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.

Rhonabwy and the others dismounted and stood aside to see what would happen next, and what happened was that the emperor emerged from his tent and took his place in the chair beside the gwyddbwyll board. He raised his head, looked around him, and cried, 'Who will try their skill against me in a game of Chase and Capture?'

Immediately, a crowd gathered around the mantle. And such a crowd! For each man among them was nobly born, and not one was lower in rank than king, and some were kings with other kings in their retinue.

Up spoke a king with brown hair and a drooping brown moustache, who said, 'I will try my skill, Lord and Pendragon.'

'I recognize you, Vortiporix,' replied the Pendragon. 'Very well, I allow you the first move. Make it good.' And they began to play.

They were deep into the game when there arose a great din of such cawing and shouting and clashing of arms that it could only be a battle of unusual size and violence. This continued, growing ever louder, until from a nearby tent came a warrior. The tent was all of white, with a standard flying before it bearing the image of a jet-black serpent with poisonous eyes and a fiery tongue. The warrior was dressed all in yellow-green from neck to knee, and half of his face was painted yellow as well.

'Emperor and Pendragon,' said the warrior, 'is it with your permission that the Ravens of Annwfn tear at your brave warriors?'

'It is not,' replied the emperor. 'This I will not allow."

Then tell me what is to be done and I will do it,' said the warrior.

'Take my standard and raise it where the battle is fiercest,' said the emperor. Then stand back and let God's will be accomplished.'

The warrior rode directly to the place where the battle was going badly for the Dragon Flight, and there he raised the emperor's standard – a great red-gold dragon with teeth and claws bared. And when the Flight of Dragons saw the standard being raised in their midst they took courage and rose up with renewed vigour and began beating back the Ravens, smiting them and stabbing them so that they were wounded and killed.

Vortiporix went down in defeat to the emperor and his game ended. 'Who will play next?' asked the Pendragon in a loud, challenging voice.

'I will try my skill," said a man, stepping out from the crowd which had gathered around the game board.

Then sit you down,' said the emperor. 'I recognize you, Urien Reget, and grant you the first move. Do your best.'

They began to play the game, bending low over the board to study their moves. When they had played a short while they heard a great uproar of men and animals fighting and tearing one another to pieces. They raised their heads at this commotion, to see a rider on a pale horse galloping towards them. The rider wore a white cloak on his shoulder and a white tunic, but his legs and feet were covered in grey linen the colour of smoke or morning mist. In his hand he held a long, three-grooved sword; and on his head he wore a helm with a powerful sapphire gemstone on its brow, and on its crest the image of a white lion with poisonous blood-red eyes.