Irish Fairy Tales by James Stephens

on me after all?”
    â€œDid I not promise?” Fionn replied.
    â€œAnd yet,” his master continued, “I went away so that you might eat the fish if you felt you had to.”
    â€œWhy should I want another man’s fish?” said proud Fionn.
    â€œBecause young people have strong desires. I thought you might have tasted it, and then you would have eaten it on me.”
    â€œI did taste it by chance,” Fionn laughed, “for while the fish was roasting a great blister rose on its skin. I did not like the look of that blister, and I pressed it down with my thumb. That burned my thumb, so I popped it in my mouth to heal the smart. If your salmon tastes as nice as my thumb did,” he laughed, “it will taste very nice.”
    â€œWhat did you say your name was, dear heart?” the poet asked.
    â€œI said my name was Deimne.”
    â€œYour name is not Deimne,” said the mild man, “your name is Fionn.”
    â€œThat is true,” the boy answered, “but I do not know how you know it.”
    â€œEven if I have not eaten the Salmon of Knowledge I have some small science of my own.”
    â€œIt is very clever to know things as you know them,” Fionn replied wonderingly. “What more do you know of me, dear master?”
    â€œI know that I did not tell you the truth,” said the heavy-hearted man.
    â€œWhat did you tell me instead of it?”
    â€œI told you a lie.”
    â€œIt is not a good thing to do,” Fionn admitted. “What sort of a lie was the lie, master?”
    â€œI told you that the Salmon of Knowledge was to be caught by me, according to the prophecy.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThat was true indeed, and I have caught the fish. But I did not tell you that the salmon was not to be eaten by me, although that also was in the prophecy, and that omission was the lie.”
    â€œIt is not a great lie,” said Fionn soothingly.
    â€œIt must not become a greater one,” the poet replied sternly.
    â€œWho was the fish given to?” his companion wondered.
    â€œIt was given to you,” Finegas answered. “It was given to Fionn, the son of Uail, the son of Baiscne, and it will be given to him.”
    â€œYou shall have a half of the fish,” cried Fionn.
    â€œI will not eat a piece of its skin that is as small as the point of its smallest bone,” said the resolute and trembling bard. “Let you now eat up the fish, and I shall watch you and give praise to the gods of the Underworld and of the Elements.’’
    Fionn then ate the Salmon of Knowledge, and when it had disappeared a great jollity and tranquillity and exuberance returned to the poet.
    â€œAh,” said he, “I had a great combat with that fish.”
    â€œDid it fight for its life?” Fionn inquired.
    â€œIt did, but that was not the fight I meant.”
    â€œYou shall eat a Salmon of Knowledge too,” Fionn assured him.
    â€œYou have eaten one,” cried the blithe poet, “and if you make such a promise it will be because you know.”
    â€œI promise it and know it,” said Fionn, “you shall eat a Salmon of Knowledge yet.”

Chapter 11
    H e had received all that he could get from Finegas. His education was finished and the time had come to test it, and to try all else that he had of mind and body. He bade farewell to the gentle poet, and set out for Tara of the Kings.
    It was Samhain-tide, and the feast of Tara was being held, at which all that was wise or skilful or well-born in Ireland were gathered together.
    This is how Tara was when Tara was. There was the High King’s palace with its fortification; without it was another fortification enclosing the four minor palaces, each of which was maintained by one of the four provincial kings; without that again was the great banqueting hall, and around it and enclosing all of the sacred hill in its gigantic bound ran the main outer