‘Who is that, O Fergus?’ said Ailill.

‘We know, indeed,’ said Fergus.  ‘He is half of a combat truly,’ said he, ’who so comes there; he is a fence(?) of battle, he is fierce rage of a bloodhound; Rochad Mac Fathemain from Bridamae, your son-in-law, is that, who wedded your daughter yonder, that is, Findabair.’

‘Another company has come to the hill, to Slemon Midi,’ said Mac Roth.  ’A warrior with great calves, stout, with great thighs, big, in front of that company.  Each of his limbs is almost as thick as a man.  Truly, he is a man down to the ground,’ said he.  ’Hair black on him; a face full of wounds, purple, has he; an eye parti-coloured, very high, in his head; a man glorious, dexterous, thus, with horror and terror, who has a wonderful apparel, both raiment and weapons and appearance and splendour and dress; he raises himself with the prowess of a warrior, with achievements of ——­, with the pride of wilfulness, with a going through battle to rout overwhelming numbers, with wrath upon foes, with a marching on many hostile countries without protection.  In truth, mightily have they come on their course into Slemon Midi.’

‘He was ——­ of valour and of prowess, in sooth,’ said Fergus; ’he was of ——­ pride(?) and of haughtiness, he was ——­ of strength and dignity, ——­ then of armies and hosts of my own foster-brother, Fergus Mac Leiti, King of Line, point of battle of the north of Ireland.’

’Another company, great, fierce, has come to the hill, to Slemon Midi,’ said Mac Roth.  ’Strife before it, strange dresses on them.  A warrior fair, beautiful, before it; gift of every form, both hair and eye and whiteness, both size and strife and fitness; five chains of gold on him; a green cloak folded about him; a brooch of gold in the cloak over his arm; a shirt white, hooded, about him; the tower of a palace in his hand; a sword gold-hilted on his shoulders.’

’Fiery is the bearing of the champion of combat who has so come there,’ said Fergus.  ’Amorgene, son of Eccet Salach the smith, from Buais in the north is that.’

‘Another company has come there, to the hill, to Slemon Midi,’ said Mac Roth.  It is a drowning for size, it is a fire for splendour, it is a pin for sharpness, it is a battalion for number, it is a rock for greatness, it is ——­ for might, it is a judgment for its ——­, it is thunder for pride.  A warrior rough-visaged, terrible, in front of this company, and he great-bellied, large-lipped; rough hair, a grey beard on him; and he great-nosed, red-limbed; a dark cloak about him, an iron spike on his cloak; a round shield with an engraved edge on him; a rough shirt, braided(?), about him; a great grey spear in his hand, and thirty rivets therein; a sword of seven charges of metal on his shoulders.  All the host rose before him, and he overthrew multitudes of the battalion about him in going to the hill.’

‘He is a head of strife who has so come,’ said Fergus; ’he is a half of battle, he is a warrior for valour, he is a wave of a storm which drowns, he is a sea over boundaries; that is, Celtchar Mac Uithechair from Dunlethglaisi in the north.’