Early Irish Myths and Sagas - Jeffrey Gantz [40]
‘I saw twelve men gathered round the apartment in a circle,’ said Ingcél, ‘and they had silver swords. Fair yellow manes they had, and bright tunics, and all were equal in form and shape and appearance. All had ivory-hilted swords in their hands, and they did not put them down unless they were holding horsewhips as they gathered round the apartment. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’
‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘The guards of the king of Temuir they: the three Londs of Life, the three Arts of Áth Clíath, the three Bodars of Buaignige and the three Trénfers of Cuilne. I swear by the god my people swear by, when they destroy, the dead outnumber the living. Twelve hundred will fall by them at the first onslaught, and a man for each weapon, and a man for each of them, and they will match the performance of any band in the hostel; they will boast of victories over kings and royal heirs and plundering chieftains, and, though wounded, they will escape afterwards.’ ‘Woe to him who carries out this destruction, if only because of those twelve,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you.’ ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.
‘I saw a red-freckled lad in a crimson cloak,’ said Ingcél, ‘and he was weeping in the house. Wherever the thirty hundred men were, each of them would take the lad to his breast. He was sitting on a bright silver chair in the middle of the house and sobbing, and the household were sorrowful from listening to him. The lad had three colours of hair: green, yellow crimson and pure gold. I do not know whether each hair is multihued or whether he has three different hairs. But I do know that there is something he fears tonight. I saw three fifties of lads in silver chairs round him, and those red-freckled lads had fifteen reeds in their hands, with a thorn spike at the top of each reed. We were fifteen men, and our fifteen right eyes were being blinded by him, and one of the seven pupils in my eye was being blinded by him. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’
‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain, and he wept until tears of blood poured forth. ‘Wretched that one, for he has been named by the men of Ériu against the men of Albu as a champion of hospitality and shape and form and horsemanship. It is grievous. He is a pig that falls before acorns. The making of a king, he is the best ever to come into Ériu. The infant son of Conare, Lé Fer Flaith is his name, and he is seven years old. I think it not unlikely that he is foredoomed, and that by reason of the various hues of his hair. The three fifties of lads round him are his special household.’ ‘Woe to him who carries out this destruction, if only because of this one lad,’ said Lomnae Drúth. ‘You do not rule me,’ said Ingcél. ‘Clouds of blood will come to you.’ ‘After that, what did you see?’ asked Lomnae Drúth.
‘I saw six men before the same apartment,’ said Ingcél. ‘Fair yellow manes they had, and green cloaks, and tin brooches for the cloaks. All were mounted like Conall Cernach. Each man could put his cloak round the other as quickly as a mill wheel; the eye could scarcely follow it. Explain that, Fer Rogain.’
‘Not difficult that,’ said Fer Rogain. ‘The six servers of the king of Temuir they: Úan, Bróen, Banda, Delt, Drúcht and Dathen.