The Intoxication of the Ulstermen

Among the many tales of the Red Branch Knights of Ulster, few are as amusing as the story of their great intoxication. It is a tale that shows how even the mightiest heroes can be brought low by too much hospitality and too little wisdom, and how friendship can survive even the most embarrassing of circumstances.

The Generous Host

There lived in Ulster a wealthy chieftain named Cú Ruí mac Dáire, who was famous throughout the land for two things: his supernatural wisdom and his extraordinarily generous hospitality. His great hall was built on a hill overlooking the sea, and it was said that no guest had ever left his table hungry or his hearth cold.

Cú Ruí had spent many years traveling the world, learning the secrets of brewing and distilling from masters in distant lands. In his cellars lay stores of the finest ales, meads, and spirits that could be found anywhere in Ireland or beyond. His ale was so smooth it went down like water, his mead so sweet it seemed like liquid honey, and his spirits so potent they could make a mouse feel like a lion.

One autumn evening, as the harvest festivals were being celebrated throughout Ulster, Cú Ruí decided to honor the warriors of the Red Branch with a feast that would be remembered for generations. He sent out invitations to all the greatest heroes, from King Conchobar himself down to the youngest champion who had earned his place at the royal table.

“Come to my hall,” the invitation read, “and let us celebrate the brotherhood of Ulster’s finest. I promise you food fit for gods and drink that will wash away all sorrows and cares.”

The Gathering of Heroes

On the appointed night, the greatest warriors in Ireland gathered at Cú Ruí’s hall. King Conchobar arrived in his finest robes, accompanied by his personal guard. Cú Chulainn came with his faithful charioteer Lóeg, his young face bright with anticipation of good fellowship.

Conall Cernach and Lóegaire the Triumphant arrived together, as they often did, their friendly rivalry evident in their competitive boasting about who had traveled the fastest to reach the feast. Fergus mac Róich came with his enormous appetite already stirring, while Cathbad the druid brought his wisdom and his capacity for philosophical discussion.

The hall itself was a marvel to behold. Hundreds of torches cast dancing shadows on the walls, which were hung with rich tapestries depicting the great deeds of Ulster’s heroes. The tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats, fresh bread, rich stews, and delicacies gathered from across the known world.

But it was the drink that truly set this feast apart from all others. Cú Ruí had outdone himself, bringing forth treasures from his legendary cellars. Golden mead flowed like rivers, dark ales foamed in enormous cauldrons, and crystal-clear spirits sparkled in vessels of precious metal.

The Drinking Begins

“Welcome, champions of Ulster!” Cú Ruí called out as his guests took their places. “Tonight, we celebrate not just the harvest, but the bonds of brotherhood that make our kingdom strong. Let no cup remain empty, and let no toast go unanswered!”

The warriors cheered and raised their drinking horns high. The first toast was to King Conchobar, the second to the glory of Ulster, and the third to their host’s generosity. But from there, the toasts began to multiply and elaborate.

“To the Red Branch Knights!” called out Conall Cernach, his horn overflowing with golden mead.

“To victory over our enemies!” responded Lóegaire, draining his cup in one long draught.

“To the beauty of our wives!” added Fergus mac Róich, which brought a roar of approval from the assembled warriors.

Cú Chulainn, young and enthusiastic, proposed toast after toast to his fellow heroes, each one requiring a fresh drink to be properly honored. His faithful charioteer Lóeg tried to counsel moderation, but the excitement of the evening proved too strong.

The Clever Drinks

Cú Ruí, watching his guests with amusement, began to bring out his most special brews. First came the “Warrior’s Courage,” a potent mead that was said to make any man feel invincible. Then the “Hero’s Wisdom,” an ale that supposedly granted the drinker supernatural insight into the hearts of his companions.

Most dangerous of all was the “Champion’s Fire,” a clear spirit so strong that it seemed to burn with an inner light. “This,” Cú Ruí announced with a mysterious smile, “is brewed from water that flows through the otherworld. One cup grants courage, two grant wisdom, but three…” He paused dramatically. “Three grants visions of truth that mortal minds can barely comprehend.”

The warriors, their judgment already clouded by the evening’s festivities, eagerly accepted these magical drinks. Each believed that his heroic constitution could handle whatever their host offered, and none wanted to be thought less brave than his companions.

The Growing Confusion

As the night wore on and the magical drinks took effect, strange things began to happen in Cú Ruí’s hall. The first sign of trouble came when Lóegaire the Triumphant suddenly stood up and pointed an accusing finger at Conall Cernach.

“You!” he declared in a voice thick with drink and suspicion. “I know who you really are! You’re not Conall at all—you’re that villain from Connacht who stole my cattle last spring!”

Conall, equally intoxicated, squinted at his old friend and companion with growing alarm. “And you,” he retorted, swaying slightly, “are clearly that bandit who’s been raiding our borders. I’d recognize that shifty look anywhere!”

The other warriors watched this exchange with growing concern, but their own vision was becoming increasingly unreliable. Faces seemed to shift and change in the flickering torchlight, and familiar voices began to sound foreign and threatening.

The Mistaken Identities

What followed was a comedy of errors as hero after hero began to mistake his closest friends for deadly enemies. Fergus mac Róich, seeing Cú Chulainn’s youthful face wavering in the torchlight, became convinced that the young hero was actually a spy from a rival kingdom.

“Imposter!” Fergus bellowed, pointing an unsteady finger at his protégé. “That’s not the real Cú Chulainn—he’s much taller! And hairier! And… and… more heroic-looking!”

Cú Chulainn, for his part, stared at Fergus with growing suspicion. “If you’re really Fergus mac Róich,” he challenged, “then prove it! Tell me something only the real Fergus would know!”

“I… I…” Fergus struggled to think of something suitably Fergus-like to say, but the magical spirits had addled his wits. “I like… food?” he offered weakly.

“Aha!” Cú Chulainn exclaimed triumphantly. “The real Fergus would have said he loved food! You’re clearly an imposter!”

The Comic Battle

What began as verbal accusations soon escalated into physical confrontation, though thankfully of the most harmless sort. The warriors, too intoxicated to wield their weapons effectively, engaged in a battle that was more like an elaborate dance than serious combat.

Lóegaire and Conall wrestled each other to the ground, rolling around like playful children while accusing each other of various impossible crimes. “You stole my grandmother’s favorite cow!” Lóegaire accused. “Well, you married my sister without permission!” Conall retorted, though neither man had a sister, and Lóegaire’s grandmother had been dead for twenty years.

Fergus and Cú Chulainn engaged in what they believed to be deadly swordplay, but their weapons seemed to have developed minds of their own, refusing to strike anything more dangerous than furniture and decorative tapestries. They leaped and lunged with great enthusiasm, each convinced he was fighting for his life against a notorious enemy.

Meanwhile, King Conchobar found himself in deep philosophical debate with what he believed to be the ghost of his deceased father, but which was actually Cathbad the druid wearing a particularly elaborate headdress that had become tangled around his face.

The Wise Host’s Solution

Cú Ruí watched the chaos unfold with a mixture of amusement and concern. He had not intended for things to go quite this far, but he had to admit that the sight of Ulster’s greatest heroes engaging in comic combat was remarkably entertaining.

However, as the night wore on and the confused battles showed no sign of ending, he decided it was time to intervene. Calling upon his supernatural wisdom, he began to brew a special potion designed to counteract the effects of his magical drinks.

This antidote required rare ingredients: water from seven sacred wells, honey blessed by the druids, herbs gathered at midnight under a full moon, and most importantly, a generous portion of common sense dissolved in warm milk.

The Gradual Recognition

As Cú Ruí moved among his guests, offering each a cup of his sobering brew, the effects were gradual but unmistakable. One by one, the warriors began to recognize their true surroundings and companions.

Lóegaire was the first to come to his senses, finding himself sitting on Conall’s chest and preparing to force-feed him what he had believed to be truth serum but was actually honey cake.

“Conall?” he said uncertainly, his vision beginning to clear. “Is that really you?”

“Of course it’s me, you great fool,” Conall replied groggily. “Who else would it be? And why are you sitting on me?”

As awareness dawned, both warriors looked around the hall and began to comprehend the scope of their embarrassment. Furniture was overturned, tapestries were torn, and their fellow heroes were in various states of dishevelment and confusion.

The Morning After

By dawn, all the warriors had recovered their senses, though not their dignity. They sat around Cú Ruí’s hall, now looking more like a battlefield than a feast hall, nursing sore heads and wounded pride.

“Did I really challenge the king’s harp to single combat?” Fergus asked weakly, staring at the damaged instrument that lay in pieces near the fireplace.

“You did,” Cathbad confirmed solemnly. “And you lost.”

Cú Chulainn, discovering that he had apparently spent an hour engaged in passionate conversation with a decorative shield that he had mistaken for a beautiful woman, could only bury his face in his hands.

King Conchobar, with the dignity that befitted his station, was the first to address their host. “Cú Ruí,” he said formally, “your hospitality was indeed… memorable. But perhaps in future, a warning about the strength of your drinks might be in order?”

The Lesson Learned

Cú Ruí bowed graciously to his bedraggled guests. “My lords,” he said, “the fault is entirely mine. I had heard so much about the legendary capacity of Ulster’s heroes that I thought ordinary drinks would not suffice for such extraordinary men. I see now that even heroes have their limits.”

But despite their embarrassment, the warriors found themselves laughing at the absurdity of their situation. The bonds between them, tested by mistaken identities and comic combat, proved stronger than their wounded pride.

“At least,” Conall observed philosophically, “we can be certain that none of us told any secrets to enemy spies—since we couldn’t recognize our own mothers in that condition.”

“And,” added Lóegaire, “we’ve learned that Fergus’s weakness for food extends even to furniture, apparently.”

The Lasting Friendship

As they prepared to depart, the warriors made a pact that the events of that night would remain a private matter among themselves. They had learned a valuable lesson about the dangers of excess, even in the company of trusted friends.

But they also agreed that despite the embarrassment, it had been one of the most memorable nights of their lives. The shared experience of making complete fools of themselves had somehow strengthened their bonds of brotherhood.

Years later, when facing real enemies in genuine battles, they would sometimes catch each other’s eyes and smile, remembering the night when their greatest foe had been their own overconfidence in their drinking abilities.

The Moral of the Tale

The story of the intoxication of the Ulstermen became a favorite tale among the Irish, told whenever people gathered to discuss the follies of heroes and the dangers of pride. It reminded listeners that even the greatest warriors were human beings with human weaknesses.

But more than that, it celebrated the power of true friendship to survive embarrassment and foolishness. The heroes of Ulster had shown that while they might be warriors in battle, they were also men who could laugh at themselves and support each other through good times and bad.

Cú Ruí’s feast entered legend not as a cautionary tale against drinking, but as a celebration of the bonds that held the Red Branch Knights together. For in the end, it was not their perfection that made them heroic, but their ability to remain loyal to each other even when they couldn’t tell friend from foe—or harp from maiden.