CHAPTER XII.  THE GREAT FIGHT

Then the King of the World came to the strand, and all his armies with him; and all that were left of the Fianna went out against them, and they were like thick woods meeting one another, and they made great strokes, and there were swords crashing against bones, and bodies that were hacked, and eyes that were blinded, and many a mother was left without her son, and many a comely wife without her comrade.

Then the creatures of the high air answered to the battle, foretelling the destruction that would be done that day; and the sea chattered of the losses, and the waves gave heavy shouts keening them, and the water-beasts roared to one another, and the rough hills creaked with the danger of the battle, and the woods trembled mourning the heroes, and the grey stones cried out at their deeds, and the wind sobbed telling them, and the earth shook, foretelling the slaughter; and the cries of the grey armies put a blue cloak over the sun, and the clouds were dark; and the hounds and the whelps and the crows, and the witches of the valley, and the powers of the air, and the wolves of the forests, howled from every quarter and on every side of the armies, urging them against one another.

It was then Conan, son of Morna, brought to mind that himself and his kindred had done great harm to the sons of Baiscne, and he had a wish to do some good thing for them on account of that, and he raised up his sword and did great deeds.

And Finn was over the battle, encouraging the Fianna; and the King of the World was on the other side encouraging the foreigners.  “Rise up now, Fergus,” said Finn, “and praise Conan for me that his courage may be the greater, for it is good work he is doing on my enemies.”  So Fergus went where Conan was, and at that time he was heated with the dust of the fight, and he was gone outside to let the wind go about him.

“It is well you remember the old quarrel between the sons of Morna and the sons of Baiscne, Conan,” said Fergus; “and you would be ready to go to your own death if it would bring harm on the sons of Baiscne,” he said.  “For the love of your good name, Man of Poetry,” said Conan, “do not be speaking against me without cause, and I will do good work on the foreigners when I get to the battle again.”  “By my word,” said Fergus, “that would be a good thing for you to do.”  He sang a verse of praise for him then, and Conan went back into the battle, and his deeds were not worse this time than they were before.  And Fergus went back to where Finn was.

“Who is best in the battle now?” said Finn.  “Duban, son of Cas, a champion of your own people,” said Fergus, “for he never gives but the one stroke to any man, and no man escapes with his life from that stroke, and three times nine and eighty men have fallen by him up to this time.”  And Duban Donn, great-grandson of the King of Tuathmumhain, was there listening to