That was all that was necessary to give him knowledge. He sprang to his feet, his eyes blazing with anger. Buckling on his sword he went in and roused the hermit from his sleep. What the man saw in his pupil’s eyes frightened him.
“Did you eat that salmon?” demanded the hermit.
“I but burnt my finger on it and sucked the place,” said Finn. “That was enough. I know now that I am the son of Cool and that you killed him while he lay wounded. Get up and defend yourself, for I am about to avenge my father!”
Finn was but a boy, but already the strength of a champion was coming to him. The hermit fought for his life, but he was no match for the son of the man he had treacherously killed. He quickly paid for his foul deed, and Finn ate the Salmon of Knowledge, as it was intended he should.
From that time on he had more wisdom than the wisest man in Ireland. Not only that, but when in times of stress he desired to know the outcome of a battle or an adventure, by biting the thumb which had been burned he could tell the result. In other stories you will see how this knowledge aided him. Of course, you will wonder why he ever made mistakes with such a gift. I am unable to tell you that. Many of the adventures we read of a wise man would never have attempted. Probably he only used this thumb in times of great importance for fear that if he used it for everything the great gift would leave him.
FINN CLAIMS HIS INHERITANCE
A tremendous gathering of the men of Erin had come together at the city of Tara, the central city of the realm. The Fenians were camped in a circle around the outskirts. At night the lights of their campfires made a circle of fire as though to protect it from danger.
Conn, the High King, was holding court in the great banquet hall where a thousand of the chiefs and champions were gathered with him. This hall was seven hundred sixty feet long, ninety feet wide and built of hewn logs. Down each side ran a double row of benches with hewn tables in front of them. In each row were two hundred fifty of the finest manhood of Erin. Their weapons and shields rested against the walls behind them while they ate. Down the center was a row of fires over which, on spits, great roasts of meat were cooking. An army of cooks were constantly busy, tending the fires, turning the spits and carrying food to the tables.
At the end of the hall on a raised platform sat Conn, his son Arthur, and Gaul of Morna, leader of the Fenians. They were in earnest consultation.
One would have thought that such a gathering of heroes at a feast would have been a jolly one. It was not so. A deep silence hung over all. Men ate in silence with gloomy faces and downcast eyes, sad because they felt that it would be their last gathering in that splendid hall.