“I’ve lost my ram,” he bawled. “I’ve lost my ram.”
“We have you, Iollann!” said Conachúr. “Traitor to your king!” he growled.
“Traitor to your friends,” Iollann retorted.
“Deliver yourself to me,” said Conachúr, “and you shall be spared.”
“I came out for a purpose,” said Iollann. “I demand single combat.”
“There are no gentlemen here,” Conachúr replied, “except your brother, so your claim cannot be granted.”
“I shall cuff him,” said Buinne, “but I will not fight him,” and he strode away.
“I shall take this combat,” said a voice.
Conachúr turned and saw his own son, Fiachra, standing there, and his heart sank.
“You have no arms,” he said harshly.