Somerton, two days later, 742 AD
Once more, events did not transpire as Æthelbald supposed, imagining, as he did, a crushing defeat of the Wealisc, trapped between hammer and anvil. Instead, a white flag greeted his advancing host. Elisedd sought to parley with him. This concession granted, the ruler of Powys introduced Ithel-ap-Morgan, King of Gwent.
The latter spoke first, “King Æthelbald, we have no quarrel with you. We are marching to the aid of our cousins in Dumnonia who are at war with the West Seax. We cannot ignore a plea from our kinsmen.”
Æthelbald used his most intimidating expression to reply, his face and eyes as hard as steel.
“How well I, a ruler, understand you. Do you suppose I can turn my back on an entreaty from one of my underkings? Such is Cuthred. You,” he glared
