Not all the brave fighters in the battle of Ventry Strand were on the
Fenian side. Other men could face great odds, too. The three smiths, who
had fallen that day, had a brother still on the ship of the High King.
When this man saw the result of the fight, he let out a mighty shout of
grief and rage. He went straight to the High King.
“Tomorrow I am going to meet the two hundred Fenians,” he said. “What is
more, I am going alone. If any of our men try to interfere with me, I
shall kill them.”
The High King knew that this man was the greatest champion on his side.
He was willing to have him go out and strike terror into the hearts of
the Fenians. He gave orders that he should be the only one to land next
day.
For the next day’s battle Finn had no great leader for his men. One
young Fenian, anxious to gain glory for himself, offered to lead the two
hundred. Finn let him go. All day long the two hundred Fenians faced
this one champion. By night the foreigner was alone on the field. A
shout of victory went up from the ships of the High King. The Fenians
were far from joyous to see such valor on the side of the enemy.
The next day this champion again defeated the two hundred Fenians, and
for the four days following, the combats ended the same. Finn was
getting desperate. He could not go out and meet the man himself, because
if he were killed or badly wounded, his men would be leaderless and the
forces of the High King would gain the victory.
How he wished for Dermot in this hour of need! The splendid example of
this great hero would have done the Fenians more good than a thousand
soldiers. Ossian and Oscar, too badly wounded to fight, pled with Finn
to relent and send for his one-time champion and dearest friend. But
Finn’s pride would not permit him to do this. The thought that Dermot
had yielded to a woman’s plea to be false to his chief, cut him to the
heart.
All great men have their moments of weakness. The one dark spot on the
record of Finn is his treatment of Dermot. One point we find in his
favor. It is the fact that he did not send for Dermot during the battle.
If he could not forgive him because he felt the justice of his friend’s
position, he would not say so because he needed his sword.
In this hour of need another hero arrived on the Fenian side. The son of
the King of Ulster heard of this battle and longed to take part in it.
Though little more than a boy he went to his father and asked his
permission. His father met this request with an angry reply.
“What nonsense!” he exclaimed. “You are only a boy and not fit to go
into battle.”
The king not only forbade his going, but he set over him a guard of his
twelve foster-brothers to see that he did not go without permission. But
the boy was not to be denied. He talked so earnestly with his brothers
that he fired them with a desire to take part in the great battle. In
the end all thirteen slipped away to the camp of Finn.
The boy went before the chief of the Fenians. “I am the son of the King
of Ulster,” he said. “It is my wish to meet this champion, who is
bringing fear into the hearts of the Fenians.”
“Go home, boy,” said Conan. “This man has slain heroes who could account
for a thousand like you.”
The boy looked at him in indignation. “I do not know the Fenians,” he
said. “But I do know that you must be Conan, who speaks good of no man.
If you think a boy should not face this champion, why are you here in
camp? If I cannot kill this man, I can at least show the foreigners that
the boys of Erin have not the cowardice of a Conan!”
Conan had no more to say after that. He hated to hear the truth from the
lips of a boy. Finn, because he remembered the fire of his own youth,
looked with favor upon the brave lad and consented to his meeting the
champion. While they talked a mighty shout came from the shore.
“What is that?” asked the boy.
“That is the champion calling for men to meet him,” answered Conan. “He
has just finished the last of your bodyguard.”
“He shall not have to wait long,” said the boy.
A great shout of laughter from the enemy greeted the approach of the new
fighter. The champion joined in the jeers.
“Let Finn acknowledge his defeat if he has no more men to send out,” he
cried. “I do not fight with boys.”
“If you do not fight, it will be your last battle,” declared the son of
the king.
He closed in battle. Before the smith realized that it was a real
contest, he had received several small wounds. He began to fight in
earnest. But he had met his match at last. They fought until their
shields were torn to shreds, and their swords were broken off at the
hilts. Then they threw away the weapons and struggled with their bare
hands. Over the shore they fought, and finally out into the sea, where
they sank from sight.
The men of both sides waited anxiously to see which one would come up.
But neither appeared that night. Next morning the two bodies, still
locked in a tight embrace, were washed upon the sands. The body of the
king’s son was on top, his hands still clasping the throat of his
opponent, proving that he had won the fight.