While he was saying these words a party of the Northmen approached with Brodir at their head. “There are people coming toward us up the hill,” said the boy, “and all our bodyguard are fled.” “What like are they?” inquired the King. “A blue, stark-naked people they seem to me,” was the reply. “Alas!” said Brian, “they must be foreigners in armour: for the Northmen fight not like our people in their tunics, but with blue armour on their bodies; and no good will come to us if it is they indeed.” Then the old man arose and pushed aside the cushion and unsheathed his sword. But Brodir marked him not, and would have passed, had not one of his followers, who had been in Brian’s service, recognized the King. “The King,” he cried, “this is the King!” “No, no,” said Brodir, “this old man is a priest.” “By no means so,” replied the man; “this is the great king, Brian.” Then Brodir turned, and swung his gleaming battle-axe above his head, and smote the King: but ere he did so Brian had made a stroke at him, and wounded him in the knee, so that they fell together; but Brian, the King, was dead. The lad Teigue had thrown his arm across the King to shield him, but the arm was taken off at the stump with the same blow that slew the King. Then Brodir stood up and with a loud voice exclaimed: “Now may man tell his fellow-man that Brodir hath felled King Brian.” But not long was his triumph: for Ospac his brother and some of the Munstermen came up, and they took Brodir alive, and put him to a cruel death there upon the spot. [Illustration: _Death of Brian Boru at Clontarf_]