Chapter 2

In Madoc's tent the clarion sounds,
With rapid clangor hurried far;
Each hill and dale the note rebounds,
But when return the sons of war?
Thou, born of stern Necessity,
Dull Peace! the valley yields to thee,
And owns thy melancholy sway.
WELSH POEM.

The feasts of the ancient British princes usually exhibited all
the rude splendour and liberal indulgence of mountain hospitality,
and Gwenwyn was, on the present occasion, anxious to purchase
popularity by even an unusual display of profusion; for he was
sensible that the alliance which he meditated might indeed be
tolerated, but could not be approved, by his subjects and
followers.

The following incident, trifling in itself, confirmed his
apprehensions. Passing one evening, when it was become nearly
dark, by the open window of a guard-room, usually occupied by some
few of his most celebrated soldiers, who relieved each other in
watching his palace, he heard Morgan, a man distinguished for
strength, courage, and ferocity, say to the companion with whom he
was sitting by the watch-fire, "Gwenwyn is turned to a priest, or
a woman! When was it before these last months, that a follower of
his was obliged to gnaw the meat from the bone so closely, as I am
now peeling the morsel which I hold in my hand?" [Footnote: It is
said in Highland tradition, that one of the Macdonalds of the
Isles, who had suffered his broadsword to remain sheathed for some
months after his marriage with a beautiful woman, was stirred to a
sudden and furious expedition against the mainland by hearing
conversation to the above purpose among his bodyguard.]

"Wait but awhile," replied his comrade, "till the Norman match be
accomplished; and so small will be the prey we shall then drive
from the Saxon churls, that we may be glad to swallow, like hungry
dogs, the very bones themselves."

Gwenwyn heard no more of their conversation; but this was enough
to alarm his pride as a soldier, and his jealousy as a prince. He
was sensible, that the people over whom he ruled were at once
fickle in their disposition, impatient of long repose, and full of
hatred against their neighbours; and he almost dreaded the
consequences of the inactivity to which a long truce might reduce
them. The risk was now incurred, however; and to display even more
than his wonted splendour and liberality, seemed the best way of
reconciling the wavering affections of his subjects.

A Norman would have despised the barbarous magnificence of an
entertainment, consisting of kine and sheep roasted whole, of
goat's flesh and deer's flesh seethed in the skins of the animals
themselves; for the Normans piqued themselves on the quality
rather than