Such a force of men as Diarmuid's new troops were, had not been seen in Éire before, Exen with such a small number of soldiers. Mac Murchadha did achieve a dominance that rattled the other king. In sueing for peace it was agreed that Diarmuid would be reinstated as King of Laighin in return for him giving his son, Conchobhair, as a hostage to the High-King Ruaidhrí, and sendind home his new troops. Diarmuid, of course, had other ideas.
Ua Ruaire you b******. Ua Conchobhair you fool.
In the name of Mac Murchadha do I rule
With Grey Foreigners at my command
All Éire will quake. The Kings wake
To the burning of their Dúns,
The waiting og their women
The crying of their children
And the death-moan of their men
As their souls leak from their rotting corpses
To whatever Gods do they believe in.
Did you really think, oh mighty Ard Righ
That I would send my warriors home
And once more groan under your yoke?
You misguided fool, soon we'll do the battle
At my command
All Éire will quake. The Kings wake
To the burning of their Dúns,
The waiting og their women
The crying of their children
And the death-moan of their men
As their souls leak from their rotting corpses
To whatever Gods do they believe in.
Waiting for my time to come.
Hoping that my plans be not undone.
For my time it be at hand
To finnaly reclaim my land.
Horror. The Ard Righ still has my son.
Despair. He would not dare to kill my son.
Hostage. So I could turn to my land.
Ochone. My scheme undone by death's hand.
Ua Ruaire you b******. Ua Conchobhair you fool.
In the name of Mac Murchadha do I rule
With Grey Foreigners at my command
All Éire will quake. The Kings wake
To the burning of their Dúns,
The waiting og their women
The crying of their children
And the death-moan of their men
As their souls leak from their rotting corpses
To whatever Gods do they believe in.
Did you really think, oh mighty Ard Righ
That I would send my warriors home
And once more groan under your yoke?
You misguided fool, soon we'll do the battle
At my command
All Éire will quake. The Kings wake
To the burning of their Dúns,
The waiting og their women
The crying of their children
And the death-moan of their men
As their souls leak from their rotting corpses
To whatever Gods do they believe in.
Waiting for my time to come.
Hoping that my plans be not undone.
For my time it be at hand
To finnaly reclaim my land.
Horror. The Ard Righ still has my son.
Despair. He would not dare to kill my son.
Hostage. So I could turn to my land.
Ochone. My scheme undone by death's hand.