The boy went before the chief of the Fenians. “I am the son of the King of Ulster,” he said. “It is my wish to meet this champion, who is bringing fear into the hearts of the Fenians.”
“Go home, boy,” said Conan. “This man has slain heroes who could account for a thousand like you.”
The boy looked at him in indignation. “I do not know the Fenians,” he said. “But I do know that you must be Conan, who speaks good of no man. If you think a boy should not face this champion, why are you here in camp? If I cannot kill this man, I can at least show the foreigners that the boys of Erin have not the cowardice of a Conan!”
Conan had no more to say after that. He hated to hear the truth from the lips of a boy. Finn, because he remembered the fire of his own youth, looked with favor upon the brave lad and consented to his meeting the champion. While they talked a mighty shout came from the shore.
“What is that?” asked the boy.
“That is the champion calling for men to meet him,” answered Conan. “He has just finished the last of your bodyguard.”
“He shall not have to wait long,” said the boy.
A great shout of laughter from the enemy greeted the approach of the new fighter. The champion joined in the jeers.
“Let Finn acknowledge his defeat if he has no more men to send out,” he cried. “I do not fight with boys.”
“If you do not fight, it will be your last battle,” declared the son of the king.