beside him. The charioteer was a tall, stooping man, with a freckled face and curly red hair: he wore a winged cloak and he goaded the horses with a little goad of red gold. Ferdia's charioteer was fain to admire Cohoolin, and praised him so that Ferdia said angrily: 'Thou wert paid for this praise.'
Cohoolin rose up and looked forward out of the chariot. Recognizing the figure and look of this man Ferdia forgot that Cohoolin was his adversary. He was about to hail him cheerfully when their eyes met across the ford. They looked in silence. The few years since they had met had done something which kept the words on their lips unspoken. 'I am happy at thy coming,' said Ferdia. But these were the words of a foe. 'This is not a friend's welcome,' said Cohoolin. 'A welcome from thee would have pleased me at any other time, and it is I should give the welcome, for this is my country.' 'But thou wert never in my country,' Ferdia replied, a little angry. He reminded Cohoolin that at school, he being the younger, he used to tie up Ferdia's spears for him and make his bed. 'A year's difference among lads,' said Cohoolin, 'is much. What is it to men, Ferdia? But why shouldst thou fight because Maeve desires it? Thou wert my heart companion.' But Ferdia interrupted: 'Have done. We have to fight and to-morrow thy head shall be on a pole.' Cohoolin went on:
'When we were last in the same battle, Ferdia, we were fighting side by side against the enemy of both. We have fought together. We have been in troubles together. We have journeyed together in the wild places. We shared thoughts about all things. We were not separated night or day. Break not thy vow of friendship to please a woman.'
