Not like Fomorians, men of the sea,
Stubborn, unending our struggle should be;
Now that the clamour of combat must cease,
Quarrels forget, and between us be peace.

Let us cease now indeed,” said Ferdia, “if the time for it hath come.”  They ceased, and they threw away their weapons into their charioteers’ hands, and each of them at the end of that fight sought the other, and each threw his arms about the other’s neck, and gave him three kisses.  Their horses were in the same paddock that night, the men who had driven their chariots sat by the same fire, moreover the charioteers of both those warriors spread couches of fresh rushes for the two, and supplied them with such pillows as are needed by wounded men.  And such folk as can heal and cure came to examine into their wounds and to tend them that night, for they could do nothing more for them, so severe and so deadly were the stabs and the thrusts, and the gashes of the many wounds that they had, than to apply to them spells and incantations and charms, in order to staunch their blood, and their bleeding mortal wounds.  And for every spell and incantation and charm that was applied to the stabs and the wounds of Cuchulain, he sent a full half westward across the ford to Ferdia; and of each kind of food, and of pleasant, palatable, intoxicating drink that the men of Ireland brought to Ferdia, he sent a half across the ford to Cuchulain, in the north.  For the men who brought food to Ferdia were more in number than they who brought food to Cuchulain, for all the army of the men of Ireland helped to provide Ferdia with food, because he was their champion to defend them against Cuchulain; yet to Cuchulain also food was brought by the people who dwell in the Breg.  And it was the custom with these that they came to converse with him at the dusk of each night.

Thus they rested that night:  but early in the morning they arose, and repaired to the Ford of Combat; and Cuchulain saw that an evil look and a lowering cloud was on the face of Ferdia that day.  “Ill dost thou appear to me to-day, O Ferdia!” said Cuchulain.  “Thy hair hath been darkened to-day, and thine eye hath been dimmed, and the form and the features and the visage that thou art wont to have are gone from thee.”  “’Tis from no fear or from terror of thee that I am what I am to-day,” said Ferdia, “for there is not in Ireland to-day a champion that I am not able to subdue.”  And Cuchulain complained and lamented, and he spoke the words that follow, and thus did Ferdia reply: 

Cuchulain

Is’t indeed Ferdia’s face?[FN#57]
Sure his meed is dire disgrace;
He, to war by woman led,
Comes his comrade’s blood to shed.

[FN#57] The metre is that of the Irish.

Ferdia

Thou who warrior art indeed,
Champion tried! who wounds dost breed,
I am forced the sod to see
Where my final grave shall be.