Celtic Tales of Enchantment (8 page)

She gave the drinking-horn to her brother, who handed it to Conán. ‘Drink!' the giant ordered.

Conán took a deep draught of the golden liquid from the horn and was instantly restored to his full strength.

Down in the dungeon, Dara, who had a very fine melodious voice, began to sing one of Fionn's favourite songs, in order to raise his leader's spirits.

Draoiantóir heard the sweet music from below. Enchanted by the sound, the giant moved to the open door, forgetting that Conán still held the magical drinking-horn. As if in a trance, Draoiantóir moved down the stairs towards the source of the singing.

Conán saw his chance. He turned his back on Ailne and hid the drinking-horn under his tunic. ‘I had better follow my master,' he said, leaving the kitchen and going down to the dungeon.

He moved quietly through the open door and stood behind Draoiantóir, who was listening intently to Dara's song. Conán sneezed suddenly and the giant swung around.

‘What are you doing here?' he demanded.

‘I came to see my former comrades before you put them to death,' Conán replied.

The giant eyed him suspiciously. ‘What did you do with the drinking-horn?'

‘I left it in the kitchen,' Conán lied.

Draoiantóir pushed him aside and rushed up the stairs.

Conán pulled the drinking-horn from under his tunic and held it to the lips of Fionn and the others. They drank from the horn and the strength flooded back into their bodies. As their muscles bulged, the chains fell from their limbs and they began to look around for their weapons.

But only Oscar had time to seize his spear and sword before the giant stormed back into the dungeon. Ailne and Glanluadh followed him and paused at the door.

‘You deceived me, you treacherous dog!' Draoiantóir snarled. With upraised sword he rushed at Conán, who jumped aside as the great blade whistled past his head.

‘Save me, Oscar!' Conán yelled.

Oscar leapt to cover his comrade, and, with both hands grasping his spear, he aimed its deadly tip at the giant.

Draoiantóir bared his teeth in a vicious grin. ‘I shall kill you first, you Fianna whelp! Then I shall slice the heads off the others.'

He swung his sword at Oscar's neck. Fionn's grandson dodged the blow and quickly jabbed his long spear into the magician's arm. The giant bellowed in a mixture of pain and anger. He launched a fierce attack and drove Oscar back towards the far wall of the dungeon. Oscar caught his heel on a discarded shackle. Thrown off balance, he stumbled and Draoiantóir closed in on him, his sword poised for the kill.

But Oscar recovered his footing and, as Draoiantóir prepared to deliver the fatal blow, the Fianna warrior slipped under his arm and plunged his spear into the giant's heart. Draoiantóir gasped and slid to the ground, fatally wounded. When Ailne saw her brother's lifeless body, she let out one piercing scream and fell dead on the floor.

Moved by pity, Glanluadh knelt by Ailne's body. ‘Waste no tears on her or her brother,' Conán advised. ‘They were evil people who would have killed us all, your own husband included.'

‘It is over,' Fionn said. ‘Let us celebrate our narrow escape from death.' With Glanluadh and her husband, he and his comrades went upstairs, where Conán lost no time in collecting plates of delicious food and bowls of the finest mead.

Fionn proposed a toast. ‘To Conán, the hero!' They drank in Conán's honour and the warrior stood on the table to receive their praise.

‘You can take off that sheepskin now,' Fionn told him, ‘else the dogs will take to herding you for a sheep.' The others all laughed.

But, try as he might, Conán could not tear off the sheepskin covering. And, for the rest of his life, that sheepskin remained stuck to his back. Every year the wool grew very thickly on it and he became known as Conán Maol of the Woolly Back!

The Fianna sang and danced until they were tired. That night they slept soundly on the castle's soft couches. When they woke up next morning the castle and the lake had disappeared. They found that they were now lying in the very same spot where they had first seen the deer, when out hunting.

Oscar glanced around. ‘Where are Glanluadh and her husband?' he asked.

‘Probably transported like us back to their own place,' Fionn surmised.

Conán rose and patted his stomach, which was grumbling noisily with hunger. ‘I'm ravenous,' he groaned. ‘Let's go back to our camp and have a good meal.'

Oscar's face broke into a broad smile. ‘It looks as though everything is back to normal again,' he chuckled.

LIAM MAC UISTIN is a Celtic scholar, writer and playwright. One of his writings was selected by the Irish government for inscription in the National Garden of Remembrance in Dublin.

Celtic Tales of Enchantment is his fourth book of ancient Celtic tales. The Táin, his acclaimed version of the epic Táin Bó Cuailgne (The Cattle Raid of Cooley), has introduced many young readers to one of Ireland’s most enduring legends. Liam is also the author of a non-fiction title, Exploring Newgrange, which provides a fascinating introduction to the history of this ancient megalithic site.