The Beloved
Diarmuid Ua Duibhne was the finest warrior of the Fianna after Oscar, and the man whose face bore a love-spot — the ball seirce — that caused any woman who looked at it to fall in love with him. He kept it hidden under his hair his whole life.
He got the love-spot by accident. He was sleeping under a tree when a young man — supernatural in some versions — came and rested beside him and placed his hand on Diarmuid’s forehead while he slept. When Diarmuid woke, the mark was there. He covered it and never showed it willingly.
Gráinne saw it at Fionn mac Cumhaill‘s feast. She drugged the wine of everyone in the hall except Diarmuid and a few companions, then placed a geis on Diarmuid — a supernatural compulsion he could not refuse without losing his honour — to take her away before Fionn woke. Diarmuid did not want to do it. He was loyal to Fionn. He told her so. She put the geis on him anyway.
He took her. He had no choice that didn’t destroy something.
The pursuit across Ireland lasted years. Fionn and the Fianna tracked them from place to place, the couple always one step ahead. The megalithic portal tombs scattered across Ireland — more than fifty of them — are called the beds of Diarmuid and Gráinne, where they slept during the flight. His foster-father Óengus Mac Óg sheltered them when he could.
Eventually Fionn formally reconciled with them and they settled at Ráth Gráinne. They had children. It looked as though the story might end quietly.
During the pursuit Gráinne demanded berries from the magical rowan tree at Dubros, guarded by Searbhan — a Fomorian with an iron club who let no one near it. Diarmuid killed Searbhan with his own club, in three blows, and got the berries.
Then Fionn led Diarmuid to the wild boar of Ben Bulben. Diarmuid had been forbidden to hunt it — it was his enchanted foster-brother in animal form, and the prohibition was absolute. He killed the boar anyway. The boar gored him with its poisonous tusk as it died.
Fionn could heal him. He had only to carry water from the well in his cupped hands. He went to the well twice and let the water fall through his fingers each time. The third time Oscar forced him to bring it at sword-point. He came back. Diarmuid was dead.
Óengus Mac Óg carried his body to Brú na Bóinne and breathed enough life into it to speak with him — not enough to live, just enough so that Diarmuid’s voice would be with him. The foster-father’s love outlasted the mortal life.
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