Shea said, «By George, you’re right, kid! That isn’t Cuchulainn’s psychology at all.» He leaned toward the guard. «Hey, you, who gave the order and why? Cuchulainn?»
The man said, «I do not know by what right you are questioning me, but I will be telling you it was the Shamus.»
An inspiration struck Shea. «You mean Pete, the American?»
«Who else?»
«We’re the other Americans that were here before. Get him for us, will you? We can straighten this out. Tell him that Shea is here.»
The man looked at him suspiciously, then at Miach even more suspiciously. He pulled a little aside and consulted with one of his companions, who stuck his spear in the ground, laid the shield beside it, and trotted off toward Muirthemne.
Shea asked, «How comes Pete to be giving orders around here?»
«Because it’s the Shamus he is.»
Shea said, «I recognize the title all right, but what I can’t figure out is how Pete got away from Cruachain and got here to acquire it.»
He was saved from further speculation by the creaking of a rapidly driven chariot, which drew up on the other side of the hedge. From it descended a Pete Brodsky metamorphosed into something like the Connecticut Yankee at King Arthur’s court. His disreputable trousers projected from beneath a brilliantly red tunic embroidered in gold; he had a kind of leather fillet around his head and a considerable growth of beard; and at his belt swung not one, but two obviously home-made blackjacks.