The High Deeds of Finn MacCool (13 page)

‘It is in my mind that there is a thing stranger still,' said old Goll Mac Morna, suddenly. ‘The hearth fire, which was clear and smokeless and scented as a may tree in flower when we entered this place, is now filling the hall with foul black smoke!' he began to cough.

And that was not the only change, for in the same instant the beautiful hangings fell away in a shower of withered leaves from the walls that were only rotten planks; the couches with their soft coverings were gone, so that the warriors were now sitting on bare black earth that was cold as the first snows of winter. And the many doors had disappeared, leaving only the one that they had come in by, and that one shrunk to half its size and closely fastened.

Then Finn said, ‘I never tarry in a house that has only one way out. Let one of you break down the door and we will be out of this foul smokey den.'

‘That's a thing easily done,' said Conan, and made to scramble to his feet, then fell back with a howl. ‘Help me! Oh friends, help! I'm fixed to this cold clay floor as though I were rooted here like the quicken trees!'

And when they would have gone to his aid, all the
rest found themselves fat to the ground in the same manner. For three heart-beats of time, the shock of it held them frozen silent. Then Goll said harshly, ‘Midac has laid a trap and we have walked into it. Quick, Finn, put your Thumb of Knowledge between your teeth, that we may know what we face, and how to escape from this ugly plight.'

So Finn put his thumb between his teeth and waited for the knowledge, and then he gave a deep and bitter groan. ‘Fourteen years has Midac, son of the King of Lochlan, plotted against us, and now his plotting has come to its harvest time, and I can see no way to escape for us. For in the Dun of the Island, he has even now a war host gathered to destroy the Fianna. It is led by Sinsar of the Battles, King of the World, and his son Borba the Haughty, and with them are the three Kings of the Island of the Torrent, strong and fierce as three dragons, and mighty in magic-making. It is they who by their black spells have made us fast here, and we can never be set free until the blood of all three of them is sprinkled on this earthen floor. And soon, Sinsar's warriors will be here to make an end of us – and we are as helpless as trussed fowls to defend ourselves.'

Then Conan Maol (who, let you remember, had been held captive in this way before, and had a ram's fleece down his back to prove it), began to rage and lament, until Finn silenced him. ‘It is not fitting for heroes to wail like women or howl like dogs at full moon, in the shadow of death. Rather let us raise the war chant, the Dord Fian, that it may strengthen and put heart into us before we die.'

So all together, they raised the Dord Fian that was
half war-song, half battle cry, chanting slowly and proudly and terribly, as men before a battle that they know can have only one end.

Oisĩn and the party waiting on the hill of Knockfierna grew anxious when evening came and still there was no sign of the messenger Finn had promised to send back. And Ficna got to his feet and said that he would go down to the Hostel of the Quicken Trees, and see for himself how it went with his father, and Innsa his foster-brother rose to go with him.

It was nightfall when they reached the Hostel but there were no lights anywhere. And as they drew near, from the dark and seemingly forsaken hall ahead of them, they heard the loud slow strain of the Dord Fian coming from within.

‘At least they are here in this place, and safe,' said Innsa.

But Ficna shook his head. ‘It is only in time of sorest danger that Finn my father raises the Dord Fian in manner so slow and stately-grim.'

Now as the war-song fell silent, Finn, within their prison, heard the hushed, quiet voices outside, and called out, ‘Is that Ficna?'

‘Yes, my father.'

‘Come no nearer, my son, for this place teams with evil magic.' And quickly and urgently Finn told all that had happened, and how only the blood of the three Kings could save him and his companions. At that, Innsa cried out, and hearing him, Finn demanded who else was there.

‘It is Innsa, your foster-son.'

‘Then fly, both of you, while there is still time, for
it will not be long before our enemies come carrying their swords this way!'

But both young men refused to seek their own safety. ‘For while we are here,' said Ficna, ‘at least there are two warriors free to stand between you and our foes.'

Then Finn sighed a great sigh, and said, ‘So be it then. Every man's fate is written on his forehead . . . Now listen; to reach this place the foreigners must cross the river that runs below here. The ford is narrow, and the banks on this side steep and rocky, and one man might hold it against many – for a while. Go now, and hold that ford, and it may yet be that help will come in time.'

So the two young warriors went down to the ford. And when they had taken stock of the place, Ficna said, ‘It is even as my father said; one man might hold this place against many. So now, let you guard the ford alone for a while, and I will go to the island, and if it is not already too late, find if there be any way in which the war host might be attacked before they set out.'

And he went across the ford and on into the night, while Innsa remained behind, leaning on his sword and waiting.

In the Dun of the Island there was feasting and great merrymaking at the news that Midac brought, and one of the chieftains of the King of the World whispered to another chieftain, his brother, ‘I am away now while they are all drinking, to the Hostel of the Quicken Trees. But soon I shall be back, bearing the head of Finn Mac Cool. So I shall gain much renown, and win the high favour of the King.'

And he gathered his own war band, and set out. When they came to the ford, it was black night, but peering across the water, the chieftain thought he saw the shape of a warrior on the far side, and called out to know who it might be.

‘I am Innsa, of the house of Finn Mac Cool,' came back the answer.

And the chieftain laughed and said, ‘Well met! For we are come on a visit to Finn Mac Cool now, to take his head back to our King. And it's yourself will be just the man to lead us to him.'

‘That would be a strange way of carrying out my orders, which are to hold this ford against all comers.'

Then the warriors plunged into the ford, and came wading across to the attack, but only two at a time could come at the single defender, and he struck them down, right and left, until the ford was clogged with bodies. At last the few who were left broke off the fight, and fell back to the opposite bank, where their chieftain had been standing all this while, looking on. The chieftain was filled with red rage that so many of his men had fallen without gaining the ford, and snatching up his weapons he rushed into the water himself, against the solitary warrior who held the other bank. He was fresh, but Innsa was weary and sore wounded, and at last he missed his stroke and the enemy chieftain's sword found his breast, and he stumbled forward with a choking cry into the swift running water. Then the chieftain seized him by the long hair, and struck off his head and brought it away.

The few warriors left to him were not, he thought, enough to press on to the Hostel of the Quicken Trees,
so he had better be turning back, to take Innsa's head to the King of the World.

But on his way, he met Ficna returning to the ford, and because he came from the Dun of the Island, thought that he must be one of their own men. So he told him triumphantly, ‘We are back from the ford below the Hostel of the Quicken Trees. There we met a young champion who slew so many of my warriors that I have had to return for more – yet I do not come empty-handed, for, see, I bring his head with me. I had hoped to bring Finn Mac Cool's, but this is better than no head at all.'

And he tossed the severed head to Ficna as though it had been a ball.

Ficna caught and looked at it, and said, ‘Alas, dear old lad. At dusk your eyes were bright with valour.' Then he laid the head aside that it might not hamper him, and turned wrathfully upon the enemy chieftain. ‘Do you know who I am, to whom you have tossed this champion's head?'

‘I know that you come from the Dun of the Island.' A hideous doubt crept upon the chieftain. ‘Are you not, then, a warrior of the King of the World?'

‘Not I,' said Ficna, ‘nor shall you be, in a few breaths' time,' and he sprang with his raised spear upon the chieftain, swift and savage as a mountain cat. So the chieftain fell by the avenging hand of Ficna, whose foster brother he had slain. And Ficna struck off his head, and taking it by the hair in his left hand, but Innsa's cradled in the crook of this right arm, he went his way.

When he came to the ford, he made a shallow grave and buried Innsa there, his head laid once more to his
shoulders, and turned the green sod back over all. But the enemy chieftain's head he carried with him, on up to the Hostel of the Quicken Trees.

Finn, who heard his step and knew it, called out to him with wild anxiety, ‘Ficna, who fought the battle that we heard raging at the ford? How has it ended?'

‘Innsa fought that battle, and the ford is clotted with the bodies of the men he slew.'

‘And how is it with Innsa?'

‘Dead where he fought,' said Ficna.

‘And you stood by to see it happen?'

‘Ochone! Ochone! Would that I had been there to fight at his shoulder,' cried Ficna, sharp in his throat, ‘but I was elsewhere. At least he does not lie unavenged, for I met the man who struck the blow soon after, and it is his head that I carry in my hand.'

Then Finn bowed his head on his knee and wept. ‘I have good sons, both of blood and fosterage,' he said at last. ‘Now go back to guard the ford, and victory be on your blade. Maybe help will still come in time.'

So Ficna went down again to the ford.

Meanwhile in the Dun of the Island, another chieftain called Kirom, the brother of the first, wondered why his brother did not return, and gathered his own band, and set out to seek him.

When they came to the ford, they saw the dead men choking it, and the figure of one solitary champion on the further side. And Kirom called across to know who he was, and who had made the slaughter there.

And the answer came back, ‘I am Ficna, son of Finn Mac Cool, and as to the slaughter here, I would not be asking, if I were you, for the question raises the
wrath in me, and that will be a bad thing for you, if you come at this side of the ford.'

Then Kirom and his warriors rushed the ford, and flung themselves upon Ficna. But Ficna did with them as Innsa had done, until only one man was left, who escaped and ran back to the Dun of the Island with word of what had passed. And Ficna sat down on the bank, covered with blood and very weary.

When the survivor reached the Dun and told his story, Midac of Lochlan was coldly angry, saying that the two chiefs had brought their deaths on themselves and their men, for they had neither the strength nor the courage to meet the champions of the Fianna, and should have known it. ‘But now,' said he, ‘I will take a band of my own bravest men, the men of Lochlan, and cross the ford no matter who guards it, and slay Finn Mac Cool and his comrades with my own hands.' So he gathered his war band, and set out, and came to the ford, and Ficna on guard on the other side.

First he tried smooth talk. ‘Ficna, my heart is warm to be seeing you again, for when I was of Finn's household you never used me ill, nor struck at man or dog that were mine.'

‘Nor did any other of the household, or of the Fianna.' Ficna retorted. ‘Kindness you had of us all, but especially of Finn my father; and it is a strange way you have of repaying him!'

So then Midac tried threats, and ordered the young champion aside from the ford.

But Ficna only laughed. ‘You are many to my one. Surely it can make little difference to you, that I stand in your path! Come, then, and I will give you the warmest welcome in my power!'

Then all happened just as it had happened twice already at the ford. And just as Kirom had done, Midac in red rage at seeing his men struck down, hitched up his shield and charged forward to meet the one defender in single combat, since none of his men could stand against him.

On the hill top where he waited, Oisĩn was growing more and more anxious as the night wore on to dawn, and Ficna and Innsa did not return, and he said so to Dearmid O'Dyna.

‘This was in my mind also, and I think I will be taking a walk down to the Hostel of the Quicken Trees, and see that all is well down there,' said Dearmid.

‘And I also,' said Fotla. And so they went together, by the way the others had taken, but before they reached the quicken trees, they heard the clash of weapons somewhere ahead of them.

‘That is Ficna,' Dearmid said, ‘for I know his war shout, and he is sore beset.'

They began to run, side by side, and coming on the last lift of the ground, saw the ford below them in the grey dawn light, clogged with dead men, and Ficna and Midac locked in single combat, thigh deep in water. And at the same instant they saw that Ficna was hard pressed and sore wounded, sheltering behind his shield and beginning to give back.

Still running, with his heart bursting in his breast Fotla cried out, ‘Dearmid your spear! We cannot reach him in time. Throw, man, your aim is surer than mine –'

‘In this light – I may hit the wrong man.'

‘You never yet missed your throw. It is the only chance!'

And so, without slackening his headlong speed, Dearmid set his finger on the silken loop of his spear, and threw. The spear flew straight to its mark. It took Midac below the breast bone and stood out a head span beyond his back. But he yelled and thrust forward like a boar pierced by the hunter's spear, and the moment before Dearmid and Fotla reached them, he made a last mighty sword stroke, and Ficna went down before it, while Midac, his last strength gone, crashed forward across the young warrior's body.