The Crane Bag of the Fianna

The fair boy stared at the bag, turning it over in his hands. It felt smooth to the touch; fine leather, warm and welcoming to
his fingers. He continued to stare at the pouch, its faded colours telling a story, but it was a tale he could not yet read. But
he knew the object, even though he had never seen it before. Here he was, finally, holding in his hands the ancient treasure
bag, stolen from his father, Cumall, in his final hours, as he was killed by his enemies, in battle, leaving his son a fugitive;
leaving him a fugitive even before he was born. And so, he had been brought up in secret, and now travelled from court to
court, from adventure to adventure, always in hiding, always alone. There had been so many times he had been forced to
fly, only one step ahead of his enemies, and so many adventures. Now, the latest of these exploits had brought him the
treasure bag.
He had fallen into this adventure by accident. He had reddened the earth with the blood of a man threatening a woman he
had met by chance. And the deed had brought him more than her thanks. For, though he had not known it before, the man
he had slain was the Grey One of Luachar, the enemy who had dealt the first blow to his lost father; the man who had taken
the bag as a bounty. But that was long ago. Most of the men of his father’s war band were dead; or very old. There were a
few that hunted with old Crimnall. He, Fionn thought, would want to see the precious bag again.
Fionn sat down to take another look at the treasure. It had seemed satisfyingly bulky and heavy when he had first taken it
from the corpse of his enemy, but now it felt oddly lighter, almost empty. Fionn grunted and attempted to open the bag.
But the feathered drawstring was stiff, would not even loosen. The fair warrior felt irritated. He was tempted to take his
knife to the recalcitrant leather, but then the old man, Crimnall, came to mind. For him, the bag would be a precious relic
of the old days. Besides, he might know how to open it.
Old Crimnell laughed a toothless grin of pleasure when the worn bag was placed in his gnarled hands.
“Now this,” he laughed, “I thought I would never see again. Did you know, Lad, that this bag once belonged to the great
Lugh himself? Manannán gave it to him when he set out to help the heroes against the Fomoire Balor, he of the poison
eye. Oh yes, he gave his foster-son treasure upon treasure to arm and adorn him. There was the Freagarthach, Manannán’s
own sword; a radiant, jewelled helmet; armour of such magnificence and…”
“The treasure bag,” broke in Fionn, hoping to keep the old man’s attention on the leather container balanced on his meagre
lap.
The elderly warrior was not to be so easily turned from his mind’s-eye reminiscences.
“Yes, the treasure bag,” he continued. “That was no small gift. Had you heard, it was made by Manannán himself from the
skin of a crane? No? Aoife, the daughter of Delbáeth, it was who fell in love with Ilbreac. Luchra, her rival for the man,
would have none of it and, turning Aoife into a great crane bird, forbade her land for 200 years. When she finally died,
Manannán made this fine bag from her skin and filled it with his most magical treasures.”
Crimnall was silent for a moment as he searched his memory. Fionn waited impatiently.
“It was said to contain,” Crimnall spoke slowly, “Manannán’s shield, his knife, the king of Scotland’s shears, the king of
Lochlain’s helmet and the bones of Asal’s swine, along with Goibnu the smith’s girdle.”
“And are they still inside the bag?”
“We will have to find out,” answered Crimnall, picking it up.
“But I couldn’t open it.”
“Ah, well,” replied the old warrior, smiling at the lad. “It depends when you open it. You cannot expect a bag with such a
lineage to be simple. This is the bag of Manannán, and it responds to the tides and times of the ever-changing waters. Look
for it to open when the sea is full, in high tide; for, at the ebb tide, it will always be empty.”
“And is the tide full now?” wondered Fionn hopefully.
The old warrior nodded. Carefully, he lifted the bag and stretched open its wide mouth. Then, slowly he tipped, scattering
its contents onto the green of the grass.
Golden treasures lay there gleaming in the watery sunlight; grew greater as they fell away from the constraint of the magical
bag.
The gifts of Manannán. The wonderful treasure bag of the Fianna.
 The Pursuit of Diarmuid and Grainne
On a certain day when Finn mac Cumaill rose at early morn in Almu, in Leinster, and sat upon the grass-green plain,
having neither servant nor attendant with him, there followed him two of his people; that is, Oisin the son of Finn, and
Diorruing the son of Dobar O’Baoiscne. Oisin spoke, and what he said was:
“What is the cause of this early rising of thine, O Finn?” said he.
“Not without cause have I made this early rising,” said Finn; “for I am without a wife since Maignes the daughter of
Garad Glundub mac Moirne died; for he is not wont to have slumber nor sweet sleep who happens to be without a fitting
wife, and that is the cause of my early rising, O Oisin.”
“What forceth thee to be thus?” said Oisin; “for there is not a wife nor a mate in the green-landed island of Erin
upon whom thou mightest turn the light of thine eyes or of thy sight, whom we would not bring by fair means or by foul to
thee.”
And then spoke Diorruing, and what he said was: “I myself could discover for thee a wife and a mate befitting thee.”
“Who is she?” said Finn.
“She is Grainne the daughter of Cormac the son of Art the son of Conn the Hundred-Fighter,” said Diorruing, “that
is, the woman that is fairest of feature and form and speech of the women of the world together.” […]
There sat there a druid and a skilful man of knowledge of the people of Finn before Grainne the daughter of Cormac;
that is, Daire Duanach mac Morna; and it was not long before there arose gentle talking and mutual discourse between
himself and Grainne. Then Daire Duanach mac Morna arose and stood before Grainne, and sang her the songs and the
verses and the sweet poems of her fathers and of her ancestors; and then Grainne spoke and asked the druid,
“What is the reason wherefore Finn is come to this place to­night?”
“If thou knowest not that,” said the druid, “it is no wonder that I know it not.”
“I desire to learn it of thee,” said Grainne.
“Well then,” said the druid, “it is to ask thee as wife and as mate that Finn is come to this place to-night.” […]
When Grainne saw that they were in a state of drunkenness and of trance, she rose fairly and softly from the seat
on which she was, and spoke to Oisin, and what she said was:
“I marvel at Finn mac Cumaill that he should seek such a wife as I, for it were fitter for him to give me my own equal
to marry than a man older than my father.”
“Say not that, O Grainne,” said Oisin, “for if Finn were to hear thee he would not have thee, neither would I dare to
take thee.”
“Wilt thou receive courtship from me, O Oisin?” said Orainne. “I will not,” said Oisin, “for whatsoever woman is
betrothed to Finn, I would not meddle with her.”
Then Grainne turned her face to Diarmuid O’Duibne, and what she said to him was: “Wilt thou receive courtship
from me, O O’Duibne, since Oisin received it not from me?”
“I will not,” said Diarmuid, “for whatever woman is betrothed to Oisin I may not take her, even were she not
betrothed to Finn.”
“Then,” said Grainne, “I put thee under taboos of danger and of destruction, O Diarmuid, that is, under the taboos
of mighty druidism, if thou take me not with thee out of this household to-night, ere Finn and the king of Em arise out of
that sleep.” “Evil bonds are those under which thou hast laid me, O woman,” said Diarmuid; “and wherefore hast thou laid
those taboos upon me before all the sons of kings and of high princes in the king’s mirthful house called Midcuart this night,
seeing that there is not of all those one less worthy to be loved by a woman than myself?”
“By thy hand, O O’Duibne, it is not without cause that I have laid those taboos on thee, as I will tell thee now.
“One day when the king of Erin was presiding over a gathering and muster on the plain of Tara, Finn and the seven
battalions of the standing fian chanced to be there that day; and there arose a great goaling match between Cairbre Liffecair
the son of Cormac, and the son of Lugaid, and the men of Mag Breg, and of Cerna, and the stout champions of Tara arose
on the side of Cairbre, and the fian of Erin on the side of the son of Lugaid; and there were none sitting in the gathering that
day but the king, and Finn, and thyself, O Diarmuid. It happened that the game was going against the son of Lugaid, and
thou didst rise and stand, and tookest his burly-stick from the next man to thee, and didst throw him to the ground and to
the earth, and thou wentest into the game, and didst win the goal three times upon Cairhre and upon the warriors of Tara.
I Was at that time in my bower of the clear view, of the blue windows of glass, gazing upon thee; and I turned the light of
mine eyes and of my sight upon thee that day, and I never gave that love to any other man from that time to this, and will
not for ever.”
“It is a wonder that thou shouldest give me that love instead of Finn,” said Diarmuid, “seeing that there is not in
Erin a man that is fonder of a woman than he; and knowest thou, O Grainne, on the night that Finn is in Tara that he it is
that has the keys of Tara, and that so we cannot leave the stronghold?”
“There is a wicket-gate to my bower,” said Grainne, “and we will pass out through it.” […]
 Oisin in the Land of Youth

[…]
Niamh and Oisin lived happily in the Land of Youth and had three children. Niamh named the boys Finn and Oscar
after Oisin’s father and son. Oisin gave his daughter a name that suited her loving nature and her lovely face; he named her
Plur na mBan, the Flower of Women.
Three hundred years went by, though to Oisin they seemed as short as three. He began to get homesick for Ireland
and longed to see Finn and his friends, so he asked Niamh and her father to allow his to return home. The king consented
but Niamh was perturbed by his request.
“I can’t refuse you though I wish you had never asked, Oisin!” she said. “I’m afraid that if you go you’ll never return.”
Oisin tried to comfort his wife. “Don’t be distressed, Niamh!” he said. “Our white horse knows the way. He’ll bring
me back safely!”
So Niamh consented, but she gave Oisin a most solemn warning. “listen to me well, Oisin,” she implored him, “and
remember what I’m saying. If you dismount from the horse you will not be able to return to this happy country. I tell you
again, if your foot as much as touches the ground, you will be lost for ever to the Land of Youth.”
Then Niamh began to sob and wail in great distress. “Oisin, for the third time I warn you: do not set foot on the soil
of Ireland or you can never come back to me again! Everything is changed there. You will not see Finn or the Fianna, you
will find only a crowd of monks and holy men.”
Oisin tried to console her but Niamh was inconsolable and pulled and clutched at her long hair in her distress. He
said goodbye to his children and as he stood by the white horse Niamh came up to him and kissed him.
“Oh, Oisin, here is a last kiss for you! You will never come back to me or to the Land of Youth.”
Oisin mounted his horse and turning his back on the Land of Youth, set out for Ireland. The horse took him away
from Tir na n_og as swiftly as it had brought Niamh and him there three hundred years before.
Oisin arrived in Ireland in high spirits, as strong and powerful a champion as he had ever been, and set out at once
to find the Fianna. He travelled over the familiar terrain but saw no trace of any of his friends. Instead he saw a crowd of
men and women approaching from the west. He drew in his horse and, at the sight of Oisin, the crowd stopped too. They
addressed him courteously, but they kept on staring at him, astonished at his appearance and his great size. When Oisin
told them he was looking for Finn MacCumhaill and asked of his whereabouts the people were even more surprised.
“We’ve heard of Finn and the Fianna,” they told him. “The stories about him say that there never was anyone to
match him in character, behaviour or build. There are so many stories that we could not even start to tell them to you!”
When Oisin heard this a tide of weariness and sadness washed over him and he realized that Finn and his
companions were dead. Straight away he set out for Almu, the headquarters of the Fianna in the plains of Leinster. But
when he got there, there was no trace of the strong, shining white fort. There was only a bare hill overgrown with ragwort,
chickweed and nettles. Oisin was heartbroken at the sight of that desolate place. He went from one of Finn’s haunts to
another but they were all deserted. He scoured the countryside but there was no trace of his companions anywhere.
As he passed through Wicklow, through Glenasmole, the Valley of the Thrushes, he saw three hundred or more
people crowding the glen. When they saw Oisin approach on his horse one of them shouted out, “Come over here and help
us! You are much stronger than we are!” Oisin came closer and saw that the men were trying to lift a vast marble flagstone.
The weight of the stone was so great that the men underneath could not support it and were being crushed by the load.
Some were down already. Again the leader shouted desperately to Oisin, “Come quickly and help us to lift the slab or all
these men will be crushed to death!” Oisin looked down in disbelief at the crowd of men beneath him who were so puny
and weak that they were unable to lift the flagstone. He leaned out of the saddle and, taking the marble slab in his hands,
he raised it with all his strength and flung it away and the men underneath it were freed. But the slab was so heavy and the
exertion so great that the golden girth round the horse’s belly snapped and Oisin was pulled out of the saddle. He had to
jump to the ground to save himself and the horse bolted the instant its rider’s feet touched the ground. Oisin stood upright
for a moment, towering over the gathering. Then, as the horrified crowd watched, the tall young warrior, who had been
stronger than all of them, sank slowly to the ground. His powerful body withered and shrank, his skin sagged into wrinkles
and folds and the sight left his clouded eyes. Hopeless and helpless, he lay at their feet, a bewildered blind old man.