Lavarcham. He’d have us tracked in the half of a day, and then you’d be his queen in spite of you, and I and mine would be destroyed for ever.

Deirdre (terrified with the reality that is before her). Are there none can go against Conchubor?

Lavarcham. Maeve of Connaught only, and those that are her like.

Deirdre. Would Fergus go against him?

Lavarcham. He would, maybe, and his temper roused.

Deirdre (in a lower voice with sudden excitement). Would Naisi and his brothers?

Lavarcham (impatiently). Let you not be dwelling on Naisi and his brothers.… In the end of all there is none can go against Conchubor, and it’s folly that we’re talking, for if any went against Conchubor it’s sorrows he’d earn and the shortening of his day of life.

She turns away, and Deirdre stands up stiff with excitement and goes and looks out of the window.

Deirdre. Are the stepping-stones flooding, Lavarcham? Will the night be stormy in the hills?

Lavarcham (looking at her curiously). The stepping-stones are flooding, surely, and the night will be the worst, I’m thinking, we’ve seen these years gone by.

Deirdre (tearing open the press and pulling out clothes and tapestries). Lay these mats and hangings by the windows, and at the tables for our feet, and take out the skillets of silver, and the golden cups we have, and our two flasks of wine.

Lavarcham. What ails you?

Deirdre (gathering up a dress). Lay them out quickly, Lavarcham, we’ve no call dawdling this night. Lay them out quickly; I’m going into the room to put on the rich dresses and jewels have been sent from Emain.

Lavarcham. Putting on dresses at this hour, and it dark and drenching with the weight of rain! Are you away in your head!

Deirdre (gathering her things together with an outburst of excitement). I will dress like Emer in Dundealgan, or Maeve in her house in Connaught. If Conchubor’ll make me a queen, I’ll have the right of a queen who is a master, taking her own choice and making a stir to the edges of the seas.… Lay out your mats and hangings where I can stand this night and look about me. Lay out the skins of the rams of Connaught and of the goats of the west. I will not be a child or plaything; I’ll put on my robes that are the richest, for I will not be brought down to Emain as Cuchulain brings his horse to the yoke, or Conall Cearneach puts his shield upon his arm; and maybe from this day I will turn the men of Ireland like a wind blowing on the heath.

She goes into room. Lavarcham and Old Woman look at each other, then the Old Woman goes over, looks in at Deirdre through chink of the door, and then closes it carefully.

Old Woman (in a frightened whisper). She’s thrown off the rags she had about her, and there she is in her skin; she’s putting her hair in shiny twists. Is she raving, Lavarcham, or has she a good right turning to a queen like Maeve?

Lavarcham (putting up hanging very anxiously). It’s more than raving’s in her mind, or I’m the more astray; and yet she’s as good a right as another, maybe, having her pleasure, though she’d spoil the world.