I swear by the god by whom my people
swear, if you have its bloom worse to-day than on the day on which
I gave it to you in the hillside in the boundary of Ulster, though
the men of Ireland were protecting you from me, they should not
protect you.'

Then his sword was brought to Fergus, and Ailill said: 'Take thy
sword,' etc. [Note: Rhetoric, twelve lines.]

'A pity for thee to fall on the field of battle, thick [with slain ?],'
said Fergus to Ailill.

The Badb and Net's wife and the Nemain called on them that night on
Garach and Irgarach; so that a hundred warriors of them died for
terror. That was not the quietest of nights for them.

Then Fergus takes his arms and turns into the battle, and clears a
gap of a hundred in the battle with his sword in his two hands.
Then Medb took the arms of Fergus (?) and rushed into the battle,
and she was victorious thrice, so that she was driven back by force
of arms.

'I do not know,' said Conchobar to his retinue who were round him,
'before whom has the battle been broken against us from the north.
Do you maintain the fight here, that I may go against him.'

'We will hold the place in which we are,' said the warriors,
'unless the earth bursts beneath us, or the heaven upon us from
above, so that we shall break therefrom.'

Then Conchobar came against Fergus. He lifts his shield against
him, i.e. Conchobar's shield Ochan, with three horns of gold on it,
and four ----- of gold over it. Fergus strikes three blows on it,
so that even the rim of his shield over his head did not touch him.

'Who of the Ulstermen holds the shield?' said Fergus.

'A man who is better than you,' said Conchobar; 'and he has brought
you into exile into the dwellings of wolves and foxes, and he will
repel you to-day in combat in the presence of the men of Ireland.'

Fergus aimed on him a blow of vengeance with his two hands on
Conchobar, so that the point of the sword touched the ground behind
him.

Cormac Condlongas put his hands upon him, and closed his two hands
about his arm.

'----, O my friend, O Fergus,' said Cormac. '... Hostile is the
friendship; right is your enmity; your compact has been destroyed;
evil are the blows that you strike, O friend, O Fergus,' said
Cormac.

'Whom shall I smite?' said Fergus.

'Smite the three hills ... in some other direction over them; turn
your hand; smite about you on every side, and have no consideration
for them. Take thought for the honour of Ul