At that Fergus became one purple mass from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, and his face swelled so that the bystanders feared he would burst with the excess and violence of his rage. Borach was nervous, but his own men were around him, and although he was terrified of Fergus he was yet more frightened of the king.
“I insist,” he shouted, “and you cannot refuse a feast that is offered to you kindly.”
“This is a trick,” said Fergus. “You know my oath; you listened to it, for the king made me swear in your very presence, that, was it by day or by night, I should speed the sons of Uisneac to him from the moment we landed. And you offer me a feast and a week’s delay! What dog’s deed do you intend, you Borach? Do you not value your life?” he roared.
“I value my life indeed,” Borach replied, “and”—looking round on his attendants—“and I shall take great care of it. I hold you to the feast, Fergus.”
“Come apart with me,” said the bewildered giant to his companions, “and let us discuss this wonder.”
“What ought we to do?” he asked.
“It seems that you must make a choice,” said Deirdre timidly.
“What choice is there, sweet queen?”
“You have to choose whether you will forsake the feast or forsake us,” she murmured.
Her heart swelled as she spoke, so that her voice was not steady, for she was astonished and unhappy and her mind was bewildered.