Over the first high wall
nimbly leaped the magic horse, and Sculloge called aloud on
the Druid to come out and surrender his sword. Then came out a
tall, dark man, with coal-black eyes and hair and melancholy
visage, and made a furious sweep at Sculloge with the flaming
blade. But the Druidic beast sprang back over the wall in the
twinkling of an eye and rescued his rider, leaving, however,
his tail behind in the court-yard. Then Sculloge returned in
triumph to his father-in-law's palace, and the night was spent
in feasting and revelry.
Next day Sculloge rode out on a white horse, and when he got
to Fiach's castle, he saw the first wall lying in rubbish. He
leaped the second, and the same scene occurred as the day
before, save that the horse escaped unharmed.
The third day Sculloge went out on foot, with a harp like that
of Orpheus in his hand, and as he swept its strings the grass
bent to listen and the trees bowed their heads. The castle
walls all lay in ruins, and Sculloge made his way unhindered
to the upper room, where Fiach lay in Druidic slumber, lulled
by the harp. He seized the sword of light, which was hung by
the chimney sheathed in a dark scabbard, and making the best
of his way back to the good king's palace, mounted his wife's
steed, and scoured over land and sea until he found himself in
the gloomy glen where Lassa Buaicht was still crying and
cursing and betting on his left hand against his right.
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