Then Emer knew that the hour of Cuchulain’s fate was come, and that nought of all that ever they could do would avail to turn him back. For the seer had prophesied that when Cuchulain should see the horses of the ancient Ocean god upon the waves, and when he should hear Manannan’s harp play sweetly, the hour of his fate was come, and he must e’en go back to Shadowland.
Then she herself called Laeg to prepare his chariot and harness his horses, and to set his fighting-gear in order, that not by phantasies or magic wild imaginings, but as a chariot-chief and champion facing his foes he might go forth to die; and she brought out his helmet and set it upon his head, and placed his mighty shield within his hand, that he might die as a hero should.
And when Cuchulain saw his chariot standing ready for him, and Laeg therein awaiting him, and the noble steeds pawing the ground, the phantoms of his brain passed away from him, and his warrior strength and joyousness of mind came back, and he donned his armour with good-will and gladness, and made to spring into the chariot. But for the first time since the day when they rose out of the magic lake, the steeds obeyed not his hand, but started from him and turned the chariot round, evading him. And when Laeg drew them back, and Cuchulain prepared to spring again into the chariot, they fled away before him. “How now, how now is this, good steeds?” said Laeg; “full oft before ye two came bounding at your master’s call, nor ever turned away. Ill deed is this of thine, for never upon any former day did he and I need help from you as now we need it. Presage of evil is this freak of thine!” This when the Grey of Macha heard he stood quite still, the Black Steed by his side, and they let Cuchulain mount into the chariot; but even as he sprang to take his seat, his weapons all fell down about his feet; to him a grim foreshadowing of ill. He saw, moreover, that from the horses’ eyes and down their cheeks coursed tears of dusky blood.
Yet for all that he stayed not, but without farewells or partings of any kind at all, joyously he set forth towards Murthemne’s Plain, to meet the hosts of Meave. But when the cruel Children of the Blast saw the imprisoned champion go forth and take the level road across the plain, up to the highest heavens they rose aloft with wild shrill cries and shriekings of delight, and through the air upon the whistling wind they sped before him, hastening to arouse the hosts of Meave to meet him in their strength. Before Cuchulain’s eyes they raised a vision of battle-troops and marshalled lines standing round Emain, with chariots, steeds and weapons in great plenty. He saw the city red and dark with flames, and heard the shouting of the foe as Emain sank in ashes. That vision passed away, and then another came before his mind. He saw Dun Dalgan, his own home, aglow, like Emain, in the ruddy flame. He saw the women flying from the flames, with hair dishevelled, and with streaming eyes. He heard the crashing of the blazing walls, as inward one and then another fell. He saw the foe behind with swords upraised, slaying and cutting down the women as they ran. Then he saw Emer, his own loving wife, standing alone upon the outer wall, scanning the distant plain. She raised her hands and called on him for help, and down her face ran torrents of salt tears. Then he could see behind her, creeping slowly on, a fierce relentless warrior of Meave’s host. And with one spring he saw him seize her hair, the soft long locks Cuchulain loved to touch, and backward with his cruel pitiless hand he drew her head, and with a single blow he sheared it off, flinging it in disdain out o’er the rampart’s wall, and trampling her fair body under foot. When he had seen that deed, Cuchulain groaned, and sped along the plain with greater haste.
Then passing o’er a stream they saw a maiden stooping on the brink, as though she washed and rinsed the garments of the slain. Slender and white her body and her hands, but all the waters ran with crimson blood, and still she washed, and wept, and wrung her hands, and all her yellow hair hung down in tresses slowly dropping blood. Sharply and quick, without a word or pause, Laeg turned the chariot when he saw the girl, and made as though to flee. “How now?” said Cu; “what dost thou, Master Laeg? What spoils are these the maiden wrings and washes in the stream? and who and what is she?” “She is the Watcher of the Ford,” Laeg cried, “the daughter of the goddess of grim war. She wrings the garments of the slain, or those about to die. Dost thou not see that they are thine own garments that she washes out to-day; that it is thine own sword that runs with blood, dying the river red? Alas! alas! while there is time, let us now turn and flee.”
“Dear comrade, it is well,” the hero said, “I may not turn me back from this my hour of vengeance on the men of Erin, revenge for all the ill that they have wrought on us. What though the fairy woman wash my spoils? great spoil of arms, of armour and of gear, is that which by my spear shall shortly fall and lie there drenched in blood. None knows it better than I know myself that in this coming onslaught I must fall; whether I stay I am devoted to death, or whether I go, the span of my life is run out. No more then hinder or delay my course, for sad as you may be to see me go to Death, even so glad and cheerful I myself go forth to meet my fate. Let me but once more thus avenge my country’s wrongs, and gladly and with joy I give my life.”
So he turned again and faced the enemy, and all his gloom and heaviness passed from Cuchulain, and the delusions of the gruesome fairy folk troubled him no more. Cheerfully and free from care he rode on towards the host, and from his forehead, brighter than the sun, shone out the Hero’s Light. Right terrible and beautiful he stood, his mighty sword uplifted in his hand, his eyes beneath his helmet flashing fire. And when they saw him coming thus alone, a shout of triumph rose from all the host, and mounted to the very clouds of heaven.