When she was twenty years old, her fame reached the high king, who sent messengers to see if she was as fair as men reported. They saw her, and returned to the king full of her praises. So Eochaid himself went to pay her a visit. He chose her to be his queen, and gave her a splendid dowry. It was not till then that Mider heard of her. He came to her in the shape of a young man, beautifully dressed, and told her who she really was, and how she had been his wife among the people of the goddess Danu. He begged her to leave the king, and come with him to his _sídh_ at Bri Leith. But Etain refused with scorn. “Do you think,” she said, “that I would give up the high king of Ireland for a person whose name and kindred I do not know, except from his own lips?” The god retired, baffled for the time. But one day, as King Eochaid sat in his hall, a stranger entered. He was dressed in a purple tunic, his hair was like gold, and his eyes shone like candles. The king welcomed him. “But who are you?” he asked; “for I do not know you.” “Yet I have known you a long time,” returned the stranger. “Then what is your name?” “Not a very famous one. I am Mider of Bri Leith.” “Why have you come here?” “To challenge you to a game of chess.” “I am a good chess-player,” replied the king, who was reputed to be the best in Ireland. “I think I can beat you,” answered Mider. “But the chess-board is in the queen’s room, and she is asleep,” objected Eochaid. “It does not matter,” replied Mider. “I have brought a board with me which can be in no way worse than yours.” He showed it to the king, who admitted that the boast was true. The chess-board was made of silver set in precious stones, and the pieces were of gold. “Play!” said Mider to the king. “I never play without a wager,” replied Eochaid. “What shall be the stake?” asked Mider. “I do not care,” replied Eochaid. “Good!” returned Mider. “Let it be that the loser pays whatever the winner demands.” “That is a wager fit for a king,” said Eochaid. They played, and Mider lost. The stake that Eochaid claimed from him was that Mider and his subjects should make a road through Ireland. Eochaid watched the road being made, and noticed how Mider’s followers yoked their oxen, not by the horns, as the Gaels did, but at the shoulders, which was better. He adopted the practice, and thus got his nickname, Airem, that is, “The Ploughman”. After a year, Mider returned and challenged the king again, the terms to be the same as before. Eochaid agreed with joy; but, this time, he lost. “I could have beaten you before, if I had wished,” said Mider, “and now the stake I demand is Etain, your queen.”