Out of the corner of his eye, Shea could see the cop’s wattles swell dangerously. He said hastily; «He may be no beauty, but he’s useful. He’s our slave and bodyguard, a good fighting man. Shut up, Pete!»
Brodsky had sense enough to do so. Cuchulainn accepted the explanation with the same sad courtesyand gestured toward the chariot. «You will be mounting up in the back of my car, and I will drive you to my camp, where there will be an eating before you set out on your journey again.»
He climbed to the front of the chariot himself, while the three wanderers clambered wordlessly to the back seat and held on. Laeg, having disposed of the head bag, touched the horses with a golden goad. Off they went. Shea found the ride a monstrously rough one, for the vehicle had no springs and the road was distinguished by its absence, but Cuchulainn lounged in the seat, apparently at ease.
Presently there loomed ahead a small patch of woods at the bottom of a valley. Smoke rose from a fire. The sun had decided to resolve the question of what time of day it was by setting, so that the hollow lay in shadow. A score or more of men, rough and wild-looking, got to their feet and cheered as the chariot swept into the camp. At the center of it a huge iron pot bubbled over the fire, and in the background a shelter of poles, slabs of bark and branches had been erected. Laeg pulled up the chariot and lifted the head bag with its lumpish trophies, and there was more cheering.
Cuchulainn sprang down lightly, acknowledged the greeting with a casual wave, then swung to Shea. «Mac Shea, I am thinking that you are of quality, and as you are not altogether the ugliest couple in the world, you will be eating with me.» He waved an arm. «Bring the food, darlings.»
Cuchulainn’s henchmen busied themselves, with a vast amount of shouting, and running about in patterns that would have made good cat’s cradles. One picked up a stool and carried it across the clearing; a second immediately picked it up again and took it back to where it had been.
«Do you think they’ll ever get around to feeding us?» said Belphebe in a low tone. But Cuchulainn merely looked on with a slight smile, seeming to regard the performance as somehow a compliment to himself.
After an interminable amount of coming and going, the stool was finally established in front of the lean-to. Cuchulainn sat down on it and with a wave of his hand, indicated that the Sheas were to sit on the ground in front of him. The charioteer Laeg joined them on the ground, which was still decidedly damp after the rain. But, as their clothes had not dried, it didn’t seem to matter.
A man brought a large wooden platter on which were heaped the champion’s victuals, consisting of a huge cut of boiled pork, a mass of bread, and a whole salmon. Cuchulainn laid it on his knees and set to work on it with fingers and his dagger, saying with a ghost of a smile, «Now according to the custom of Ireland, Mac Shea, you may challenge the champion for his portion. A man of your inches should be a blithe swordsman, and I have never fought with an American.»
«Thanks,» said Shea, «but I don’t think I could eat that much, anyway, and there’s a — what do you call it? — a geas against my fighting anyone who has done something for me, so I couldn’t after the way you saved us.» He addressed himself to the slab of bread on which had been placed a pork chop and a piece of salmon, then glanced at Belphebe and added, «Would it be too much trouble to ask for the loan of a pair of knives? We left in rather a hurry and without our tools.»