] [2]to Cuchulain[2]: ("Wist thou) the last
chariot-fighter that was here a while ago, O Cucuc?" "What of him?" asked
Cuchulain. "He has brought his left board towards us in the direction of
the ford." "It is Etarcumul, O gilla, who seeks me in combat. [3]I owe no
refusal,[3] but far from pleased am I thereat [4]that he should come and
seek combat of me. And unwelcome is his coming,[4] because of the honour of
my foster-father [5]Fergus[5] under whom he came forth from the camp [6]of
the men of Erin.[6] But not that I would protect him do I thus. Fetch me my
arms, gilla, to the ford. [7]Bring me my horse and my chariot after me.[7]
I deem it no honour for myself if [8]the fellow[8] reaches the ford before
me." And straightway Cuchulain betook himself to the ford, and he bared his
sword over his fair, well-knit spalls and he was ready on the ford to await
Etarcumul.

[a] A sign of hostility and an insult.
[1-1] Stowe.

[2-2] LU. and YBL. 1191.

[3-3] LU. and YBL. 1192.

[4-4] Stowe.

[5-5] H. 2. 17.

[6-6] H. 2. 17.

[7-7] H. 2. 17.

[8-8] H. 2. 17.

Then, too, came Etarcumul. "What seekest thou, gilla?" demanded Cuchulain.
"Battle with thee I seek," replied Etarcumul. "Hadst thou been advised by
me," said Cuchulain, "thou wouldst never have come. [9]I do not desire what
thou demandest of me.[9] [10]I have no thought of fighting or contending
with thee, Etarcumul.[10] Because of the honour of Fergus under whom thou
camest out of the camp [11]and station of the men of Erin,[11] and not
because I would spare thee, do I behave thus." [12]"Thou hast no choice
but to fight," replied Etarcumul.[12] Thereupon Cuchulain gave him a
long-blow whereby [W.1886.] he cut away the sod that was under the soles of
his feet, so that he was stretched out like a sack on his back, and [1]his
limbs in the air[1] and the sod on his belly. Had Cuchulain wished it it
is two pieces he might have made of him. [2]"Hold, fellow.[2] Off with thee
now, for I have given thee warning. [3]It mislikes me to cleanse my hands
in thee. I would have cloven thee into many parts long since but for
Fergus."[3] "I will not go. We will fight on," said Etarcumul. Cuchulain
dealt him a well-aimed edge-stroke. [4]With the edge of his sword[4] he
sheared the hair from him from poll to forehead, from one ear to the other,
as if it were with a light, keen razor he had been shorn. [5]Not a scratch
of his skin gave blood.