In his first year of shepherding, when he was nine, Conn lived in fear that the bishop would have him hanged for the false belief that it was Conn himself who was responsible for the continual exodus of lambs from his flock. Then, one blustery afternoon, as a troupe of brazen Gaels were flying off with seven lambs under their arms – as they did nearly every other day – he had burst into loud, wailing tears. The eldest Gael in the troupe had turned on hearing this. He pulled his donkey’s ears to direct it back, and trotted towards the child. This elder Gael, who was naked from the waist up and who wore seven wooden necklaces that were obscured by a red beard that reached down to his navel, spoke to him for a great length of time. Conn shook his head repeatedly, understanding nothing, but the Gael persisted in speaking at him in mountain Gaelic, waving his hands about demonstratively.

‘Sir, I do not know what you are saying,’ Conn said several times. ‘I do not take your meanings. They are all beyond me.’

After almost an hour of this one of his sons, or perhaps a nephew, finally came over, with a defeated air, and translated for the elder Gael.

This young Gael held a bleating lamb under each arm. Occasionally the lambs would kick and waggle their tails, trying to escape, and then would go catatonic in fear, and slump in his arms.

‘Why will you not chase us, you tearful boy?’ the young boy translated in a drawling monotone. ‘You have not much spirit, and give little joy to your neighbour. By your age I had already killed two slaves, one of them in righteous combat; I had won three tournaments of hurling amongst eight far better-equipped clans, pucked one ball over the Boyne where it danced on the water sixteen times though it was not even wooden – it was like a swan dancing before it passed to the other side. And on that same day I won a flock of swirling starlings for my troubles that do haunt me when I sleep, for I cannot make good on my claim to have them as they are always away and out of the country, and when they do come home they always mither me in the summers, following me about the place in a great and swarming murmuration and making their nests close above my head, but just out of my reach to taunt me; and by your age I had also given great pleasure to six distinct daughters, two of whom were not only comely, but, also for their ages, wonderfully hairy, and that I have done with only with this edge of my tongue.’

The young Gael then said a few words to the elder, after which the elder Gael stuck out his tongue, and pointed at its underside. This Gael had dyed his teeth blue with berries, giving him a fearsome aspect.