Táin Bó Regamna

In the chronicles of ancient Ireland, there are tales that serve as harbingers of greater stories to come. Táin Bó Regamna—the Cattle Raid of Regamna—is one such tale, a prophetic prelude to the greatest cattle raid in Irish legend. It tells of omens, visions, and the first stirrings of the conflict that would shake the very foundations of the heroic age.

The Vision at Cruachan

Queen Medb of Connacht was not a woman given to doubt or hesitation. Her will was iron, her ambition boundless, and her desire for supremacy over all Ireland burned like an unquenchable fire. But on this particular autumn night, as she lay in her royal bed at Cruachan, she was troubled by dreams that seemed more real than waking life.

In her vision, she saw herself standing in a vast plain covered with mist. The ground beneath her feet was soft with the blood of fallen warriors, and the air was filled with the cries of battle. Through the mist came a figure she recognized as the Morrígan, the triple goddess of war and fate, her dark wings spread wide against a sky the color of old bronze.

“Medb of Connacht,” the Morrígan spoke, her voice carrying the sound of distant thunder, “you seek that which will bring glory and destruction in equal measure. The path you wish to walk leads to greatness, but also to the grave.”

“Speak plainly, goddess,” Medb replied in her dream, showing no fear before the divine messenger. “What is it you would have me know?”

The Morrígan’s laugh was like the sound of ravens cawing over a battlefield. “You covet the Brown Bull of Cooley, thinking it will make you supreme among the rulers of Ireland. But know this—to claim that prize, you must face the Hound of Ulster, and in that meeting, many heroes will find their doom.”

The Waking Consultation

When Medb awoke, the vision remained vivid in her mind, every detail burned into her memory like a brand upon flesh. She summoned her husband, King Ailill, and her chief druid, Cathbad mac Tadg, to hear her dream and provide counsel.

“Dreams sent by the Morrígan are not to be ignored,” the aged druid said solemnly after hearing Medb’s account. “They are glimpses of possible futures, warnings of what may come to pass if certain paths are chosen.”

Ailill, ever practical in his approach to such matters, stroked his beard thoughtfully. “But they are not certainties, are they? Dreams show what might be, not what must be.”

“Truth,” agreed Cathbad. “But the goddess speaks of the Brown Bull of Cooley, and I know your heart, Medb. This is a desire that has long burned within you. Perhaps it is time to test whether this vision speaks of fate or merely possibility.”

Medb’s eyes gleamed with the fire of decision made. “Then let us begin with a smaller raid, a testing of the waters. We shall see how Ulster responds to a challenge, and what manner of opposition we might face.”

The Raid on Regamna

The territory of Regamna lay on the borders between Connacht and Ulster, a green and fertile land famous for its fine cattle. The local chieftain, Lóch mac Morna, was known to be loyal to Ulster but not particularly warlike. It seemed an ideal target for Medb’s trial raid.

Under cover of darkness, a war band led by Medb herself crossed into Regamna territory. They moved like shadows across the moonlit fields, their goal a specific herd of cattle that had been marked for its exceptional quality.

But as they approached the grazing grounds where the cattle rested, strange omens began to manifest. The horses grew restless, snorting and stamping as if sensing invisible threats. Night birds fell silent, and even the cattle themselves seemed to sense something amiss, lowing uneasily in the darkness.

“My queen,” whispered Fergus mac Róich, the exiled Ulster champion who now served Connacht, “something is not right here. The very air feels charged with foreboding.”

Medb ignored his warning, driven by her need to test the prophecy. “We proceed,” she commanded. “Let Ulster show us what manner of defense they can mount.”

The Supernatural Resistance

As the Connacht raiders began to gather the cattle, the night itself seemed to come alive with hostile forces. A thick mist rose from the ground, obscuring vision and making it impossible to maintain formations. Strange lights danced in the fog, leading men astray and separating them from their companions.

Then came the sounds—war cries that seemed to echo from all directions, the clash of weapons that no eye could see, and the thundering of hooves from horses that left no tracks. It was as if an invisible army had risen to defend Ulster’s borders.

Several of Medb’s warriors simply vanished into the mist, never to be seen again. Others emerged from the fog babbling about encounters with spectral warriors whose weapons passed through armor like mist but whose presence filled mortal hearts with terror.

“This is the work of the Sídhe,” Fergus reported to his queen, his usual composure shaken by the supernatural opposition. “The fairy folk themselves guard Ulster’s borders.”

But most unsettling of all was the figure that appeared to Medb herself as she struggled to maintain control of the raid. Through the swirling mist came a young warrior, barely more than a boy, whose presence seemed to cut through the supernatural chaos like a sword through silk.

The Vision of the Hound

The youth who appeared before Queen Medb bore all the marks of divine heritage. His hair was dark as a raven’s wing, his eyes blazed with inner fire, and he moved with a grace that spoke of supernatural power. In his hand, he carried a spear that glowed with its own light, and around him, the mist seemed to part in recognition of his authority.

“Queen of Connacht,” he spoke, his young voice carrying surprising authority, “you venture into lands that are under my protection. Turn back now, and live. Continue, and face the consequences of challenging the Hound of Ulster.”

Medb stared at this apparition, recognizing with a chill of fear that this was no ordinary vision. “You are Cú Chulainn,” she said, not a question but a statement of dawning realization.

“I am he who guards Ulster’s borders,” the youth replied. “And I tell you truly—this small raid is but a shadow of the greater conflict to come. You seek the Brown Bull of Cooley, thinking it will bring you power. Instead, it will bring you nothing but sorrow and loss.”

The vision began to fade even as he spoke, but his final words rang clear through the supernatural mist: “When next we meet, it will be in battle. And on that day, the crows will feast well on the blood of heroes.”

The Retreat and Reflection

Faced with supernatural opposition beyond her ability to counter, Medb ordered a retreat. The Connacht forces withdrew across the border, but not before several cattle had been mysteriously freed from their bonds and had wandered back toward their home pastures of their own accord.

As dawn broke and the mist cleared, Medb found herself back in normal territory with perhaps half the cattle she had intended to capture and nearly a quarter of her warriors missing. The raid that was meant to be a simple test had become a humbling reminder of Ulster’s supernatural defenses.

“The vision you described has begun to manifest,” Cathbad told her when she returned to Cruachan. “The path to the Brown Bull will be far more costly than you imagined.”

Ailill, counting their losses, shook his head grimly. “If a simple border raid results in such opposition, what will we face when we attempt to take Cooley’s greatest treasure?”

But Medb’s ambition was only strengthened by the supernatural resistance she had encountered. “Now I know what we face,” she declared. “And knowing our enemy, we can prepare accordingly. Cú Chulainn is mighty, but he is still only one warrior. We shall gather allies from every corner of Ireland and march with such force that even the Hound of Ulster cannot stand against us.”

The Gathering Storm

In the weeks that followed the failed raid on Regamna, Medb began the preparations that would lead to the great Cattle Raid of Cooley. She sent messengers to every kingdom that had grievances against Ulster, offering alliance and a share in the glory of defeating Conchobar’s realm.

Meanwhile, in Ulster, the supernatural events at Regamna had not gone unnoticed. King Conchobar summoned his druids and champions to discuss the omens and their meaning.

“The raid itself was small,” Fergus mac Leth (not to be confused with the exiled mac Róich) reported. “But the supernatural forces that responded suggest something larger is stirring. The Sídhe do not involve themselves in mortal conflicts without great cause.”

Cú Chulainn himself seemed troubled by his vision-encounter with Queen Medb. “I have seen the future in dreams,” he told King Conchobar. “A great army will come from the west, seeking the Brown Bull. And in the conflict that follows, many heroes will fall.”

Cathbad the druid nodded solemnly. “The Táin Bó Regamna was but the first note in a song of war that will echo through the ages. We must prepare for the greatest test Ulster has ever faced.”

The Prophecy Fulfilled

As autumn turned to winter and winter to spring, the events set in motion by the raid on Regamna continued to unfold. Medb’s gathering of allies proceeded apace, while Ulster’s champions honed their skills and strengthened their defenses.

The cattle taken in the raid proved to be touched by supernatural influence. Those that remained in Connacht gave milk that tasted bitter, and their offspring were sickly and weak. It was as if the very act of stealing them had cursed the stolen herds.

Conversely, the cattle that had mysteriously returned to Regamna thrived beyond all natural measure. Their milk was sweeter, their offspring stronger, and their very presence seemed to bless the land around them.

“The gods themselves have chosen sides,” observed one of Medb’s druids. “This is no longer merely a dispute between mortal kingdoms, but a conflict that touches the very foundations of the otherworld.”

The Warning Heeded and Ignored

The tale of the Táin Bó Regamna spread throughout Ireland, told and retold by bards and storytellers. Some saw it as a warning against the folly of coveting that which belongs to others. Others interpreted it as proof that Ulster enjoyed divine protection that could not be overcome by mortal means.

But for Queen Medb, the story only strengthened her resolve. She had looked into the face of Ulster’s greatest champion and had not flinched. She had felt the touch of supernatural opposition and had not despaired. If the gods themselves stood with Ulster, then she would gather forces that could challenge heaven itself.

“Let them send their boy hero against my armies,” she declared to her assembled war chiefs. “Let them call upon their fairy allies and their divine protections. I will show them that determination and superior numbers can overcome any supernatural advantage.”

The stage was set for the greatest conflict in Irish legend, and the Táin Bó Regamna had served its purpose as prologue to the epic that was to come.

The Eternal Echo

In the years that followed, when bards sang of the great Cattle Raid of Cooley, they would always begin with the tale of Regamna. For it was there that the first battle lines were drawn, not just between armies but between different visions of honor and heroism.

The story reminds us that some conflicts are inevitable, written in the stars and fated to unfold regardless of the wishes of mortals. But it also teaches that even in the face of certain doom, courage and determination can transform defeat into a kind of victory, and that some songs of heroism are worth singing even when they end in tragedy.

The cattle of Regamna still graze in the fields of legend, their supernatural nature a reminder that the boundaries between the mortal world and the realm of the gods are thinner than we might wish. And somewhere in the mists of time, the echo of that first prophetic raid continues to resonate, a prelude to the greatest epic ever told in the emerald hills of Ireland.