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The two then fell into grips, and went lurching and punching about the great hall. Two of Oscar's sons could not bear to see their uncle being worsted, and they leaped at Cona'n, and two of Goll's sons rushed at them. Then Oscar himself leaped up, and with a hammer in either hand he went battering into the melee. "I thank the gods," said Cona'n, "for the chance of killing yourself, Oscar."
He stated that Fionn's brother Cairell struck Cona'n mac Morna, that Goll's two sons came to help Cona'n, that Oscar went to help Cairell, and with that Fionn's people and the clann-Morna rose at each other, and what had started as a brawl ended as a battle with eleven hundred of Fionn's people and sixty-one of Goll's people dead.
Goll agreed that the affair should be submitted to that court, and a day was appointed, a fortnight from that date, to meet at Tara of the Kings for judgement. Then the hall was cleansed and the banquet recommenced. Of Fionn's people eleven hundred of men and women were dead, while of Goll's people eleven men and fifty women were dead.
As her foot moved a great shout of joy rose from the Fianna. A snarl went over the huge face of the monster and she leaped forward again, but she met Goll's point in the road; it went through her, and in another moment Goll took her head from its shoulders and swung it on high before Fionn. As the Fianna turned homewards Fionn spoke to his great champion and enemy.
Just then Faelan, another of Fionn's sons, stormed the hall with three hundred of the Fianna, and by this force all Goll's people were put out of doors, where the fight continued. Goll looked then calmly on Fionn. "Your people are using their weapons," said he. "Are they?" Fionn inquired as calmly, and as though addressing the air. "In the matter of weapons !" said Goll.
One can imagine Goll's merry stare taking in all that could be seen; Cona'n's grim eye raking the women's faces while his tongue raked them again; the Rough mac Morna shouldering here and there in the house and about it, with maybe a hatchet in his hand, and Art Og coursing further afield and vowing that if the cub was there he would find him. But Fionn was gone.
But Goll's brother, bald Cona'n the Swearer, turned a savage eye on Cairell. "By my weapons," said he, "there were never less than an hundred-and-one men with Goll, and the least of them could have put you down easily enough." "Ah?" cried Cairell. "And are you one of the hundred-and-one, old scaldhead?"
In another moment, to the undying shame of every person present, he would have been compelled to lift his own challenge and declare himself the champion of Tara for that night, but the shame that was on the faces of his people would remain in the heart of their king. Goll's merry mind would help him to forget, but even his heart would be wrung by a memory that he would not dare to face.
But perhaps it was suppressed out of delicacy for Fionn, for if Goll could be accused of ostentation, Fionn was open to the uglier charge of jealousy. It was, nevertheless, Goll's forward and impish temper which commenced the brawl, and the verdict of time must be to exonerate Fionn and to let the blame go where it is merited.
"Continue," said Fionn, and he held Goll's eye under the great beetle of his brow. "I went into Britain," said Goll, "and your father followed me there. Your father banished me thence also." "I know it," said Fionn. "I went into the land of the Saxons and your father chased me out of that land.
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