"Truly I see for thee," she answers, "that neither fell nor flesh of thine shall escape from the place into which thou hast come, save what birds will bear away in their claws." "It was not an evil omen we foreboded, O woman," saith he: "it is not thou that always augurs for us. What is thy name, O woman?" "Cailb," she answers. "That is not much of a name," says Conaire. "Lo, many are my names besides." "Which be they?" asks Conaire. "Easy to say," quoth she. "Samon, Sinand, Seisclend, Sodb, Caill, Coll, Díchóem, Dichiúil, Díthím, Díchuimne, Dichruidne, Dairne, Dáríne, Déruaine, Egem, Agam, Ethamne, Gním, Cluiche, Cethardam, Níth, Némain, Nóennen, Badb, Blosc, B[l]oár, Huae, óe Aife la Sruth, Mache, Médé, Mod." On one foot, and holding up one hand, and breathing one breath she sang all that to them from the door of the house. "I swear by the gods whom I adore," says Conaire, "that I will call thee by none of these names whether I shall be here a long or a short time." "What dost thou desire?" says Conaire. "That which thou, too, desirest," she answered. "'Tis a tabu of mine," says Conaire, "to receive the company of one woman after sunset." "Though it be a tabu," she replied, "I will not go until my guesting come at once this very night." "Tell her," says Conaire, "that an ox and a bacon-pig shall be taken out to her, and my leavings: provided that she stays tonight in some other place." "If in sooth," she says, "it has befallen the king not to have room in his house for the meal and bed of a solitary woman, they will be gotten apart from him from some one possessing generosity--if the hospitality of the Prince in the Hostel has departed." "Savage is the answer!" says Conaire. "Let her in, though it is a tabu of mine." Great loathing they felt after that from the woman's converse, and ill-foreboding; but they knew not the cause thereof. The reavers afterwards landed, and fared forth till they were at Lecca cinn slébe. Ever open was the Hostel. Why it was called a _Bruden_ was because it resembles the lips of a man blowing a fire. Great was the fire which was kindled by Conaire every night, to wit, a "Boar of the Wood." Seven outlets it had. When a log was cut out of its side every flame that used to come forth at each outlet was as big as the blaze of a burning oratory. There were seventeen of Conaire's chariots at every door of the house, and by those that were looking from the vessels that great light was clearly seen through the wheels of the chariots. "Canst thou say, O Fer rogain, what that great light yonder resembles?" "I cannot liken it to aught," answers Fer rogain, "unless it be the fire of a king. May God not bring that man there tonight! 'Tis a pity to destroy him!" "What then deemest thou," says Ingcél, "of that man's reign in the land of Erin?"