The Battle of the Birds

There was to be a great battle between all the creatures of the earth

and the birds of the air. News of it went abroad, and the son of the

king of Tethertown said that when the battle was fought he would be

there to see it, and would bring back word who was to be king. But in

spite of that, he was almost too late, and every fight had been fought

save the last, which was between a snake and a great black raven. Both

struck hard, but in the end the snake proved the stronger, and would

have twisted himself round the neck of the raven till he died had not

the king’s son drawn his sword, and cut off the head of the snake at a

single blow. And when the raven beheld that his enemy was dead, he was

grateful, and said:

‘For thy kindness to me this day, I will show thee a sight. So come up

now on the root of my two wings.’ The king’s son did as he was bid, and

before the raven stopped flying, they had passed over seven bens and

seven glens and seven mountain moors.

‘Do you see that house yonder?’ said the raven at last. ‘Go straight

for it, for a sister of mine dwells there, and she will make you right

welcome. And if she asks, “Wert thou at the battle of the birds?” answer

that thou wert, and if she asks, “Didst thou see my likeness?” answer

that thou sawest it, but be sure thou meetest me in the morning at this

place.’

The king’s son followed what the raven told him and that night he had

meat of each meat, and drink of each drink, warm water for his feet, and

a soft bed to lie in.

Thus it happened the next day, and the next, but on the fourth meeting,

instead of meeting the raven, in his place the king’s son found waiting

for him the handsomest youth that ever was seen, with a bundle in his

hand.

‘Is there a raven hereabouts?’ asked the king’s son, and the youth

answered:

‘I am that raven, and I was delivered by thee from the spells that bound

me, and in reward thou wilt get this bundle. Go back by the road thou

camest, and lie as before, a night in each house, but be careful not to

unloose the bundle till thou art in the place wherein thou wouldst most

wish to dwell.’

Then the king’s son set out, and thus it happened as it had happened

before, till he entered a thick wood near his father’s house. He had

walked a long way and suddenly the bundle seemed to grow heavier; first

he put it down under a tree, and next he thought he would look at it.

The string was easy to untie, and the king’s son soon unfastened the

bundle. What was it he saw there? Why, a great castle with an orchard

all about it, and in the orchard fruit and flowers and birds of very

kind. It was all ready for him to dwell in, but instead of being in the

midst of the forest, he did wish he had left the bundle unloosed till he

had reached the green valley close to his father’s palace. Well, it was

no use wishing, and with a sigh he glanced up, and beheld a huge giant

coming towards him.

‘Bad is the place where thou hast built thy house, king’s son,’ said the

giant.

‘True; it is not here that I wish to be,’ answered the king’s son.

‘What reward wilt thou give me if I put it back in the bundle?’ asked

the giant.

‘What reward dost thou ask?’ answered the king’s son.

‘The first boy thou hast when he is seven years old,’ said the giant.

‘If I have a boy thou shalt get him,’ answered the king’s son, and as he

spoke the castle and the orchard were tied up in the bundle again.

‘Now take thy road, and I will take mine,’ said the giant. ‘And if thou

forgettest thy promise, I will remember it.’

Light of heart the king’s son went on his road, till he came to the

green valley near his father’s palace. Slowly he unloosed the bundle,

fearing lest he should find nothing but a heap of stones or rags. But

no! all was as it had been before, and as he opened the castle door

there stood within the most beautiful maiden that ever was seen.

‘Enter, king’s son,’ said she, ‘all is ready, and we will be married at

once,’ and so they were.

The maiden proved a good wife, and the king’s son, now himself a king,

was so happy that he forgot all about the giant. Seven years and a day

had gone by, when one morning, while standing on the ramparts, he beheld

the giant striding towards the castle. Then he remembered his promise,

and remembered, too, that he had told the queen nothing about it. Now he

must tell her, and perhaps she might help him in his trouble.

The queen listened in silence to his tale, and after he had finished,

she only said:

‘Leave thou the matter between me and the giant,’ and as she spoke, the

giant entered the hall and stood before them.

‘Bring out your son,’ cried he to the king, ‘as you promised me seven

years and a day since.’

The king glanced at his wife, who nodded, so he answered:

‘Let his mother first put him in order,’ and the queen left the hall,

and took the cook’s son and dressed him in the prince’s clothes, and led

him up to the giant, who held his hand, and together they went out along

the road. They had not walked far when the giant stopped and stretched

out a stick to the boy.

‘If your father had that stick, what would he do with it?’ asked he.

‘If my father had that stick, he would beat the dogs and cats that steal

the king’s meat,’ replied the boy.

‘Thou art the cook’s son!’ cried the giant. ‘Go home to thy mother’; and

turning his back he strode straight to the castle.

‘If you seek to trick me this time, the highest stone will soon be the

lowest,’ said he, and the king and queen trembled, but they could not

bear to give up their boy.

‘The butler’s son is the same age as ours,’ whispered the queen; ‘he

will not know the difference,’ and she took the child and dressed him in

the prince’s clothes, and the giant let him away along the road. Before

they had gone far he stopped, and held out a stick.

‘If thy father had that rod, what would he do with it?’ asked the giant.

‘He would beat the dogs and cats that break the king’s glasses,’

answered the boy.

‘Thou art the son of the butler!’ cried the giant. ‘Go home to thy

mother’; and turning round he strode back angrily to the castle.

‘Bring out thy son at once,’ roared he, ‘or the stone that is highest

will be lowest,’ and this time the real prince was brought.

But though his parents wept bitterly and fancied the child was suffering

all kinds of dreadful things, the giant treated him like his own son,

though he never allowed him to see his daughters. The boy grew to be

a big boy, and one day the giant told him that he would have to amuse

himself alone for many hours, as he had a journey to make. So the boy

wandered to the top of the castle, where he had never been before. There

he paused, for the sound of music broke upon his ears, and opening a

door near him, he beheld a girl sitting by the window, holding a harp.

‘Haste and begone, I see the giant close at hand,’ she whispered

hurriedly, ‘but when he is asleep, return hither, for I would speak with

thee.’ And the prince did as he was bid, and when midnight struck he

crept back to the top of the castle.

‘To-morrow,’ said the girl, who was the giant’s daughter, ‘to-morrow

thou wilt get the choice of my two sisters to marry, but thou must

answer that thou wilt not take either, but only me. This will anger him

greatly, for he wishes to betroth me to the son of the king of the Green

City, whom I like not at all.’

Then they parted, and on the morrow, as the girl had said, the giant

called his three daughters to him, and likewise the young prince to whom

he spoke.

‘Now, O son of the king of Tethertown, the time has come for us to part.

Choose one of my two elder daughters to wife, and thou shalt take her to

your father’s house the day after the wedding.’

‘Give me the youngest instead,’ replied the youth, and the giant’s face

darkened as he heard him.

‘Three things must thou do first,’ said he.

‘Say on, I will do them,’ replied the prince, and the giant left the

house, and bade him follow to the byre, where the cows were kept.

‘For a hundred years no man has swept this byre,’ said the giant, ‘but

if by nightfall, when I reach home, thou has not cleaned it so that a

golden apple can roll through it from end to end, thy blood shall pay

for it.’

All day long the youth toiled, but he might as well have tried to empty

the ocean. At length, when he was so tired he could hardly move, the

giant’s youngest daughter stood in the doorway.

‘Lay down thy weariness,’ said she, and the king’s son, thinking he

could only die once, sank on the floor at her bidding, and fell sound

asleep. When he woke the girl had disappeared, and the byre was so clean

that a golden apple could roll from end to end of it. He jumped up in

surprise, and at that moment in came the giant.

‘Hast thou cleaned the byre, king’s son?’ asked he.

‘I have cleaned it,’ answered he.

‘Well, since thou wert so active to-day, to-morrow thou wilt thatch this

byre with a feather from every different bird, or else thy blood shall

pay for it,’ and he went out.

Before the sun was up, the youth took his bow and his quiver and set off

to kill the birds. Off to the moor he went, but never a bird was to be

seen that day. At last he got so tired with running to and fro that he

gave up heart.

‘There is but one death I can die,’ thought he. Then at midday came the

giant’s daughter.

‘Thou art tired, king’s son?’ asked she.

‘I am,’ answered he; ‘all these hours have I wandered, and there fell

but these two blackbirds, both of one colour.’

‘Lay down thy weariness on the grass,’ said she, and he did as she bade

him, and fell fast asleep.

When he woke the girl had disappeared, and he got up, and returned to

the byre. As he drew near, he rubbed his eyes hard, thinking he was

dreaming, for there it was, beautifully thatched, just as the giant had

wished. At the door of the house he met the giant.

‘Hast thou thatched the byre, king’s son?’

‘I have thatched it.’

‘Well, since thou hast been so active to-day, I have something else for

thee! Beside the loch thou seest over yonder there grows a fir tree.

On the top of the fir tree is a magpie’s nest, and in the nest are five

eggs. Thou wilt bring me those eggs for breakfast, and if one is cracked

or broken, thy blood shall pay for it.’

Before it was light next day, the king’s son jumped out of bed and ran

down to the loch. The tree was not hard to find, for the rising sun

shone red on the trunk, which was five hundred feet from the ground to

its first branch. Time after time he walked round it, trying to find

some knots, however small, where he could put his feet, but the bark was

quite smooth, and he soon saw that if he was to reach the top at all, it

must be by climbing up with his knees like a sailor. But then he was a

king’s son and not a sailor, which made all the difference.

However, it was no use standing there staring at the fir, at least he

must try to do his best, and try he did till his hands and knees were

sore, for as soon as he had struggled up a few feet, he slid back again.

Once he climbed a little higher than before, and hope rose in his heart,

then down he came with such force that his hands and knees smarted worse

than ever.

‘This is no time for stopping,’ said the voice of the giant’s daughter,

as he leant against the trunk to recover his breath.

‘Alas! I am no sooner up than down,’ answered he.

‘Try once more,’ said she, and she laid a finger against the tree and

bade him put his foot on it. Then she placed another finger a little

higher up, and so on till he reached the top, where the magpie had built

her nest.

‘Make haste now with the nest,’ she cried, ‘for my father’s breath is

burning my back,’ and down he scrambled as fast as he could, but the

girl’s little finger had caught in a branch at the top, and she was

obliged to leave it there. But she was too busy to pay heed to this, for

the sun was getting high over the hills.

‘Listen to me,’ she said. ‘This night my two sisters and I will be

dressed in the same garments, and you will not know me. But when my

father says ‘Go to thy wife, king’s son,’ come to the one whose right

hand has no little finger.’

So he went and gave the eggs to the giant, who nodded his head.

‘Make ready for thy marriage,’ cried he, ‘for the wedding shall take

place this very night, and I will summon thy bride to greet thee.’ Then

his three daughters were sent for, and they all entered dressed in green

silk of the same fashion, and with golden circlets round their heads.

The king’s son looked from one to another. Which was the youngest?

Suddenly his eyes fell on the hand of the middle one, and there was no

little finger.

‘Thou hast aimed well this time too,’ said the giant, as the king’s son

laid his hand on her shoulder, ‘but perhaps we may meet some other way’;

and though he pretended to laugh, the bride saw a gleam in his eye which

warned her of danger.

The wedding took place that very night, and the hall was filled with

giants and gentlemen, and they danced till the house shook from top to

bottom. At last everyone grew tired, and the guests went away, and the

king’s son and his bride were left alone.

‘If we stay here till dawn my father will kill thee,’ she whispered,

‘but thou art my husband and I will save thee, as I did before,’ and

she cut an apple into nine pieces, and put two pieces at the head of

the bed, and two pieces at the foot, and two pieces at the door of the

kitchen, and two at the big door, and one outside the house. And when

this was done, and she heard the giant snoring, she and the king’s son

crept out softly and stole across to the stable, where she led out the

blue-grey mare and jumped on its back, and her husband mounted behind

her. Not long after, the giant awoke.

‘Are you asleep?’ asked he.

‘Not yet,’ answered the apple at the head of the bed, and the giant

turned over, and soon was snoring as loudly as before. By and bye he

called again.

‘Are you asleep?’

‘Not yet,’ said the apple at the foot of the bed, and the giant was

satisfied. After a while, he called a third time, ‘Are you asleep?’

‘Not yet,’ replied the apple in the kitchen, but when in a few minutes,

he put the question for the fourth time and received an answer from the

apple outside the house door, he guessed what had happened, and ran to

the room to look for himself.

The bed was cold and empty!

‘My father’s breath is burning my back,’ cried the girl, ‘put thy hand

into the ear of the mare, and whatever thou findest there, throw it

behind thee.’ And in the mare’s ear there was a twig of sloe tree, and

as he threw it behind him there sprung up twenty miles of thornwood so

thick that scarce a weasel could go through it. And the giant, who was

striding headlong forwards, got caught in it, and it pulled his hair and

beard.

‘This is one of my daughter’s tricks,’ he said to himself, ‘but if I had

my big axe and my wood-knife, I would not be long making a way through

this,’ and off he went home and brought back the axe and the wood-knife.

It took him but a short time to cut a road through the blackthorn, and

then he laid the axe and the knife under a tree.

‘I will leave them there till I return,’ he murmured to himself, but a

hoodie crow, which was sitting on a branch above, heard him.

‘If thou leavest them,’ said the hoodie, ‘we will steal them.’

‘You will,’ answered the giant, ‘and I must take them home.’ So he took

them home, and started afresh on his journey.

‘My father’s breath is burning my back,’ cried the girl at midday. ‘Put

thy finger in the mare’s ear and throw behind thee whatever thou findest

in it,’ and the king’s son found a splinter of grey stone, and threw it

behind him, and in a twinkling twenty miles of solid rock lay between

them and the giant.

‘My daughter’s tricks are the hardest things that ever met me,’ said

the giant, ‘but if I had my lever and my crowbar, I would not be long in

making my way through this rock also,’ but as he had got them, he had to

go home and fetch them. Then it took him but a short time to hew his way

through the rock.

‘I will leave the tools here,’ he murmured aloud when he had finished.

‘If thou leavest them, we will steal them,’ said a hoodie who was

perched on a stone above him, and the giant answered:

‘Steal them if thou wilt; there is no time to go back.’

‘My father’s breath is burning my back,’ cried the girl; ‘look in the

mare’s ear, king’s son, or we are lost,’ and he looked, and found a tiny

bladder full of water, which he threw behind him, and it became a

great lock. And the giant, who was striding on so fast, could not stop

himself, and he walked right into the middle and was drowned.

The blue-grey mare galloped on like the wind, and the next day the

king’s son came in sight of his father’s house.

‘Get down and go in,’ said the bride, ‘and tell them that thou hast

married me. But take heed that neither man nor beast kiss thee, for then

thou wilt cease to remember me at all.’

‘I will do thy bidding,’ answered he, and left her at the gate. All who

met him bade him welcome, and he charged his father and mother not to

kiss him, but as he greeted them his old greyhound leapt on his neck,

and kissed him on the mouth. And after that he did not remember the

giant’s daughter.

All that day she sat on a well which was near the gate, waiting,

waiting, but the king’s son never came. In the darkness she climbed up

into an oak tree that shadowed the well, and there she lay all night,

waiting, waiting.

On the morrow, at midday, the wife of a shoemaker who dwelt near the

well went to draw water for her husband to drink, and she saw the shadow

of the girl in the tree, and thought it was her own shadow.

‘How handsome I am, to be sure,’ said she, gazing into the well, and as

she stopped to behold herself better, the jug struck against the stones

and broke in pieces, and she was forced to return to her husband without

the water, and this angered him.

‘Thou hast turned crazy,’ said he in wrath. ‘Go thou, my daughter, and

fetch me a drink,’ and the girl went, and the same thing befell her as

had befallen her mother.

‘Where is the water?’ asked the shoemaker, when she came back, and as

she held nothing save the handle of the jug he went to the well himself.

He too saw the reflection of the woman in the tree, but looked up to

discover whence it came, and there above him sat the most beautiful

woman in the world.

‘Come down,’ he said, ‘for a while thou canst stay in my house,’ and

glad enough the girl was to come.

Now the king of the country was about to marry, and the young men about

the court thronged the shoemaker’s shop to buy fine shoes to wear at the

wedding.

‘Thou hast a pretty daughter,’ said they when they beheld the girl

sitting at work.

‘Pretty she is,’ answered the shoemaker, ‘but no daughter of mine.’

‘I would give a hundred pounds to marry her,’ said one.

‘And I,’ ‘And I,’ cried the others.

‘That is no business of mine,’ answered the shoemaker, and the young men

bade him ask her if she would choose one of them for a husband, and to

tell them on the morrow. Then the shoemaker asked her, and the girl said

that she would marry the one who would bring his purse with him. So the

shoemaker hurried to the youth who had first spoken, and he came back,

and after giving the shoemaker a hundred pounds for his news, he sought

the girl, who was waiting for him.

‘Is it thou?’ inquired she. ‘I am thirsty, give me a drink from the well

that is yonder.’ And he poured out the water, but he could not move from

the place where he was; and there he stayed till many hours had passed

by.

‘Take away that foolish boy,’ cried the girl to the shoemaker at last,

‘I am tired of him,’ and then suddenly he was able to walk, and betook

himself to his home, but he did not tell the others what had happened to

him.

Next day there arrived one of the other young men, and in the evening,

when the shoemaker had gone out and they were alone, she said to him,

‘See if the latch is on the door.’ The young man hastened to do her

bidding, but as soon as he touched the latch, his fingers stuck to it,

and there he had to stay for many hours, till the shoemaker came back,

and the girl let him go. Hanging his head, he went home, but he told no

one what had befallen him.

Then was the turn of the third man, and his foot remained fastened to

the floor, till the girl unloosed it. And thankfully, he ran off, and

was not seen looking behind him.

‘Take the purse of gold,’ said the girl to the shoemaker, ‘I have no

need of it, and it will better thee.’ And the shoemaker took it and told

the girl he must carry the shoes for the wedding up to the castle.

‘I would fain get a sight of the king’s son before he marries,’ sighed

she.

‘Come with me, then,’ answered he; ‘the servants are all my friends, and

they will let you stand in the passage down which the king’s son will

pass, and all the company too.’

Up they went to the castle, and when the young men saw the girl standing

there, they led her into the hall where the banquet was laid out and

poured her out some wine. She was just raising the glass to drink when a

flame went up out of it, and out of the flame sprang two pigeons, one of

gold and one of silver. They flew round and round the head of the girl,

when three grains of barley fell on the floor, and the silver pigeon

dived down, and swallowed them.

‘If thou hadst remembered how I cleaned the byre, thou wouldst have

given me my share,’ cooed the golden pigeon, and as he spoke three more

grains fell, and the silver pigeon ate them as before.

‘If thou hadst remembered how I thatched the byre, thou wouldst have

given me my share,’ cooed the golden pigeon again; and as he spoke three

more grains fell, and for the third time they were eaten by the silver

pigeon.

‘If thou hadst remembered how I got the magpie’s nest, thou wouldst have

given me my share,’ cooed the golden pigeon.

Then the king’s son understood that they had come to remind him of what

he had forgotten, and his lost memory came back, and he knew his wife,

and kissed her. But as the preparations had been made, it seemed a pity

to waste them, so they were married a second time, and sat down to the

wedding feast.

From ‘Tales of the West Highlands.’

The Lady of the Fountain.

In the centre of the great hall in the castle of Caerleon upon Usk, king

Arthur sat on a seat of green rushes, over which was thrown a covering

of flame-coloured silk, and a cushion of red satin lay under his elbow.

With him were his knights Owen and Kynon and Kai, while at the far

end, close to the window, were Guenevere the queen and her maidens

embroidering white garments with strange devices of gold.

‘I am weary,’ said Arthur, ‘and till my food is prepared I would fain

sleep. You yourselves can tell each other tales, and Kai will fetch you

from the kitchen a flagon of mean and some meat.’

And when they had eaten and drunk, Kynon, the oldest among them, began

his story.

‘I was the only son of my father and mother, and much store they set by

me, but I was not content to stay with them at home, for I thought no

deed in all the world was too mighty for me. None could hold me back,

and after I had won many adventures in my own land, I bade farewell

to my parents and set out to see the world. Over mountains, through

deserts, across rivers I went, till I reached a fair valley full of

trees, with a path running by the side of a stream. I walked along that

path all the day, and in the evening I came to a castle in front of

which stood two youths clothed in yellow, each grasping an ivory bow,

with arrows made of the bones of the whale, and winged with peacock’s

feathers. By their sides hung golden daggers with hilts of the bones of

the whale.

‘Near these young men was a man richly dressed, who turned and went with

me towards the castle, where all the dwellers were gathered in the hall.

In one window I beheld four and twenty damsels, and the least fair of

them was fairer than Guenevere at her fairest. Some took my horse, and

others unbuckled my armour, and washed it, with my sword and spear, till

it all shone like silver. Then I washed myself and put on a vest and

doublet which they brought me, and I and the man that entered with me

sat down before a table of silver, and a goodlier feast I never had.

‘All this time neither the man nor the damsels had spoken one word, but

when our dinner was half over, and my hunger was stilled, the man began

to ask who I was. Then I told him my name and my father’s name, and why

I came there, for indeed I had grown weary of gaining the mastery over

all men at home, and sought if perchance there was one who could gain

the mastery over me. And at this the man smiled and answered:

‘“If I did not fear to distress thee too much, I would show thee what

thou seekest.” His words made me sorrowful and fearful of myself, which

the man perceived, and added, “If thou meanest truly what thou sayest,

and desirest earnestly to prove thy valour, and not to boast vainly that

none can overcome thee, I have somewhat to show thee. But to-night thou

must sleep in the this castle, and in the morning see that thou rise

early and follow the road upwards through the valley, until thou

reachest a wood. In the wood is a path branching to the right; go along

this path until thou comest to a space of grass with a mound in the

middle of it. On the top of the mound stands a black man, larger than

any two white men; his eye is in the centre of his forehead and he has

only one foot. He carries a club of iron, and two white men could hardly

lift it. Around him graze a thousand beasts, all of different kinds, for

he is the guardian of that wood, and it is he who will tell thee which

way to go in order to find the adventure thou art in quest of.”

‘So spake the man, and long did that night seem to me, and before dawn

I rose and put on my armour, and mounted my horse and rode on till I

reached the grassy space of which he had told me. There was the black

man on top of the mound, as he had said, and in truth he was mightier

in all ways than I had thought him to be. As for the club, Kai, it would

have been a burden for four of our warriors. He waited for me to speak,

and I asked him what power he held over the beasts that thronged so

close about him.

‘“I will show thee, little man,” he answered, and with his club he

struck a stag on the head till he brayed loudly. And at his braying the

animals came running, numerous as the stars in the sky, so that scarce

was I able to stand among them. Serpents were there also, and dragons,

and beasts of strange shapes, with horns in places where never saw I

horns before. And the black man only looked at them and bade them go

and feed. And they bowed themselves before him, as vassals before their

lord.

‘“Now, little man, I have answered thy question and showed thee my

power,” said he. “Is there anything else thou wouldest know?” Then I

inquired of him my way, but he grew angry, and, as I perceived, would

fain have hindered me; but at the last, after I had told him who I was,

his anger passed from him.

‘“Take that path,” said he, “that leads to the head of this grassy

glade, and go up the wood till thou reachest the top. There thou wilt

find an open space, and in the midst of it a tall tree. Under the tree

is a fountain, and by the fountain a marble slab, and on the slab a bowl

of silver, with a silver chain. Dip the bowl in the fountain, and throw

the water on the slab, and thou wilt hear a might peal of thunder, till

heaven and earth seem trembling with the noise. After the thunder will

come hail, so fierce that scarcely canst thou endure it and live, for

the hailstones are both large and thick. Then the sun will shine again,

but every leaf of the tree will by lying on the ground. Next a flight

of birds will come and alight on the tree, and never didst thou hear a

strain so sweet as that which they will sing. And at the moment in which

their song sounds sweetest thou wilt hear a murmuring and complaining

coming towards thee along the valley, and thou wilt see a knight in

black velvet bestriding a black horse, bearing a lance with a black

pennon, and he will spur his steed so as to fight thee. If thou turnest

to flee, he will overtake thee. And if thou abidest were thou art, he

will unhorse thee. And if thou dost not find trouble in that adventure,

thou needest not to seek it during the rest of thy life.”

‘So I bade the black man farewell, and took my way to the top of the

wood, and there I found everything just as I had been told. I went up to

the tree beneath which stood the fountain, and filling the silver bowl

with water, emptied it on the marble slab. Thereupon the thunder came,

louder by far than I had expected to hear it, and after the thunder came

the shower, but heavier by far than I had expected to feel it, for, of a

truth I tell thee, Kai, not one of those hailstones would be stopped by

skin or by flesh till it had reached the bone. I turned my horse’s flank

towards the shower, and, bending over his neck, held my shield so that

it might cover his head and my own. When the hail had passed, I looked

on the tree and not a single leaf was left on it, and the sky was blue

and the sun shining, while on the branches were perched birds of very

kind, who sang a song sweeter than any that has come to my ears, either

before or since.

‘Thus, Kai, I stood listening to the birds, when lo, a murmuring voice

approached me, saying:

‘“O knight, what has brought thee hither? What evil have I done to thee,

that thou shouldest do so much to me, for in all my lands neither man

nor beast that met that shower has escaped alive.” Then from the valley

appeared the knight on the black horse, grasping the lance with the

black pennon. Straightway we charged each other, and though I fought

my best, he soon overcame me, and I was thrown to the ground, while the

knight seized the bridle of my horse, and rode away with it, leaving me

where I was, without even despoiling me of my armour.

‘Sadly did I go down the hill again, and when I reached the glade where

the black man was, I confess to thee, Kai, it was a marvel that I did

not melt into a liquid pool, so great was my shame. That night I slept

at the castle where I had been before, and I was bathed and feasted, and

none asked me how I had fared. The next morning when I arose I found a

bay horse saddled for me, and, girdling on my armour, I returned to my

own court. The horse is still in the stable, and I would not part with

it for any in Britain.

‘But of a truth, Kai, no man ever confessed an adventure so much to his

own dishonour, and strange indeed it seems that none other man have I

ever met that knew of the black man, and the knight and the shower.’

‘Would it not be well,’ said Owen, ‘to go and discover the place?’

‘By the hand of my friend,’ answered Kai, ‘often dost thou utter that

with thy tongue which thou wouldest not make good with thy deeds.’

‘In truth,’ said Guenevere the queen, who had listened to the tale,

‘thou wert better hanged, Kai, than use such speech towards a man like

Owen.’

‘I meant nothing, lady,’ replied Kai; ‘thy praise of Owen is not greater

than mine.’ And as he spoke Arthur awoke, and asked if he had not slept

for a little.

‘Yes, lord,’ answered Owen, ‘certainly thou hast slept.’

‘Is it time for us to go to meat?’

‘It is, lord,’ answered Owen.

Then the horn for washing themselves was sounded, and after that the

king and his household sat down to eat. And when they had finished, Owen

left them, and made ready his horse and his arms.

With the first rays of the sun he set forth, and travelled through

deserts and over mountains and across rivers, and all befell him which

had befallen Kynon, till he stood under the leafless tree listening

to the song of the birds. Then he heard the voice, and turning to look

found the knight galloping to meet him. Fiercely they fought till their

lances were broken, and then they drew their swords, and a blow from

Owen cut through the knight’s helmet, and pierced his skull.

Feeling himself wounded unto death the knight fled, and Owen pursued him

till they came to a splendid castle. Here the knight dashed across the

bridge that spanned the moat, and entered the gate, but as soon as he

was safe inside, the drawbridge was pulled up and caught Owen’s horse in

the middle, so that half of him was inside and half out, and Owen could

not dismount and knew not what to do.

While he was in this sore plight a little door in the castle gate

opened, and he could see a street facing him, with tall houses. Then a

maiden with curling hair of gold looked through the little door and bade

Owen open the gate.

‘By my troth!’ cried Owen, ‘I can no more open it from here than thou

art able to set me free.’

‘Well,’ said she, ‘I will do my best to release thee if thou wilt do

as I tell thee. Take this ring and put it on with the stone inside thy

hand, and close thy fingers tight, for as long as thou dost conceal it,

it will conceal thee. When the men inside have held counsel together,

they will come to fetch thee to thy death, and they will be much grieved

not to find thee. I will stand on the horse block yonder and thou canst

see me though I cannot see thee. Therefore draw near and place thy hand

on my shoulder and follow me wheresoever I go.’

Upon that she went away from Owen, and when the men came out from the

castle to seek him and did not find him they were sorely grieved, and

they returned to the castle.

Then Owen went to the maiden and placed his hand on her shoulder, and

she guided him to a large room, painted all over with rich colours, and

adorned with images of gold. Here she gave him meat and drink, and water

to wash with and garments to wear, and he lay down upon a soft bed, with

scarlet and fur to cover him, and slept gladly.

In the middle of the night he woke hearing a great outcry, and he jumped

up and clothed himself and went into the hall, where the maiden was

standing.

‘What is it?’ he asked, and she answered that the knight who owned the

castle was dead, and they were bearing his body to the church. Never had

Owen beheld such vast crowds, and following the dead knight was the most

beautiful lady in the world, whose cry was louder than the shout of the

men, or the braying of the trumpets. And Owen looked on her and loved

her.

‘Who is she?’ he asked the damsel. ‘That is my mistress, the countess of

the fountain, and the wife of him whom thou didst slay yesterday.’

‘Verily,’ said Owen, ‘she is the woman that I love best.’

‘She shall also love thee not a little,’ said the maiden.

Then she left Owen, and after a while went into the chamber of her

mistress, and spoke to her, but the countess answered her nothing.

‘What aileth thee, mistress?’ inquired the maiden.

‘Why hast thou kept far from me in my grief, Luned?’ answered the

countess, and in her turn the damsel asked:

‘Is it well for thee to mourn so bitterly for the dead, or for anything

that is gone from thee?’

‘There is no man in the world equal to him,’ replied the countess,

her cheeks growing red with anger. ‘I would fain banish thee for such

words.’

‘Be not angry, lady,’ said Luned, ‘but listen to my counsel. Thou

knowest well that alone thou canst not preserve thy lands, therefore

seek some one to help thee.’

‘And how can I do that?’ asked the countess.

‘I will tell thee,’ answered Luned. ‘Unless thou canst defend the

fountain all will be lost, and none can defend the fountain except a

knight of Arthur’s court. There will I go to seek him, and woe betide me

if I return without a warrior that can guard the fountain, as well as he

who kept it before.’

‘Go then,’ said the countess, ‘and make proof of that which thou hast

promised.’

So Luned set out, riding on a white palfrey, on pretence of journeying

to King Arthur’s court, but instead of doing that she hid herself for as

many days as it would have taken her to go and come, and then she left

her hiding-place, and went into the countess.

‘What news from the court?’ asked her mistress, when she had given Luned

a warm greeting.

‘The best of news,’ answered the maiden, ‘for I have gained the object

of my mission. When wilt thou that I present to thee the knight who has

returned with me?’

‘To-morrow at midday,’ said the countess, ‘and I will cause all the

people in the town to come together.’

Therefore the next day at noon Owen put on his coat of mail, and over it

he wore a splendid mantle, while on his feet were leather shoes fastened

with clasps of gold. And he followed Luned to the chamber of her

mistress.

Right glad was the countess to see them, but she looked closely at Owen

and said:

‘Luned, this knight has scarcely the air of a traveller.’

‘What harm is there in that, lady?’ answered Luned.

‘I am persuaded,’ said the countess, ‘that this man and no other chased

the soul from the body of my lord.’

‘Had he not been stronger than thy lord,’ replied the damsel, ‘he could

not have taken his life, and for that, and for all things that are past,

there is no remedy.’

‘Leave me, both of you,’ said the countess, ‘and I will take counsel.’

Then they went out.

The next morning the countess summoned her subjects to meet in the

courtyard of the castle, and told them that now that her husband was

dead there was none to defend her lands.

‘So choose you which it shall be,’ she said. ‘Either let one of you take

me for a wife, or give me your consent to take a new lord for myself,

that my lands be not without a master.’

At her words the chief men of the city withdrew into one corner and took

counsel together, and after a while the leader came forward and said

that they had decided that it was best, for the peace and safety of

all, that she should choose a husband for herself. Thereupon Owen was

summoned to her presence, and he accepted with joy the hand that she

offered him, and they were married forthwith, and the men of the earldom

did him homage.

From that day Owen defended the fountain as the earl before him had

done, and every knight that came by was overthrown by him, and his

ransom divided among his barons. In this way three years passed, and no

man in the world was more beloved than Owen.

Now at the end of the three years it happened that Gwalchmai the knight

was with Arthur, and he perceived the king to be very sad.

‘My lord, has anything befallen thee?’ he asked.

‘Oh, Gwalchmai, I am grieved concerning Owen, whom I have lost these

three years, and if a fourth year passes without him I can live no

longer. And sure am I that the tale told by Kynon the son of Clydno

caused me to lose him. I will go myself with the men of my household to

avenge him if he is dead, to free him if he is in prison, to bring him

back if he is alive.’

Then Arthur and three thousand men of his household set out in quest of

Owen, and took Kynon for their guide. When Arthur reached the castle,

the youths were shooting in the same place, and the same yellow man was

standing by, and as soon as he beheld Arthur he greeted him and invited

him in, and they entered together. So vast was the castle that the

king’s three thousand men were of no more account than if they had been

twenty.

At sunrise Arthur departed thence, with Kynon for his guide, and reached

the black man first, and afterwards the top of the wooded hill, with the

fountain and the bowl and the tree.

‘My lord,’ said Kai, ‘let me throw the water on the slab, and receive

the first adventure that may befall.’

‘Thou mayest do so,’ answered Arthur, and Kai threw the water.

Immediately all happened as before; the thunder and the shower of

hail which killed many of Arthur’s men; the song of the birds and the

appearance of the black knight. And Kai met him and fought him, and was

overthrown by him. Then the knight rode away, and Arthur and his men

encamped where they stood.

In the morning Kai again asked leave to meet the knight and to try to

overcome him, which Arthur granted. But once more he was unhorsed, and

the black knight’s lance broke his helmet and pierced the skin even to

the bone, and humbled in spirit he returned to the camp.

After this every one of the knights gave battle, but none came out

victor, and at length there only remained Arthur himself and Gwalchmai.

‘Oh, let me fight him, my lord,’ cried Gwalchmai, as he saw Arthur

taking up his arms.

‘Well, fight then,’ answered Arthur, and Gwalchmai threw a robe over

himself and his horse, so that none knew him. All that day they fought,

and neither was able to throw the other, and so it was on the next day.

On the third day the combat was so fierce that they fell both to the

ground at once, and fought on their feet, and at last the black knight

gave his foe such a blow on his head that his helmet fell from his face.

‘I did not know it was thee, Gwalchmai,’ said the black knight. ‘Take my

sword and my arms.’

‘No,’ answered Gwalchmai, ‘it is thou, Owen, who art the victor, take

thou my sword’; but Owen would not.

‘Give me your swords,’ said Arthur from behind them, ‘for neither of

you has vanquished the other,’ and Owen turned and put his arms round

Arthur’s neck.

The next day Arthur would have given orders to his men to make ready to

go back whence they came, but Owen stopped him.

‘My lord,’ he said, ‘during the three years that I have been absent from

thee I have been preparing a banquet for thee, knowing full well that

thou wouldst come to seek me. Tarry with me, therefore, for a while,

thou and thy men.’

So they rode to the castle of the countess of the fountain, and spent

three months in resting and feasting. And when it was time for them to

depart Arthur besought the countess that she would allow Owen to go

with him to Britain for the space of three months. With a sore heart she

granted permission, and so content was Owen to be once more with his old

companions that three years instead of three months passed away like a

dream.

One day Owen sat at meat in the castle of Caerleon upon Usk, when a

damsel on a bay horse entered the hall, and riding straight up to the

place where Owen sat she stooped and drew the ring from off his hand.

‘Thus shall be treated the traitor and the faithless,’ said she, and

turning her horse’s head she rode out of the hall.

At her words Owen remembered all that he had forgotten, and sorrowful

and ashamed he went to his own chamber and made ready to depart. At the

dawn he set out, but he did not go back to the castle, for his heart was

heavy, but he wandered far into wild places till his body was weak and

thin, and his hair was long. The wild beasts were his friends, and he

slept by their side, but in the end he longed to see the face of a man

again, and he came down into a valley and fell asleep by a lake in the

lands of a widowed countess.

Now it was the time when the countess took her walk, attended by her

maidens, and when they saw a man lying by the lake they shrank back in

terror, for he lay so still that they thought he was dead. But when they

had overcome their fright, they drew near him, and touched him, and saw

that there was life in him. Then the countess hastened to the castle,

and brought from it a flask full of precious ointment and gave it to one

of her maidens.

‘Take that horse which is grazing yonder,’ she said, ‘and a suit of

men’s garments, and place them near the man, and pour some of this

ointment near his heart. If there is any life in him that will bring it

back. But if he moves, hide thyself in the bushes near by, and see what

he does.’

The damsel took the flask and did her mistress’ bidding. Soon the man

began to move his arms, and then rose slowly to his feet. Creeping

forward step by step he took the garments from off the saddle and put

them on him, and painfully he mounted the horse. When he was seated the

damsel came forth and greeted him, and glad was he when he saw her and

inquired what castle that was before him.

‘It belongs to a widowed countess,’ answered the maiden. ‘Her husband

left her two earldoms, but it is all that remains of her broad lands,

for they have been torn from her by a young earl, because she would not

marry him.’

‘That is a pity,’ replied Owen, but he said no more, for he was too weak

to talk much. Then the maiden guided him to the castle, and kindled a

fire, and brought him food. And there he stayed and was tended for three

months, till he was handsomer than ever he was.

At noon one day Owen heard a sound of arms outside the castle, and he

asked of the maiden what it was.

‘It is the earl of whom I spoke to thee,’ she answered, ‘who has come

with a great host to carry off my mistress.’

‘Beg of her to lend me a horse and armour,’ said Owen, and the maiden

did so, but the countess laughed somewhat bitterly as she answered:

‘Nay, but I will give them to him, and such a horse and armour and

weapons as he has never had yet, though I know not what use they will be

to him. Yet mayhap it will save them from falling into the hands of my

enemies.’

The horse was brought out and Owen rode forth with two pages behind him,

and they saw the great host encamped before them.

‘Where is the earl?’ said he, and the pages answered:

‘In yonder troop where are four yellow standards.’

‘Await me,’ said Owen, ‘at the gate of the castle, and he cried a

challenge to the earl, who came to meet him. Hard did they fight, but

Owen overthrew his enemy and drove him in front to the castle gate and

into the hall.

‘Behold the reward of thy blessed balsam,’ said he, as he bade the earl

kneel down before her, and made him swear that he would restore all that

he had taken from her.

After that he departed, and went into the deserts, and as he was passing

through a wood he heard a loud yelling. Pushing aside the bushes he

beheld a lion standing on a great mound, and by it a rock. Near the rock

was a lion seeking to reach the mound, and each time he moved out darted

a serpent from the rock to prevent him. Then Owen unsheathed his

sword, and cut off the serpent’s head and went on his way, and the lion

followed and played about him, as if he had been a greyhound. And much

more useful was he than a greyhound, for in the evening he brought large

logs in his mouth to kindle a fire, and killed a fat buck for dinner.

Owen made his fire and skinned the buck, and put some of it to roast,

and gave the rest to the lion for supper. While he was waiting for the

meat to cook he heard a sound of deep sighing close to him, and he said:

‘Who are thou?’

‘I am Luned,’ replied a voice from a cave so hidden by bushes and green

hanging plants that Owen had not seen it.

‘And what dost thou here?’ cried he.

‘I am held captive in this cave on account of the knight who married

the countess and left her, for the pages spoke ill of him, and because I

told them that no man living was his equal they dragged me here and said

I should die unless he should come to deliver me by a certain day, and

that is no further than the day after to-morrow. His name is Owen the

son of Urien, but I have none to send to tell him of my danger, or of a

surety he would deliver me.’

Owen held his peace, but gave the maiden some of the meat, and bade her

be of good cheer. Then, followed by the lion, he set out for a great

castle on the other side of the plain, and men came and took his horse

and placed it in a manger, and the lion went after and lay down on the

straw. Hospitable and kind were all within the castle, but so full of

sorrow that it might have been thought death was upon them. At length,

when they had eaten and drunk, Owen prayed the earl to tell him the

reason of their grief.

‘Yesterday,’ answered the earl, ‘my two sons were seized, while thy were

hunting, by a monster who dwells on those mountains yonder, and he vows

that he will not let them go unless I give him my daughter to wife.’

‘That shall never be,’ said Owen; ‘but what form hath this monster?’

‘In shape he is a man, but in stature he is a giant,’ replied the earl,

‘and it were better by far that he should slay my sons than that I

should give up my daughter.’

Early next morning the dwellers in the castle were awakened by a great

clamour, and they found that the giant had arrived with the two young

men. Swiftly Owen put on his armour and went forth to meet the giant,

and the lion followed at his heels. And when the great beast beheld the

hard blows which the giant dealt his master he flew at his throat, and

much trouble had the monster in beating him off.

‘Truly,’ said the giant, ‘I should find no difficulty in fighting thee,

if it were not for that lion.’ When he heard that Owen felt shame that

he could not overcome the giant with his own sword, so he took the lion

and shut him up in one of the towers of the castle, and returned to the

fight. But from the sound of the blows the lion knew that the combat

was going ill for Owen, so he climbed up till he reached the top of

the tower, where there was a door on to the roof, and from the tower he

sprang on to the walls, and from the walls to the ground. Then with a

loud roar he leaped upon the giant, who fell dead under the blow of his

paw.

Now the gloom of the castle was turned into rejoicing, and the earl

begged Owen to stay with him till he could make him a feast, but the

knight said he had other work to do, and rode back to the place where he

had left Luned, and the lion followed at his heels. When he came there

he saw a great fire kindled, and two youths leading out the maiden to

cast her upon the pile.

‘Stop!’ he cried, dashing up to them. ‘What charge have you against

her?’

‘She boasted that no man in the world was equal to Owen,’ said they,

‘and we shut her in a cave, and agreed that none should deliver her but

Owen himself, and that if he did not come by a certain day she should

die. And now the time has past and there is no sign of him.’

‘In truth he is a good knight, and had he but known that the maid was in

peril he would have come to save her,’ said Owen; ‘but accept me in his

stead, I entreat you.’

‘We will,’ replied they, and the fight began.

The youths fought well and pressed hard on Owen, and when the lion saw

that he came to help his master. But the youths made a sign for the

fight to stop, and said:

‘Chieftain, it was agreed we should give battle to thee alone, and it is

harder for us to contend with yonder beast than with thee.’

Then Owen shut up the lion in the cave where the maiden had been in

prison, and blocked up the front with stones. But the fight with the

giant had sorely tried him, and the youths fought well, and pressed him

harder than before. And when the lion saw that he gave a loud roar, and

burst through the stones, and sprang upon the youths and slew them. And

so Luned was delivered at the last.

Then the maiden rode back with Owen to the lands of the lady of the

fountain. And he took the lady with him to Arthur’s court, where they

lived happily till they died.

From the ‘Mabinogion.’