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Page 210
"I do not wish to tell you. Now what?"
"Nothing unpleasant, I assure you," Simon chuckled. "I think the safest and most honorable disposition would be to send you to Lord John. He will command the Welsh Marches and will treat you with honor. I would send you to the King himself, but he is bound upon Crusade. I think you will enjoy Lord John's Court."
Whatever ill could be said of John, no one had ever claimed that he lacked charm or the kind of political acumen that would flatter an important hostage. Simon went on to speak of life at Court, but he did not think Llewelyn would be there long. Doubtless as soon as the raid was over they would know the young man's true nameif his name was other than Llewelyn, and the exact degree of his kinship with Owain Gwynedd.
Full dark had fallen and an owl cried mournfully from the north. Llewelyn's head swung toward the sound, his lips parting. Then, hastily, he asked, "Will I be free to come and go at Court, or will I be prisoned close?"
Simon smiled and got to his feet. "Ian will tell you. I must go and see if I can catch that owl. These days any bird is welcome to our pots, even owls."
The consternation in the man's dark eyes was sufficient confirmation of Simon's near surety that the bird call was a signal. He went out and closed the door of the hut. "They come," he said softly to the men on guard. "I hope Ian will be able to keep him from crying out, but be prepared."
It was necessary for Simon to stand still for a little while to accustom his eyes to the dark, but it was not as black as he had expected. The rain had stopped too. Shortly, utter blindness was replaced by a faintly luminous dark gray against which blacker shadows could be distinguished. Simon rounded the hut and found his horse tethered at the back. He mounted, listening intently, but all he heard were the normal sounds of a camp at night.

 
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