He truly valiant was, to all
Largesse he freely gave of gold;
No little quarrel caused his fall;
To save his people, life he sold.
His guards lie round, of life bereft,
The prince of Connaught lieth there!
Woe for his folk!—though Honour's left,
And woe for me, his consort fair.
And nothing I for you can do,
An evil deed hath wrecked my joy,
And, as the grisly sight I view,
My heart is broken for you, boy!
Then came Fiannamail, the son of Fergus Forderg, to the castle, and three times fifty was the number of the warriors that were with him. And a herald who preceded him gave to Ferb the news of his coming, and to Fiannamail he brought back a sad message to tell him of the deeds which had been done. Fiannamail immediately flew into a rage, and sought eagerly for tidings of where Conor was to be found, and he and Ferb between them made this song:—
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