Finn Mac Cool (11 page)
Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
“This?” Finn said with elaborate casualness. “Och, this is just the head of a fire-breathing monster that's been trying to destroy Tara.”
Cormac dropped the shoe. “What did you say?”
“Monster.” Finn held it up, being careful to keep the smoke of the fire between himself and the king. He peeled back just enough of the weedy netting to reveal a smear of vivid blue and two glaring eyes beneath a bulbous forehead of unnatural proportions. “I destroyed this thing with magic,” he claimed, “after a ferocious battle. I cut off one of its three heads to show you. The other heads were ruined. That spear that Fiachaid gave me does considerable damage. I couldn't bring you trophies so mutilated, it would be an insult. And now that you've seen this one, I can dispose of it too. It's leaking all over me.”
Before Cormac could stop him, he flung the head in its net of very dry weeds into the heart of the flames.
An horrific stench filled the lodge.
“By the sun and stars!” cried an appalled Cormac. “Did you have to do that? I'm trying to live here!”
“I'm sorry.” Finn contrived to look abashed. “I didn't stop to think. I've carried that disgusting thing so far I just wanted to be rid of it. Perhaps we should go outside, where we can breathe?” He turned and led the way, confident the gasping king would follow.
In the firepit, the burning head had swiftly become a grotesque and blackened ruin.
“Now I remember!” Finn said to Cael. “The fire-breathing monster. I do remember!”
“I should think you would. Three heads, you said.”
“Three heads,” Finn echoed.
“I wish I'd seen it myself. But I did see the king after you showed him one of the heads, and he looked quite shaken. Can you describe the monster for me, Finn? How big was it, exactly?”
“Och ⦠immense.” Finn framed vague shapes with his hands. “As big as three oxen.”
“That big?” Cael raised his eyebrows.
“Or maybe only two oxen,” Finn amended quickly, calculating the actual size of the head and its relative scale to a body. “Two small oxen. But it was a monster right enough.”
“I believe you,” Gael assured him, “and so does the king, obviously. Perhaps he'll give you woven clothes! Just think, Finn; warriors are allowed to wear only one colour and officers two, but you might even be allowed to wear three!”
Finn snorted. “That may excite you, but my ambition doesn't end with being given the right to wear three colours.”
Meanwhile, the rest of his band awoke, yawned, scratched, cursed straw and fleas and each other, and emerged from the stable. Donn, appropriated the sack of flour the miller had given them and went off in search of the ovens. Finn gathered the others and took them to Cormac, offering them as temporary staff.
“As soon as I deem it appropriate, I'll send for my family and household servants,” Cormac told them, “but until then, I'll appreciate whatever help you're able to give us.”
Behind his hand, Lugaid whispered to Goll, “Should we give him those silver cups now?”
“Not until Finn says so,” the one-eyed man replied sternly.
Because his lodge still stank of the burned head, Cormac sent Cailte to ask Fiachaid to meet him outside. They spoke together beside the mound known as the Grave of Taya, a Milesian ancestress who had made the long-ago voyage from Galicia, in northwestern Spain.
In the crisp wintry air, Fiachaid's emotions ran from cold astonishment to hot anger. The astonishment resulted from hearing Cormac relate the details of Finn's destruction of the giant.
“That's absolutely preposterous!” Fiachaid exploded. “You can't seriously believe that ⦠that big lad killed a fire-breathing monster!”
“I didn't say I believed it,” Cormac replied. “But hundreds will. He's remarkably convincing.”
“I never heard of a fire-breathing monster in Erin, not with three heads or one head or no heads. He made it up.”
“Very likely,” the king agreed. “But that's how reputations are made. According to those who hated him, Cuhal Mac Trenmor was a swaggering
braggartâbut most men loved him. He talked big and he made his followers feel big. He must have had in some small measure the quality young Finn has by the armful. The ability to excite.”
braggartâbut most men loved him. He talked big and he made his followers feel big. He must have had in some small measure the quality young Finn has by the armful. The ability to excite.”
“But I always expectedâ”
“I know what you expected, Fiachaid. You're obedient and trustworthy, and of my own race. All admirable qualities. But Finn Mac Cool is incredibly audacious. He'll be like a vivid banner proclaiming the kingship of Cormac Mac Airt. People will notice him, and talk about him, and his lustre will reflect favourably on me. I need him, Fiachaid. I need him ⦠for a while.”
At nightfall Finn and his band were summoned to the Assembly Hall. Under Madan's direction, the broken roof had already been patched. Fresh rushes carpeted the approaches. The light of hundreds of beeswax candles glowed from the open doorways.
“This time,” Goll Mac Morna suggested, “I think we should enter by the Door of Heroes.”
“I already planned to,” replied a scrubbed and burnished Finn Mac Cool.
“What about those silver cups? Lugaid still has them.”
“I know. Bring them with us, but say nothing about them.”
They marched into the hall, a column of nine with Finn a few steps in front. His hounds followed at his heels, putting a space between himself and his men.
Cormac was waiting on the dais. Brehons stood to either side of him. Finn felt the scrutiny of judicial eyes. These were the men who interpreted the law, the agreement of an entire population as to what controls they would accept. The mightiest king was not as powerful as Brehon Law.
The faces of the judges were professionally stern. Finn felt misgivings. Even if Cormac had believed his story, would brehons be taken in? Seeing him up close like this, would they in their wisdom look through the impressive exterior and find the boy hiding beneath?
He knew only one way to shield himself. Throwing back his head and squaring his shoulders, he cried in his loudest voice, “I am Fionn son of Cuhal, slayer of monsters!”
His eyes dared anyone to contradict him.
A thundering silence descended on the hall. In that silence, Finn thought he could hear beetles busy in the thatch overhead.
Bran pressed close to him and pushed a cold, comforting nose into his palm.
Cormac folded his arms across his chest and leaned back on his bench. “Do you know how the Son of the Wolf discovered I was Airt's
son?” he asked with apparent irrelevance. “I'll tell you. I gave myself away.”
son?” he asked with apparent irrelevance. “I'll tell you. I gave myself away.”
Finn thought, I don't like the sound of this.
Cormac continued. “At the Great Assembly when I was just a boy, I made a judgment too wise for my years, settling a dispute that had baffled the brehons. Those who heard me claimed they heard the echo of my father's voice. Airt was famed for wise judgmentsâa talent the Son of the Wolf lacked, I might add.”
Finn nodded, wondering where this was leading.
“You have given yourself away,” said Cormac Mac Airt.
Finn's stomach turned over, sickeningly.
“If there was any doubt before, I have none now. You are the son of Cuhal Mac Trenmor. Only Cuhal's son would toss a severed head into my firepit and announce he'd slain a monster.
“I've found my RÃgfénnid FÃanna.”
Stunned, Finn could only stare at the king.
After a moment's silence, his men burst into cheers. Goll was the first to pound the new commander of the FÃanna on the back, so heartily he almost knocked him down. The others clustered around, shouting congratulations and punching whatever parts of Finn's body they could reach.
From his bench, Cormac watched.
The brehons watched with him.
When the excitement died down, the king raised one finger. A brehon immediately began to recite, “As commander of the army of Tara, you are entitled to three fringed woollen mantles, three linen tunics, three pairs of leather boots, a bronze helmet with a flange to guard the nape of your neck ⦔
Finn stopped listening.
It seemed to him that he stood bathed in a shaft of golden light.
This is a dream. This is a tale I've told myself.
But Bran's cold nose was pressing against his hand again, and the ground was reassuringly solid beneath his feet.
The brehon droned into silence. Cormac took over in a crisp voice. “Once I've consolidated my kingship, we'll improve your situation,” he said to Finn. “My RÃgfennid FÃanna must have great prestige; it reflects on me. You'll be the most honoured man among your people, Finn Mac Cool ⦠so long as you serve me to my satisfaction.”
If there was a warning implicit in that final phrase, Finn did not notice. Goll Mac Morna did. He tensed, his mind racing as he considered what this might mean for him.
A new game was beginning.
Finn's own mind was beginning to function again. He turned to
Lugaid. “Give me that sack now.” Carrying the sack to Cormac, he took out Huamor's silver cups one at a time, holding them up so the light of the king's beeswax candles would reveal the craftsmanship of their design.
Lugaid. “Give me that sack now.” Carrying the sack to Cormac, he took out Huamor's silver cups one at a time, holding them up so the light of the king's beeswax candles would reveal the craftsmanship of their design.
“My men and I earned these for you. There was one more of them, but I gave it to Fiachaid as a token of respect.”
Cormac's lips twitched. “That was clever of you.”
“I wasn't trying to be clever. The gesture was sincere.” Finn insisted.
“I'm sure it was. But I'd thank you not to give away any more of my property without asking me first.”
Finn tapped his fingers on his forehead.
A rough banquet was served to the warriors of Tara, old and new, in honour of the occasion. Donn oversaw the cooking. Fiachaid and his men took part with stiff formality at first, though as the evening wore on and the ale flowed. they became jollier.
“There sits a disappointed man,” Goll told Finn, indicating Fiachaid with a nod of his head. “I know the signs. He thought he'd be given command of the FÃanna, even though he's not one of us. Watch your back with that one.”
“Are you saying I should watch my back every time someone else is disappointed?”
Goll shrugged. “Take it any way you will.”
Finn got up, collected his new spear from the stack of weapons the warriors had left in a corner of the hall, and carried it to Fiachaid. “This is yours, I believe,” he said. “I thank you for the loan of it.”
Fiachaid accepted the trifurcated spear. Its iron head was held to its shaft with thirty brass rivets, each gleaming like a star from fresh polishing. “I thought you meant to keep this,” he said.
“You were mistaken. It isn't mine, it's yours.”
Fiachaid hesitated. Then, like Iruis with the deer's hide, he handed the object in question back to Finn. “It's yours now,” he said.
The warriors, old and new, cheered him roundly.
As entertainment for the evening, Finn told again the tale of the killing of the monster, complete with embellishments.
It was a grand night for storytelling. The ubiquitous rains of winter ceased for a time, and Lara blazed with torch and candlelight to rival the stars in the wind-scoured sky. The brilliance of the occasion masked the shabbiness of the old buildings. Everyone who could crowded into the Assembly Hall to listen to Tara's new champion. Persons of rank filled the formal compartments, rectangular timber boxes, while lesser beings stood in the aisles or lounged against the walls or peered in through the doorways.
In spite of nightfall, people kept arriving. Next day was the first of the
Samhain Assembly. Each new arrival hurried to the hall, swelling the throng that soon spilled out over the grassy lawns. People who were close enough to hear Finn repeated his words over their shoulders to others behind them, passing the story out into the night.
Samhain Assembly. Each new arrival hurried to the hall, swelling the throng that soon spilled out over the grassy lawns. People who were close enough to hear Finn repeated his words over their shoulders to others behind them, passing the story out into the night.
By the time he finished speaking, Finn's tale had taken on a life of its own. Each tongue had embellished it in the retelling. Those on the fringes of the crowd were informed that a supernatural force, undoubtedly the Tuatha Dé Danann, had entered into a conspiracy with Cormac's other enemies in an effort to reclaim Tara. A magical monster had been sent to burn down the stronghold while Cormac's men slumbered under a magical spell. It was obvious.
Only the new RÃgfénnid FÃanna had stood between Tara and the Magic People.
It was a thrilling story. Everyone enjoyed it. When Finn reached the part where he cut off the monster's head and yelled, “My dogs and I were bathed in its foul blood!” Bran and Sceolaun testified with a volley of barking that echoed across the ridge.
If the Tuatha Dé Danann were slumbering in the mounds and mountains beyond, they surely heard the triumphant roar of Finn Mac Cool.
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