Mogneid, who had reached the head of the board, looked up, and saw, scowling down upon him, a gigantic, loosely-built personage, of dignified bearing for all his violence--the wreck of a fine man, with a flushed face and swollen, bloodshot eyes--Gwrtheyrn, King of Gwrtheyrnion, Erging and Ewyas, whom the Britons had deposed from the sovereignty of them all for all his ill-judged policy and for what they deemed extravagant, un-British notions--Gwrtheyrn the Goidel, of the foreign "repulsive" lips.[3] [3] Supposedly so called from his Goidelic accent in speaking British. "Gracious lord," said Mogneid, "it is your humble kinsman, Mogneid, son of Votecori, son of Maelumi, from the land of Dyfed, praying that he may sojourn awhile under the King's protection. There is a family matter in question, O Gwrtheyrn, in which I seek the aid of the chieftain of my tribe." "Son of Votecori!" cried Gwrtheyrn, with outstretched hand. "My father's cousin's son! Now welcome, kinsman. Ho! bring meat and wine for the Lord Mogneid! Thou must eat ere we further confer." Seated by the side of his host, the new-comer feasted upon broiled mutton-chops, which were carried in from without, for during the summer weather Gwrtheyrn's food was cooked in a kitchen in an outhouse. The King's hall was crowded, but the company presented few elements of interest to the man of Dyfed. The Jutish Queen sat upon Gwrtheyrn's other hand, counting the stitches in her needlework; she had a broad face, a square full chin, and heavy auburn plaits. There were a few old women, her attendants; the huntsmen, servants, and men-at-arms; some rustic noblemen, talkative and disputatious; and some half-dozen of the King's pages or foster-sons, who squabbled in whispers over noughts and crosses chalked upon the empty hearth-stone. "Lord," said Mogneid, "there come others to claim hospitality of thee ere nightfall, I do think. As I looked back upon the eastern valley, I beheld a party of horsemen, clad in steel armour, such as the Romans wear." "Art clever, kinsman," Gwrtheyrn replied. "It is Emrys, to a certainty! or emissaries of his! Well that we are warned. They shall be warmly received, I promise!" "Whence comes Ambrosius?" Mogneid asked. "As I travelled hither, I heard of him at Caerdydd." "Look you, cousin," said Gwrtheyrn, "Ambrosius and I have some contention toward, concerning my lordship of Buallt, of which this overweening person claims the right to dispose, forsooth!--One cup more, kinsman Mogneid; it is of the Kentish vintage. Now when these Romanizers----" "They are here," said Mogneid. In truth, the clatter of horses' hooves resounded outside the building, and the voices of men. Twenty mail-clad soldiers entered the hall, with a keen-faced leader at their head. "Greeting, King Gwrtheyrn," the officer cried, "from Ambrosius the Imperator!" "Greeting!" returned Gwrtheyrn shortly. "What would the Lord Emrys say to us by your lips?"