“Be not so angry, O my friend and master,” gently Cuchulain replied; “all that I could I did to send him safely home. Ask his own charioteer all that has taken place. He would not take a warning, and in the end I must have stood and had my head chopped off without defence, or, as I did, taken his head from him. Would it have pleased you better had I let the lad take off my head from me?”
“Indeed, I should not have been pleased at all; the lad was insolent and foolhardy, and right well deserved his ignominious death. Tie his feet to the chariot-tail, my charioteer, and I will take him home.” So to his own chariot Fergus tied the boy, and dragged him back to camp. Meave saw them come, and heard the people shouting as they passed, the bleeding body draggled in the dust.
“Why, how is this?” she cried. “Is this, O Fergus of the mighty deeds, the fashion in which you bring back the tender whelp who went out from us but some hours ago, brilliant in life and gaiety and youth? the whelp we sent out safely, as we thought, in Fergus’ guardianship? Of wondrous value is the guardianship of Fergus; and safe is he who trusts himself to it!”
“It is not well, O Queen, that whelps so brazen and untried as this should face the Hound of War; let them remain henceforth in safety in their kennels, gnawing their bones. The lad Etarcomal was bold and insolent; full well he reaped the fate he brought upon himself!”
Sadly, but with all honour, they buried Etarcomal, heaping his grave, and rearing a stone above it with his name engraven thereupon in ogam lines. That night Cuchulain did not molest the men of Erin because they were occupied with funeral rites; but provisions and apparel were sent to him, according to the treaty made between them.
[CHAPTER XIII]
The Fight with Spits of Holly-Wood
Thenceforward day by day some warrior of the camp of Meave and Ailill went forth to fight Cuchulain, and day by day they fell before him. But at first, because he was young, the prime warriors of Connaught despised him, and refused to fight with him, and Meave offered them great gifts and made large promises to persuade them to contend with him. Among the chiefs was a rough burly man and a good fighter, whose name was Nacrantal, whom Meave used all her arts to force to challenge Cuchulain. And in the end, when she had promised him large gifts of land and even Finnabar, her daughter, to be his wife, he was induced to go. But even so he went not out as though to fight an equal. No arms or armour would he take, but for his sole protection nine spits of holly-wood, sharp at the points and hardened in the fire.
With these small weapons in his hand, one morning early he set forth to seek Cuchulain. He found the hero busied in pursuing wild-fowl that were flying overhead; for from the birds of the air and fish of the streams, and from the berries of the hedge and cresses of the brook, long had he been obliged to get his daily meal. And even now, although at times Meave kept her word and sent provision over to her foe, yet often she forgot or failed to keep her promise, so angry was she when from day to day her strong men were cut down before his sword.