“Gunrig,” said the king, drawing himself up, and speaking impressively, “remember that you are my guest, and that it ill becomes you to insult my women before my face.”
“Pardon me,” replied the chief, with an effort to recover himself. “You must remember that I am not accustomed to defeat.”
“True,” returned the king blandly, “so now you had better take to the heavy stone and come off the victor.”
Gunrig at once went down into the arena and sent a challenge to Bladud.
The latter had returned to his place among the spectators, but his height rendered him easy to find. He accepted the challenge at once, and, as no other competitor for the heavy stone offered, the two had it all to themselves. This was no matter of wonder, for the heaviest stone among those laid out for trial was of a weight that many of the young men or warriors could barely lift, while the stoutest of them could not have thrown it more than a few feet.
Boiling over as he was with indignation, Gunrig felt as if he was endued with more than usual strength. He lifted the stone with ease, faced the platform, heeled the line, and hurled the stone violently over his head, so that it fell with a heavy thud far behind him. Then Bladud took it up.
“Oh! what a stout man he is!” whispered Branwen to Hafrydda, “and what a handsome face!”
“That is true; and I hope he will win,” replied the princess.
“Hush! child, the king will be displeased if he hears you,” said her mother earnestly. “What ever you think, keep silence.”
The queen spoke with such unwonted energy that Hafrydda was surprised, but her thoughts were instantly diverted to Bladud, who made a magnificent cast and sent the stone a yard further than his opponent. But Gunrig seized it again and hurled it a foot beyond that.