A vast murmur rose from the assembly, for like distant thunder or
the far-off murmuring of agitated waters was the continuous hum of
their blended conversation and laughter, while, ever and anon,
cleaving the many-tongued confusion, uprose friendly voices,
clearer and stronger than battle-trumpets, when one hero
challenged another to drink, wishing him victory and success, and
his words rang round the hollow dome. Innumerable candles, tall as
spears, illuminated the scene. The eyes of the heroes sparkled,
and their faces, white and ruddy, beamed with festal mirth and
mutual affection. Their yellow hair shone. Their banqueting
attire, white and scarlet, glowed against the outer gloom. Their
round brooches and mantle-pins of gold, or silver, or golden
bronze, their drinking vessels and instruments of festivity,
flashed and glittered in the light. They rejoiced in their glory
and their might, and in the inviolable amity in which they were
knit together, a host of comrades, a knot of heroic valour and
affection which no strength or cunning, and no power, seen or
unseen, could ever relax or untie.

At one extremity of the vast hall, upon a raised seat, sat their
young king, Concobar Mac Nessa, slender, handsome, and upright. A
canopy of bronze, round as the bent sling of the Sun-god, the
long-handed, far-shooting son of Ethlend, [Footnote: This was the
god Lu Lam-fada, i.e., Lu, the Long-Handed. The rainbow was his
sling. Remember that the rod sling, familiar enough now to Irish
boys, was the weapon of the ancient Irish, and not the sling which
is made of two cords.] encircled his head. At his right hand lay a
staff of silver. Far away at the other end of the hall, on a
raised seat, sat the Champion Fergus Mac Roy, like a colossus. The
stars and clouds of night were round his head and shoulders seen