her High King was chief of the
people learned in magic, and it is possible that at some time Conn had
adventured into Tir na n-Og, the Land of the Young, and had done some
deed or misdeed in Aillen's lordship or in his family. It must have been
an ill deed in truth, for it was in a very rage of revenge that Aillen
came yearly at the permitted time to ravage Tara.

Nine times he had come on this mission of revenge, but it is not to be
supposed that he could actually destroy the holy city: the Ard-Ri'
and magicians could prevent that, but he could yet do a damage so
considerable that it was worth Conn's while to take special extra
precautions against him, including the precaution of chance.

Therefore, when the feast was over and the banquet had commenced, the
Hundred Fighter stood from his throne and looked over his assembled
people.

The Chain of Silence was shaken by the attendant whose duty and honour
was the Silver Chain, and at that delicate chime the halt went silent,
and a general wonder ensued as to what matter the High King would submit
to his people.

"Friends and heroes," said Conn, "Aillen, the son of Midna, will come
to-night from Slieve Fuaid with occult, terrible fire against our
city. Is there among you one who loves Tara and the king, and who will
undertake our defence against that being?"

He spoke in silence, and when he had finished he listened to the same
silence, but it was now deep, ominous, agonized. Each man glanced
uneasily on his neighbour and then stared at his wine-cup or his
fingers. The hearts of young men went hot for a gallant moment and were
chilled in the succeeding one, for they had all heard of Aillen out of
Shl Finnachy in the north. The lesser gentlemen looked under their brows
at the greater champions, and these peered furtively at the greatest of
all. Art og mac Morna of the Hard Strokes fell to biting his fingers,
Cona'n the Swearer and Garra mac Morna grumbled irritably to each other
and at their neighbours, even Caelte, the son of Rona'n, looked down
into his own lap, and Goll Mor sipped at his wine without any twinkle
in his eye. A horrid embarrassment came into the great hall, and as the
High King stood in that palpitating silence his noble face changed
from kindly to grave and from that to a terrible sternness. In another
moment, to the undying shame of every person present, he would have been
compelled to lift his own challenge and declare himself the champion of
Tar