"And I," says Manè Unslow, "have the gift of far sight and of judgment." "'Tis well for you to go thus," say the reavers: "good is that wise." Then nine men go on till they were on the Hill of Howth, to know what they might hear and see. "Be still a while!" says Manè Honeyworded. "What is that?" asks Manè Unslow. "The sound of a good king's cavalcade I hear." "By the gift of far sight, I see," quoth his comrade. "What seest thou here?" "I see there," quoth he, "cavalcades splendid, lofty, beautiful, warlike, foreign, somewhat slender, weary, active, keen, whetted, vehement, a good course that shakes a great covering of land. They fare to many heights, with wondrous waters and invers[7]." [Footnote 7: Mouths of rivers.] "What are the waters and heights and invers that they traverse?" "Easy to say: Indéoin, Cult, Cuiltén, Máfat, Ammat, Iarmáfat, Finne, Goiste, Guistíne. Gray spears over chariots: ivory-hilted swords on thighs: silvery shields above their elbows. Half red and half white. Garments of every color about them. "Thereafter I see before them special cattle specially keen, to wit, thrice fifty dark-gray steeds. Small-headed are they, red-nosed, pointed, broad-hoofed, big-nosed, red-chested, fat, easily-stopt, easily-yoked, foray-nimble, keen, whetted, vehement, with their thrice fifty bridles of red enamel upon them." "I swear by what my tribe swears," says the man of the long sight, "these are the cattle of some good lord. This is my judgment thereof: it is Conaire, son of Eterscél, with multitudes of the men of Erin around him, who has travelled the road." Back then they go that they may tell it to the reavers. "This," they say, "is what we have heard and seen." Of this host, then, there was a multitude, both on this side and on that, namely, thrice fifty boats, with five thousand in them, and ten hundred in every thousand. Then they hoisted the sails on the boats, and steer them thence to shore, till they landed on the Strand of Fuirbthe. When the boats reached land, then was Mac cecht a-striking fire in Dá Derga's Hostel. At the sound of the spark the thrice fifty boats were hurled out, so that they were on the shoulders of the sea. "Be silent a while!" said Ingcél. "Liken thou that, O Fer rogain." "I know not," answers Fer rogain, "unless it is Luchdonn the satirist in Emain Macha, who makes this hand-smiting when his food is taken from him perforce: or the scream of Luchdonn in Temair Luachra: or Mac cecht's striking a spark, when he kindles a fire before a king of Erin where he sleeps. Every spark and every shower which his fire would let fall on the floor would broil a hundred calves and two half-pigs." "May God not bring that man (even Conaire) there to-night!" say Donn Désa's sons. "Sad that he is under the hurt of foes!" "Meseems," says Ingcél, "it should be no sadder for me than the destruction I gave you. This were my feast that Conaire should chance to come there."