Thereupon Fergus caused men to harness for him his horses, and his chariot was yoked, and he went to that place where Cuchulain was that he might tell him what had passed, and Cuchulain bade him welcome.  I am rejoiced at your coming, O my good friend Fergus,” said Cuchulain.  And I gladly accept thy welcome, O my pupil,” said Fergus.  But I have now come hither in order to tell thee who that man is who comes to combat and fight with thee early on the morning of the day which is at hand.”  “We shall give all heed to thy words,” said Cuchulain. “’Tis thine own friend,” said Fergus, “thy companion, and thy fellow pupil; thine equal in feats and in deeds and in valour:  even Ferdia, the son of Daman, the son of Dare, the great and valiant champion of the men of Irross Donnan.”  “Truly,” said Cuchulain, “I make mine oath to thee that I am sorry that my friend should come to such a duel.”  “Therefore,” said Fergus, “it behoves thee to be wary and prepared, for unlike to all those men who have come to combat and fight with thee upon the Tain be Cuailgne is Ferdia, the son of Daman, the son of Dare.”  “I have stood here,” said Cuchulain, “detaining and delaying the men of the four great provinces of Ireland since the first Monday in Samhain (November) till the beginning of the spring, and not one foot have I gone back before any one man during all that time, nor shall I, as I trust, yield before him.”  And in this manner did Fergus continue to put him on his guard, and these were the words that he spoke, and thus did Cuchulain reply: 

Fergus

Rise, Cuchulain! foes are near,[FN#52]
All their covenant is clear;
Daman’s ruddy son in rage
Comes the war with thee to wage.

[FN#52] The metre is that of the Irish; a literal rendering of the whole dialogue is given in the notes, p. 191.

Cuchulain

Here I stand, whose valiant toil
Erin’s bands held back from spoil;
Never a foot of ground they won,
Never a foe they found me shun.

Fergus

Fierce is he in rage; his trust
In his blade’s deep searching thrust: 
Plates of horn protect his side,
Pierced by none his strength who tried.

Cuchulain

Fergus, much thine arms excel;
Cease, this tale no longer tell
Land is none, nor battle-field
Where to his my strength must yield.

Fergus

He is fierce, with scores can fight,
Spear nor sword can on him bite;
From that strength, a hundred’s match,
Hard ’twill be the prize to snatch.

Cuchulain

Yea!  Ferdia’s power I know;
How from foughten field we go;
How was fought our piercing war,
Bards shall tell to ages far.