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4. The Foretelling	Remfastine
When Medb was come to the place where her druid was, she craved light and augury of him. "Many there be," saith Medb, "who do part with their kinsmen and friends here to-day, and from their homes and their lands, from father and from mother; and unless unscathed every one shall return, upon me will they cast their sighs and their ban, for it is I that have assembled this levy. Yet there goeth not forth nor stayeth there at home any dearer to me than are we to ourselves. And do thou discover for us whether we ourselves shall return, or whether we shall never return."	A ránic Medb airm i m-bai a drui, ra iarfacht fiss & fastini de. Sochaide scaras fria choemu & fria chairdiu sund indiu, ar Medb, & fria chrích & fria ferand, fria athair & fria mathair, & meni thíset uli i n-imslánti, forom-sa co m-benfat a n-osnaid & ammallachtain, arái sin ní théit immach & ni anand i fus as diliu lind oldammit fadessin, & fintassu dún, in tecam fo na tecam.
And the druid made answer, "Whoever comes not, thou thyself shalt come." "Wait, then," spake the charioteer, "let me wheel the chariot by the right, that thus the power of a good omen may arise that we return again." Then the charioteer wheeled his chariot round and Medb went back again, when she espied a thing that surprised her: A lone virgin of marriageable age standing on the hindpole of a chariot a little way off drawing nigh her. And thus the maiden appeared:	Ocus ra ráid in drúi: Cip é no na tic, ticfa-su fessin. Impáis in t-ara in carpat & dothaét Medb for cúlu, co n-accai ní rap ingnad lé, .i. in n-aenmnái for fertais in charpait na farrad ina dochum. Is amlaid bói ind ingen:
Weaving lace was she, and in her right hand was a bordering rod of silvered bronze with its seven strips of red gold at the sides. A many-spotted green mantle around her; a bulging, strong-headed pin of gold in the mantle over her bosom; a hooded tunic, with red interweaving, about her. A ruddy, fair-faced countenance she had, narrow below and broad above. She had a blue-grey and laughing eye; each eye had three pupils. Dark and black were her eyebrows; the soft, black lashes threw a shadow to the middle of her cheeks. Red and thin were her lips. Shiny and pearly were her teeth; thou wouldst believe they were showers of white pearls that had rained into her head. Like to fresh Parthian crimson were her lips. As sweet as the strings of lutes when long sustained they are played by master players' hands was the melodious sound of her voice and her fair speech. As white as snow in one night fallen was the sheen of her skin and her body that shone outside of her dress. Slender and very white were her feet; rosy, even, sharp-round nails she had; two sandals with golden buckles about them. Fair-yellow, long, golden hair she wore; three braids of hair she wore; two tresses were wound around her head; the other tress from behind threw a shadow down on her calves.	ic figi corrthairi & claideb findruini ina láim deiss cona secht n-aslib do dergór ina dessaib; bratt ballabrecc uani impi; bretnas torrach trencend sin brutt osa brunni; gnúis chorcra chrumainech lé; rosc glass gairectach le; beóil derga thanaide; dét niamda nemanda, andar let batar frossa findnémand erctais ina cend; cosmail do nuapartaing a beóil; binnidir téta mendchrot aca seinm allámaib sirshúad bindfogur a gotha & a cáinurlabra; gilidir snechta sniged fri oenaidchi taidlech a cniss & a colla sech a timthach sechtair; traigthi seta sithgela, ingni corcra córi cruindgéra lé; folt findbudi fata forórda furri; teora trillsi da fult imma cend, trilis aile co m-benad foscad fri colptha.
Medb gazed at her. "And what doest thou here now, O maiden?" asked Medb. "I impart to thee thine advantage and good fortune in thy gathering and muster of the four mighty provinces of Erin against the land of Ulster on the Raid for the Kine of Cualnge." "Wherefore doest thou this for me?" asked Medb. "Much cause have I. A bondmaid 'mid thy people am I." "Who of my people art thou and what is thy name?" asked Medb. "Not hard, in sooth, to say. The prophetess Fedelm, from the Sid ('the Fairy Mound') of Cruachan, a poetess of Connacht am I."	Forrécacha Medb furri. Ocus cid dogní-siu andsain innossa a ingen, for Medb. Ic tairdeilb do lessasu & do lítha ic teclaim & ic tinól cethri n-ollchóiced n-hErenn lat-su i crích n-Ulad ar cend tana bó Cualnge. Cid má n-dénai-siu dam-sa sain, ar Medb. Fail a morabba dam, banchumal dit muntir atam-chomnaic. Cóich dom muntir-sea tussu, ar Medb. Ni hinsa ém, Feidelm banfáid a síd Chruachna atamchomnaic-se.
"Whence comest thou?" asked Medb. "From Alba, after learning prophetic skill," the maiden made answer. "Hast thou the form of divination?" "Verily, have I," the maiden said. "Look, then, for me, how will my undertaking be." The maiden looked. Then spake Medb:--
"Good now, "Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid How beholdest thou our host?" Fedelm answered and spoke: "Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in red!"	Maith andsin, a Feidelm banfáid, cia facci ar slúag.   Atchiu forderg forro, atchiu ruad.
"That is no true augury," said Medb. "Verily, Conchobar with the Ulstermen is in his 'Pains' in Emain; thither fared my messengers Sand brought me true tidings ; naught is there that we need dread from Ulster's men. But speak truth, O Fedelm:--	Atá Conchobar na chess noinden i n-Emain ém, ar Medb, rancatar m'echl(ach)a-sa connice, ní fail ní itagammar-ne la Ultu. Acht abbair a fír, a Feidelm.
"Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid How beholdest thou our host?" "Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in red!"	Feidelm banfáid, cia facci ar slúag. Atchiu forderg forro, atchiu ruad.
"That is no true augury. Cuscraid Mend ('the Stammerer') of Macha, Conchobar's son, is in Inis Cuscraid ('Cuscraid's Isle') in his ' Pains.' Thither fared my messengers; naught need we fear from Ulster's men. But speak truth, O Fedelm:--	Ata Cuscraid Mend Macha mac Conchobair i n-Inis Cuscraid ina chess. Rancatar m'echlacha (connice), ni fhail ní itagammar-ne la Ultu. Acht abbair-siu fír, a Fheidelm.
"Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid How beholdest thou our host?" "Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in red!"	Feidelm banhfáid, cia fhacci ar slúag. Atchiu forderg forro, atchiu ruad.
"Eogan, Durthacht's son, is in Rath Airthir ('the Eastern Rath') in his ' Pains.' Thither went my messengers. Naught need we dread from Ulster's men. But speak truth, O Fedelm:--	Ata Eogan mae Durthacht ic Ráith Airthir na chess. Rancatar m'echlacha connice, ni fuil ní itagammar-ne la Ultu. Acht abbair-siu fír rind, a Feidelm.
"Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid How beholdest thou our host?" "Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in red!"	Feidelm banfáid, cia facci ar slúag. Atchiu forderg forro, atchiu ruad.
"Celtchar, Uthechar's son, is in his fort at Lethglas in his 'Pains,' and a third of the Ulstermen with him. Thither fared my messengers. Naught have we to fear from Ulster's men. And Fergus son of Roig son of Eochaid is with us here in exile, and thirty hundred with him. But speak truth, O Fedelm:--	Atá Celichair macc Uthechair ina dún na chess. Rancatar m'echlacha connice, ni fuil ní itagammar-ne la Ultu. Act abbair fír, a Feidelm.
"Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid How beholdest thou our host?" "Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in red!"	Feidelm banfáid, cia facci ar slúag. Atchiu forderg forro, atchiu ruad.
"Meseemeth this not as it seemeth to thee," quoth Medb, "for when Erin's men shall assemble in one place, there quarrels will arise and broils, contentions and disputes amongst them about the ordering of themselves in the van or rear, at ford or river, over who shall be first at killing a boar or a stag or a deer or a hare. But, look now again for us and speak truth, O Fedelm:--	Ni bá lim-sa aní datá lat-su sain, dáig o condricfat fir hErend oenbaile, betit debtha & irgala & scandlacha & scandrecha eturru im chomríchtain tossaig no derid no átha no aband, im chetguine muicce no aige no fíada no fiadmíla. Acht abbair fír rind, a Feidelm.
"Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid How beholdest thou our host?" "Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in red!"	Feidelm banfáid, cia facci ar slúag. Atchiu forderg forro, atchiu ruad.
Therewith she began to prophesy and to foretell the coming of Cuchulain to the men of Erin, and she chanted a lay:--	[Atehiu fer find firfes chless] & ro gab ic tairngiri & remfastine Conculaind d'feraib hErend, & doringni láid:
"Fair, of deeds, the man I see; Wounded sore is his fair skin; On his brow shines hero's light; Victory's seat is in his face! "Seven gems of champions brave Deck the centre of his orbs; Naked are the spears he bears, And he hooks a red cloak round! Noblest face is his, I see; He respects all womankind. Young the lad and fresh his hue, With a dragon's form in fight! I know not who is the Hound, Culann's hight, of fairest fame; But I know full well this host Will be smitten red by him! Four small swords--a brilliant feat-- He supports in either hand; These he'll ply upon the host, Each to do its special deed! His Gae Bulga, too, he wields, With his sword and javelin. Lo, the man in red cloak girt Sets his foot on every hill! Two spears from the chariot's left He casts forth in orgy wild. And his form I saw till now Well I know will change its guise! On to battle now he comes; If ye watch not, ye are doomed. This is he seeks ye in fight Brave Cuchulain, Sualtaim's son! All your host he'll smite in twain, Till he works your utter ruin. All your heads ye'll leave with him. Fedelm, prophet-maid, hides not! "Gore shall flow from warriors' wounds; Long 'twill live in memory. Bodies hacked and wives in tears, Through the Smith's Hound whom I see!"	Atchiu fer find firfes chless co lín chret ina chaemcnes, lond láith i n-airthiur a chind, oenach buada ina thilchind. Fail secht gemma láth n-gaile ar lar a dá imcaisne, fail fuidrech for a rinne, fail laéind deirg drolaig imme. Ro fail gnúis is grátam dó, dober mod don banchuireo, gilla óc is delbdu dath tadbait delb drecoin don chath. Nocon fetar cóich in cú Culaind asa Murthemniu, acht ra fetar-sa tra imne bid forderg in sluag sa de. Cethri claidbíni cress n-án ra fail cechtar a da lám, condricfa a n-imbirt for slúag, isaingním ris téit cech n-ai úad. A gae bulgae mar-domber cenmothá a chlaideb sa sleg, fer i furchrus bruitt deirg dobeir a choiss for cach leirg. A da sleig dar fonnad n-gle ar-dá-sgail in ríastarde, cruth dom-arfáit air cose derb limm no chloemchlaifed gnee. Ro gab tascugud don chath, meni faichlither bid brath, don chomlund isé far-saig Cuchulainn mac Sualtaig. Slaidfid far sluagu slana, con curfe far tiugára, faicebthai leis óg far cend, ní cheil in banfaid Feidelm. Silfid crú a cnessaib curad, bud fata bas chian chuman, beit cuirp cerbtha, cáinfit mná ó Choin na cerdda atchiu-sa.
Thus far the Augury and the Prophecy and the Preface of the Tale, and the Occasion of its invention and conception, and the Pillow-talk which Ailill and Medb had in Cruachan. Next follows the Body of the Tale itself.	Tairngire & remfastini, & cendphairt in sceóil, & fotha a fagbala & a denma, & comrád chind cherchaille doringni Ailill & Medb i Cruachain connice sain.