Conachúr had arrived with Cathfa. Men were falling before them at the rate of three a second. So dreadful was Naoise’s onslaught in the front that none would face him. Men tumbled over each other when he charged.
“The men will run away in a second,” said the captain.
“Get into the mêlée, coward,” roared Conachúr.... “Cathfa——!” he implored.
The officer whizzed out his blade and leaped forward. In three seconds he was dead, and five who followed him were rolling in their agony along the ground.
Naoise’s voice came in a wild shout.
“Up, Deirdre. Run!”
The four were again in line. The men in front melted to either side of that dreadful file.
“Run!” said Naoise. “We are out!”
In front of him there was but Conachúr and Cathfa. Conachúr drew his great sword and stood crouching; and at him, with a dreadful smile, Naoise came on. Cathfa moved two paces to the front and stared fixedly at Naoise. He extended his two arms widely——