Hywel said, "That's just the juliet tower. There was a Norman keep around it, but that's down now " "Who destroyed it?" she asked, in a dull and morbid tone. "A man named Owain Glyn Dwr," Hywel said. She did not press him for a reason; he was glad of that. They rode on north, up a stream valley. Mynydd Troed stood white and sharp to the right; to the left was countryside laid out like a giant's fortification. The stream, just cracking with spring, was the moat; the edges of Fforest Talybont, still crystalline, made a fantastical palisade around the hills called the Brecon Beacons, keeps half a mile high. "That one is Gwaun-rhudd. And the saddle mountain, high afar off, is Pen-y-fan." Cynthia said "And the name of the place we're going?" "Llangorse. I think we'll stay there a few days." "Whatever." She looked up; it was just past noon, and the thin clouds were brilliant. She turned back to Hywel. "What did you say it was called?" He could see the haze in her eyes.
