When he was tired, he went into the fort, and told Ailne that there was still fresh carrion enough for a wild-hawk to glut its thirst with. So Ailne rose from the chessboard and drank a drink, and went out, and did among the Ultonians even as Ardan had done, although he slew a score more, for he was older than Ardan, and so it did not befit him to put the stiffness and the silence upon fewer men. Two-thirds of the night were now gone, yet Concobar did not withstay his wrath. For now the whole host of the Ultonians was gathered together, and he thought to have victory at the last. But at their great shouting and the higher leaping of the flames Nathos rose. He kissed Darthool, then he drank a drink, and went out against the Ultonians. In that hour thrice three hundred men grew cold and stiff. Then he slew five score more. “Go to Concobar,” he said to a man, “and tell him that he has lost a thousand men over and above the hundreds slain by Illann the Fair and Ailne and Ardan. And now let him come to me himself.” But when Concobar heard that, he sent a messenger to Lavarcam to ask if Cathba the Druid were yet dead; and when he heard that he was not, he bade that the old man should be brought to him on a litter. When Cathba was brought, he asked if the king meant death to the sons. “I swear I mean no death,” said Concobar; “but only honourably to subdue them and to obtain Darthool. And so I pray of thee to put an enchantment upon them, otherwise they will slay every Ultonian in the land.” So Cathba raised himself, and put an enchantment between the sons of Usna and the host of the Ultonians. That enchantment was a hedge of spears, taller than the tallest spear-reach, and more thickset than thorns on a bramble-bush. But Nathos and Ailne and Ardan put their shields about Darthool, and came forth from the blazing house, and cleft a way through the hedge of spears, and, laughing loud, garnered a red harvest among the swaying corn of the Ultonian host. Then there was a strange roaring heard, and a vast and terrible flood came pouring from the hills. The Ultonians fled to the high ground, but Darthool and the sons of Usna were cut off by the rushing waters. Soon the flood rose to their waists, but then it ceased rising. “The wind will soon blow,” whispered Darthool, “and then the flood will rise, and we shall be drowned.” Nathos answered nothing, but raised her in his arms, and kissed her thrice upon the lips. Then he put her upon his left shoulder, where she sat with her white arms round his neck. There was a smile in the blue eyes of Nathos. The flood now subsided, but the sons of Usna could not move, for their feet were in a morass. On a dry spit of land close to them a man walked. This man was Maine of the Red Hand, a man of Lochlin,[26] in the train of Concobar.