Laeg answered, “That is the dun of the sons of Nectan.”

“Let us now leave Slieve Modurn,” said Cuculain, “and guide thither my horses, for I shall lay waste that dun, and burn it with fire, after having slain the men who dwell there.”

Then Laeg clasped his comrade’s knees, and said, “Take the road, dear master, against the royalest dun in all Meath, but pass by that dun.  The men are not alive to-day who at any time approached it with warlike intent.  Those who dwell there are sorcerers and enchanters, lords of all the arts of poison and of war.”

Cuculain answered, “I swear by my gods that Dun-Mic-Nectan is the only dun in all Meath which shall hear my warlike challenge this day.  Descend the hill now, for verily thither shalt thou fare, and that whether thou art willing or unwilling.”

Now, for the first time, his valour and his destructive wrath were kindled in the soul of Dethcaen’s nursling.  Laeg saw the tokens of it, and feared and obeyed.  Unwillingly he came down the slopes of Slieve Modurn, and unwillingly harnessed the horses and yoked the chariot, and yoked the horses.  Southwards, then, they fared swiftly through the night, and the intervening nations heard them as they went.  When they arrived at the dun of the sons of Nectan it was twilight and the dawning of the day.  Before the dun there was a green and spacious lawn in full view of the palace, and on the lawn a pillar and on the pillar a huge disc of shining bronze.  Cuculain descended and examined the disc, and there was inscribed on it in ogham a curse upon the man who should enter that lawn and depart again without battle and single combat with the men of the dun.  Cuculain took the disc from its place and cast it from him southwards.  The brazen disc skimmed low across the plain and then soared on high until it showed to those who looked a full, bright face, like the moon’s, after which, pausing one moment, it fell sheer down and sank into the dark waters of the Boyne, without a sound, or at all disturbing the tranquil surface of the great stream, and was no more seen.

“That bright lure,” said Cuculain, “shall no more be a cause of death to brave men.  This lawn, O Laeg, is surely the richest of all the lawns in the world.  Close-enwoven and thick is the mantle of short green grass which it wears, decked all over with red-petalled daisies and bright flowers more numerous than the stars on a frosty night.”

“That is not surprising,” said Laeg, “for the lawn is enriched and made fat by the blood that has been shed abundantly now for a long time, the blood of heroes and valiant men—­slain here by the people of the dun.  Very rich too, are the men, both on account of their strippings of the slain, and on account of the druidic well of magic which is within the dun.  For the people come from far and near to pay their vows at that well, and they give costly presents to those sorcerers who are priests and custodians of the same.”