They will slay, but they will not be slain, for they are
out of an elfmound. Woe to him who shall wreak the Destruction, though
it be only because of those nine!"
"Ye cannot," says Ingcel. "Clouds of weakness come to you," etc. "And
after that, whom sawest thou there?"
THE ROOM OF CONAIRE'S MAJORDOMO
"There I saw a room with one man in it. Rough cropt hair upon him.
Though a sack of crab-apples should be flung on his head, not one of
them would fall on the floor, but every apple would stick on his hair.
His fleecy mantle was over him in the house. Every quarrel therein about
seat or bed comes to his decision. Should a needle drop in the house,
its fall would be heard when he speaks. Above him is a huge black tree,
like a millshaft, with its paddles and its cap and its spike. Liken thou
him, O Fer rogain!"
"Easy for me is this. Tuidle of Ulaid is he, the steward of Conaire's
household. 'Tis needful to hearken to the decision of that man, the man
that rules seat and bed and food for each.
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