His brother stamped a foot.
“My father is my chief,” said Iollann. “What he orders I do. I cannot protect the sons of Uisneac as he commanded, but I can fight beside them.”
Buinne turned.
“Herald,” he roared, “tell Conachúr that I shall go out to him.”
His hand went to the door, but Naoise stepped forward.
“Do not touch a bolt,” he commanded. “You shall go out by the door I choose. That door,” he pointed, and strode to it. “Iollann, Ainnle, stand so with the spears. Ardan, Deirdre, sling from this point. Buinne, stand so, one foot beyond the swing of the door.”
“We may meet again, Naoise,” said Buinne.
“If we meet in the press, Buinne, I may perhaps spare you for the sake of my brother Iollann. Ready, Buinne! When the door is opened I shall count three. Be gone ere the last count or I shall smash you to a pulp.”
Naoise gave one mighty heave, and counted. Then Buinne was gone and the door had closed again.