Nevertheless, still more did he fear to go back to Concobar with nought to tell him.
So the man, descrying a narrow window at one side, climbed to it from an unyoked chariot that was near, and looked in. He saw Nathos and Darthool talking each to each in low voices, where they lay upon the white and dappled fawn-skins, with the gold and ivory chessboard between them. He smiled grimly, when he saw how great and noble and kingly Nathos seemed, and how more wonderful and beautiful than ever were the wonder and beauty of the eyes and face and form of Darthool.
It was the last time he smiled. At that moment Nathos glanced upward. Swift as thought he lifted a spiked and barbed chessman and hurled it at the man’s eye. Treandhorn fell backward, but rose at once and fled, with his right eye torn and blind for evermore.
When he came to the king and told his tale, and how Nathos was like a king indeed, and Darthool more beautiful by far than she had been of old, Concobar sprang to his feet. A red light came into his eyes, and he threw back his head and laughed; and at that laughing every man there knew that his madness was come upon him, and that the blood-thirst was already sweating upon many swords.
“Ultonians,” he cried, “will ye do the will of your king?”
“That will we!” they answered with a great shout.
“Then come ye, and all your followers and vassals, and surround the house of the Red Branch, and set it in a forest of red flames, and if any run from out thereof put them to the sword.” As all ran swiftly from the king’s fort, a high terrible voice was heard. It was that of the dying Cathba the ancient Druid, and what he cried thrice was: “The Red Branch perisheth! Uladh passeth! Uladh passeth!”
But none heard him or paid heed, save only Lavarcam, who in that bitter crying knew well that the end was come.
In a brief while thrice three hundred men surrounded the fort of the Red Branch, and set red flames about it; and thrice three hundred more made haste to join them.
There was a mighty onset at the first led by Buine the Fiery, who slew many, and quenched the fires, and threw the Ultonians into confusion.
“Who is the hero who has done this?” cried Concobar.
“It is I, Buine Borbruay, the son of Fergus MacRossa.”