“I come to you, Lord King, with greetings, freely carried, from King Tewdric of Gwent.”
That caused a stir in the hall. Men at the back who had not heard Galahad’s announcement asked for it to be repeated and the murmur of conversation went on for several seconds. Cuneglas, Gorfyddyd’s son, looked up sharply. His round face with its long dark moustaches looked worried, and no wonder, I thought, for Cuneglas was like Arthur, a man who craved peace, but when Arthur spurned Ceinwyn he had also destroyed Cuneglas’s hopes and now the Edling of Powys could only follow his father into a war that threatened to lay waste the southern kingdoms.
“Our enemies, it seems, are losing their hunger for battle,” Gorfyddyd said. “Why else does Tewdric send greetings?”
“King Tewdric, High King, fears no man, but loves peace more,” Galahad said, carefully using the title Gorfyddyd had bestowed on himself in anticipation of his victory.
Gorfyddyd’s body heaved and for a second I thought he was about to vomit, then I realized he was laughing. “We Kings only love peace,” Gorfyddyd said at last, ‘when war becomes inconvenient to us. This gathering, Galahad of Benoic’ he gestured at the throng of chiefs and princes ‘will explain Tewdric’s new love of peace.”
He paused, gathering breath. “Till now, Galahad of Benoic, I have refused to receive Tewdric’s messages. Why should I receive them? Does an eagle listen to a lamb bleating for mercy? In a few days I intend to listen to all Gwent’s men bleating to me for peace, but for now, since you have come this far, you may amuse me. What does Tewdric offer?”
“Peace, Lord King, just peace.”
Gorfyddyd spat. “You are landless, Galahad, and empty-handed. Does Tewdric think peace is for the asking? Does Tewdric think I have expended my kingdom’s gold on an army for no cause? Does he think I am a fool?”
“He thinks, Lord King, that blood shed between Britons is wasted blood.”
“You talk like a woman, Galahad of Benoic.” Gorfyddyd spoke the insult in a deliberately loud voice so that the raftered hall echoed with jeers and laughter. “Still,” he went on when the laughter had subsided, ‘you must take some answer to Gwent’s King, so let it be this.” He paused to compose his thoughts. “Tell Tewdric that he is a lamb sucking at Dumnonia’s dry teat. Tell him my quarrel is not with him, but with Arthur, so tell Tewdric that he may have his peace on these two conditions. First, that he lets my army pass through his land without hindrance and second that he gives me enough grain to feed a thousand men for ten days.” The warriors in the hall gasped, for they were generous terms, but also clever. If Tewdric accepted then he would avoid the sack of his country and make Gorfyddyd’s invasion of Dumnonia easier. “Are you empowered, Galahad of Benoic,” Gorfyddyd asked, ‘to accept these terms?”
“No, Lord King, only to enquire what terms you would offer and to ask what you intend to do with Mordred, King of Dumnonia, whom Tewdric is sworn to protect.”
Gorfyddyd adopted a hurt look. “Do I look like a man who makes war on children?” he asked, then stood and advanced to the edge of the throne dais. “My quarrel is with Arthur,” he said, not just to us, but to the whole hall, ‘who preferred to marry a whore out of Henis Wyren rather than wed my daughter. Would any man leave such an insult unavenged?” The hall roared its answer. “Arthur is an upstart,” Gorfyddyd shouted, ‘whelped on a whore mother, and to a whore he has returned! So long as Gwent protects the whore-lover, so long is Gwent our enemy. So long as Dumnonia fights for the whore-lover, so long is Dumnonia our enemy. And pur enemy will be the generous provider of our gold, our slaves, our food, our land, our women and our glory! Arthur we will kill, and his whore we shall put to work in our barracks.” He waited until the cheers had died away, then stared imperiously down on Galahad. “Tell that to Tewdric, Galahad of Benoic, and after that tell it to Arthur.”