“I fear them not,” said Meave; “we have good men and brave to answer them.”
“I swear by Ulster’s gods,” Fergus replied, “that when once Ulster is aroused, no host on earth can answer them.”
“Send satirists and men of evil nature from us to Cuchulain,” said Meave to her attendants, “and let them jeer him in his weakness, saying to him that Conor will be routed, Ulster put to shame, and Fergus slain while he is lying on his couch in idleness. Let him not think that it is we who send, but his own people jeering at his wounds. Tell him his own corps call on Ulster’s Hound, but, like a pet-dog in a lady’s lap, he lies down to be fondled and caressed. Send women mourners to weep over him false noisy tears, and tear their hair, and keen, as though he even now were dead. Thus will he fall into despair and do himself some harm, and so our victory will be assured. Away, and spare him not.”
So keening women and hired mourning men went to the mound whereon Cuchulain lay, exhausted with his effort to arise; for Laeg had bound the hero fast with cords, so that he might not struggle to get up. For much he feared that he might inflict some injury on himself in trying to rejoin his corps. But Cuchulain thought not on his wounds at all, for all his mind was bent in following Laeg’s account of what was passing in the camp; and when the messengers of Meave came close, and began to weep and wail, and hurl at him abuse and scornful words, he neither saw nor heard them, so that at length they ceased, disheartened and ashamed.
Eagerly Cuchulain addressed himself to Laeg. “Tell me, O Laeg, how stands our host together, and what do they now?”
“So close stand now the serried ranks, that though Conall’s charioteer and mine tried side by side to force our way across the clustered spearpoints of the host, no smallest object from our chariots dropped among the men could find its way between them to the ground. I see King Conor’s chosen men-at-arms coming toward the hill, where Conor’s tent is pitched, higher and far more spacious than the rest. I see Meave’s warriors withstanding them; they make a hollow circle, hoping, I think, to take the King alive. But, as though they hardly saw the opposing band, the King and his brave followers stride on. I see them now entering the hollow mass of fighting men; alas, they will be caught and fall. But no! I see, I see them soon emerge again, unharmed and safe. Right through the enemy they have forced their way, to join the main contingent of the troops. The clans of Ulster rise on every side as Conor gains his tent upon the utmost summit of the hill, and in a mighty shout, rending the clouds of heaven, the men of Ulster now acclaim their King.”
“There is the stuff for a great battle among those hosts,” Cuchulain cried; “bloody the deeds that will be wrought at sunrise on the morrow’s morn. Let nothing pass you; tell me all you see.”
“So far as I can mark, you shall know all,” replied the charioteer; “but shades of evening fall apace on us, and hard it is to distinguish friend from foe. The warriors all betake them to their rest. Watchfires are lighted, and around their blaze they sit in peace and eat their evening meal. Far in the west, I see a little herd emerge upon the plain, a great Bull at its head, and all around a troop of cows and heifers, fifty or more, their heads held well in air. A band of youths are trying to restrain them and turn them back into the camp of Meave; but still they advance, careering o’er the plain, as though to join the hosts of Ulster’s King. The youths of Ulster are battling with those other youths, trying to gain possession of the Bull.” “And so indeed they may,” Cuchulain said, “the Dun of Cooley is that Bull you see, for whom this war is fought. How are the youths of Ulster bearing themselves in this fray?” “They fight like men,” said Laeg, “but now I see the Bull has broken from them all. Away he goes, toward the west, making as though for Connaught.” “He feels in him the call of war,” replied the wounded man; “he seeks the Whitehorned, left in Cruachan. No man, nor any band of men can stay the Dun, when once the time is come for his great onset on the Connaught Bull. Fearful will be the war between those twain. All Ireland will hear their furious charge, and tremble at their fall.”