“Utterly dost thou mistake my meaning, Fergus, my friend; not from any fear of him, but from the greatness of my love for him, I hold his challenge strange and unwelcome. For this cause only I regret his coming.”
“Yet and in truth,” Fergus replied, “no shame to thee or any man to be afraid of Ferdia, for in his arms is strength as of a hundred men; swords wound him not, spears pierce him not, and tried and mettlesome his heart and arms.”
“Now this, O Fergus, deem I strange indeed, that thou of all men shouldst warn me to be careful before any single warrior in Ireland; well it is that it was thee, O Fergus, and not another man, who brought me such a warning. From the beginning of winter till the coming of spring have I stood here alone, fighting each day a hardy warrior, and never have I turned back before the best fighting man whom Meave has sent against me, nor shall I turn back before Ferdia, O Fergus. For as the rush bows down before the torrent in the midst of the stream, so will Ferdia bow down under my sword, if once he shows himself here in combat with the Hound of Ulster.”
That night there was no cheerfulness nor gaiety nor quiet pleasure in the tent of Ferdia, as there was wont to be on other nights; for he had made known what Meave had said to him and the command laid upon him to go on the morrow to combat with Cuchulain; and though Ferdia was merry and triumphant on his return, because of the gifts of the queen and the affection of Finnabar, and all the flattery that had been skilfully put upon him, it was not so with the men that were of his own household, for they understood that wherever those two champions of battle, those two slayers of a hundred should meet together, one of the two must fall, or both must fall: and well they knew that if one only should fall there, it would not be Cuchulain who would give way, for it was not easy to combat with Cuchulain on the Raid of the Kine of Cooley.
As for Ferdia, through the first part of the night, he slept heavily, being overcome with the liquor he had taken, and the fatigues of the day; but towards the middle of the night, he awoke from his slumber, and remembered the combat on the morrow, and anxiety and heavy care began to weigh him down; fear of Cuchulain on the one hand, and sorrow that he had promised to do combat with his friend, and fear of losing Finnabar and Meave’s great promises on the other; and he tossed about, and could sleep no longer. So he arose and called his charioteer, and said, “Yoke me my horses, and come with me; I shall sleep better at the ford.” But his charioteer began to dissuade him, “It would be better for you not to go,” said he, “trouble will come of this meeting. It is not a small thing for any warrior in the world to do combat against the Bulwark of Ulster, even against Cuchulain.” “Be silent, my servant,” he said; “though the ravens of carnage croak over the ford, ready to tear my flesh, it is not the part of a valiant man to turn back from his challenge; away with us to the ford before the break of dawn.” So the horses were harnessed and the chariot yoked, and they dashed onwards to the ford. “Take the cushions and skins out of the chariot, good my lad,” said Ferdia, “and spread them under me upon the bank that I may take deep repose and refreshing sleep upon them; little sleep I got this night, on account of the anxiety of the combat that is before me on the morn.” So the servant unharnessed the horses, and spread the skins and chariot-cushions under Ferdia, and yet he could not sleep.
“Look out, lad, and see that Cuchulain is not coming,” he said. “He is not, I am sure,” said the lad. “But look again for certain,” said the warrior. “Cuchulain is not such a little speck that we should not see him if he were there,” replied the lad. “You are right, O boy; Cuchulain has heard that a prime warrior is coming to meet him to-day, and he has thought well to keep away on that account.”
“I should not say bad things about Cuchulain in his absence,” said the lad. “Do you not remember how, when you were fighting in Eastern lands, your sword was wrenched from you, and you would have perished by the hands of your enemies, but that Cuchulain rushed forward to recover it, and he slew a hundred warriors on his path before he got your sword and brought it back to you? Do you remember where we were that night?” “I have forgotten,” Ferdia said. “We were in the house of Scáth’s steward,” said the boy; “and do you not remember how the ugly churl of a cook hit you in the back with a three-pronged meat-spit, and sent you out over the door like a shot? And do you not recollect, how Cuchulain came into the house and gave the rascal a blow with his sword, and chopped him in two to avenge you? If it were only on that account, you should not say that you are a better warrior than Cuchulain.” “Why did you not remind me of all these things before we came here?” said Ferdia; “I doubt whether I should have come if I had remembered all this at first. Pull up the cushions under my head, or I shall never get to sleep. Will you be sure to keep a sharp look-out?” “I will watch so well, that unless men drop out of the clouds to fight with you, no one shall escape me,” said the boy; “and I will sing you to sleep with a lullaby.” Then as Ferdia sank into repose and refreshing slumber, he began to croon this ancient song which Grainne sang over Dermot, when he was hiding from Finn in the forests of the west.
“Sleep a little, a little little, thou need’st feel no fear or dread,
Youth to whom my love is given, I am watching near thy head.