“Trembling, she went with them, with his friends, arraigning herself unashamedly with his gang of ruffians, the women rigged out in stolen finery from a dozen plunderings, that accorded ill with their strong, wiry bodies and weather-worn faces, their rough brown hands; the men unmannered, raucous, ill-controlled. She had seen nothing of Y Cadno since the day of the escape plot; the crush and stench of the corridor outside his cell made her ill, queasy as her stomach was from her pregnancy; she s...ent messages but she could not go. The gang from their visits reported him to her as still high of courage — and yet always with an odd exchange of glances that puzzled her. On the day of the trial, however, he would receive no one at all; she contented herself with sending in a new coat and fresh linen. The coat was of russet silk, the colour of a fox’s pelt: Y Cadno he is, she thought, and Y Cadno he shall be seen to be — bright-eyed and brave and clever and strong, fit to out-wit them all yet, base packs of dogs as they are that try to hunt him down… A voice cried out and another voice from the cavernous cells beneath the court; and into the dock came two dirty tipstaffs, shambling, ill-shaven, armed with their heavy sticks.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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