Fionn Mac Cumhaill Reborn

Irish and Celtic myths and legends, Irish folklore and Irish fairy tales from the Historical Cycle

The old magic of Ireland meets the new

Mongán mac Fíachnai was a prince of the Gaels, none other than he whose father was Fíachnae mac Báetáin, and it was about the seventh century in Ireland when he ruled over Ulster. Many are the tales told of him and his royal reign, with some even whispering that he was the son of Manannán mac Lir, ancient Gaelic Lord of the seas and oceans, even if such rumours were scorned by the new Christians in Ireland.

Well, King Mongán of the Ulaid was in his circular stone hall in Rathmore of Moylinny when a poet came to him by the name of Forgoll. At that time in Ireland, poets were more than just storytellers and verse-singers, they were thought to have mystical powers and were held in the highest regard by all, and even kings walked in fear of a poet's wrath!

On this poet Mongán kept a wary eye however, since many a married couple had made complaint against him that he was abusing his status to take advantage of the women!

With that said, Forgoll was a masterful bard and tale-recounter, and every night he would recite a story to the king. So great was his lore that they heard a new story every night from Halloween to May day.

In gratitude and as was the custom, Mongán showered him with gifts and kept him well and comfortably.

But one day Mongán asked his poet about the death of Fothad Airgdech, a great Gaelic hero who died in battle with Fionn Mac Cumhaill, to which the poet replied that he'd been slain at Duffry in Leinster.

Whatever fit took hold of Mongán then, before he could consider his words, he frowned and denied the truth of what Forgoll said, which was nigh to the worst insult he could have thrown at any poet!

Infuriated, Forgoll, pale of face and shaking of hand, spat and swore he would satirise the king and despoil his memory and heritage for all generations to come. He would satirise not only the king but the memory of his father and his mother and his grandfather so that none would speak of them unless it was with mockery until the ending of the world!

Not content with that, he would sing his most baleful magics upon the waters of Ulster, so that fish should not be caught in their river-mouths. He would sing dark lays upon their woods, so that they should not give fruit, upon their plains, so that they should be barren forever of any produce.

Aghast, Mongán tried to calm him down with promises of precious jewels and gold to the value of seven cumals, which was the name for female slaves, or twice seven cumals, or three times seven!

Nothing would satisfy the poet, who stood still with a look of thunder on him.

Then the king he offered him one third of his land - no, one half of his land, or even his whole land, to no avail!

At last, humbled beyond measure, Mongán offered the poet anything except only his own liberty and that of his wife Breóthigernd, unless he could be shown to be right before the end of three days. The poet sneered at everything offered, but a strange gleam entered his eye when the king spoke of his wife. And so for the sake of his honour Mongán consented that Forgoll should iie with his wife.

Great was the sorrow of Breóthigernd, I can tell you! Tears unceasing flowed down her fair cheek, but Mongán told her not to be sorrowful, moved by the same strange spirit that had him contradict the poet in the first place, since help would certainly come to them.

So it came to the third day. The poet called at dawn, banging on the hall doors to enforce the agreement, but Mongán told him to wait till evening. He and his wife were in their bedroom and the woman wept as her surrender drew near and she saw no help. Mongán said only "Be not sorrowful, woman. He who is even now coming to our help, I hear his feet in the Labrinne."

Yet still she wept, and the king again said, "Weep not, my love! He who is now coming to our help, I hear his feet in the Máin." Thus they were waiting between every two watches of the day. She would weep, he would still say, "Weep not woman! He who is now coming to our help, I hear his feet in the Laune, in Lough Leane, in the Morning-star River between the Úi Fidgente and the Arada, in the Suir on Moy-Fevin in Munster, in the Echuir, in the Barrow, in the Liffey, in the Boyne, in the Dee, in the Newry river, in the Larne Water in front of Rathmore."

But at last when the sun fell and night came to them, Mongán was on his couch in his palace, and his wife at his right hand, and she sorrowful, dried of tears but broken of heart. The poet stood outside and called up in a loud, cheerful voice, summoning them to fulfil the bond agreed, but he was answered by the watch of the wall, who announced that a man approached the rath from the south.

His cloak was in a fold around him, and in his hand a headless spear-shaft that was both long and thick. Plunging the foot of the shaft into the earth outside the walls, the leaped across three ramparts, landed in the middle of the fortress, and then sauntered into the middle of the palace to face Mongán! Strange and difficult to gaze upon was his face, and the sight of him sent a chill through all present.

The king and the poet explained the cause of the queens grief - "I and the poet yonder," said Mongán, "have made a wager about the death of Fothad Airgdech. He said it was at Duffry in Leinster. I said that was false." Smiling darkly, the warrior said the poet was wrong.

"Then you are not among those who live," said the poet in a high and quavering voice, reaching now late in the day for his Christian cross, "only one who walked with Fionn Mac Cumhaill could contradict me!"

"Who could imagine such a thing!" said the warrior, but then he pointed at Mongán, "In truth we were with you, with Fionn, on that day!"

At these words a great murmuring arose among those present, for not only did the warrior seem to be of a most uncanny sort, he claimed their King was Fionn Mac Cumhaill reborn, after the old pagan ways!

Surprised and not a little worried, Mongán hushed him, looking around nervously for fear anyone might think he was lending credence to this blasphemy.

"Well," the nameless warrior smiled again, "we were with Fionn, then, and leave it at that. We came from Ailbe and met with Fothad Airgdech here on the Larne river where we fought a battle. I made a cast at him, throwing this very spear so that it passed through him and went into the earth beyond him and left its iron head in the earth."

"This in my hand is the shaft that was in that spear. The bare stone from which I made that cast will be found, and the iron head will be found in the earth, and the tomb of Fothad Airgdech will be found a little to the east of it. A stone chest is about him there in the earth and upon the chest, are his two bracelets of silver, and his two arm-rings, and his neck-torc of silver. And by his tomb there is a stone pillar. And on the end of the pillar that is in the earth there is Ogam."

"This is what it says: This is Eochaid Airgdech. Cáilte slew him in an encounter against Fionn," and so they all knew the lost warrior's name.

They went with the warrior on the spot, and everything was found just as he claimed. It was Cáilte, Fionn's foster-son, that had come to them, and although he would never let it be said, Mongán was whispered to be Fionn Mac Cumhaill reborn.

Rathmore of Moylinny is marked on the map below!