Then Gwyndoc turned to the girl. “Come on,” he said, “or the old fool will try to thrash me! He’s soft in the head and forgets that times change! I would not like to have the alternative of bending down while he beat me or of cutting his head from his shoulders!”
Ygerne smiled at his words, for she sensed the young man’s natural kindness and softness of heart, and wondered at the effort it must cost him to appear hard and callous, aggressive and imperious, when he was with the other young tribesmen. Like other pastoral peoples, Gwyndoc was by nature a lover of all animals and of the folk who tended them. It was only that tragic Celtic tradition that made him play the warrior’s part; that inordinate love of coloured finery and beautiful weapons, an almost feminine delight in textures and d
