“They have not,” said Buinne.
The captain became active and violent.
“Ah!” he cried, “there is always something forgotten. Get at the ram, you there,” he roared. “Put your shoulders into it.”
He turned to the king.
“We have them!” he said.
Conachúr, with his eyes gleaming and a savage smile curling his lips, strode towards the rammers, but as he moved, the door swung open and four men leaped from its yawning blackness. In a second two of the ramsmen were dead, and the rest were flying wildly, bustling the very king in their passage.
“By my hand!” the captain gurgled.
Two of the assaulters lifted the ram and trotted with it through the door. The other two made an onslaught of such ferocity that the soldiers were appalled. Then one fled back through the door, which instantly slammed, and the other sped like lightning around the building.
“After him!” roared Conachúr.
But the captain remained where he was, howling and dancing with rage.