'
'Who is that, O Fergus?' said Ailill.
'We know, indeed,' said Fergus. 'He is half of a combat truly,'
said he, 'who so comes there; he is a fence(?) of battle, he is
fierce rage of a bloodhound; Rochad Mac Fathemain from Bridamae,
your son-in-law, is that, who wedded your daughter yonder, that is,
Findabair.'
'Another company has come to the hill, to Slemon Midi,' said Mac
Roth. 'A warrior with great calves, stout, with great thighs, big,
in front of that company. Each of his limbs is almost as thick as a
man. Truly, he is a man down to the ground,' said he. 'Hair black
on him; a face full of wounds, purple, has he; an eye parti-coloured,
very high, in his head; a man glorious, dexterous, thus, with
horror and terror, who has a wonderful apparel, both raiment and
weapons and appearance and splendour and dress; he raises himself
with the prowess of a warrior, with achievements of ----, with the
pride of wilfulness, with a going through battle to rout
overwhelming numbers, with wrath upon foes, with a marching on many
hostile countries without protection. In truth, mightily have they
come on their course into Slemon Midi.
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