Naoise regarded that query judicially.
“I don’t know indeed,” he replied.
“I think Cúchulinn could beat anybody,” Ardan broke in.
Naoise continued, without regard to his youngest brother:
“It was Fergus that taught Cúchulinn all his battle feats, and Fergus knows everything that the Cú knows, but it may easily be that our Cúcuc does not know all the things that Fergus knows.”
“Fergus,” cried Ainnle indignantly, “would not keep a thing back, for he wants Cúchulinn to be the best champion in Eirè.”
“I think that is true,” replied the very judicial Naoise, “but there are some things a fighter knows and can’t teach even if he wants to. They are not tricks, they are what Conachúr calls ways, and Fergus has ‘ways’ in combat, as if he had been born in a fight and could go to sleep in it if he wanted to.”
“Do you remember,” cried Ainnle, “the champion that stopped to scratch himself while he was fighting?”
“Ho, ho,” laughed Ardan.
“And the other champion chipped his hind end off while he was bending,” gurgled Ainnle.