And Diarmuid, all full of hurts and wounds after the hard fight,
lay down on the plain. A very strong daring champion came then and
kicked at him from behind, and at that Diarmuid roused himself up, and
put out his brave ready hand for his weapons.
"Wait a while, Grandson of Duibhne," the champion said then; "it is not
to do you any hurt or harm I am come, but to say to you it is a bad
sleeping-place for you to have, and it on your ill-wisher's lawn. And
come now with me," he said, "and I will give you a better
resting-place."
Diarmuid followed him then, and they went a long, long way from that,
till they came to a high-topped city, and three times fifty brave
champions in it, three times fifty modest women, and another young woman
on a bench, with blushes in her cheeks, and delicate hands, and having a
silken cloak about her, and a dress sewed with gold threads, and on her
head the flowing veil of a queen.
There was a good welcome before Diarmuid for his own sake and the sake
of his people, and he was put in a house of healing that was in the
city, and good herbs were put to his hurts till he was smooth and sound
again.
And a feast was made then, and the tables and the benches were set, and
no high person was put in the place of the mean, or mean in the place of
the high, but every one in his own place, according to his nobility, or
his descent, or his art. Plenty of good food was brought to them then,
and well-tasting strong drinks, and they spent the first part of the
night in drinking, and the second part with music and delight and
rejoicing of the mind, and the third part in sound sleep that lasted
till the sun rose over the heavy sodded earth on the morrow.
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