bled for the convention of the states were assigned conspicuous places in the enclosure. Each king, robed in the colours appropriate to royalty, occupied the throne prepared for him, seated beneath his own banner, and in a gallery behind the throne of Ollamh sat Brehilda, arrayed like a noble Irish maiden, pale as sculptured marble, surrounded by the principal ladies of the monarch’s court.
At a loud blast of the corna the combatants entered the arena from opposite sides of the field. They were noble in appearance, well matched in size, and sat their chafing steeds as firmly as the Thessalian riders whose horsemanship gave birth to the fabled Centaurs. Each warrior was arrayed in the rude and defective armour of the time—the head covered with the head-piece of iron, which at that period had neither crest nor vizor. The right hand bore a lance, the left arm a buckler, while an iron maul, powerful as the hammer of the northern Thunder God, hung pendent at each saddle-bow, for the battle-axe was then unknown in warfare. Eager for the conflict, at a signal from the herald they sprang to the encounter, and for a long time the victory seemed doubtful; but the lance of Conrigh splintered against the shield of Maon, and each unslung the ponderous maul, and poising it aloft, again spurred to the contest.
With hushed heart and dilated eyes Brehilda gazed upon the scene. A moment of intense bewilderment, and she sank in a death-like swoon upon the floor of the gallery, for Maon lay stunned upon the field, beneath his prostrate steed. The shout that hailed the victor was unheard by the maiden as they bore her from the throng, and placed her insensible form upon the couch in her tower.
But the festival was over. The solemn feast in the temple of Yiachto had been partaken of—the great fire of Samhuin had been lighted, and the Deity invoked to bless their national counsels, and Conrigh had departed to his castle on the river Fionglasse, in the county of Kerry, where he dwelt in all the barbarism of feudal magnificence, bearing with him his bride, the wretched Brehilda.
Neither the devotion of her lord, nor the splendour that sur-
