Art went away to the forest. He was not long in it when the boar caught the scent of him, and ran at him, snapped at his body, and took pieces out of it. Art defended himself till evening, and was more losing than gaining, when he remembered home and that princess who thought so little of his valor. He got the strength of four hundred men then, and made two even halves of the boar. When Art tried to draw his sword, it was broken at the hilt: and he let three screeches out of him that were heard all over the kingdom. He could not prepare the carcass, so he went to the old man with the sword hilt.
“A hundred thousand welcomes to you,” said the old man; “and you deserve them. You are the best man I have seen in life.”
“I do not deserve the welcomes,” said Art; “’Tis badly the day has gone with me: my sword is broken.”
“I will give you a better one,” said the old man, taking him to a room where there was nothing but swords. “Here are swords in plenty; take your choice of them.”
Art tried many, but broke one after another. At last he caught an old rusty blade, and shook it. The sword screeched so fiercely that it was heard in seven kingdoms, and his father and mother heard it in Erin.
“This blade will do,” said Art.
“Come, now, and we’ll prepare the boar,” said the old man.
The two went and dressed the boar in the way to give Art room within the body, and a place to seize the raven. The old man went to a hilltop, at a distance, and sat there till he heard the three ravens coming, and they cawing as before. “Oh, it is ye that are coming!” thought he. The birds came to the ground, and walked about, till at last one of them began to peck at the carcass. Art caught that one quickly by the neck; the bird struggled and struggled.
“You might as well stop,” said Art; “you’ll not go from me. This fellow’s head, or the head ye took yesterday,” said Art to the other two.