Ravens and the Morrigan: Irish Goddess of War

Macha (whose name means 'of the plain') may be viewed as the one who sets the rules of combat. Those warriors who have crossed the Morrigan may discover to their cost that Macha's blessing is now with their enemies.

It may be that the terrain or climate favors one side, but more usually Her medium was chaos, confusion and turning personality flaws upon themselves. For example, as Macha of the Swift Heels, She twisted Her husband's pride and disrespect of women into a distinct disadvantage, when She cursed all of the men of his native Ulster to suffer the pangs of childbirth on a battlefield.

When people contemplate the Morrigan, they are usually thinking about Nemain. The etymology of her name is fiercely contested, though they all follow a theme. It could mean 'poison', 'something dealt out', 'vanquishing an enemy' or 'curse'. For those defeated by the combined might of the Morrigan, the semantics are probably meaningless by that point.

Nemain is waiting when warriors fall in battle. She takes up the bloodied clothes, and hands them back to the shade of the warrior who saw the Washer at the Ford. She walks through the havoc raised by Macha and takes the hand of those who are never coming back. She delivers those warriors to the river, and escorts them to Tír na nÓg.

She calls the moment when the battle is ended. She stands alongside those with the grim task of clearing the battlefield. She calls down the ravens to feast. 

Alongside her sisters/other selves, Nemain chose who won the war. As that so often also declared who now owned this territory, the Morrigan is seen as the Goddess who decided upon who should wear a crown.

All of this against a backdrop of ravens cawing, descending, feasting and flying away again. To those fighting, the ravens WERE the Morrigan.

Encountering the Morrigan wasn't necessarily a bad thing, even in the most arduous of ancient Irish legends. She produced challenges, wherein the rewards for overcoming them were immense.  Most often, She sought to highlight a flaw in the system or a weakness in the defenses, which - once fixed - strengthened everything.

But when the raven turned up, then Morrigan wasn't playing anymore. The raven meant death.

In the instant before Cú Chulainn saw the raven, he had been rejecting the advances of a beautiful woman. He did so because he was in the midst of a series of single combat fights, forced into the situation by the curse of Macha of the Swift Heels.

Hence he'd already missed the fact that Badb and Macha had taken an interest. He would not miss Nemain. Sex and violence were par for the course for a young Irish warrior. The raven meant that Nemain had him in Her sights. He could not survive that.

Skip forward through several colorful events, and we arrive at a battlefield. Cú Chulainn is already weakened, as Macha (aka Mebh) has tricked him into eating food which is against his personal gaes (taboo). (Modern audiences might imagine it as Superman attempting to fight under the influence of kryptonite.) He was also thoroughly spooked on the way there, as he witnessed Badb washing his clothes in a river.

Cú Chulainn received three fatal wounds that day, but tied himself to a standing stone with his sword arm fastened above his head. His battle prowess was so legendary and feared that none dared to approach, until they could be certain that he was truly dead. But who could tell without drawing close enough to be slain?

It was a scene reminiscent of the moment when the Morrigan had initially turned against him. Cú Chulainn stood alone against a distant army. Once again, Nemain took the form of a raven. She flew onto his shoulder and pecked at his face.

In that undeniable form, Nemain had declared this story over, and the victors came to hack Cú Chulainn's body to shreds.

The links between the Morrigan and the legend of the banshee have been well established by writers like David Rankine and Sorita D'Esta. In many ways, the enduring nature of the later legend is testimony to the fact that belief in Morrigan never left the Irish.

Just as Babd took to washing the bloodied clothes of soon-to-be-slain warriors, the banshee also warns of approaching death. She stands outside homes, screaming and/or keening over a certain person's name. That individual will be dead by the third day.

But now imagine that a raven has been taught to repeat that name, then is released into the foliage outside a home. How close might that sound to the fabled banshee?  Enough to frighten someone to death?

And remember that ravens are also native to Wales, where the Gwrach y Rhibyn performs precisely the same function as the banshee. Let's hope that all we ever hear them caw is 'nevermore'.