“I tell you not my terms,” replied the youth; “it is for you to find them out yourself.”
As Meave and Fergus drove back to the camp, the Queen asked Fergus if he knew the terms Cuchulain would accept.
“I do not know,” said Fergus, “but just now there came into my mind a conversation that I had when Cuchulain was yet a child and in my house as foster-son. We spoke together of a champion who had accepted conditions of his country’s foes, and I remember that Cuchulain thought not well of him for doing so. He coloured up and said, ‘If I were offered conditions by my country’s enemies, these are the sort of terms I would accept. I would demand of them each day one of their foremost warriors to meet me at the ford in single combat; and for the space of time while I am hewing down that man, I would permit them to march onwards with their host, and short would be that space of time, I ween! But when the man was dead, until the sunrise on the morrow’s morn, I would not have them move. Thus I would keep them well in sight, and would pluck off their warriors one by one. Also,’ he said, and laughed, ‘I would require my enemies to keep me well supplied with food and raiment while I fought with them; so would there be much trouble saved, and with their food I would grow strong to fight against themselves. These are the terms that I would ask, O foster-father Fergus, of my foes.’ Those were his words, O Queen, when he was but a child; I trow he will not be contented now with less.”
Then Meave said thoughtfully: “It seems not worse that one man should be slain each day than that a hundred men should fall at night, even were that one man a champion of our host. I think it better to accept his terms. Go back to him, O Fergus, and if he is agreed, say we accept and will abide by those conditions. So we may find at length a little peace.”
[CHAPTER XII]
Etarcomal’s Well-deserved Fate
So Fergus turned his horses to go back where he had left Cuchulain. He thought to go alone, attended only by his charioteer, but as he drove along, the sound of wheels behind him made him turn, and close to him he saw a youth who, sitting in his chariot, seemed to follow hard behind, as though to catch him up. Fergus recognized the rider as a rich young chief, brave but foolhardy, who was known among the host as one who thought too highly of himself, considering he had little experience of war.
“Whither away, Etarcomal?” said Fergus, for that was the youth’s name. “I wish to go with you,” replied the lad; “I hear that you are on your way to seek this wonderful Cuchulain, of whom all men talk. I feel inclined myself to have a look at him.”