picked up the cup, but as he was filling it there came a loud murmuring from the well, and he knew then that some magician had placed spells on it.
"All the same," he said aloud, "I will drink as much as I want of it," and he drank one cupful after another.
He bent down to replace the cup on the stone, and when he stood up again he saw before him a stern-looking man with a drawn sword in his hand.
"You have no right here," said the man, "walking on my land and drinking my water without permission." With that he slashed at Diarmuid's head, but did not touch him.
"It is an unchivalrous act, and one that the Fians have never done, to attack a man before he is ready," said Diarmuid as he drew his sword.
All through the day they fought, and many hard blows they exchanged, but when dusk began to fall the magician—as Diarmuid imagined him to be—dived into the well and disappeared, and to Diarmuid this was a grief, for his fighting madness was just coming on
