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For centuries, the bards have sung of King Arthur’s return, but is this reluctant warrior prince the answer to those prophecies?Read an excerpt:
In the year 1399, Welsh nobleman Owain Glyndwr is living out a peaceful gentleman’s life in the Dee Valley of Wales with his wife Margaret and their eleven children. But when Henry of Bolingbroke, the Duke of Lancaster, usurps the throne of England from his cousin Richard II, that tranquility is forever shattered. What starts as a feud with a neighboring English lord over a strip of land evolves into something greater—a fight for the very independence of Wales.
Leading his crude army of Welshmen against armor-clad columns of English, Owain wins key victories over his enemies. After a harrowing encounter on the misty slopes of Cadair Idris, the English knight Harry Hotspur offers Owain a pact he cannot resist.
Peace, however, comes with a price. As tragedies mount, Owain questions whether he can find the strength within himself not only to challenge the most powerful monarch of his time, but to fulfill the prophecies and lead his people to freedom without destroying those around him.
Lord Reginald de Grey of Ruthin leered at his discovery. Swarming around him was a full corps of fifteen huntsmen, lesser lords eager to impress. One rushed in and rammed a spear into the deer, although it was a task that need not have been done.
“Aha! My gratitude, good men, for bringing down my prize,” Grey proclaimed.
“Your prize?” Owain started forward. “These are my lands you’re on. And well you know it. You are beyond your bounds. Parliament has upheld my claims on Croesau.”
“Richard’s parliament.” Grey clucked his tongue in admonishment. “’Tis a hard task to wield influence from a dungeon.”
Owain’s arms were locked stiffly at his side, though they had the strength to heave the dripping, dog-shredded carcass at Grey’s head. “Take it. Take the hide and the meat and the bloody set of antlers. But don’t come back. This land is not yours.”
“I’ll come as often as I please. These are my lands now, everything you see. The Welsh sympathizer is not long to wear the crown and Bolingbroke owes me a good turn.” One hand upon his hip, he flexed the gloved fingers of his other hand and nodded with satisfaction. “This hunting ground will do, littered though it is with Welsh beggars. Incidentally, I took liberty to evict some troublesome peasants of yours in the next valley.”
Owain sprang forward. “You have no right!”
“Yes, yes... hmmm. We shall see who has rights. Anyway, they were a little, shall we say, obstinate. A torched roof is very convincing. It has a tendency to make people into believers.”
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