The cloying stink only served to fortify his mood; having ridden from Shrewsbury to the Welsh border in a little over a day, he was understandably fatigued. But he had been compelled to obey the invitation cast by none other than Owen Glendower, and even now he sat with restrained anticipation of their meeting. Though the subject of their conference had not been mentioned in the missive received three days prior, there was little doubt as to the topic. Fortunately for the aged knight, he was not kept waiting overlong. Owen Glendower, dark and average in height, entered the tent surrounded by a host of supporters. De Worth suddenly found himself encompassed by the core of the Welsh rebellion, eyeing the dark, weary men around him with a certain amount of distrust. To his right, Owen cast his hands over the dung-burning vizier in a vain attempt to ward off the Welsh chill. "Captain de Worth," Owen said in perfect English. "Thank you for coming." De Worth eyed the infamous leader of the Welsh Resistance.
