Close in the darkness, cold and monotonous, a voice inquired of him — of all confused, distraught, and enboobed souls, himself, Uí Senan! — where the ruler of this realm might be found. Well, he wasn’t having it, not without a fuss! He flagellated one of a dozen wool vestments alit in hues between yellow and pink upon the pavement and he remonstrated, [i]“Ye clob-gobber, if’n there be any Lord o’er this befouled and cursed realm, seek for him in yon castle as I inten’d meself to do!”[/i] Then mounted another unsolicited inquiry from another strange voice which asked, [i]“Who are you all?”[/i] and, of course, he did not rightly know, for even his body had forsaken him and his mind, polluted and perfumed, was not in a state where such questions were a matter he could have simply and steadfastly focused upon. It left him collapsed, as a pile of filthy laundry, upon the ground, and he bellowed, [i]“Aye, meself is who I art!”[/i]