Said Eliseg to Dyfnwal, "They are gone together, the King and he. I like not the evil lowering of his face this day. We should follow them."
"At once!" said Dyfnwal. "The bay and the roan are the fleetest."
The sky had clouded over, and there was a rainy light in the western quarter.
"Look yonder!" cried Mogneid, when they had ridden some two miles farther.
A great army of horsemen was winding about the foot of the hills of Pennant, and at their head was something, broad and scarlet-gleaming, that flapped in the evening breeze—surely the dragon-standard of Ambrosius.
"Then the end is come," said Mogneid.
"On to Llanaelhairn!" Gwrtheyrn exclaimed. "Once there, we can get the cattle within, and hold the ford, belike, with my people that dwell there. Hasten, kinsman, hasten! The others have sure guides; they cannot miss the way."
When they reached the ford of the little brook, now called by King Gwrtheyrn's name, that flowed beneath the walls of the fortress of Llanaelhairn, the moon was shining, and the clouds were fewer. They crossed the castle forecourt. Not a soul was about, for the land-maer and his family had gone to the upper pastures to bring in the sheep and cattle. As they opened the hall door, the stifling atmosphere beat heavily against their faces. A fierce fire was burning, upon which the women of the household had lately roasted whole the carcasses of several sheep. After glancing around, Mogneid sped up the stairway leading into the look-out tower, and Gwrtheyrn followed him into the small, low chamber at the top. He found Mogneid before its half-ruinous window, tugging at the rusty iron grating that screened the aperture.
Presently the mortar that had held it crumbled, the whole frame-work came away in Mogneid's hands, and he cast it violently upon the floor. Then he returned to the window. Above him the heights of the Rivals towered; away to the west, the sea-waves lapped sullenly; below, Nant Gwrtheyrn ran very low in its stony bed.
"What hope is there now?" cried Gwrtheyrn the King. "What hast thou done for me, Mogneid my kinsman, who promised so much? Garmon is a greater curser than thou—his magic mightier. The ancient gods have lied to thee, Mogneid—they delude thee—thou art not their favoured one! Wilt thou give me back my kingdoms, thou who hast all things of power at thy fingers' ends!" He rushed upon the other with a snarl like a wild beast's.