One fine day, Fionn mac Cumhaill and fourteen of his men were hunting on the top of Muisire Mountain. They had spent the whole day since sunrise there but met no game.
Late in the evening, Fionn spoke, “’Tis as well for us to face for home, men. We’re catching nothing, and it will be late when we, hungry and thirsty, reach home.”
“Upon my soul. We’re hungry and thirsty as it is,” said Conan.
They turned on their heels and went down the mountainside, but if they did, they weren’t far down when a dark black fog fell on them. They lost their way and didn’t know whether to go east or west. Finally they had to sit down where they were.
“I’m afraid, men, that we’re astray for the evening,” said Fionn. “I never yet liked a fog of this kind.”
After they had sat for a while talking and arguing, whatever look Diarmaid gave around, he saw a beautiful nice lime-white house behind them.
“Come along, men, to this house over there,” said he. “Maybe we’ll get something to eat and drink there.”
They all agreed and made their way to the house. When they entered, there was nobody before them but a wizened old man who was lying in a bent position at the edge of the hearth and a sheep which was tied along by the wall. They sat down. The old man raised his head and welcomed Fionn and his men heartily.
“By my soul,” said Diarmaid to himself. “’Tisn’t very likely that our thirst or hunger will be eased in this hovel.”
After awhile, the old man called loudly to a young woman who was below in a room telling her to come up and get food ready for Fionn and his men. Then there walked up the floor from below a fine strapping handsome young woman, and it didn’t take her long to get food and drink ready for them. She pulled a long ample table out into the middle of the floor, spread a tablecloth on it, and laid cut the dinner for the Fianna. She seated Fionn at the head of the table and set every man’s meal in front of him. No sooner had each of them put the first bite of food into his mouth than the sheep which was tied along the wall stretched and broke the hard hempen tying that was holding her and rushed towards the table. She upset it by lifting one end of it and not a scrap of food was left that wasn’t thrown to the floor in front of the Fianna.
“The devil take you,” cried Conan. “Look at the mess you have made of our dinner, and we badly in need of it.”
“Get up, Conan, and tie the sheep,” said Fionn.
Conan, looking very angry at the loss of his dinner, got up against his will and walked to the sheep. He caught her by the top of the head and tried to drag her toward the wall. But if he broke his heart in the attempt, he couldn’t tie her up. He stood there looking at her.
“By heavens,” said he. “As great a warrior and hero as I am, here’s this sheep today, and I can’t tie her. Maybe someone else can?”
“Get up, Diarmaid, and tie the sheep,” said Fionn.
Diarmaid stood up and tried, but if he did, he failed to tie her. Each of the fourteen men made an attempt, but it was no use.
“My shame on ye,” said the old man. “To say that as great as your valor has ever been, ye can’t tie an animal as small as a sheep to the side of the wall with a bit of rope.”
He got up from the edge of the hearth and hobbled down the floor. As he went, six pintsful of ashes fell from the backside of his trousers, because he had been so long lying on the hearth. He took hold of the sheep by the scruff of the head, pulled her easily in to the wall, and tied her up. When the Fianna saw him tie the sheep, they were seized with fear and trembling, seeing that he could do it after themselves had failed, brave and all though they were. The old man returned to his place by the fire.
“Come up here and get some food ready for Fionn and his men,” he called to the young woman.
She came up from the room again, and whatever knack or magic she had, she wasn’t long preparing new food to set before them.
“Start eating now, men; ye’ll have no more trouble,” said the old man. “This dinner will quench your thirst and hunger.”
When they had eaten and were feeling happy with their stomachs full, they drew their chairs back from the table. Whatever peering around Fionn had—he was always restless—he looked toward the room and saw the young woman sitting on a chair there. He got a great desire to talk to her for a while. He went down to the room to her.
“Fionn mac Cumhaill,” said she; “you had me once and you won’t have me again.”
He had to turn on his heel and go back to his chair. Diarmaid then went down to her, but he got the same answer; so did each of the rest of the Fianna. Oisin was the last to try, but she said the same thing to him. She took him by the hand and led him up the floor till she stood in front of the Fianna.
“Fionn mac Cumhaill,” said she; “ye were ever famous for strength and agility and prowess, and still each of you failed to tie the sheep. This sheep is not of the usual kind. She is Strength. And that old man over there is Death. As strong as the sheep was, the old man was able to overcome her. Death will overcome ye in the same way, strong and all as ye are. I myself am a planet sent by God, and it is God who has placed this hovel here for ye. I am Youth. Each of you had me once but never will again. And now, I will give each of you whatever gift he asks me for.”
Fionn was the first to speak, and he asked that he might lose the smell of clay, which he had had ever since he sinned with a woman who was dead.
Diarmaid said that what he wanted was a love spot on his body, so that every young woman who saw it would fall in love with him.
Oscar asked for a thong which would never break for his flail. Conan asked for the power of killing hundreds in battle, while he himself would be invulnerable.
On hearing this, Diarmaid spoke.
“Alas!” said he. “If Conan is given the power of killing hundreds, for heaven’s sake, don’t let him know how to use it. He’s a very strong, but a very vicious, man, and if he loses his temper, he won’t leave one of the Fianna alive.”
And that left Conan as he was ever afterward. He never knew how to use this power that he had, except once at the Battle of Ventry, when he looked at the enemy through his fingers and slew every one of them.
Each of the Fianna in turn asked for what he wanted. I don’t know what some of them asked for, but Oisin asked for the grace of God. They say that he went to the Land of Youth and remained there until Saint Patrick came to Ireland, so that he would get the proper faith and knowledge of God and extreme unction when he died. He got them too, for when he returned to Ireland, Saint Patrick himself baptized him and anointed him before he died.
[This tale was collected by audio recording sometime about the year 1930 from a fifty-six year old conteuse named Peig Sayers in the Blasket Islands, Dingle, County Kerry. The transcription was not done until 1947, when Peig herself helped the transcriber understand bad places in the recording.]