Etarcomal turned his chariot to drive back to the camp. But hardly had he started when he exclaimed, “Do you know, fellow, I have promised to fight the famous Cuchulain to-morrow at the dawn? Now, do you think it best to wait till then, or to go back and fight him now? I do not know that I can wait.”
“I should say,” replied the charioteer, “that if you mean to fight Cuchulain at all, ’twere better to get it over while he is close at hand.” “Turn the chariot, and drive it left-handwise towards Cuchulain, for by that sign we challenge him. I swear by all my gods, I never will go back until I take the head of this wild youth, and stick it up on high before the host.”
Laeg saw the chariot returning over the plain. “The last chariot-rider who went from us is coming back again, Cucuc!” said he. “What does he want?” said Cu. “He is challenging us by driving with the left side of the chariot towards us,” answered Laeg.
“I do not want to fight the boy,” Cuchulain said. “Shamed should I be were I to slay a lad who came hither under the guardianship of Fergus. Get me my sword out of its sheath, however, Laeg; I’ll give him a good fright and send him home.”
Etarcomal came up. “What do you want now, fellow?” cried Cuchulain, vexed. “I am come back to fight you,” said the lad. “I will not fight you, now or any time,” Cuchulain said. “By all the rules of war you are obliged to fight, for I have challenged you.”
Then Cuchulain took his sword, and with one stroke he sliced away the sod beneath Etarcomal’s feet, laying him flat upon the ground, his face turned upwards. “Now go,” Cuchulain said, “I wash my hands of you. Had you not come under the care of my good master Fergus, I would have cut you into little bits a while ago. Beware, for I have given you a warning.” Slowly Etarcomal rose from the ground. “I will not budge a step until I have your head,” he said doggedly, though in his heart he began to be afraid. Then Cuchulain played on him another sword-feat; with one clean stroke he shore off all his hair, from back to front, from ear to ear, till not a hair remained; but not a single drop of blood he drew or even scratched his skin. “Now off with you,” he said a second time, “you look absurd enough, I promise you. The men of Erin and the chiefs will laugh when you go back, and cool your pride a bit.”
“I will not stir until I have your head; either you gain the victory over me, and win renown, or I take off your head from you, and get the glory and the praise of it,” he sullenly replied.
“Well, let it be as you desire, then, and I am he who takes your head from you, and I shall win the glory and renown of which you make so much.” And at that word, with one stroke of his weapon Cuchulain smote the boy, and cut him right in twain, so that he fell divided to the ground. Terrified, the charioteer turned round the horse’s head and fled back towards the camp. Close to the tents he came on Fergus, who leisurely and thoughtfully drove home. He saw the empty chariot passing him. “Where is your master, fellow?” Fergus cried. “Has he not come with you?” “Even now he has been cut in twain by that fierce, powerful hero, at the ford,” the man cried, looking scared; and, waiting not for any answer, he tore on to the camp.
“O come, my wild young fosterling,” thought Fergus to himself, “this is too bad indeed, to slay a lad who came under my protection. Turn back the chariot,” said he aloud, “we go back to Cuchulain at the ford.”
No sooner had they come where Cuchulain stood brooding above the body of Etarcomal, and wiping down his bloody sword, than Fergus called aloud, “What came to you, you hasty sprite, you hot-headed young fury; could you not keep your hands from slaying even a lad who came merely to look at you and under my protection? This act of yours I do not understand at all. It is not like the deed or custom of my foster-son.”