“I think that not one person whom we know is absent from this banquet,” said Fiachra the Fair, Conachúr’s youngest son.
The conversation turned as they all looked down the great hall. “There is So-and-so, and So-and-so.”
“Who,” said Emer, “is that tall, sad man with three men’s chins about him?”
“He is such a one,” said Fiachra.
“And the black bulk beside him with the beard that was stolen from a porcupine?”
“His name is Borach, the son of Annté. He has a fortified rock half in and half out of the sea. He catches sharks through his window, and his banquets are all made of fish.”
“He is preparing a banquet for me,” Conachúr cried.
“I shall not accept a feast from that man,” said Fergus.
“You must if he asks you,” Cúchulinn replied, “for it is geasa[10] on you not to refuse a feast.”
“That is so; but the feast must be ready before I am offered it, and as I do not visit his part of the world I shall never have to eat his sharks.”