The sheehogue, whom the Pope did not see, began to cast fire and flame out of his mouth, and the Pope thought that the room was all in a blaze. He cried out: “Oh, eternal destruction! I’ll give you the pardon; I’ll give you anything at all, only stop your fire, and don’t burn me in my own house.”
The sheehogue stopped the fire, and the Pope had to sit down and write a full pardon for the priest, and give him back his old place again, and when he had it ready written, he put his name under it on the paper, and put it into Guleesh’s hand.
“Thank your honour,” said Guleesh; “I never will come here again to you, and bannacht lath (good-bye).”
“Do not,” said the Pope; “if you do I’ll be ready before you, and you won’t go from me so easily again. You will be shut up in a prison, and you won’t get out for ever.”
“Don’t be afraid, I won’t come again,” said Guleesh. And before he could say any more the sheehogue spoke a couple of words, and caught Guleesh’s hand again, and out with them. Guleesh found himself amongst the other sheehogues, and his horse waiting for him.
“Now, Guleesh,” said they, “it’s greatly you stopped us, and we in such a hurry; but come on now, and don’t think of playing such a trick again, for we won’t wait for you.”
“I’m satisfied,” said Guleesh, “and I’m thankful to ye; but tell me where are we going.”
“We’re going to the palace of the king of France,” said they; “and if we can at all, we’re to carry off his daughter with us.”
Every man of them then said, “Rise up, horse;” and the horses began leaping, and running, and prancing. The cold wind of winter that was before them they overtook her, and the cold wind of winter that was behind them, she did not overtake them, and they never stopped of that race, till they came as far as the palace of the king of France.
They got off their horses there, and a man of them said a word that Guleesh did not understand, and on the moment they were lifted up, and Guleesh found himself and his companions in the palace. There was a great feast going on there, and there was not a nobleman or a gentleman in the kingdom but was gathered there, dressed in silk and satin, and gold and silver, and the night was as bright as the day with all the lamps and candles that were lit, and Guleesh had to shut his two eyes at the brightness. When he opened them again and looked from him, he thought he never saw anything as fine as all he saw there. There were a hundred tables spread out, and their full of meat and drink on each table of them, flesh-meat, and cakes and sweetmeats, and wine and ale, and every drink that ever a man saw. The musicians were at the two ends of the hall, and they playing the sweetest music that ever a man’s ear heard, and there were young women and fine youths in the middle of the hall, dancing and turning, and going round so quickly and so lightly, that it put a soorawn in Guleesh’s head to be looking at them. There were more there playing tricks, and more making fun and laughing, for such a feast as there was that day had not been in France for twenty years, because the old king had no children alive but only the one daughter, and she was to be married to the son of another king that night. Three days the feast was going on, and the third night she was to be married, and that was the night that Guleesh and the sheehogues came, hoping if they could, to carry off with them the king’s young daughter.