Hello and welcome to the first part of our six part series on Heroes. As some of you may know, there was once a race of gods who lived in Ireland, called the Tuatha Dé Danann. These beautiful and clever warriors ruled Ireland for some time, and there were three gods in particular who were held to be the Champions of Ireland. These gods were also know as the Gods of Skill. They were: the Dagda, Lugh Lámhfhada, and Ogma. Today, we will look at the Dagda and one of his epic stories.
After their victory over the Fir Bolg, the Tuatha Dé Danann settled comfortably in Ireland. Unfortunately, this comfort did not last long. The Fomorians, an evil race of monster sea-pirates surfaced and taxed the new occupiers of Ireland. Bres, the High King of Ireland upheld these taxes but once he learned of his connection to the Fomorians and betrayed the Tuatha Dé Danann, Nuada reclaimed his throne. Following Bres’s betrayal, war broke out between the Fomorians and the Tuatha Dé Danann. This war was named the Second Battle of Maigh Tuiread.
Among the warriors was Dagda Ollathair, the god of magic. His name means good god, because he was good at everything. When Lugh asked his army what his warriors could do in the battle, the Dagda swore to him that he would do everything the other warriors claimed to do, all on his own. As the battle raged on, the Dagda fought alongside his brothers and sisters, using one of his many magical objects, a club as he did so. With the business end of this club he could kill nine men with one blow, and with the other end, he could return someone to life. At night, when the day’s fighting was done, the Dagda would swap his magical club for his magical harp, Uaithne. The Dagda was the only person who could play this harp, and with it, he could play the sweetest of tunes. If anyone else were to pluck its strings, no sound would come from it. It was not uncommon to hear the Dagda playing such songs that would invigorate his comrades during battle, helping them to forget their fear. And at night, he would play such beautiful airs, while his fellow warriors were healed and returned to full strength.
One night, as the war was coming to an end, with both sides delivering and receiving huge losses, the Dagda played his harp. The lovely sounds it made flew on the wind until it reached the ears of three Fomorian scouts near the Dagda’s camp. While none of the scouts held any powerful positions, they had all heard of the Dagda. Everyone knew the man whose magic, much like his appetite, was unmatched. And so, they decided to make a plan.
The next day, as the battle continued, and women and men were struck down on both sides, the Dagda fought hard with his mighty club. Knowing his camp would be empty, the scouts sneaked into his quarters and stole his harp. As soon as they laid hands on its magnificent oak, they fled as fast as their stumped legs would carry them. They made camp in an abandoned castle, and decided to wait out the war there. Without his harp, they knew the Dagda could not motivate the other warriors to continue fighting for long. The war would be over in no time they thought.
As luck would have it, they were right. The battle ended that very day. As Lugh Lámhfhada faced off against his grandfather, Balor of the Evil Eye, and won, Balor’s magic was turned against his army and the Fomorians were defeated. The scouts saw their friends and allies perish at the hands of the Tuatha Dé Danann and opened their camp to anyone that remained loyal to their cause.
The warriors of the Tuatha Dé Danann returned home and it was only when he was asked to play some tunes, that the Dagda realised that his harp was missing.
“Ah, my harp’s been stolen! We can’t celebrate if it’s still in the hands of the Fomorians. It’s magic is far too powerful. Who’ll come with me to recover it?”
Straight away two hands shot into the air. Lugh Lámhfhada and Ogma, the other Champions of Ireland. Since three was a powerful number, the Dagda was satisfied and happy to have them with him on his quest. Through some divination, the Dagda located his harp and the three gods of skill were on their way. They reached the castle and found the three scouts along with the remaining Fomorian army, asleep in the main hall, the harp hanging on the far wall.
With no way to cross the room without waking the pirates, the Dagda reached out his hand and the harp shot into his hand. Feeling complete once more the Dagda turned to leave when Ogma tapped his arm.
“I don’t think we’re leaving just yet, bud.”
The Dagda turned and saw the warriors had woken and were on their feet, armed to the teeth.
“You want to play that harp of yours?” Lugh asked.
The Dagda nodded and set his finger to plucking Uaithne’s strings. He played the Music of Myrth and the pirate warriors began to laugh despite themselves. They laughed and laughed, and soon their legs began to dance beneath them. They raved and roared and danced like they were at the best sesh of their lives. But when the song ended, they just grabbed their weapons again and sank back into their fighting stances.
“Maybe a different song this time?” Ogma suggested.
The Dagda plucked the strings once more, this time playing the Music of Grief. The Fomorians were reminded of the battle they had just lost. They saw their King being struck down by Lugh, and their comrades being killed by their own Kings magical eye. They cried and wailed, galling to the floor and pounding their fists against the stone. Unfortunately, the song ended once more, and now the warriors really weren’t happy.
Before Lugh or Ogma could say a word, Dagda played his last song for the Fomorians, his encore. He called forth the Music of Sleep, and the room was filled with clangs accompanied by thuds, as warrior dropped their weapons only to fall beside them in a slumber.
The trio left them there to get some beauty sleep, Danu knew they needed it, and returned home, to continue their celebrations. According to reports, the Dagda’s harp was never stolen again.
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