CHAPTER XVI
“This is endless,” Conachúr gritted. “Has that Buinne come out yet?”
“The men will shout when he appears.”
“Bring him here and we will get their dispositions from him.”
“There is nothing to get, majesty. Their plan is the simplest. They have six doors: they choose one to come out by and one to get in by. That is the whole plan.”
“Post men in such a way that when one does come out he will not be able to get in again through that door or any door. Send for reinforcements and put fifty men against each door.... Those ramsmen have women’s shoulders,” he growled. “They would beat a mud wall down in a month.”
“It must give shortly,” said the captain,“but there will be no entrance when the door is down.”
“No?” said Conachúr.
“They will have the inside barricaded, and our men will not dare that narrow, black, impeded passage. We could leave an hundred dead in that doorway and be no farther.”
“There is Buinne,” the captain continued, as a shout came from the side.
“Buinne,” said Conachúr, “you will fight for me?”
“My lordship, Conachúr?” said the gruff young man.
“It shall be as I said, and more,” said the king. (It was given as promised, and was known for long as Dal Buinne, but it is now called Slieve Fuad.)
Buinne told what he could of the defence, but, as the captain had foreseen, there was nothing to tell.
“This door,” said Conachúr, “will be down shortly. Have they barricaded it on the inside?”
“They have not,” said Buinne.
The captain became active and violent.
“Ah!” he cried, “there is always something forgotten. Get at the ram, you there,” he roared. “Put your shoulders into it.”
He turned to the king.
“We have them!” he said.
Conachúr, with his eyes gleaming and a savage smile curling his lips, strode towards the rammers, but as he moved, the door swung open and four men leaped from its yawning blackness. In a second two of the ramsmen were dead, and the rest were flying wildly, bustling the very king in their passage.
“By my hand!” the captain gurgled.
Two of the assaulters lifted the ram and trotted with it through the door. The other two made an onslaught of such ferocity that the soldiers were appalled. Then one fled back through the door, which instantly slammed, and the other sped like lightning around the building.
“After him!” roared Conachúr.
But the captain remained where he was, howling and dancing with rage.
“I’ve lost my ram,” he bawled. “I’ve lost my ram.”
“We have you, Iollann!” said Conachúr. “Traitor to your king!” he growled.
“Traitor to your friends,” Iollann retorted.
“Deliver yourself to me,” said Conachúr, “and you shall be spared.”
“I came out for a purpose,” said Iollann. “I demand single combat.”
“There are no gentlemen here,” Conachúr replied, “except your brother, so your claim cannot be granted.”
“I shall cuff him,” said Buinne, “but I will not fight him,” and he strode away.
“I shall take this combat,” said a voice.
Conachúr turned and saw his own son, Fiachra, standing there, and his heart sank.
“You have no arms,” he said harshly.
“You will lend me yours,” said Fiachra.
Conachúr stared on the fierce circle that surrounded him. He stared at Iollann, who stood with his back to the Red Branch swinging his blade, and he knew that the combat must take place.
“Iollann and I were born on the same night,” said Fiachra. “It is an equal combat.”
Conachúr took off his own battle-coats and gave them to Fiachra. He gave him his shield, the enchanted Aicean, and his green sword.
“Fight, then,” he said, “and remember my teaching. Remember my shield work and my thrust.”
They fought then, but at the first stroke from Iollann the great shield roared; for that virtue was in the Bright-Rim, to roar when the man it covered was struck at, and in answer to its roar the Three Waves of Ireland, the Wave of Tua, the Wave of Clíona, and the Wave of Rury, roared in reply, and thereby all Ireland knew that a king was in danger.
Away in the palace Conall Cearnach sat drinking, listening to some great brawl, as he thought. He heard the roaring of Aicean, and leaped to his feet.
“The king is in danger!” he said.
He seized his weapons and fled from the palace of Macha, and came on the great combat.
In the dim light he thought it was Conachúr himself was behind the shield, and fromthe daring and mighty onslaught of the opponent he saw there was no time to lose. He burst his blue-green spear through the press and through the back of Iollann.
Iollann staggered to the wall of the Red Branch.
“Who has struck me from behind?” he said.
“I, Conall Cearnach.”
“Great and horrible is the deed you have done, Conall.”
“Who are you?” Conall demanded.
“I am Iollann the Fair, sent by my father to protect the sons of Uisneac.”
“By my hand,” said Conall fiercely, “I shall undo some of what I have done,” and with one side twist of the sword he lifted the head from Fiachra.
“Help me to that door, Conall,” said Iollann. “The sons of Uisneac are within.”
The appalled soldiery shrank back, and on Conall’s arm they came to the door. There Iollann gave his shout. A feeble one it was, but it was heard and the door opened. Iollann staggered in.
“Fight bravely, Naoise!” he said, andwith that he sank on the floor, and he was dead.
Outside the Red Branch Conachúr ran hither and thither like a man enraged by madness.