"Thus says Aurelius Ambrosius to you, O Gwrtheyrn King of Erging: The renowned and mighty lord Ambrosius himself is now at Buallt, whither he is come to bestow the lordship of those lands--which are his as much as thine by hereditary right, be it said--upon the valiant prince Pascent thy son, for fitting appanage and livelihood. And he charges thee, O Gwrtheyrn, to attend him straightway, upon the morrow, to witness the installation of thy said son in all due form and order." "Fore God!" Gwrtheyrn roared, "this is passing insolence! Hence to thy master, sir, and tell him that Gwrtheyrn permits not that another force from him what is his own! Or if it be too late now to make the return journey, why, there are my villeins' cow-houses at your service for the night. Ye shall have a guard set over you while ye are sleeping. Out of our presence, instantly, by blessed Paul!" "So be it," said the soldier. "We will back to the lord of Britain." While they were departing, the Queen and her women rose and withdrew. The foster-children went out into the twilit courtyard to play; the servants, after removing the dishes and the victuals, one by one left the room. Mogneid drew his seat closer to that of Gwrtheyrn. "Ticklish fellows, these mongrel Romans," he observed. The King was drinking deeply; the veins of his forehead still throbbed with rage and shame. By and by he put down his cup, and began to talk, with much gesticulation. "Romans! Romans! Romans! Curse them all, high and low, up and down!... Ambrosius their tyrant, to the lousiest beggar's brat--and----What good are they to the clans of Britain?--with their fine habits and their sickly vices? What good to me was my wife Severa, Maxen's daughter? Ye see what sons she brought me--Gwrthefyr, and Cyndeyrn, and Pascent--cleave to Ambrosius, and forsake their own father! Here, in the west, are men mightier and taller and braver than all their enfeebled town-dwellers. Good fighting Goidels...." "All men do know as much," said the other. "For my part, I would that my kinsmen were the chief men of the land." "God!" panted Gwrtheyrn. "What is gone is gone--for ever." He looked upon his companion with a watery eye. "Thou art verily welcome, good Mogneid. A man is always glad to gossip with one of his own blood, especially after long time of dreariness. Few guests knock at my castle-gate--we are out of the run of life nowadays, alas! alas!" The monotony and the squalor were all too evident. "It were surely unjust," said Mogneid, in soothing tones, "that Buallt should be taken from thee." "And shall I suffer it? I have my favourite hunting-lodge in that lordship. They are my lands--my lands! It pleases me to dwell there!" Gwrtheyrn shouted with maudlin vehemence. "What is your purpose, O King?" "Well, that--I know not. But he shall not have my lands! Look you, kinsman, it is near the harvest-time: I think my men will not come willingly to arms."