“I have never seen the Fenians till this day,” said the king’s son, “still I know that you are Conan Maol, who never speaks well of any man; but you will see that I am not in dread of Dealv Dura, or any champion on earth. I will go down now, and meet the warrior single-handed.”
Fin and the Fenians stopped the young hero, and detained him, and talked to him. Then, Conan began again, and said, “In six days that champion has slain twelve hundred men; and there was not a man of the twelve hundred who could not have killed twelve hundred like you every day.”
These words enraged the king’s son. He sprang up, and then heard the shouting of Dealv Dura on the strand. “What does he want now?” asked the king’s son.
“More men for combat,” said Conan. “He has just slain your twelve body-guards.”
With that the king’s son seized his weapons, and no man could stop or delay him. He rushed to the strand, and went toward Dealv Dura. When the champion saw the youth coming, he sneered, and the hosts of the High King sent up a roar of laughter; for they thought Fin’s men were all killed, since he had sent a stripling to meet Dealv Dura. The courage of the boy was all the greater from the derision; and he rushed on Dealv Dura, who got many wounds from the youth before he knew it.
They fought a sharp, bloody combat; and no matter how the champion, Dealv Dura, used his strength, swiftness, and skill, he was met by the king’s son: and if the world could be searched, from its eastern edge to its western border, no braver battle would be found than was that one.
The two fought through the day, the hosts of the Great World and the Fenians cheering and urging them on. Toward evening their shields were hacked to pieces, and their weapons all shivered, but they did not stop the battle; they grappled and caught each other, and fought so that the sand on the beach was boiling like water beneath them. They wrestled that way, seeing nothing in the world but each other, till the tide of the sea went over them, and drowned the two there before the eyes of the Fenians and the hosts of the High King.
A great cry of wailing and sorrow was raised on both sides, when the water closed over the champions. Next morning, after the tide-ebb, the two bodies were found stiff and cold, each one in the grasp of the other; but Dealv Dura was under the king’s son, so it was known that the youth was a better man than the other.
The king’s son was buried with great honor by the Fenians; and never before did they mourn for a hero as on that day.
“Who will command the battle this time?” asked Fin, on the following morning.