Anwyl-ap-Myrddin trembled under the stern, verging on ferocious, glare of King Aethelwulf. The West Saxon, towering over the Welshman, bellowed into his face, their noses almost touching, “Consider yourself fortunate, cur! I will quell my desire to bind your arms and legs to four horses and to order the beasts whipped.”
Flecks of saliva splashed into the captive’s face, but he dared not step away or wipe his sleeve across his visage whilst the red-faced monarch harangued him. So intimidated was the man from Gwynedd that he scarcely understood what the king was saying. “We will take you alive,” that word did register with him, “to my father— he will decide your fate.”
alive,Anwyl cursed the day he had decided to approach Hywel. His smug-looking compatriot was standing next to him, sword i
