Give me the building plans, and have you written That we--Cuchullain is looking in his shield; It may be the pale riders of the wind Throw pictures on it, or that Mananan, His father’s friend and sometime fosterer, Foreknower of all things, has cast a vision, Out of the cold dark of the rich sea, Foretelling Emain’s greatness. _Cuchullain._ No, great King, I looked on this out of mere idleness, Imagining a far-off country and one That held it with a sword, although a woman. _Concobar._ A woman needs but laugh, or a friend sigh, And you’re afar off sounding through the world, While I plan Emain’s greatness. [_The sound of a trumpet without._ Open the doors! I hear a herald’s trumpet, and await, It may be, the heavy fleeces of the sea And golden and silver apples or ancient crowns Long hidden in the well at the World’s End, Or glittering garments of the salmon, tributes From the Great Plain, or the high people of Sorcha, Or the walled garden in the east of the world. [_The great door at the back is flung open; a YOUNG MAN, who is fully armed and carries a shield with a woman’s head painted on it, stands upon the threshold. Behind him are trumpeters. He walks into the centre of the hall, the trumpeting ceases._ What is your message? _Young Man._ I am of Aoife’s army. _First King._ Queen Aoife and her army have fallen upon us. _Second King._ Out swords! Out swords! _Third King._ They are about the house. _Fourth King._ Rush out! Rush out! Before they have fired the thatch. _Young Man._ Aoife is far away. I am alone. I have come alone in the midst of you To weigh this sword against Cuchullain’s sword. [_There is a murmur amongst the KINGS._ _Concobar._ And are you noble? for if of common seed You cannot weigh your sword against his sword But in mixed battle. _Young Man._ I am under bonds To tell my name to no man, but it’s noble. _Concobar._ But I would know your name and not your bonds. You cannot speak in the Assembly House If you are not noble. _A King._ Answer the High King. _Young Man._ [_Drawing his sword._] I will give no other proof than the hawk gives That it’s no sparrow. [_He is silent a moment, then speaks to all._ Yet look upon me, Kings; I too am of that ancient seed and carry The signs about this body and in these bones. _Cuchullain._ To have shown the hawk’s gray feather is enough, And you speak highly too. [_CUCHULLAIN comes down from his great chair. He remains standing on the steps of the chair. The YOUNG KINGS gather about him and begin to arm him._