Matholwch came to our fires that have burned for a dozen generations.
Bright the gold that hung upon him, brilliant the spears that threw back the light.
A wild king of a wild people.
But wealthy.
And well-made – straight and strong of limb, hair like thunder among our darklings.
Horses he had, to cover his green fields for days in unending procession.
Brave in battle, generous in peace, quick with justice and all kingly virtues.

For all this he thought to court fair Llyr’s daughter.
This blanched upstart, this raw branch of a new-planted house!
To wed the house of Tethys!
To sleep by right beneath the long-beamed roof of Bran, beyond all measuring!
To speak in our councils, an equal in peace, an ally in war!

He came well-heeled, hands full with gifts, bride-price.
Trinkets to turn the head of gentle sea-daughter.
Horses to win favor of mighty Bran, the unclever, the avaricious.
With these bits and baubles Matholwch came to bride-price.
The pride of Llyr sold for a handful of gold and twice-twenty horses.

In the night I revenged our flaunted and outraged pride.
Blood for blood, flesh for flesh.