No sooner had his head touched the hair-bare old hide than did he fall asleep. At once a vision came to him. And this is what he saw:
He and his friends were riding along beside an oak grove when they heard a tumult the like of which they had never heard before. They halted and, looking fearfully behind them, saw a young man with curly hair and a new-trimmed beard riding a golden horse. This man was green from the hips down to his toes, and he wore a fine yellow mantle that shimmered in the sun. At his side was a golden-hilted sword in a sheath of fine leather, held by a belt with an enormous golden buckle. And the size of the man was all but twice that of any of the three companions!
The three companions knew themselves to be in the presence of a man of power and authority so they waited for him to draw near. 'Peace, friend,' called Rhonabwy as the man approached, and because the man was so big he added, 'and mercy, too.'
The young man in gold and green halted before them. •'You beg peace and mercy from me and you shall have that gladly. Do not be afraid.'
'Our thanks to you, and the thanks of our lord also. Since you grant us mercy, chieftain, tell us your name.'
At this the young man smiled and said, 'I am called Gwyn Ysgawd, and my father is the ruler of this realm.'
'Who might that be?' Rhonabwy asked.
'His name is not uttered except in praise,' Gwyn answered. 'He is Chief Dragon of the Island of the Mighty and its Seven Adjacent Isles, and much else besides, for he is Emperor of the West.'
The three friends peered at one another anxiously. 'We have never heard of this man, great though he undoubtedly is.'
'That surely is a wonder,' said Gwyn. 'But I will allow you to judge for yourselves, for I will take you to him and you can pay him the homage you think he deserves.'
'Fair enough,' said Rhonabwy, and the huge man continued on his way. The three fell in behind him and kept up as best they could. Yet no matter how fast they rode, the yellow horse ahead of them galloped faster. When they breathed in, they seemed to gain a little, but when they breathed out the yellow horse was further away than before.
In this way, they passed over a great plain – wider and more vast than Argyngrog. And they crossed many rivers, each of them wider and more vast than Mor Hafren. And they rode through many forests, each of them wider, darker, and more vast than Celyddon. But at last they came to an immense shore at the very edge of the Island of the Mighty. And spread out along the shore as far as the eye could see in each direction were bright-coloured tents of all sizes – enough to hold the greatest host the world had yet seen.
They proceeded to the sea verge and came to a flat islet lying close to the shore. An enormous man sat on the small island on a throne of stone, and beside him Bishop Bedwini at his right hand, and Hafgan Chief Bard on his left. Before them stood a warrior dressed all in black. From the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, all black. His hands were covered with black gloves, and his cloak, tunic and mantle were black. All that could be seen of this warrior was only the span of wrist between sleeve and glove – and this skin was whiter than the white of a maid's eyes, whiter than lilies; and that wrist was thicker than the small of Cadwgan's leg. The strange warrior held in his hand a sheathed sword.
Gwyn led Rhonabwy and his companions across the water to stand before the mighty man on the throne. 'God be good to you, Father!' he called in greeting.
The man on the throne raised his hand in welcome. 'God be good to you, my son!' he said in a voice that surely shook the hills. He regarded the three travellers curiously, and said, 'Wherever did you find these little men?'
'Lord, I found them riding at the border of your realm,' Gwyn White Shield answered.
At this the great king shook his head and uttered a sharp, mocking laugh.
'Chief Dragon,' said Gwyn, 'what are you laughing at?'
'I am laughing out of the sadness I feel at this worlds-realm being held by such puny men as these, after the kind that held it before!'
Then Gwyn turned to Rhonabwy and asked, 'Do you see the ring on the emperor's hand?'
Rhonabwy looked and saw a golden ring with a purple gem. 'I see it,' he answered.
'It is the property of that ring that having seen it you will remember everything that passes while you sojourn with us. If you had not seen it, you would remember nothing at all.'
They were still talking like this when a great commotion arose on shore. Rhonabwy looked and saw a tremendous warband riding towards them. 'What warband is that?' asked Rhonabwy.
'The Flight of Dragons! And it is their pride and duty to ride before and after the emperor in every danger. For this they are granted the privilege of wooing the most noble daughters of Britain.'
Rhonabwy watched as the warband passed by, and he saw that there was not a warrior among them that was dressed in anything but the deepest red, like the reddest blood in the world. Together they appeared a column of fire springing from the earth and ascending to the sky. These exalted warriors hailed the emperor as they passed by, and rode to their tents on the shore.
With sweet golden mead and savoury roast pork the Pendragon feasted his Dragon Flight. Rhonabwy and his friends feasted with them and continually remarked to one another, and to Gwyn, that never had they tasted such a feast as the one set before them.
In the morning the warriors arose, donned their battle dress and saddled their fine horses. 'What is happening here?' asked Rhonabwy, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
'The war host is gathered,' explained Gwyn. 'It is time to join battle at Caer Baddon.'
So saying, they all climbed on their horses and began riding to the battle place. Now the emperor's war host rode so fast that they could not be seen – only the windrush of their passing could be felt. But Gwyn led the three along the track and eventually they reached a great vale where they saw the host gathered below Caer Baddon.
A warrior sped past them where they waited and proceeded at once into the vale without pausing. At the approach of this rider, all the war host scattered. 'What is this?' wondered Rhonabwy to Kynrig Red Freckles. 'Is the emperor's war host fleeing?'
Gwyn overheard them and replied, 'The emperor's host has never fled, but has ever been victorious. Lucky you are, for if that remark had been heard down there you would already be dead.'
'Who is that rider, then,' asked Rhonabwy, 'that he causes such tumult among the troops?'
'The rider you see speeding his way to the front of the battle line is none other than the foremost champion of the Pendragon's warband. The commotion you see at his arrival is that of men jostling one another to be near him in the fray.'
The tumult threatened to become a riot, so the emperor signalled his sword-bearer, the youth in black, who raised the Pendragon's weapon – a great sword with a golden hilt in the shape of twin serpents. He drew the sword and the brightness of the blade was like the brightness of the sun, so that it was not easy to look upon. The commotion quieted at once.
Gwyn, Rhonabwy, Kynrig and Cadwgan lifted their reins and rode down into the vale, where they found the emperor's tent. A huge, yellow-haired man approached with an enormous bundle on his back. He lowered the bundle and drew out a wonderful mantle of pure white wool with a golden apple at each corner. The giant man spread the fair mantle upon the ground before the tent. Next, he drew out a camp chair so large that three kings could sit in it at once; this he set up in the centre of the mantle. And then he withdrew a silver gwyddbwyll board and game-pieces of pure gold, which he set up in the centre of the chair.