“Still the contest,” said Ket, “or I shall carve the boar.”  “Contest thou shalt have,” said Mend, son of Sword-heel.  “Who is this?” said Ket. “’Tis Mend,” cried all the Ulstermen.

“Shall the sons of fellows with nicknames come here to contend with me?” cried Ket.  “I was the priest who christened thy father that name.  ’Twas I who cut the heel off him, so that off he went with only one.  What brings the son of that man to contend with me?” Mend then sat down in his seat.

“Come to the contest,” said Ket, “or I shall begin to carve.”  Then arose from the Ulstermen a huge grey and terrible warrior.  “Who is this?” asked Ket. ’"Tis Keltcar, son of Uthecar,” cried they all.

“Wait awhile, Keltcar,” said Ket, “do not pound me to pieces just yet.  Once, O Keltcar, I made a foray on thee and came in front of Dun.  All thy folk attacked me, and thou amongst them.  In a narrow pass we fought, and thou didst fling a spear at me and I at thee, but my spear went through thy loins and thou hast never been the better of it since.”  Then Keltcar sat down in his seat.

“Who else comes to the contest,” cried Ket “or shall I at last divide the pig?” Up rose then the son of King Conor, named Cuscrid the Stammerer “Whom have we here?” said Ket. “’Tis Cuscrid son of Conor,” cried they all.  “He has the stuff of a king in him,” said Ket.  “No thanks to thee for that,” said the youth.

“Well, then,” said Ket, “thou madest thy first foray against us Connachtmen, and on the border of the Provinces we met thee.  A third of thy people, thou didst leave behind thee, and came away with my spear through thy throat, so that thou canst not speak rightly ever since, for the sinews of thy throat were severed.  And hence is Cuscrid the Stammerer thy byname ever since.”

So thus Ket laid shame and defeat on the whole Province of Ulster, nor was there any other warrior in the hall found to contend with him.

[Illustration:  “A mighty shout of exultation arose from the Ulstermen”]

Then Ket stood up triumphing, and took the knife in his hand and prepared to carve the boar when a noise and trampling were heard at the great door of the hall, and a mighty shout of exultation arose from the Ulstermen.  When the press parted, Ket saw coming up the centre of the hall Conall of the Victories, and Conor the King dashed the helmet from his head and sprang up for joy.

“Glad we are,” cried Conall, “that all is ready for feast; and who is carving the boar for us?”

“Ket, son of Maga,” replied they, “for none could contest the place of honour with him.”

“Is that so, Ket?” says Conall Cearnach.

“Even so,” replied Ket.  “And now welcome to thee, O Conall, thou of the iron heart and fiery blood; keen as the glitter of ice, ever-victorious chieftain; hail mighty son of Finnchoom!”

And Conall said, “Hail to thee, Ket, flower of heroes, lord of chariots, a raging sea in battle; a strong, majestic bull; hail, son of Maga!”