of caution, he asked her to proceed him. Suddenly, his dog sprang on the crone and she clubbed it; but then Aonghus’s horse reared up and kicked the cudgel from the crone’s hand. The cudgel flew Aonghus’s hand and he clubbed her with it, knocking her to the ground.
Looking about the castle, Aonghus found the prostrate bodies of his two brothers. He touched them with the cudgel, and they revived as if they had woken up from a deep sleep. Then, together, as they walked through the castle they found an old man – the same old man who had advised Murdo Òg on how to defeat the monster of the loch. The old man explained that he had been the captive and servant of the crone and that the crone was, in fact, the sea-maid. The further explained that the two giants, Athach and Famhair, were the sea-maid’s foster sons and that the monster of the loch was her special pet. Lastly, the old man said that the sea-maid sought to take revenge on Murdo Òg for breaking his father’s pledge to her, but he had thwarted her until she clubbed him in her castle. However, in the end the third brother (three being a pure number) had bested her.
The jubilant Murdo Òg walked to the Campbell castle, along with his brothers. There was great rejoicing. The Campbell was so pleased that he gave high positions to Lachlan and Aonghus. And, contrary to tradition, when the old Campbell died, Murdo Òg was declared The Campbell, chieftain of the glens of Argyll.
Some may find this tale to be long and meandering – and perhaps it is, to our modern short-attention-spanned lives. But in the oral traditions of many ancient peoples – including the Celts – long stories are treasured for their wealth of information, values and wisdom. I consider them to be the lowest-tech versions of movies or stage plays, as these long tales have all the richness (and in many cases even more, I’d argue) of a well-crafted play or movie. As for the Scottish story of the sea-maid, several themes jump out at me. One is the theme of kindness and generosity to strangers: in this case, it is kindness to animals (wild dog, falcon, otter) rather than humans and that, somehow, the kindness will be returned. Another theme is courage and self-reliance (which, I believe, are connected): Murdo Òg accepts the role of a self-sufficient “man” at the age of 17 and acts with the responsibility, generosity, dedication and willing self-sacrifice expected of a fully adult Celt (sadly, I can’t say that such qualities are common among 17-year-old males in today’s “modern” societies). And, lastly, I appreciate the theme of cautioning people about interactions with the supernatural – especially if one appears to materially benefit from such an interaction. Though I would add that these days I believe there is more danger in making “deals” with unscrupulous banksters and the like who will happily turn one into a debt slave for life and/or being encouraged by authorities to sell a part of one’s soul to climb the corporate ladder and enjoy the poisonous “perks” that such a deal entails. I guess evil is always with us; it’s just that the form it takes changes from age to age.
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Date: 2026-04-09 03:28 am (UTC)Telling stories is an ancient art. Maybe even the oldest art.
As I read this I imagine the rapt faces in flickering firelight listening to the long involved stories chanted to the rhythm of drum or harp.
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Date: 2026-04-09 02:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-04-09 11:48 am (UTC)The habit of referring to the elder as "sean" (or "shan" as it is pronounced here) and the younger as "og" (or "ogue" as it is pronounced here), is still alive and well in Donegal. Our nearest neighbours Eamonn Sean and Eamonn Og, just for example. :)