There lived in Ulster the smith Culainn, chief smith of King Conchobar. Once Culainn invited Conchobar to his home for a feast. Conchobar accepted the invitation, and when the time came for the feast, set off for Culainn’s home with a few chosen men.

On his way Conchobar passed the green of Emain where the boy-troop were playing. And he saw the most amazing sight: a single boy was ranged against the remaining hundred and fifty, and winning every single goal and game. Conchobar watched the boy with wonder and amazement. This boy was no other than little Setanta, the six-year-old son of Conchobar’s sister.

Conchobar was so pleased with what he saw that he called Setanta to him and said, ‘Little boy, come with us to the feast to which we go, for you shall be a guest with us.’

But Setanta answered, ‘No, I cannot come to the feast with you. The boys haven’t finished their game as yet, and I will not go till we have played enough.’

‘That will take a long time,’ said the King. ‘And we cannot wait that long.’

‘Carry on without me,’ said Setanta, ‘and I will follow you to the feast.’

‘But you do not know the way,’ said the king.

‘I will follow the trail left by your horses and chariots,’ said Setanta.

So, leaving little Setanta to finish his game with other boys, and to follow them later to the feast, Conchobar and his men carried on to the house of Culainn the smith.

Culainn received the king and his men with great honour. Fresh rushes were spread on the floor for them, and food and wine provided. Soon the king and his men was eating and drinking and having a wonderful time.

When the feast was underway, Culainn went up to Conchobar and asked, ‘O Conchobar, have you asked anyone to follow you to this feast tonight?’

‘No,’ said Conchobar, ‘I have not.’ He had forgotten all about little Setanta whom he had invited to accompany him and who was to follow later.

‘Why do you want to know?’ asked Conchobar of Culainn.

And the smith answered, ‘I have a dog, a mighty and ferocious hound brought all the way from Spain. When I set him lose he lets no stranger approach my house, and I and all in it are safe. The dog knows no one but me, and will tear into pieces anyone who approaches. So I ask, before I set the dog free, does anyone follow you here tonight?’

When Conchobar said once again that no one was supposed to follow him, Culainn went outside and set his huge dog free, and set him to guard the house. The dog lay in front of Culainn’s house with his huge head on his paws, ready to tear into pieces any who came there.

In Emain, the boys finished their play at last, and each went off to his parents’ house. Setanta set off for Culainn’s house, following the trail of the king’s party. As he went he played with his ball, which he still carried with him.

As Setanta approached Culainn’s house, the huge dog growled, and stood up, his hair bristling, his teeth bared, ready to swallow in a single gulp the little child who came along playing with his ball. But Setanta was not afraid, even though he had no weapons and no means of defending himself. Thinking quickly, he threw his ball straight at the open mouth of the dog. As always, Setanta’s aim was true, and the ball went into the dog’s mouth, into his gullet and out through the back, carrying his guts with it! Before the dog could recover Setanta grasped him by the hind legs and dashed him against a stone and killed him.

Meanwhile, inside Culainn’s house, through all the noise of the feasting and merrymaking, Conchobar had heard the growling of the guard dog. ‘Setanta!’ cried Conchobar, remembering suddenly that he had asked the little boy to follow him to the feast. The king rose, and with him all his men, and rushed outside, fearing the worst. ‘My sister’s son has surely been torn to death by the hound,’ grieved Conchobar.

But Setanta stood there, safe and sound. Fergus, one of Conchobar’s trusted knights, lifted him onto his shoulder and carried him to the king, who was most relieved to see the child unharmed.

Then came Culainn the smith, who was most upset to his guard dog lying dead in pieces. ‘Welcome you are little Setanta, for your mother and your father’s sake,’ said Culainn to the little boy. ‘But I do not welcome you for your own sake. I wish I had never held this feast.’

‘What do you have against the boy?’ Conchobar asked Culainn, surprised at his ungracious words.

‘My dog is dead,’ said Culainn. ‘He was the guardian of my wealth and my livelihood. Who now will look after my home and my wealth and my herds and protect me and mine? I am now a man bereft of livelihood.’

Then the boy, Setanta, spoke. ‘Do not be angry, O Culainn,’ said Setanta. ‘If your dog has sired pups, bring to me the best of his pups and I will rear him and train him to make of him the best guard dog in all Erin [Ireland]. And till he is grown, I myself will guard your home and your flocks and your cattle and even you, yourself.’

At this, Conchobar and all his men were greatly impressed. ‘Well spoken, little fellow,’ said Conchobar. ‘I myself could not have given a better judgment than this.’

So Setanta took upon himself the duties of the hound of Culainn the smith.

‘Let your name now be Cuchulainn, which means ‘wolfhound of Culainn’, ’ said Cathba, the druid.

‘Ah no,’ said Setanta. ‘My own name, Setanta, son of Sualtim, is the one I prefer.’

‘Ah, but Cuchulainn is the name that you will make famous,’ said Cathba. ‘In all of Erin and Alba[Scotland], men will hear that name and men will speak it with wonder.’ Cathba was a druid, and a seer as well.

‘Then I will take the name that is being given me,’ said the little boy.

And Cuchulainn he became for ever afterwards.

And Cathba spoke truly, for Cuchulainn was the name that resounded through all of Erin and Alba, then and for ever afterwards.

Note: Cathba (pronounced ‘Cahvah’) was the druid at Conchobar’s court. Some say he was the natural father of Conchobar.