stop,' said Cohoolin, 'our horses are weary and our charioteers have no spirit left.' And Ferdia said: 'So let it be.' They kissed one another and forgot their anger. The professors of healing came with ointments and spells and charms; and as before Cohoolin sent part of the best of everything to Ferdia, and Ferdia sent him the best meats and drinks. Their horses were together and the charioteers lay down by the same fire.
Ferdia's face the next day was clouded. 'Thou art not thyself,' said Cohoolin. 'I know not what it is,' he answered, 'but it is not fear.' Cohoolin reproached him again for having come at the bidding of a woman.
'A man must die,' said Ferdia, 'and he cannot keep away from the place where he has to die.'
'But thou thyself,' said Cohoolin, 'art the cause of this trouble. A woman has persuaded thee.'
'I could not return except in disgrace,' was the reply.
'Oh, Ferdia!' said Cohoolin, 'there is no man or woman who could have persuaded me to do thee evil.'
Ferdia was gloomy. 'Maeve has destroyed me,' he said, 'not thou. The victory is thine, not the fault.'
'I have no strength,' said Cohoolin, 'to fight thee.'
Nevertheless, in spite of their old spotless friendship, they fought again. They used their great swords and attacked one another as if they were nothing but swords to cut and bodies to be hewn and pierced. The sword of Cohoolin could not rest away from Ferdia, nor Ferdia's away from Cohoolin. They were well matched for courage, for stubbornness, and for bloodiness, but in the evening it was Ferdia that said, 'Let us stop now, Cohoolin.' 'If it is time,' said he, 'then let us stop.' Both were sad and silent. That night the horses and charioteers of the two champions were not together.
Ferdia rose early on the next morning. He knew
