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"A third of all you earn and a seat at your council." "I grant that," said Fionn, "and now, tell me your plan?" "You remember my spear with the thirty rivets of Arabian gold in its socket?" "The one," Fionn queried, "that had its head wrapped in a blanket and was stuck in a bucket of water and was chained to a wall as well the venomous Birgha?" "That one," Fiacuil replied.
He continued: "Aillen mac Midna will be off his guard when he stops playing and begins to blow his fire; he will think everybody is asleep; then you can deliver the attack you were speaking of, and all good luck go with it." "I will give him back his spear," said Fionn. "Here it is," said Fiacuil, taking the Birgha from under his cloak.
Fionn put a finger into the thong of the great spear, and at that cast night fell on Aillen mac Midna. His eyes went black, his mind whirled and ceased, there came nothingness where he had been, and as the Birgha whistled into his shoulder-blades he withered away, he tumbled emptily and was dead. Fionn took his lovely head from its shoulders and went back through the night to Tara.
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