“Is it truly full of dead men’s heads?” Deirdre chattered through frozen lips.
“There is generally a head or two,” he answered carelessly, “Connachtmen mostly.”
“Very hairy, beardy, toothy kinds of heads,” said Ardan. “I remember them, and they used to get hairier and beardier and toothier every second day. At last,” he explained to Deirdre, “there wouldn’t be any head at all, no face at all, only a mat of hair as long as a woman’s, and it in knots, and a shiny grin among the knots.”
“You are all wrong,” said Ainnle. “A dead man’s hair grows lank and long like a drink of water.”
“Pooh!” said Ardan. “You remember everything! You are the great man of the world! The wind knots them and twists them and wobbles them all in and out like a doormat.”
“Yonder is Conachúr’s house, the Royal Branch,” said Naoise.
“We will give a good thundering knock at the door and make them jump,” said Ainnle gleefully.
“I’ll give it a kick,” said Ardan.
Naoise did give a thundering knock.
The door opened and a guard appeared.