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mould and gravel. He fell asleep then after eating his porridge. His belly was as big as a house cauldron, and the Fomoire laughed at it.
    Then he went away from them to Tráigh Eabha. It was not easy for the warrior to move along on account of the size of his belly. His appearance was unsightly: he had a cape to the hollow of his elbows, and a gray-brown tunic around him as far as the swelling of his rump. He trailed behind him a wheeled fork which was the work of eight men to move, and its track was enough for the boundary ditch of a province. It is called “The Track of the Dagda’s Club” for that reason. His long penis was uncovered. He had on two shoes of horsehide with the hair outside ….
    The Fomoire advanced until their tenths were in Scétne. The men of Ireland were in Mag Aurfolaig. At this point these two hosts were threatening battle.
    “Do the men of Ireland undertake to give battle to us?” said Bres macElathan to Indech mac Dé Domnann.
    “I will give the same,” said Indech, “so that their bones will be small if they do not pay their tribute.”
    In order to protect him, the men of Ireland had agreed to keep Lug from the battle …. They feared an early death for the warrior because of the great number of his arts. For that reason they did not let him go to the battle.
    Then the men of rank among the Túatha Dé were assembled around Lug. He asked his smith, Goibniu, what power he wielded for them.
    “Not hard to say,” he said. “Even if the men of Ireland continue the battle for seven years, for every spear that separates from its shaft or sword that will break in battle, I will provide a new weapon in its place. No spearpoint which my hand forges will make a missing cast. No skin which it pierces will taste life afterward. Dolb, the Fomorian smith, cannot do that. I am now concerned with my preparation for the battle of Mag Tured.
    “And you, Dían Cécht,” said Lug, “what power do you wield?”
    “Not hard to say,” he said. “Any man who will be wounded there, unless his head is cut off, or the membrane of his brain or his spinal cord is severed, I will make him perfectly whole in the battle on the next day.”
    “And you, Crédne,” Lug said to his brazier, “what is your power in the battle?”
    “Not hard to answer,” said Crédne. “I will supply them all with rivets for their spears and hilts for their swords and bosses and rims for their shields.”
    “And you, Luchta,” Lug said to his carpenter, “what power would you attain in the battle?”
    “Not hard to answer,” said Luchta. “I will supply them all with whatever shields and spearshafts they need.
    “And you, Ogma,” said Lug to his champion, “what is your power in the battle?”
    “Not hard to say,” he said. “Being a match for the king and holding my own against twenty-seven of his friends, while winning a third of the battle for the men of Ireland.”
    “And you, Morrígan,” said Lug, “what power?”
    “Not hard to say,” she said. “I have stood fast; I shall pursue what was watched; I will be able to kill; I will be able to destroy those who might be subdued.”
    “And you, sorcerers,” said Lug, “what power?”
    “Not hard to say,” said the sorcerers. “Their white soles will be visible after they have been overthrown by our craft, so that they can easilybe killed; and we will take two-thirds of their strength from them, and prevent them from urinating.”
    “And you, cupbearers,” said Lug, “what power?”
    “Not hard to say,” said the cupbearers. “We will bring a great thirst upon them, and they will not find drink to quench it.”
    “And you, druids,” said Lug, “what power?”
    “Not hard to say,” said the druids. “We will bring showers of fire upon the faces of the Fomoire so that they cannot look up, and the warriors contending with them can use their force to kill them.”
    “And you, Coirpre mac Étaine,” said Lug to his poet, “what can you do in