A stout hide shield was slung on Cormac’s arm, a short, Irish sword thrust in his belt; room was found on his horse trappings for a tough yew bow, a sheaf of arrows bristled at his side--some with poison lurking in their points, others tipped with stone and of a rude make like the arrows of ancient cave-dwelling people. A pike supplemented his short sword, and some half-javelins found their place at his saddle. He turned to Ethne, and poured out warm thanks for the horse. “The gift is not from me,” said Ethne, her long hair streaming in the wind as she rode beside him. “Nor do I know if the givers’ names will please you, my Christian brother.” “Tell me!” said Cormac. “Need you ask?” returned Ethne. “Where can you find such fire, such strength, and lightness, but in the horses of the Druids? The steed is a gift to you from my brother-Druids.” Cormac made no reply. “It is a love gift, too, Cormac--for their hearts are true to the children of Tuathal! Though they can no longer feast at Tara, they can pour out such poor treasures as they have at the feet of their future lord. They are not rich, boy--and they could have sold that horse for its weight in gold to the Eastern merchants who are ever seeking Hibernian racers--but they chose rather to starve than forego the joy of giving him to you.” The boy breathed hard--deeply touched. “They shall not find me ungrateful,” he said. “They ask little at your hands,” said Ethne. “All they say is, Come and Try. Try our mysteries, and see if they do not yield more knowledge and certainty than the Christian faith.” Cormac shook his head. “Well, well, we will not talk of it now,” said Ethne, lightly raising her arm as a signal to her horse to go faster. Ethne looked her best on horseback. She was as lithe and active as a boy; and could rival a man in all the feats common amongst the riders of the day. She could rise upon her feet when her horse was at full gallop--could jump from the saddle and mount again, without drawing rein; and, as she rode along, could bend lightly down and pick the wayside grass and flowers. Cormac drew deep breaths of rapture as he rode by Ethne’s side. It was good to feel a horse under him once more, to feel the wind on his face and hear the saddle creak beneath him. It was pleasant, too, to ride beside Ethne whom he loved; to laugh and talk; to be sure his wounds and weakness were a thing of the past; to cherish wild hopes of future war and victory--that seemed near and possible on this bright summer morning. He was a man now, he told himself; he had left boyhood behind him; a man and a leader of men--with a woman at his side. They travelled quickly; the horses, of their own accord, broke into a gallop and carried them forward, mile after mile, in swift, easy motion.