‘The folk of the settlement discussed who would go up and ask the old fellow about the creature,’ Master Oisin went on, ‘and the wise woman was chosen. She took a flask of mead, a loaf of bread, a basket of pears and a fillet of fresh codfish, as well as a warm woollen blanket and a pair of boots. The lad carried this offering for her as far as the stone wall that marked off the old man’s land, and she took it the rest of the way on her own. Although it was daytime, she could hear the creature crying in the cave down below. It was a sound fit to freeze your heart, such was the sorrow in it.

‘It took a while for her to be let in the door, and even longer to get the old man talking, but a wise woman is nothing if not determined,’ – here, Master Oisin cast a glance at me – ‘and it did help that she offered to cook the fish for him right away, though that proved a challenge, since the hearth was cold and the only cook pot thick with grime. And if she used an uncanny trick or two to get the pot clean, and to bring in wood, and to start the fire burning, that was reasonable enough, since she was a wise woman, not a village wife. She bullied the old fellow into washing his face and changing his shirt, though the other one was as filthy as the first, then she sat him down with a platter of bread and fish and a cup of mead in front of him, and let him enjoy his meal in peace.

‘When he was done, she cut up a pear for him with her little knife, and set it out prettily on the platter, in the shape of a petalled flower. And she asked him if he knew any old stories that might shed light on the creature below, bellowing in its sadness.’

Master Oisin looked around the circle of listeners. All of us were rapt with attention. This time he did not pick me. ‘Prince Oran, although you are no druid, I know you are well versed in ancient tales. Have you a suggestion for me?’

Oran looked as startled as I had been when the druid had asked me for a contribution. But he gathered his composure quickly. ‘An existing tale, Master Oisin? Or may I devise one to suit?’

‘Devise all you wish, my lord. Is not a tale a living thing that grows and changes with every telling?’

The prince cleared his throat. This was a far more challenging task than mine. To come up with an appropriate story out of the blue before a waiting crowd required quick thinking. ‘The old man said, “I was telling tales before you were born, young woman. I was telling tales when I was two years old, and mighty fine ones they were, too.” ’