Deirdre (very quietly). Am I well pleased seven years seeing the same sun throwing light across the branches at the dawn of day? It’s a heartbreak to the wise that it’s for a short space we have the same things only. (With contempt.) Yet the earth itself is a silly place, maybe, when a man’s a fool and talker.

Owen (sharply). Well, go, take your choice. Stay here and rot with Naisi or go to Conchubor in Emain. Conchubor’s a wrinkled fool with a swelling belly on him, and eyes falling downward from his shining crown; Naisi should be stale and weary. Yet there are many roads, Deirdre, and I tell you I’d liefer be bleaching in a bog-hole than living on without a touch of kindness from your eyes and voice. It’s a poor thing to be so lonesome you’d squeeze kisses on a cur dog’s nose.

Deirdre. Are there no women like yourself could be your friends in Emain?

Owen (vehemently). There are none like you, Deirdre. It’s for that I’m asking are you going back this night with Fergus?

Deirdre. I will go where Naisi chooses.

Owen (with a burst of rage). It’s Naisi, Naisi, is it? Then, I tell you, you’ll have great sport one day seeing Naisi getting a harshness in his two sheep’s eyes and he looking on yourself. Would you credit it, my father used to be in the broom and heather kissing Lavarcham, with a little bird chirping out above their heads, and now she’d scare a raven from a carcase on a hill. (With a sad cry that brings dignity into his voice.) Queens get old, Deirdre, with their white and long arms going from them, and their backs hooping. I tell you it’s a poor thing to see a queen’s nose reaching down to scrape her chin.

Deirdre (looking out, a little uneasy). Naisi and Fergus are coming on the path.

Owen. I’ll go so, for it I had you seven years I’d be jealous of the midges and the dust is in the air. (Muffles himself in his cloak; with a sort of warning in his voice.) I’ll give you a riddle, Deirdre: Why isn’t my father as ugly and old as Conchubor? You’ve no answer?…It’s because Naisi killed him. (With curious expression.) Think of that and you awake at night, hearing Naisi snoring, or the night you hear strange stories of the things I’m doing in Alban or in Ulster either.

He goes out, and in a moment Naisi and Fergus come in on the other side.

Naisi (gaily). Fergus has brought messages of peace from Conchubor.

Deirdre (greeting Fergus). He is welcome. Let you rest, Fergus, you should be hot and thirsty after mounting the rocks.

Fergus. It’s a sunny nook you’ve found in Alban; yet any man would be well pleased mounting higher rocks to fetch yourself and Naisi back to Emain.

Deirdre (with keenness). They’ve answered? They would go?

Fergus (benignly). They have not, but when I was a young man we’d have given a lifetime to be in Ireland a score of weeks; and to this day the old men have nothing so heavy as knowing it’s in a short while they’ll lose the high skies are over Ireland, and the lonesome mornings with birds crying on the bogs. Let you come this day, for there’s no place but Ireland where the Gael can have peace always.

Naisi (gruffly). It’s true, surely. Yet we’re better this place while Conchubor’s in Emain Macha.

Fergus (giving him parchments). There are your sureties and Conchubor’s seal. (To Deirdre.) I am your surety with Conchubor. You’ll not be young always, and it’s time you were making yourselves ready for the years will come, building up a homely dun beside the seas of Ireland, and getting in your children from the princes’ wives. It’s little joy wandering till age is on you and your youth is gone away, so you’d