Thereby, too, in
the end he got his death, for as the wise say that the gifts of Faery
may not be enjoyed without peril by mortal men, so in this case too
it proved. For, one day as Fergus was exploring the depths of Loch
Rury he met the monster, namely the river-horse, which inhabited that
lake. Horrible of form it was, swelling and contracting like a
blacksmith's bellows, and with eyes like torches, and glittering
tusks, and a mane of coarse hair on its crest and neck. When it saw
Fergus it laid back its ears, and its neck arched like a rainbow over
his head, and the vast mouth gaped to devour him. Then Fergus rose
quickly to the surface and made for the land, and the beast after him,
driving before it a huge wave of foam. Barely did he escape with his
life; but with the horror of the sight his features were distorted and
his mouth was twisted around to the side of his head, so that he was
called Fergus Wry-mouth from that day forth. And the gillie that was
with him told the tale of the adventure.
Now there was a law in Ireland that no man might be king who was
disfigured by any bodily blemish. His people, therefore, loving
Fergus, kept from him all knowledge of his condition, and the Queen
let all mirrors that were in the palace be put away. But one day it
chanced that a bondmaid was negligent in preparing the bath, and
Fergus being impatient, gave her a stroke with a switch which he had
in his hand.
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