“Do I get shelter for the night?”
It was customary in those days to stop fighting when the sun went down. It was also the custom to furnish food and a bed to a hero who was making a trial at arms. The king pointed to a long, low house a short distance from the courtyard.
“Go in there,” he called. “You are welcome to what shelter you find.”
IV.
Dermot was tired from his combat. He went to the house, opened the door and walked in. To his surprise he found himself surrounded by hundreds of little men, reaching no higher than his knee. They were wild, shaggy little fellows, kept by the king to kill people he did not like. Though not strong singly, they were there in such numbers that they could cover a man like ants and crush the life out of him.
When Dermot had entered, the little men shut the door and barred it. Then they began covering the windows and filling up the chinks between the logs.
“Why are you going to such trouble?” asked Dermot. The antics of the little fellows amused him. He never thought of treachery on the part of the king.
“We fear you may escape,” answered one of the men. “It is our duty to eat you.”
Poor foolish little fellows! They imagined a mighty hero like Dermot could creep through a hole large enough to let one of them through.
Dermot’s amusement turned to anger. By all the laws of hospitality he was entitled to a place to rest quietly until time for the next day’s combat. The king would have lasted only a few minutes if Dermot could have laid a hand on him when he discovered the foul scheme. The little men rushed at him by the hundreds. There was little use of using a sword against such small enemies. Dermot caught up the nearest by the ankles and used him as a club to beat down the others.