But after some time the moon arose and the wolves went away, for their
leader, a sagacious and crafty chief, declared that as long as they
remained where they were, the lady would remain where she was; and so,
with a hearty curse on trees, the troop departed. Becfola had pains in her
legs from the way she had wrapped them about the branch, but there was no
part of her that did not ache, for a lady does not sit with any ease upon
a tree.
For some time she did not care to come down from the branch. “Those wolves
may return,” she said, “for their chief is crafty and sagacious, and it is
certain, from the look I caught in his eye as he departed, that he would
rather taste of me than cat any woman he has met.”
She looked carefully in every direction to see if one might discover them
in hiding; she looked closely and lingeringly at the shadows under distant
trees to see if these shadows moved; and she listened on every wind to try
if she could distinguish a yap or a yawn or a sneeze. But she saw or heard
nothing; and little by little tranquillity crept into her mind, and she
began to consider that a danger which is past is a danger that may be
neglected.
Yet ere she descended she looked again on the world of jet and silver that
dozed about her, and she spied a red glimmer among distant trees.
“There is no danger where there is light,” she said, and she thereupon
came from the tree and ran in the direction that she had noted.
In a spot between three great oaks she came upon a man who was roasting a
wild boar over a fire. She saluted this youth and sat beside him. But
after the first glance and greeting he did not look at her again, nor did
he speak.
When the boar was cooked he ate of it and she had her share. Then he arose
from the fire and walked away among the trees. Becfola followed, feeling
ruefully that something new to her experience had arrived; “for,” she
thought, “it is usual that young men should not speak to me now that I am
the mate of a king, but it is very unusual that young men should not look
at me.”
But if the young man did not look at her she looked well at him, and what
she saw pleased her so much that she had no time for further cogitation.
For if Crimthann had been beautiful, this youth was ten times more
beautiful. The curls on Crimthann’s head had been indeed as a benediction
to the queen’s eye, so that she had eaten the better and slept the sounder
for seeing him. But the sight of this youth left her without the desire to
eat, and, as for sleep, she dreaded it, for if she closed an eye she would
be robbed of the one delight in time, which was to look at this young man,
and not to cease looking at him while her eye could peer or her head could
remain upright.
They came to an inlet of the sea all sweet and calm under the round,
silver-flooding moon, and the young man, with Becfola treading on his
heel, stepped into a boat and rowed to a high-jutting, pleasant island.
There they went inland towards a vast palace, in which there was no person
but themselves alone, and there the young man went to sleep, while Becfola
sat staring at him until the unavoidable peace pressed down her eyelids
and she too slumbered.
She was awakened in the morning by a great shout.
“Come out, Flann, come out, my heart!”
The young man leaped from his couch, girded on his harness, and strode
out. Three young men met him, each in battle harness, and these four
advanced to meet four other men who awaited them at a little distance on
the lawn. Then these two sets of four fought togethor with every warlike
courtesy but with every warlike severity, and at the end of that combat
there was but one man standing, and the other seven lay tossed in death.
Becfola spoke to the youth.
“Your combat has indeed been gallant,” she said.
“Alas,” he replied, “if it has been a gallant deed it has not been a good
one, for my three brothers are dead and my four nephews are dead.”
“Ah me!” cried Becfola, “why did you fight that fight?”
“For the lordship of this island, the Isle of Fedach, son of Dali.”
But, although Becfola was moved and horrified by this battle, it was in
another direction that her interest lay; therefore she soon asked the
question which lay next her heart:
“Why would you not speak to me or look at me?”
“Until I have won the kingship of this land from all claimants, I am no
match for the mate of the High King of Ireland,” he replied.
And that reply was llke balm to the heart of Becfola.
“What shall I do?” she inquired radiantly. “Return to your home,” he
counselled. “I will escort you there with your maid, for she is not really
dead, and when I have won my lordship I will go seek you in Tara.”
“You will surely come,” she insisted.
“By my hand,” quoth he, “I will come.”
These three returned then, and at the end of a day and night they saw far
off the mighty roofs of Tara massed in the morning haze. The young man
left them, and with many a backward look and with dragging, reluctant
feet, Becfola crossed the threshold of the palace, wondering what she
should say to Dermod and how she could account for an absence of three
days’ duration.
