“I think you do, my friend, but they say that every woman loves the Cú.
“As to Fergus”—he muttered and went silent for a moment—“I do not yet know how much Fergus loves me. I am not sure that a loyal man would have undertaken a duty against his sovereign such as Fergus accepted for Cúchulinn.”
“He did it because he loves both of you, master, and it is surely better that such an arrangement should be known only between friends.”
“Possibly,” said Conachúr. “And yet I had passed my word that if my right was conceded I would not touch the girl. Is a king’s word not accepted any longer by those Ferguses and Cúchulinns?” he cried furiously.
“It was Cúchulinn’s doing,” said she.
“It may have been Fergus’s,” he retorted, and went moodily silent. “Who knows what that man thinks of?”
“Feasts,” said Lavarcham. “He loves food.”
“I was tempted,” the king gritted, “to try in the night whether he dared obstruct me, and to see if he dared thrust the sword he went to bed with into his king—but I had passed my word. If,” he continued irritably, “the Cú had only asked Conall Cearnach or Cruscrid Menn or any gentleman of the household to be his surety instead of the man he did ask, I could have borne it.”
Lavarcham chuckled respectfully.
“How did that night pass, master?” she inquired.