Culain and his people made the bridles.  He gave them to Cuculain.  The smiths stood around in pallid groups.  Cuculain took the bridles and went forth.  He went south-westwards to Slieve Fuad, and came to the Grey Lake.  The moon shone and the lake glowed like silver.  There was a great horse feeding by the lake.  He raised his head and neighed when he heard footsteps on the hill.  He came on against Cuculain and Cuculain went on against him.  The boy had one bridle knotted round his waist and the other in his teeth.  He leaped upon the steed and caught him by the forelock and his mouth.  The horse reared mightily, but Setanta held him and dragged his head down to the ground.  The grey steed grew greater and more terrible.  So did Cuculain.

“Thou hast met thy master, O Liath Macha, this night,” he cried.  “Surely I will not lose thee.  Ascend into the heavens, or, breaking the earth’s roof, descend to Orchil, [Footnote:  A great sorceress who ruled the world under the earth.] yet even so thou wilt not shake me away.”

Ireland quaked from the centre to the sea.  They reeled together, steed and hero, through the plains of Murthemney.  “Make the circuit of Ireland Liath Macha and I shall be on the neck of thee,” cried Cuculain.  The horse went in reeling circles round Ireland.  Cuculain mightily thust the bit into his mouth and made fast the headstall.  The Liath Macha went a second time round Ireland.  The sea retreated from the shore and stood in heaps.  Cuculain sprang upon his back.  A third time the horse went round Ireland, bounding from peak to peak.  They seemed a resplendent Fomorian phantom against the stars.  The horse came to a stand.  “I think thou art tamed, O Liath Macha,” said Cuculain.  “Go on now to the Dark Valley.”  They came to the Dark Valley.  There was night there always.  Shapes of Death and Horror, Fomorian apparitions, guarded the entrance.  They came against Cuculain, and he went against them.  A voice from within cried, “Forbear, this is the promised one.  Your watching and warding are at end.”  He rode into the Dark Valley.  There was a roaring of unseen rivers in the darkness, of black cataracts rushing down the steep sides of the Valley.  The Liath Macha neighed loudly.  The neigh reverberated through the long Valley.  A horse neighed joyfully in response.  There was a noise of iron doors rushing open somewhere, and a four-footed thunderous trampling on the hollow-sounding earth.  A steed came to the Liath Macha.  Cuculain felt for his head in the dark, and bitted and bridled him ere he was aware.  The horse reared and struggled.  The Liath Macha dragged him down the Valley.  “Struggle not, Black Shanglan,” said Cuculain, “I have tamed thy better.”  The horse ceased to struggle.  Down and out of the Dark Valley rodest thou, O peerless one, with thy horses.  The Liath Macha was grey to whiteness, the other horse was black and glistening like the bright mail of the chaffer.  He rode thence to Emain Macha with the