best come this night, for you’d have great pleasure putting out your foot and saying, “I am in Ireland, surely.”

Deirdre. It isn’t pleasure I’d have while Conchubor is king in Emain.

Fergus (almost annoyed). Would you doubt the seals of Conal Cearneach and the kings of Meath? (He gets parchments from his cloak and gives them to Naisi. More gently.) It’s easy being fearful and you alone in the woods, yet it would be a poor thing if a timid woman (taunting her a little) could turn away the Sons of Usna from the life of kings. Let you be thinking on the years to come, Deirdre, and the way you’d have a right to see Naisi a high and white-haired justice beside some king of Emain. Wouldn’t it be a poor story if a queen the like of you should have no thought but to be scraping up her hours dallying in the sunshine with the sons of kings?

Deirdre (turning away a little haughtily). I leave the choice to Naisi. (Turning back towards Fergus.) Yet you’d do well, Fergus, to go on your own way, for the sake of your own years, so you’ll not be saying till your hour of death, maybe, it was yourself brought Naisi and his brothers to a grave was scooped by treachery. (Goes into tent.)

Fergus. It is a poor thing to see a queen so lonesome and afraid. (He watches till he is sure Deirdre cannot hear him.) Listen now to what I’m saying. You’d do well to come back to men and women are your match and comrades, and not be lingering until the day that you’ll grow weary, and hurt Deirdre showing her the hardness will grow up within your eyes.…You’re here years and plenty to know it’s truth I’m saying.

Deirdre comes out of tent with a horn of wine, she catches the beginning of Naisi’s speech and stops with stony wonder.

Naisi (very thoughtfully). I’ll not tell you a lie. There have been days a while past when I’ve been throwing a line for salmon or watching for the run of hares, that I’ve a dread upon me a day’d come I’d weary of her voice, (very slowly) and Deirdre’d see I’d wearied.

Fergus (sympathetic but triumphant). I knew it, Naisi.…And take my word, Deirdre’s seen your dread and she’ll have no peace from this out in the woods.

Naisi (with confidence). She’s not seen it.…Deirdre’s no thought of getting old or wearied; it’s that puts wonder in her ways, and she with spirits would keep bravery and laughter in a town with plague.

Deirdre drops the horn of wine and crouches down where she is.

Fergus. That humour’ll leave her. But we’ve no call going too far, with one word borrowing another. Will you come this night to Emain Macha?

Naisi. I’ll not go, Fergus. I’ve had dreams of getting old and weary, and losing my delight in Deirdre; but my dreams were dreams only. What are Conchubor’s seals and all your talk of Emain and the fools of Meath beside one evening in Glen Masain? We’ll stay this place till our lives and time are worn out. It’s that word you may take in your curagh to Conchubor in Emain.

Fergus (gathering up his parchments). And you won’t go, surely?

Naisi. I will not.… I’ve had dread, I tell you, dread winter and summer, and the autumn and the springtime, even when there’s a bird in every bush making his own stir till the fall of night; but this talk’s brought me ease, and I see we’re as happy as the leaves on the young trees, and we’ll be so ever and always, though we’d live the age of the eagle and the salmon and the crow of Britain.

Fergus (with anger). Where are your brothers? My message is for them also.