It is exceedingling difficult to sleep with people tromping back and forth past your door all the night long. Something is amiss in the Keep. Finally giving up on my desire to sleep, I poke my head from the door. One of the serving lads from the hall is passing and I hail him for the news.

"You haven't heard?" he asks, incredulously. "The Cumhaill has challenged our War Chief to a fight. And then, his woman has wandered off in the night!" he explains, plainly anxious to get within the warmth of the Hall. With my thanks, I send him on his way.

Overhead, the stars are still bright, but they begin to pale in the east. Time for my morning song. I fetch a warmer cloak and rake the worts of the tangles from my beard and hair, and head for the Hill of Amergin.