Muircheartach carried off the King of Ulster; and, as the old chroniclers tell us, keeping his left hand to the sea, he fared to Dublin, then the greatest stronghold the Danes had, not only in Ireland but in the west of Europe. He did not have to fight the Danes of Dublin, although he had often fought them before, for their king, probably thinking that “discretion was the better part of valour,” surrendered himself a prisoner. And here one of these inconsequential incidents is related, which no one but an ancient Irish poet would dream of mentioning. Muircheartach seems to have had no objection to make love to a Danish maiden, often as he had fought Danish men. Cormacan, the poet, tells us that they

“Were a night at fair Ath-cliath [Dublin];
It was not a pleasure to the foreigners:
There was a damsel in the strong fortress
Whose soul the son of Niall was;
She came forth until she was outside the walls,
Although the night was constantly bad.”

Muircheartach then proceeded south-west from Dublin to Aillinn, and carried away the King of Leinster. He then made for Cashel, where the King of Munster lived. But Callachan, that was his name, showed fight, and Muircheartach’s men threw off their leather cloaks and prepared to stand by him. However, seeing that things were beginning to look serious, the King of Munster yielded and was carried away prisoner with a golden fetter on him. The leader of the Circuit then turned northwards into Connacht, and carried away the king of that province. So he had the four provincial kings in his power, and also the Danish King of Dublin. But he did them neither hurt nor harm, for he seems to have been in a good humour all the time he was “on circuit”; and we are told by his poet laureate that on their halts the soldiers amused themselves in many ways, especially by music and dancing, and he says—

“Music we had on the plain and in our tents,
Listening to its strains, we danced awhile;
There, methinks, a heavy noise was made
By the shaking of our hard cloaks.”

The next three verses are magnificent. They are full of dramatic power and naturalness. When the triumphant army, but triumphant without having shed a drop of blood, approach Aileach, a messenger is sent forward to announce its arrival:—

“From the green of Lochan-na-neach
A page is despatched to Aileach
To tell Duvdaire[8] of the black hair
To send women to cut rushes.
“‘Rise up, O Duvdaire (said the page),
There is a company coming to thy house;
Attend every man of them
As a monarch should be attended.’
“‘Tell me (she said) what company comes hither
To the lordly Aileach Rigreann,
Tell me, O fair page,
That I may attend them?’
“‘The Kings of Erin in fetters (he replies),
With Muircheartach, son of the warlike Niall.’”

The kingly prisoners were all brought to Aileach, where they were feasted for five months; and the following list of their bill of fare will show that they lived well. Let the same poet tell it:—

“Ten score hogs—no small work,
Ten score cows, two hundred oxen,
Were slaughtered at festive Aileach
For Muircheartach of the great fetters.
“Three score vats of curds,
Which banished the hungry look of the army,
With a sufficiency of cheering mead,
Were given by magnanimous Muircheartach.”

When the five kings were feasted—and it is to be hoped fattened—for five months, Muircheartach brought them to the chief king or emperor, Donacha, and gave them up to him. The following extraordinary dialogue, taken from the same poem, occurs between them. Muircheartach says:

“‘There are the noble kings for thee.’
Said Muircheartach, the son of Niall;
‘For thou, O Donacha, it is certain to me,
Art the best man of the men of Erin.’
“Donacha.
“‘Thou art a better man thyself, O King,
With thee no one can vie;
It is thou who didst take captive the noble kings,
O Muircheartach, son of the great Niall.’
“Muircheartach.
“‘Thou art better thyself, O Donacha the black haired,
Than any man in our land;
Whoever is in strong Tara
It is he that is monarch of Erin.’
“Donacha.
“‘Receive my blessing, nobly,
O son of Niall Glundubh, bright, pure;
May Tara be possessed by thee,
O Prince of the bright Loch Foyle![9]

“‘May thy race possess Moy Breagh,[10]
May they possess the white-sided Tara,
May the hostages of the Gael be in thy house,
O good son, O Muircheartach!’”