• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 716 0

brighter than hyacinth. Firm his brow between a hedge of black eyelashes. I see a crown encircling his head, the colour of beautiful gold over his yellow, curly hair. I see his cloak red, multihued, of excellent braided silk. I see a huge brooch, ornamented with gold, that shines with the vigour of the full moon. I see a circle of crimson gems in a bowl-like cluster. Beautiful his head between his straight, bright shoulders. I see a tunic of splendid linen, silken its sheen, refracted and many-coloured its hue. A grazing for the eyes of a multitude this man. He maintains justice among his people. He delivers from the enemy braided silk ornamented with gold from ankle to knee. I see his sword, its hilt ornamented with gold, in its scabbard of white silver; the latter, with its five concentric circles, retains its excellence. I see his bright, lime-whitened shield overhead; it scorns throngs of enemies. His spear of sparkling gold would illumine a feast, and its shaft is of ornamented gold. His right hand that wards off is the hand of a king. He raises his spear firmly, as a king would, twisting its stiffness. Three hundred perfect men about this generous king. He overtakes like the scald-crow in battle, in the sorrowful hostel.”

‘The young lad was sleeping, then, his feet in the lap of the one man and his head in the lap of the other,’ Ingcél continued. ‘He awoke from his sleep, then, and recited this poem: “The cry of Ossar. Ossar the hound. A shout of youths going up from the marsh of Tule Gossi. A cold wind across a dangerous blade. A night for destroying a king. It is heard again, the cry of Ossar, Ossar the hound. Battle is declared. The end of a people. The destruction of a hostel. Saddened fiana. Wounded men. A fearful wind. The carrying off of spears. Pain against unfair odds. The fall of a house. Temuir desolate. Unknown heirs. Weeping over Conare. Destruction of corn. A shout. A cry. The destruction of the king of Ériu. Chariots whirling about. Hardship for the king of Temuir.’ The third time he said:7 “The cry of Ossar. Ossar the hound. A combat of heroes. Youths in slaughter. Slaughter will be done. Champions will be destroyed. Men will bend. Warriors will be despoiled. A bellowing encounter. Shouts raised. Concern shown. An abundance of spectres. A prostrate host. The overthrowing of enemies. A combat of men on the Dothra. Hardship for the king of Temuir. Men cut down in youth.” Explain that, Fer Rogain – who recited that poem?’

‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘Indeed, it is not a moon without a king. The most splendid and distinguished and handsome and powerful king who has ever come into the world that one – the kindest and gentlest and most humble as well. Conare Mar son of Eterscélae is his name, and he is the high king of Ériu. There is no flaw in him, not as to form or shape or clothing, or size or arrangement or proportion, or eye or hair or whiteness, or wisdom or pleasingness or eloquence, or weapons or equipment or attire, or splendour or abundance or dignity, or bearing or prowess or ancestry. Great the youth of this man, who seems simple and sleepy until he undertakes a feat of arms; but if his ardour and fury are aroused while the fiana of Ériu and Albu are about him in his house, then there will be no destruction of the hostel. Six hundred will fall by him before he reaches his weapons, and once he has obtained his weapons, six hundred more will fall at the first onslaught. I swear by the god my people swear by, if his drink is not taken from him, he will reach men from Tond Chlidnai to Tond Essa Rúaid, even though he is alone in the house. There are nine entrances to the house, and at each entrance one hundred heroes will fall, and when everyone has stopped fighting, it is then that he will be performing feats of arms. If he encounters you outside the hostel, as numerous as hailstones or blades of grass or stars in the sky will be your cloven heads and cloven skulls and heaps of entrails that he crushes after he has scattered you about the ridges. But I do not believe that he will succeed