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Fidaci chosen as his successor.
    He, though, proved to be no clay for her moulding, but instead a man who laid a firm grip on the land and warred both in Ériu and across the waters. After years, despairing of aught else, Mongfind sought to poison him. He required that she drink first of the cup she proffered; and so they both died. Spells were still cast on certain nights to keep quiet the ghost of Mongfind the witch.
    Throughout this time, Niall had been at the forefront of battles. In council his words were shrewd, later wise. It was upon a tenant’s daughter, Ethniu, that he begot his eldest child, Breccan; but she was lovely and high-hearted, and everybody mourned when she died in giving birth. Niall soon married well – behold how his sons by the Queen are already shooting up! Thus after the death of Craumthan four years ago, it was no surprise when the Mide men chose him to be their King.
    And he has wrought deeds that will live in memory as long as valour is cherished. Besides much else closer to home, he has harried the coasts overseas, bringing back huge booty. When the Cruthini of Alba, Whom the Romans call the Picti of Caledonia, threatened the settlement of Dál Riata, Niall made alliance with its mother kingdom for its rescue; then, having cast the Cruthiniback, he made alliance with them in turn. In Ériu, too, he called warriors to him from far beyond the bounds of Mide. No vaster hosting has been seen since the Cattle Raid of Cóóalnge, than when the men of tribes conjoined roared down to the Wall of Rome.
    And this time it was not Cú Culanni who stood alone in defence, it was Cú Culanni reborn at the van of attack. Many a Roman soldier sprawls headless in the heather, many a Britannic estate lies plundered and burnt, many a slave has gone to market and today herds sheep or grinds grain for a worthy master; and if the Wall of Rome still stands, why, the more glory to reap when we return!
    ‘Never shall the hero Niall
    Kneel to any other.
    Witness, all You Gods, my words,
    Aware I tell the truth.’
    The last notes shivered away. Cheers thundered from benches to ridgepole. The King took from his arm a heavy coil of gold. Standing up, he put it in the hands of Laidchenn. ‘Have this of me in token of thanks,’ he said amidst the din, ‘and let me ask of you that you abide with me a long while – for ever, if I may have my wish.’
    Flushed, breathing hard, eyes asparkle, Niall sat back down. The druid Nemain stroked his beard and murmured, ‘Your fame grows by leaps, darling.’
    Niall tossed his head. ‘What a poet says is true. He may find fresh words for the clothing of truth – but – you would not be denying that I wedded the Goddess of the land, would you?’
    ‘I would not,’ replied Nemain, ‘nor speak against anything I have heard tonight; for indeed truth is a lady who has many different garments to wear. I would simply lay caution upon you. Not qualm, only caution, for sadlywould we miss our lord should he fall, and worst if it was needlessly.’
    Niall did not hear. Again his head was aflame with dreams. Long though the nights still were, he did not look for much sleep in this one, if any; for among the gessa laid on a King of Mide was that sunrise must never find him in bed on Temir. It did not matter. He
was
the King.
    As host, he should make a speech of welcome. Rising, he lifted his goblet – Roman glass, loot from Alba. Out of full lungs, he shouted: ‘It’s glad I am to see so great and fair a company here, and glad Herself must be, and every God. If I name not the kings and nobles among us and their honours, it is because dawn would break well before I was done. Let us instead make merry, let us no more grieve over our losses or brood on our wrongs, let us look ahead to a year of revenge and victory!’

III
    His father’s house felt strangely empty to Gratillonius.
    Or not so strangely, he thought. When he arrived the evening before, joy was too tumultuous for him to pay