And Ainle also craved that death might be dealt to him the first. But Naoise held out his own sword, "The Retaliator," to the executioner. "Mannanan, the son of Lîr, gave me my good sword," he said. "With it strike my dear brothers and me one blow only as we stand here like three trees planted in the soil. Then shall none of us know the grief and shame of seeing the other beheaded." And because it was hard for any man to disobey the command of Naoise, a king of men, the Norseman reached out his hand for the sword. But Deirdrê sprang from the shoulder of Naoise and would have killed the man ere he struck. Roughly he threw her aside, and with one blow he shore off the heads of the three greatest heroes of Alba. For a little while there was a great stillness there, like the silence before the coming of a storm. And then all who had beheld the end of the fair and noble Sons of Usna broke into great lamentation. Only Conor stood silent, gazing at the havoc he had wrought. To Cuchulainn, the mighty champion, a good man and a true, Deirdrê fled, and begged him to protect her for the little span of life that she knew yet remained to her. And with him she went to where the head of Naoise lay, and tenderly she cleansed it from blood and from the stains of strife and stress, and smoothed the hair that was black as a raven's wing, and kissed the cold lips again and again. And as she held it against her white breast, as a mother holds a little child, she chanted for Naoise, her heart, and for his brothers, a lament that still lives in the language of the Gael. "Is it honour that ye love, brave and chivalrous Ultonians? Or is the word of a base king better than noble truth? Of a surety ye must be glad, who have basely slain honour In slaying the three noblest and best of your brotherhood. * * * * * Let now my beauty that set all this warring aflame, Let now my beauty be quenched as a torch that is spent-- For here shall I quench it, here, where my loved one lies, A torch shall it be for him still through the darkness of death." Fiona Macleod's Translation. Then, at the bidding of Cuchulainn, the Ultonian, three graves were dug for the brothers, but the grave of Naoise was made wider than the others, and when he was placed in it, standing upright, with his head placed on his shoulders, Deirdrê stood by him and held him in her white arms, and murmured to him of the love that was theirs and of which not Death itself could rob them. And even as she spoke to him, merciful Death took her, and together they were buried. At that same hour a terrible cry was heard: "_The Red Branch perisheth! Uladh passeth! Uladh passeth!_" and when he had so spoken, the soul of Cathbad the Druid passed away. To the land of the Ultonians there came on the morrow a mighty host, and the Red Branch was wiped out for ever. Emain Macha was cast into ruins, and Conor died in a madness of sorrow.