And Geraint and the maiden went forward along the high-road. And as they

journeyed thus, they heard an exceeding loud wailing near to them. “Stay

thou here,” said he, “and I will go and see what is the cause of this

wailing.” “I will,” said she. Then he went forward into an open glade

that was near the road. And in the glade he saw two horses, one having a

man’s saddle, and the other a woman’s saddle upon it. And behold there

was a knight lying dead in his armor, and a young damsel in a

riding-dress standing over him lamenting. “Ah, lady,” said Geraint,

“what hath befallen thee?” “Behold,” she answered, “I journeyed here

with my beloved husband, when lo! three giants came upon us, and without

any cause in the world, they slew him.” “Which way went they hence?”

said Geraint. “Yonder by the high-road,” she replied. So he returned to

Enid. “Go,” said he, “to the lady that is below yonder, and await me

there till I come.” She was sad when he ordered her to do thus, but

nevertheless she went to the damsel, whom it was ruth to hear, and she

felt certain that Geraint would never return.

Meanwhile Geraint followed the giants, and overtook them. And each of

them was greater in stature than three other men, and a huge club was on

the shoulder of each. Then he rushed upon one of them, and thrust his

lance through his body. And having drawn it forth again, he pierced

another of them through likewise. But the third turned upon him and

struck him with his club so that he split his shield and crushed his

shoulder. But Geraint drew his sword and gave the giant a blow on the

crown of his head, so severe, and fierce, and violent, that his head and

his neck were split down to his shoulders, and he fell dead. So Geraint

left him thus and returned to Enid. And when he reached the place where

she was he fell down lifeless from his horse. Piercing and loud and

thrilling was the cry that Enid uttered. And she came and stood over him

where he had fallen. And at the sound of her cries came the Earl of

Limours, and they who journeyed with him, whom her lamentations brought

out of their road. And the earl said to Enid, “Alas, lady, what hath

befallen thee?” “Ah, good sir,” said she, “the only man I have loved, or

ever shall love, is slain.” Then he said to the other, “And what is the

cause of thy grief?” “They have slain my beloved husband also,” said

she. “And who was it that slew them?” “Some giants,” she answered, “slew

my best-beloved, and the other knight went in pursuit of them, and came

back in the state thou seest.” The earl caused the knight that was dead

to be buried, but he thought that there still remained some life in

Geraint; and to see if he yet would live, he had him carried with him in

the hollow of his shield, and upon a bier. And the two damsels went to

the court; and when they arrived there, Geraint was placed upon a little

couch in front of the table that was in the hall. Then they all took off

their traveling-gear, and the earl besought Enid to do the same, and to

clothe herself in other garments. “I will not, by Heaven,” said she.

“Ah, lady,” said he, “be not so sorrowful for this matter.” “It were

hard to persuade me to be otherwise,” said she. “I will act towards thee

in such wise that thou needest not be sorrowful, whether yonder knight

live or die. Behold, a good earldom, together with myself, will I bestow

upon thee; be therefore happy and joyful.” “I declare to Heaven,” said

she, “that henceforth I shall never be joyful while I live.” “Come,”

said he, “and eat.” “No, by Heaven, I will not.” “But, by Heaven, thou

shalt,” said he. So he took her with him to the table against her will,

and many times desired her to eat. “I call Heaven to witness,” said she,

“that I will not until the man that is upon yonder bier shall eat

likewise.” “Thou canst not fulfil that,” said the earl, “yonder man is

dead already.” “I will prove that I can,” said she. Then he offered her

a goblet of liquor. “Drink this goblet,” he said, “and it will cause

thee to change thy mind.” “Evil betide me,” she answered, “if I drink

aught until he drink also.” “Truly,” said the earl, “it is of no more

avail for me to be gentle with thee than ungentle.” And he gave her a

box in the ear. Thereupon she raised a loud and piercing shriek, and her

lamentations were much greater than they had been before; for she

considered in her mind, that, had Geraint been alive, he durst not have

struck her thus. But, behold, at the sound of her cry, Geraint revived

from his swoon, and he sat upon the bier; and finding his sword in the

hollow of his shield, he rushed to the place where the earl was, and

struck him a fiercely-wounding, severely-venomous, and sternly-smiting

blow upon the crown of his head, so that he clove him in twain, until

his sword was staid by the table. Then all left the board and fled away.

And this was not so much through fear of the living, as through the

dread they felt at seeing the dead man rise up to slay them. And Geraint

looked upon Enid, and he was grieved for two causes; one was to see that

Enid had lost her color and her wonted aspect; and the other, to know

that she was in the right. “Lady,” said he, “knowest thou where our

horses are?” “I know, lord, where thy horse is,” she replied, “but I

know not where is the other. Thy horse is in the house yonder.” So he

went to the house, and brought forth his horse, and mounted him, and

took up Enid, and placed her upon the horse with him. And he rode

forward. And their road lay between two hedges; and the night was

gaining on the day. And lo! they saw behind them the shafts of spears

betwixt them and the sky, and they heard the tramping of horses, and the

noise of a host approaching. “I hear something following us,” said he,

“and I will put thee on the other side of the hedge.” And thus he did.

And thereupon, behold a knight pricked towards him, and couched his

lance. When Enid saw this, she cried out, saying, “O chieftain, whoever

thou art, what renown wilt thou gain by slaying a dead man?” “O Heaven!”

said he, “is it Geraint?” “Yes, in truth,” said she; “and who art thou?”

“I am Gwiffert Petit,” said he, “thy husband’s ally, coming to thy

assistance, for I heard that thou wast in trouble. Come with me to the

court of a son-in-law of my sister, which is near here, and thou shalt

have the best medical assistance in the kingdom.” “I will do so gladly,”

said Geraint. And Enid was placed upon the horse of one of Gwiffert’s

squires, and they went forward to the baron’s palace. And they were

received there with gladness, and they met with hospitality and

attention. The next morning they went to seek physicians; and it was not

long before they came, and they attended Geraint until he was perfectly

well. And while Geraint was under medical care Gwiffert caused his armor

to be repaired, until it was as good as it had ever been. And they

remained there a month and a fortnight. Then they separated, and Geraint

went towards his own dominions, and thenceforth he reigned prosperously,

and his warlike fame and splendor lasted with renown and honor, both to

him and to Enid,[63] from that time forward.

————

CHAPTER VIII

PWYLL, PRINCE OF DYVED

ONCE upon a time Pwyll was at Narberth, his chief palace, where a feast

had been prepared for him, and with him was a great host of men. And

after the first meal Pwyll arose to walk; and he went to the top of a

mound that was above the palace, and was called Gorsedd Arberth. “Lord,”

said one of the court, “it is peculiar to the mound that whosoever sits

upon it cannot go thence without either receiving wounds or blows, or

else seeing a wonder.” “I fear not to receive wounds or blows,” said

Pwyll; “but as to the wonder, gladly would I see it. I will therefore go

and sit upon the mound.”

And upon the mound he sat. And while he sat there, they saw a lady, on a

pure white horse of large size, with a garment of shining gold around

her, coming along the highway that led from the mound. “My men,” said

Pwyll, “is there any among you who knows yonder lady?” “There is not,

lord,” said they. “Go one of you and meet her, that we may know who she

is.” And one of them arose, and as he came upon the road to meet her,

she passed by; and he followed as fast as he could, being on foot, and

the greater was his speed, the further was she from him. And when he saw

that it profited him nothing to follow her, he returned to Pwyll, and

said unto him, “Lord, it is idle for any one in the world to follow her

on foot.” “Verily,” said Pwyll, “go unto the palace, and take the

fleetest horse that thou seest, and go after her.”

And he took a horse and went forward. And he came to an open, level

plain, and put spurs to his horse; and the more he urged his horse, the

further was she from him. And he returned to the place where Pwyll was,

and said, “Lord, it will avail nothing for any one to follow yonder

lady. I know of no horse in these realms swifter than this, and it

availed me not to pursue her.” “Of a truth,” said Pwyll, “there must be

some illusion here; let us go towards the palace.” So to the palace they

went, and spent the day.

And the next day they amused themselves until it was time to go to meat.

And when meat was ended, Pwyll said, “Where are the hosts that went

yesterday to the top of the mound?” “Behold, lord, we are here,” said

they. “Let us go,” said he, “to the mound, and sit there. And do thou,”

said he to the page who tended his horse, “saddle my horse well, and

hasten with him to the road, and bring also my spurs with thee.” And the

youth did thus. And they went and sat upon the mound; and ere they had

been there but a short time, they beheld the lady coming by the same

road, and in the same manner, and at the same pace. “Young man,” said

Pwyll, “I see the lady coming; give me my horse.” And before he had

mounted his horse she passed him. And he turned after her and followed

her. And he let his horse go bounding playfully, and thought that he

should soon come up with her. But he came no nearer to her than at

first. Then he urged his horse to his utmost speed, yet he found that it

availed not. Then said Pwyll, “O maiden, for the sake of him whom thou

best lovest, stay for me.” “I will stay gladly,” said she; “and it were

better for thy horse hadst thou asked it long since.” So the maiden

stopped; and she threw back that part of her head-dress which covered

her face. Then he thought that the beauty of all the maidens and all the

ladies that he had ever seen was as nothing compared to her beauty.

“Lady,” he said, “wilt thou tell me aught concerning thy purpose?” “I

will tell thee,” said she; “my chief quest was to see thee.” “Truly,”

said Pwyll, “this is to me the most pleasing quest on which thou couldst

have come; and wilt thou tell me who thou art?” “I will tell thee,

lord,” said she. “I am Rhiannon, the daughter of Heveydd, and they

sought to give me a husband against my will. But no husband would I

have, and that because of my love for thee; neither will I yet have one,

unless thou reject me; and hither have I come to hear thy answer.” “By

Heaven,” said Pwyll, “behold this is my answer. If I might choose among

all the ladies and damsels in the world, thee would I choose.” “Verily,”

said she, “if thou art thus minded, make a pledge to meet me ere I am

given to another.” “The sooner I may do so, the more pleasing will it be

to me,” said Pwyll; “and wheresoever thou wilt, there will I meet with

thee.” “I will that thou meet me this day twelvemonth at the palace of

Heveydd.” “Gladly,” said he, “will I keep this tryst.” So they parted,

and he went back to his hosts, and to them of his household. And

whatsoever questions they asked him respecting the damsel, he always

turned the discourse upon other matters.

And when a year from that time was gone, he caused a hundred knights to

equip themselves, and to go with him to the palace of Heveydd. And he

came to the palace, and there was great joy concerning him, with much

concourse of people, and great rejoicing, and vast preparations for his

coming. And the whole court was placed under his orders.

And the hall was garnished, and they went to meat, and thus did they

sit: Heveydd was on one side of Pwyll, and Rhiannon on the other; and

all the rest according to their rank. And they ate and feasted, and

talked one with another. And at the beginning of the carousal after the

meat, there entered a tall, auburn-haired youth, of royal bearing,

clothed in a garment of satin. And when he came into the hall, he

saluted Pwyll and his companions. “The greeting of Heaven be unto thee,”

said Pwyll; “come thou and sit down.” “Nay,” said he, “a suitor am I,

and I will do my errand.” “Do so willingly,” said Pwyll. “Lord,” said

he, “my errand is unto thee, and it is to crave a boon of thee that I

come.” “What boon soever thou mayest ask of me, so far as I am able,

thou shalt have.” “Ah!” said Rhiannon, “wherefore didst thou give that

answer?” “Has he not given it before the presence of these nobles?”

asked the youth. “My soul,” said Pwyll, “what is the boon thou askest?”

“The lady whom best I love is to be thy bride this night; I come to ask

her of thee, with the feast and the banquet that are in this place.” And

Pwyll was silent, because of the promise which he had given. “Be silent

as long as thou wilt,” said Rhiannon, “never did man make worse use of

his wits than thou hast done.” “Lady,” said he, “I knew not who he was.”

“Behold, this is the man to whom they would have given me against my

will,” said she; “and he is Gawl, the son of Clud, a man of great power

and wealth, and because of the word thou hast spoken, bestow me upon

him, lest shame befall thee.” “Lady,” said he, “I understand not thy

answer; never can I do as thou sayest.” “Bestow me upon him,” said she,

“and I will cause that I shall never be his.” “By what means will that

be?” asked Pwyll. Then she told him the thought that was in her mind.

And they talked long together. Then Gawl said, “Lord, it is meet that I

have an answer to my request.” “As much of that thou hast asked as it is

in my power to give, thou shalt have,” replied Pwyll. “My soul,” said

Rhiannon unto Gawl, “as for the feast and the banquet that are here, I

have bestowed them upon the men of Dyved, and the household and the

warriors that are with us. These can I not suffer to be given to any. In

a year from to-night, a banquet shall be prepared for thee in this

palace, that I may become thy bride.”

So Gawl went forth to his possessions, and Pwyll went also back to

Dyved. And they both spent that year until it was the time for the feast

at the palace of Heveydd. Then Gawl, the son of Clud, set out to the

feast that was prepared for him; and he came to the palace, and was

received there with rejoicing. Pwyll, also, the chief of Dyved, came to

the orchard with a hundred knights, as Rhiannon had commanded him. And

Pwyll was clad in coarse and ragged garments, and wore large, clumsy old

shoes upon his feet. And when he knew that the carousal after the meat

had begun, he went toward the hall; and when he came into the hall he

saluted Gawl, the son of Clud, and his company, both men and women.

“Heaven prosper thee,” said Gawl, “and friendly greeting be unto thee!”

“Lord,” said he, “may Heaven reward thee! I have an errand unto thee.”

“Welcome be thine errand, and if thou ask of me that which is right,

thou shalt have it gladly.” “It is fitting,” answered he; “I crave but

from want, and the boon I ask is to have this small bag that thou seest

filled with meat.” “A request within reason is this,” said he, “and

gladly shalt thou have it. Bring him food.” A great number of attendants

arose and began to fill the bag; but for all they put into it, it was no

fuller than at first. “My soul,” said Gawl, “will thy bag ever be full?”

“It will not, I declare to Heaven,” said he, “for all that may be put

into it, unless one possessed of lands, and domains, and treasure, shall

arise and tread down with both his feet the food that is within the bag,

and shall say, ‘Enough has been put therein.’” Then said Rhiannon unto

Gawl, the son of Clud, “Rise up quickly.” “I will willingly arise,” said

he. So he rose up, and put his two feet into the bag. And Pwyll turned

up the sides of the bag, so that Gawl was over his head in it. And he

shut it up quickly, and slipped a knot upon the thongs, and blew his

horn. And thereupon, behold, his knights came down upon the palace. And

they seized all the host that had come with Gawl, and cast them into his

own prison. And Pwyll threw off his rags, and his old shoes, and his

tattered array. And as they came in, every one of Pwyll’s knights struck

a blow upon the bag, and asked, “What is here?” “A badger,” said they.

And in this manner they played, each of them striking the bag, either

with his foot or with a staff. And thus played they with the bag. And

then was the game of Badger in the Bag first played.

“Lord,” said the man in the bag, “if thou wouldst but hear me, I merit

not to be slain in a bag.” Said Heveydd, “Lord, he speaks truth; it were

fitting that thou listen to him, for he deserves not this.” “Verily,”

said Pwyll, “I will do thy counsel concerning him.” “Behold, this is my

counsel then,” said Rhiannon. “Thou art now in a position in which it

behooves thee to satisfy suitors and minstrels. Let him give unto them

in thy stead, and take a pledge from him that he will never seek to

revenge that which has been done to him. And this will be punishment

enough.” “I will do this gladly,” said the man in the bag. “And gladly

will I accept it,” said Pwyll, “since it is the counsel of Heveydd and

Rhiannon. Seek thyself sureties.” “We will be for him,” said Heveydd,

“until his men be free to answer for him.” And upon this he was let out

of the bag, and his liegemen were liberated. “Verily, lord,” said Gawl,

“I am greatly hurt, and I have many bruises. With thy leave, I will go

forth. I will leave nobles in my stead to answer for me in all that thou

shalt require.” “Willingly,” said Pwyll, “mayest thou do this.” So Gawl

went to his own possessions.

And the hall was set in order for Pwyll and the men of his host, and for

them also of the palace, and they went to the tables and sat down. And

as they had sat that time twelvemonth, so sat they that night. And they

ate and feasted, and spent the night in mirth and tranquility. And the

time came that they should sleep, and Pwyll and Rhiannon went to their

chamber.

And next morning at break of day, “My lord,” said Rhiannon, “arise and

begin to give thy gifts unto the minstrels. Refuse no one to-day that

may claim thy bounty.” “Thus shall it be gladly,” said Pwyll, “both

to-day and every day while the feast shall last.” So Pwyll arose, and he

caused silence to be proclaimed, and desired all the suitors and

minstrels to show and to point out what gifts they desired. And this

being done, the feast went on, and he denied no one while it lasted. And

when the feast was ended, Pwyll said unto Heveydd, “My lord, with thy

permission, I will set out for Dyved to-morrow.” “Certainly,” said

Heveydd; “may Heaven prosper thee! Fix also a time when Rhiannon shall

follow thee.” “By Heaven,” said Pwyll, “we will go hence together.”

“Willest thou this, lord?” said Heveydd. “Yes, lord,” answered Pwyll.

And the next day they set forward towards Dyved, and journeyed to the

palace of Narberth, where a feast was made ready for them. And there

came to them great numbers of the chief men and the most noble ladies of

the land, and of these there were none to whom Rhiannon did not give

some rich gift, either a bracelet, or a ring, or a precious stone. And

they ruled the land prosperously that year and the next.

————

CHAPTER IX

BRANWEN, THE DAUGHTER OF LLYR

BENDIGEID VRAN, the son of Llyr, was the crowned king of this island,

and he was exalted from the crown of London. And one afternoon he was at

Harlech, in Ardudwy, at his court; and he sat upon the rock of Harlech,

looking over the sea. And with him were his brother, Manawyddan, the son

of Llyr, and his brothers by the mother’s side, Nissyen and Evnissyen,

and many nobles likewise, as was fitting to see around a king. His two

brothers by the mother’s side were the sons of Euroswydd, and one of

these youths was a good youth, and of gentle nature, and would make

peace between his kindred, and cause his family to be friends when their

wrath was at the highest, and this one was Nissyen; but the other would

cause strife between his two brothers when they were most at peace. And

as they sat thus they beheld thirteen ships coming from the south of

Ireland, and making towards them; and they came with a swift motion, the

wind being behind them; and they neared them rapidly. “I see ships

afar,” said the king, “coming swiftly towards the land. Command the men

of the court that they equip themselves, and go and learn their intent.”

So the men equipped themselves, and went down towards them. And when

they saw the ships near, certain were they that they had never seen

ships better furnished. Beautiful flags of satin were upon them. And,

behold, one of the ships outstripped the others, and they saw a shield

lifted up above the side of the ship, and the point of the shield was

upwards, in token of peace. And the men drew near, that they might hold

converse. Then they put out boats, and came toward the land. And they

saluted the king. Now the king could hear them from the place where he

was upon the rock above their heads. “Heaven prosper you,” said he, “and

be ye welcome! To whom do these ships belong, and who is the chief

amongst you?” “Lord,” said they, “Matholch, king of Ireland, is here,

and these ships belong to him.” “Wherefore comes he?” asked the king,

“and will he come to the land?” “He is a suitor unto thee, lord,” said

they, “and he will not land unless he have his boon.” “And what may that

be?” inquired the king. “He desires to ally himself, lord, with thee,”

said they, “and he comes to ask Branwen, the daughter of Llyr, that, if

it seem well to thee, the Island of the Mighty[64] may be leagued with

Ireland, and both become more powerful.” “Verily,” said he, “let him

come to land, and we will take counsel thereupon.” And this answer was

brought to Matholch. “I will go willingly,” said he. So he landed, and

they received him joyfully; and great was the throng in the palace that

night, between his hosts and those of the court; and next day they took

counsel, and they resolved to bestow Branwen upon Matholch. Now she was

one of the three chief ladies of this island, and she was the fairest

damsel in the world.

And they fixed upon Aberfraw as the place where she should become his

bride. And they went thence, and towards Aberfraw the hosts proceeded,

Matholch and his host in their ships, Bendigeid Vran and his host by

land, until they came to Aberfraw. And at Aberfraw they began the feast,

and sat down. And thus sat they: the king of the Island of the Mighty

and Manawyddan, the son of Llyr, on one side, and Matholch on the other

side, and Branwen, the daughter of Llyr, beside him. And they were not

within a house, but under tents. No house could ever contain Bendigeid

Vran. And they began the banquet, and caroused and discoursed. And when

it was more pleasing to them to sleep than to carouse, they went to

rest, and Branwen became Matholch’s bride.

And next day they arose, and all they of the court, and the officers

began to equip, and to range the horses and the attendants, and they

ranged them in order as far as the sea.

And, behold, one day Evnissyen, the quarrelsome man, of whom it is

spoken above, came by chance into the place where the horses of Matholch

were, and asked whose horses they might be. “They are the horses of

Matholch, king of Ireland, who is married to Branwen, thy sister; his

horses are they.” “And is it thus they have done with a maiden such as

she, and moreover my sister, bestowing her without my consent? They

could have offered no greater insult to me than this,” said he. And

thereupon he rushed under the horses, and cut off their lips at the

teeth, and their ears close to their heads, and their tails close to

their backs; and he disfigured the horses, and rendered them useless.

And they came with these tidings unto Matholch, saying that the horses

were disfigured and injured, so that not one of them could ever be of

any use again. “Verily, lord,” said one, “it was an insult unto thee,

and as such was it meant.” “Of a truth, it is a marvel to me that, if

they desire to insult me, they should have given me a maiden of such

high rank, and so much beloved of her kindred, as they have done.”

“Lord,” said another, “thou seest that thus it is, and there is nothing

for thee to do but to go to thy ships.” And thereupon towards his ships

he set out.

And tidings came to Bendigeid Vran that Matholch was quitting the court

without asking leave, and messengers were sent to inquire of him

wherefore he did so. And the messengers that went were Iddic, the son of

Anarawd, and Heveyd Hir. And these overtook him, and asked of him what

he designed to do, and wherefore he went forth. “Of a truth,” said he,

“if I had known, I had not come hither. I have been altogether insulted;

no one had ever worse treatment than I have had here.” “Truly, lord, it

was not the will of any that are of the court,” said they, “nor of any

that are of the council, that thou shouldst have received this insult;

and as thou hast been insulted, the dishonor is greater unto Bendigeid

Vran than unto thee.” “Verily,” said he, “I think so. Nevertheless, he

cannot recall the insult.” These men returned with that answer to the

place where Bendigeid Vran was, and they told him what reply Matholch

had given them. “Truly,” said he, “there are no means by which we may

prevent his going away at enmity with us that we will not take.” “Well,

lord,” said they, “send after him another embassy.” “I will do so,” said

he. “Arise, Manawyddan, son of Llyr, and Heveyd Hir, and go after him,

and tell him that he shall have a sound horse for every one that has

been injured. And beside that, as an atonement for the insult, he shall

have a staff of silver as large and as tall as himself, and a plate of

gold of the breadth of his face. And show unto him who it was that did

this, and that it was done against my will; but that he who did it is my

brother, and therefore it would be hard for me to put him to death. And

let him come and meet me,” said he, “and we will make peace in any way

he may desire.”

The embassy went after Matholch, and told him all these sayings in a

friendly manner; and he listened thereunto. “Men,” said he, “I will take

counsel.” So to the council he went. And in the council they considered

that, if they should refuse this, they were likely to have more shame

rather than to obtain so great an atonement. They resolved, therefore,

to accept it, and they returned to the court in peace.

Then the pavilions and the tents were set in order, after the fashion of

a hall; and they went to meat, and as they had sat at the beginning of

the feast so sat they there. And Matholch and Bendigeid Vran began to

discourse; and, behold, it seemed to Bendigeid Vran, while they talked,

that Matholch was not so cheerful as he had been before. And he thought

that the chieftain might be sad because of the smallness of the

atonement which he had for the wrong that had been done him. “O man,”

said Bendigeid Vran, “thou dost not discourse to-night so cheerfully as

thou wast wont. And if it be because of the smallness of the atonement,

thou shalt add thereunto whatsoever thou mayest choose, and to-morrow I

will pay thee for the horses.” “Lord,” said he, “Heaven reward thee!”

“And I will enhance the atonement,” said Bendigeid Vran, “for I will

give unto thee a caldron, the property of which is, that if one of thy

men be slain to-day, and be cast therein, to-morrow he will be as well

as ever he was at the best, except that he will not regain his speech.”

And thereupon he gave him great thanks, and very joyful was he for that

cause.

That night they continued to discourse as much as they would, and had

minstrelsy and carousing; and when it was more pleasant to them to sleep

than to sit longer, they went to rest. And thus was the banquet carried

on with joyousness; and when it was finished, Matholch journeyed towards

Ireland, and Branwen with him; and they went from Aber Menei with

thirteen ships, and came to Ireland. And in Ireland was there great joy

because of their coming. And not one great man nor noble lady visited

Branwen unto whom she gave not either a clasp or a ring, or a royal

jewel to keep, such as it was honorable to be seen departing with. And

in these things she spent that year in much renown, and she passed her

time pleasantly, enjoying honor and friendship. And in due time a son

was born unto her, and the name that they gave him was Gwern, the son of

Matholch, and they put the boy out to be nursed in a place where were

the best men of Ireland.

And, behold, in the second year a tumult arose in Ireland, on account of

the insult which Matholch had received in Wales, and the payment made

him for his horses. And his foster-brothers, and such as were nearest to

him, blamed him openly for that matter. And he might have no peace by

reason of the tumult, until they should revenge upon him this disgrace.

And the vengeance which they took was to drive away Branwen from the

same chamber with him, and to make her cook for the court; and they

caused the butcher, after he had cut up the meat, to come to her and

give her every day a blow on the ear; and such they made her punishment.

“Verily, lord,” said his men to Matholch, “forbid now the ships and the

ferry-boats, and the coracles, that they go not into Wales, and such as

come over from Wales hither, imprison them, that they go not back for

this thing to be known there.” And he did so; and it was thus for no

less than three years.

And Branwen reared a starling in the cover of the kneading-trough, and

she taught it to speak, and she taught the bird what manner of man her

brother was. And she wrote a letter of her woes, and the despite with

which she was treated, and she bound the letter to the root of the

bird’s wing, and sent it toward Wales. And the bird came to that island;

and one day it found Bendigeid Vran at Caer Seiont in Arvon, conferring

there, and it alighted upon his shoulder, and ruffled its feathers, so

that the letter was seen, and they knew that the bird had been reared in

a domestic manner.

Then Bendigeid Vran took the letter and looked upon it. And when he had

read the letter, he grieved exceedingly at the tidings of Branwen’s

woes. And immediately he began sending messengers to summon the island

together. And he caused seven-score and four of his chief men to come

unto him, and he complained to them of the grief that his sister

endured. So they took counsel. And in the counsel they resolved to go to

Ireland, and to leave seven men as princes at home, and Caradoc,[65] the

son of Bran, as the chief of them.

Bendigeid Vran, with the host of which we spoke, sailed towards Ireland;

and it was not far across the sea, and he came to shoal water. Now the

swine-herds of Matholch were upon the sea-shore, and they came to

Matholch. “Lord,” said they, “greeting be unto thee.” “Heaven protect

you!” said he; “have you any news?” “Lord,” said they, “we have

marvellous news. A wood have we seen upon the sea, in a place where we

never yet saw a single tree.” “This is indeed a marvel,” said he; “saw

you aught else?” “We saw, lord,” said they, “a vast mountain beside the

wood, which moved, and there was a lofty ridge on the top of the

mountain, and a lake on each side of the ridge. And the wood and the

mountain, and all these things, moved.” “Verily,” said he, “there is

none who can know aught concerning this unless it be Branwen.”

Messengers then went unto Branwen. “Lady,” said they, “what thinkest

thou that this is?” “The men of the Island of the Mighty, who have come

hither on hearing of my ill-treatment and of my woes.” “What is the

forest that is seen upon the sea?” asked they. “The yards and the masts

of ships,” she answered. “Alas!” said they; “what is the mountain that

is seen by the side of the ships?” “Bendigeid Vran, my brother,” she

replied, “coming to shoal water, and he is wading to the land.” “What is

the lofty ridge, with the lake on each side thereof?” “On looking

towards this island he is wroth, and his two eyes on each side of his

nose are the two lakes on each side of the ridge.”

The warriors and chief men of Ireland were brought together in haste,

and they took counsel. “Lord,” said the neighbors unto Matholch, “there

is no other counsel than this alone. Thou shalt give the kingdom to

Gwern, the son of Branwen his sister, as a compensation for the wrong

and despite that have been done unto Branwen. And he will make peace

with thee.” And in the council it was resolved that this message should

be sent to Bendigeid Vran, lest the country should be destroyed. And

this peace was made. And Matholch caused a great house to be built for

Bendigeid Vran, and his host. Thereupon came the hosts into the house.

The men of the island of Ireland entered the house on the one side, and

the men of the Island of the Mighty on the other. And as soon as they

had sat down, there was concord between them; and the sovereignty was

conferred upon the boy. When the peace was concluded, Bendigeid Vran

called the boy unto him, and from Bendigeid Vran the boy went unto

Manawyddan; and he was beloved by all that beheld him. And from

Manawyddan the boy was called by Nissyen, the son of Euroswydd, and the

boy went unto him lovingly. “Wherefore,” said Evnissyen, “comes not my

nephew, the son of my sister, unto me? Though he were not king of

Ireland, yet willingly would I fondle the boy.” “Cheerfully let him go

to thee,” said Bendigeid Vran; and the boy went unto him cheerfully. “By

my confession to Heaven,” said Evnissyen in his heart, “unthought of is

the slaughter that I will this instant commit.”

Then he arose and took up the boy, and before any one in the house could

seize hold of him he thrust the boy headlong into the blazing fire. And

when Branwen saw her son burning in the fire, she strove to leap into

the fire also, from the place where she sat between her two brothers.

But Bendigeid Vran grasped her with one hand, and his shield with the

other. Then they all hurried about the house, and never was there made

so great a tumult by any host in one house as was made by them, as each

man armed himself. And while they all sought their arms Bendigeid Vran

supported Branwen between his shield and his shoulder. And they fought.

Then the Irish kindled a fire under the caldron of renovation, and they

cast the dead bodies into the caldron until it was full; and the next

day they came forth fighting men, as good as before, except that they

were not able to speak. Then when Evnissyen saw the dead bodies of the

men of the Island of the Mighty nowhere resuscitated, he said in his

heart, “Alas! woe is me, that I should have been the cause of bringing

the men of the Island of the Mighty into so great a strait. Evil betide

me if I find not a deliverance therefrom.” And he cast himself among the

dead bodies of the Irish; and two unshod Irishmen came to him, and,

taking him to be one of the Irish, flung him into the caldron. And he

stretched himself out in the caldron, so that he rent the caldron into

four pieces, and burst his own heart also.

In consequence of this, the men of the Island of the Mighty obtained

such success as they had; but they were not victorious, for only seven

men of them all escaped, and Bendigeid Vran himself was wounded in the

foot with a poisoned dart. Now the men that escaped were Pryderi,

Manawyddan, Taliesin, and four others.

And Bendigeid Vran commanded them that they should cut off his head.

“And take you my head,” said he, “and bear it even unto the White Mount

in London, and bury it there with the face towards France. And so long

as it lies there, no enemy shall ever land on the island.” So they cut

off his head, and these seven went forward therewith. And Branwen was

the eighth with them. And they came to land on Aber Alaw, and they sat

down to rest. And Branwen looked towards Ireland, and towards the Island

of the Mighty, to see if she could descry them. “Alas!” said she, “woe

is me that I was ever born; two islands have been destroyed because of

me.” Then she uttered a groan, and there broke her heart. And they made

her a four-sided grave, and buried her upon the banks of the Alaw.

Then the seven men journeyed forward, bearing the head with them; and as

they went, behold there met them a multitude of men and women. “Have you

any tidings?” said Manawyddan. “We have none,” said they, “save that

Caswallawn,[66] the son of Beli, has conquered the Island of the Mighty,

and is crowned king in London.” “What has become,” said they, “of

Caradoc, the son of Bran, and the seven men who were left with him in

this island?” “Caswallawn came upon them, and slew six of the men, and

Caradoc’s heart broke for grief thereof.” And the seven men journeyed on

towards London, and they buried the head in the White Mount, as

Bendigeid Vran had directed them.[67]

————

CHAPTER X

MANAWYDDAN

PWYLL and Rhiannon had a son, whom they named Pryderi. And when he was

grown up, Pwyll, his father, died. And Pryderi married Kicva, the

daughter of Gwynn Gloy.

Now Manawyddan returned from the war in Ireland, and he found that his

cousin had seized all his possessions, and much grief and heaviness came

upon him. “Alas! woe is me!” he exclaimed; “there is none save myself

without a home and a resting-place.” “Lord,” said Pryderi, “be not so

sorrowful. Thy cousin is king of the Island of the Mighty, and though he

has done thee wrong, thou hast never been a claimant of land or

possessions.” “Yea,” answered he, “but although this man is my cousin,

it grieveth me to see any one in the place of my brother, Bendigeid

Vran; neither can I be happy in the same dwelling with him.” “Wilt thou

follow the counsel of another?” said Pryderi. “I stand in need of

counsel,” he answered, “and what may that counsel be?” “Seven cantrevs

belong unto me,” said Pryderi, “wherein Rhiannon, my mother, dwells. I

will bestow her upon thee, and the seven cantrevs with her; and though

thou hadst no possessions but those cantrevs only, thou couldst not have

any fairer than they. Do thou and Rhiannon enjoy them, and if thou

desire any possessions thou wilt not despise these.” “I do not,

chieftain,” said he. “Heaven reward thee for the friendship! I will go

with thee to seek Rhiannon, and to look at thy possessions.” “Thou wilt

do well,” he answered; “and I believe that thou didst never hear a lady

discourse better than she, and when she was in her prime, none was ever

fairer. Even now her aspect is not uncomely.”

They set forth, and, however long the journey, they came at last to

Dyved; and a feast was prepared for them by Rhiannon and Kicva. Then

began Manawyddan and Rhiannon to sit and to talk together; and his mind

and his thoughts became warmed towards her, and he thought in his heart

he had never beheld any lady more fulfilled of grace and beauty than

she. “Pryderi,” said he, “I will that it be as thou didst say.” “What

saying was that?” asked Rhiannon. “Lady,” said Pryderi, “I did offer

thee as a wife to Manawyddan, the son of Llyr.” “By that will I gladly

abide,” said Rhiannon. “Right glad am I also,” said Manawyddan, “may

Heaven reward him who hath shown unto me friendship so perfect as this!”

And before the feast was over she became his bride. Said Pryderi, “Tarry

ye here the rest of the feast, and I will go into England to tender my

homage unto Caswallawn, the son of Beli.” “Lord,” said Rhiannon,

“Caswallawn is in Kent; thou mayest therefore tarry at the feast, and

wait until he shall be nearer.” “We will wait,” he answered. So they

finished the feast. And they began to make the circuit of Dyved, and to

hunt, and to take their pleasure. And as they went through the country,

they had never seen lands more pleasant to live in, nor better hunting

grounds, nor greater plenty of honey and fish. And such was the

friendship between these four, that they would not be parted from each

other by night nor by day.

And in the midst of all this he went to Caswallawn at Oxford, and

tendered his homage; and honorable was his reception there, and highly

was he praised for offering his homage.

And after his return Pryderi and Manawyddan feasted and took their ease

and pleasure. And they began a feast at Narberth, for it was the chief

palace. And when they had ended the first meal, while those who served

them ate, they arose and went forth, and proceeded to the Gorsedd, that

is, the Mount of Narberth, and their retinue with them. And as they sat

thus, behold a peal of thunder, and with the violence of the

thunder-storm, lo! there came a fall of mist, so thick that not one of

them could see the other. And after the mist it became light all around.

And when they looked towards the place where they were wont to see the

cattle and herds and dwellings, they saw nothing now, neither house, nor

beast, nor smoke, nor fire, nor man, nor dwelling, but the buildings of

the court empty, and desert, and uninhabited, without either man or

beast within them. And truly all their companions were lost to them,

without their knowing aught of what had befallen them, save those four

only.

“In the name of Heaven,” said Manawyddan, “where are they of the court,

and all my host beside? Let us go and see.”

So they came to the castle, and saw no man, and into the hall, and to

the sleeping-place, and there was none; and in the mead-cellar and in

the kitchen there was naught but desolation. Then they began to go

through the land, and all the possessions that they had; and they

visited the houses and dwellings, and found nothing but wild beasts. And

when they had consumed their feast and all their provisions, they fed

upon the prey they killed in hunting, and the honey of the wild swans.

And one morning Pryderi and Manawyddan rose up to hunt, and they ranged

their dogs and went forth. And some of the dogs ran before them, and

came to a bush which was near at hand; but as soon as they were come to

the bush, they hastily drew back, and returned to the men, their hair

bristling up greatly. “Let us go near to the bush,” said Pryderi, “and

see what is in it.” And as they came near, behold, a wild boar of a pure

white color rose up from the bush. Then the dogs, being set on by the

men, rushed towards him; but he left the bush, and fell back a little

way from the men, and made a stand against the dogs, without retreating

from them, until the men had come near. And when the men came up, he

fell back a second time, and betook him to flight. Then they pursued the

boar until they beheld a vast and lofty castle, all newly built, in a

place where they had never before seen either stone or building. And the

boar ran swiftly into the castle, and the dogs after him. Now when the

boar and the dogs had gone into the castle, the men began to wonder at

finding a castle in a place where they had never before seen any

building whatsoever. And from the top of the Gorsedd they looked and

listened for the dogs. But so long as they were there, they heard not

one of the dogs, nor aught concerning them.

“Lord,” said Pryderi, “I will go into the castle to get tidings of the

dogs.” “Truly,” he replied, “thou wouldst be unwise to go into this

castle, which thou hast never seen till now. If thou wouldst follow my

counsel, thou wouldst not enter therein. Whosoever has cast a spell over

this land, has caused this castle to be here.” “Of a truth,” answered

Pryderi, “I cannot thus give up my dogs.” And for all the counsel that

Manawyddan gave him, yet to the castle he went.

When he came within the castle, neither man nor beast, nor boar, nor

dogs, nor house, nor dwelling, saw he within it. But in the centre of

the castle-floor he beheld a fountain with marble-work around it, and on

the margin of the fountain a golden bowl upon a marble slab, and chains

hanging from the air, to which he saw no end.

And he was greatly pleased with the beauty of the gold, and with the

rich workmanship of the bowl; and he went up to the bowl, and laid hold

of it. And when he had taken hold of it, his hands stuck to the bowl,

and his feet to the slab on which the bowl was placed; and all his

joyousness forsook him, so that he could not utter a word. And thus he

stood.

And Manawyddan waited for him till near the close of the day. And late

in the evening, being certain that he should have no tidings of Pryderi

or the dogs, he went back to the palace. And as he entered, Rhiannon

looked at him. “Where,” said she, “are thy companion and thy dogs?”

“Behold,” he answered, “the adventure that has befallen me.” And he

related it all unto her. “An evil companion hast thou been,” said

Rhiannon, “and a good companion hast thou lost.” And with that word she

went out, and proceeded towards the castle, according to the direction

which he gave her. The gate of the castle she found open. She was

nothing daunted, and she went in. And as she went in, she perceived

Pryderi laying hold of the bowl, and she went towards him. “O my lord,”

said she, “what dost thou here?” And she took hold of the bowl with him;

and as she did so, her hands also became fast to the bowl, and her feet

to the slab, and she was not able to utter a word. And with that, as it

became night, lo! there came thunder upon them, and a fall of mist; and

thereupon the castle vanished, and they with it.

When Kicva, the daughter of Gwynn Gloy, saw that there was no one in the

palace but herself and Manawyddan, she sorrowed so that she cared not

whether she lived or died. And Manawyddan saw this. “Thou art in the

wrong,” said he, “if through fear of me thou grievest thus. I call

Heaven to witness that thou hast never seen friendship more pure than

that which I will bear thee, as long as Heaven will that thou shouldst

be thus. I declare to thee, that, were I in the dawn of youth, I would

keep my faith unto Pryderi, and unto thee also will I keep it. Be there

no fear upon thee, therefore.” “Heaven reward thee!” she said; “and that

is what I deemed of thee.” And the damsel thereupon took courage, and

was glad.

“Truly, lady,” said Manawyddan, “it is not fitting for us to stay here;

we have lost our dogs, and cannot get food. Let us go into England; it

is easiest for us to find support there.” “Gladly, lord,” said she, “we

will do so.” And they set forth together to England.

“Lord,” said she, “what craft wilt thou follow? Take up one that is

seemly.” “None other will I take,” answered he, “but that of making

shoes.” “Lord,” said she, “such a craft becomes not a man so nobly born

as thou.” “By that however will I abide,” said he. “I know nothing

thereof,” said Kicva. “But I know,” answered Manawyddan, “and I will

teach thee to stitch. We will not attempt to dress the leather, but we

will buy it ready dressed, and will make the shoes from it.”

So they went into England, and went as far as Hereford; and they betook

themselves to making shoes. And he began by buying the best cordwain

that could be had in the town, and none other would buy. And he

associated himself with the best goldsmith in the town, and caused him

to make clasps for the shoes, and to gild the clasps; and he marked how

it was done until he learned the method. And therefore is he called one

of the three makers of gold shoes. And when they could be had from him,

not a shoe nor hose was bought of any of the cordwainers in the town.

But when the cordwainers perceived that their gains were failing (for as

Manawyddan shaped the work, so Kicva stitched it), they came together

and took counsel, and agreed that they would slay them. And he had

warning thereof, and it was told him how the cordwainers had agreed

together to slay him.

“Lord,” said Kicva, “wherefore should this be borne from these boors?”

“Nay,” said he, “we will go back unto Dyved.” So towards Dyved they set

forth.

Now Manawyddan, when he set out to return to Dyved, took with him a

burden of wheat. And he proceeded towards Narberth, and there he dwelt.

And never was he better pleased than when he saw Narberth again, and the

lands where he had been wont to hunt with Pryderi and with Rhiannon. And

he accustomed himself to fish, and to hunt the deer in their covert. And

then he began to prepare some ground, and he sowed a croft, and a

second, and a third. And no wheat in the world ever sprung up better.

And the three crofts prospered with perfect growth, and no man ever saw

fairer wheat than it.

And thus passed the seasons of the year until the harvest came. And he

went to look at one of his crofts, and, behold, it was ripe. “I will

reap this to-morrow,” said he. And that night he went back to Narberth,

and on the morrow, in the gray dawn, he went to reap the croft; and when

he came there, he found nothing but the bare straw. Every one of the

ears of the wheat was cut off from the stalk, and all the ears carried

entirely away, and nothing but the straw left. And at this he marvelled

greatly.

Then he went to look at another croft, and, behold, that also was ripe.

“Verily,” said he, “this will I reap to-morrow.” And on the morrow he

came with the intent to reap it; and when he came there, he found

nothing but the bare straw. “O gracious Heaven!” he exclaimed. “I know

that whosoever has begun my ruin is completing it, and has also

destroyed the country with me.”

Then he went to look at the third croft; and when he came there, finer

wheat had there never been seen, and this also was ripe. “Evil betide

me,” said he, “if I watch not here to-night. Whoever carried off the

other corn will come in like manner to take this, and I will know who it

is.” And he told Kicva all that had befallen. “Verily,” said she, “what

thinkest thou to do?” “I will watch the croft to-night,” said he. And he

went to watch the croft.

And at midnight he heard something stirring among the wheat; and he

looked, and behold, the mightiest host of mice in the world, which could

neither be numbered nor measured. And he knew not what it was until the

mice had made their way into the croft, and each of them, climbing up

the straw, and bending it down with its weight, had cut off one of the

ears of wheat, and had carried it away, leaving there the stalk; and he

saw not a single straw there that had not a mouse to it. And they all

took their way, carrying the ears with them.

In wrath and anger did he rush upon the mice; but he could no more come

up with them than if they had been gnats or birds of the air, except one

only, which, though it was but sluggish, went so fast that a man on foot

could scarce overtake it. And after this one he went, and he caught it,

and put it in his glove, and tied up the opening of the glove with a

string, and kept it with him, and returned to the palace. Then he came

to the hall where Kicva was, and he lighted a fire, and hung the glove

by the string upon a peg. “What hast thou there, lord?” said Kicva. “A

thief,” said he, “that I found robbing me.” “What kind of a thief may it

be, lord, that thou couldst put into thy glove?” said she. Then he told

her how the mice came to the last of the fields in his sight. “And one

of them was less nimble than the rest, and is now in my glove; to-morrow

I will hang it.” “My lord,” said she, “this is marvellous; but yet it

would be unseemly for a man of dignity like thee to be hanging such a

reptile as this.” “Woe betide me,” said he, “if I would not hang them

all, could I catch them, and such as I have I will hang.” “Verily,

lord,” said she, “there is no reason that I should succor this reptile,

except to prevent discredit unto thee. Do therefore, lord, as thou

wilt.”

Then he went to the Mound of Narberth, taking the mouse with him. And he

set up two forks on the highest part of the mound. And while he was

doing this, behold, he saw a scholar coming towards him, in old and poor

and tattered garments. And it was now seven years since he had seen in

that place either man or beast, except those four persons who had

remained together until two of them were lost.

“My lord,” said the scholar, “good-day to thee.” “Heaven prosper thee,

and my greeting be unto thee! And whence dost thou come, scholar?” asked

he. “I come, lord, from singing in England; and wherefore dost thou

inquire?” “Because for the last seven years,” answered he, “I have seen

no man here save four secluded persons, and thyself this moment.”

“Truly, lord,” said he, “I go through this land unto mine own. And what

work art thou upon, lord?” “I am hanging a thief that I caught robbing

me,” said he. “What manner of thief is that?” asked the scholar. “I see

a creature in thy hand like unto a mouse, and ill does it become a man

of rank equal to thine to touch a reptile such as this. Let it go forth

free.” “I will not let it go free, by Heaven,” said he; “I caught it

robbing me, and the doom of a thief will I inflict upon it, and I will

hang it.” “Lord,” said he, “rather than see a man of rank equal to thine

at such a work as this, I would give thee a pound, which I have received

as alms, to let the reptile go forth free.” “I will not let it go free,”

said he, “neither will I sell it.” “As thou wilt, lord,” he answered; “I

care naught.” And the scholar went his way.

And as he was placing the cross-beam upon the two forks, behold, a

priest came towards him, upon a horse covered with trappings. “Good day

to thee, lord,” said he. “Heaven prosper thee!” said Manawyddan; “thy

blessing.” “The blessing of Heaven be upon thee! And what, lord, art

thou doing?” “I am hanging a thief that I caught robbing me,” said he.

“What manner of thief, lord?” asked he. “A creature,” he answered, “in

form of a mouse. It has been robbing me, and I am inflicting upon it the

doom of a thief.” “Lord,” said he, “rather than see thee touch this

reptile, I would purchase its freedom.” “By my confession to Heaven,

neither will I sell it nor set it free.” “It is true, lord, that it is

worth nothing to buy; but rather than see thee defile thyself by

touching such a reptile as this, I will give thee three pounds to let it

go.” “I will not, by Heaven,” said he, “take any price for it. As it

ought, so shall it be hanged.” And the priest went his way.

Then he noosed the string around the mouse’s neck, and as he was about

to draw it up, behold, he saw a bishop’s retinue, with his

sumpter-horses and his attendants. And the bishop himself came towards

him. And he stayed his work. “Lord Bishop,” said he, “thy blessing.”

“Heaven’s blessing be unto thee!” said he. “What work art thou upon?”

“Hanging a thief that I caught robbing me,” said he. “Is not that a

mouse that I see in thy hand?” “Yes,” answered he, “and she has robbed

me.” “Ay,” said he, “since I have come at the doom of this reptile I

will ransom it of thee. I will give thee seven pounds for it, and that

rather than see a man of rank equal to thine destroying so vile a

reptile as this. Let it loose, and thou shalt have the money.” “I

declare to Heaven that I will not let it loose.” “If thou wilt not loose

it for this, I will give thee four and twenty pounds of ready money to

set it free.” “I will not set it free, by Heaven, for as much again,”

said he. “If thou wilt not set it free for this, I will give thee all

the horses that thou seest in this plain, and the seven loads of

baggage, and the seven horses that they are upon.” “By Heaven, I will

not,” he replied. “Since for this thou wilt not set it free, do so at

what price soever thou wilt.” “I will that Rhiannon and Pryderi be

free,” said he. “That thou shalt have,” he answered. “Not yet will I

loose the mouse, by Heaven.” “What then wouldst thou?” “That the charm

and the illusion be removed from the seven cantrevs of Dyved.” “This

shalt thou have also; set therefore the mouse free.” “I will not set it

free, by Heaven,” said he, “till I know who the mouse may be.” “She is

my wife.” “Wherefore came she to me?” “To despoil thee,” he answered. “I

am Lloyd, the son of Kilwed, and I cast the charm over the seven

cantrevs of Dyved. And it was to avenge Gawl, the son of Clud, from the

friendship I had towards him, that I cast the charm. And upon Pryderi

did I avenge Gawl, the son of Clud, for the game of Badger in the Bag,

that Pwyll, the son of Auwyn, played upon him. And when it was known

that thou wast come to dwell in the land, my household came and besought

me to transform them into mice, that they might destroy thy corn. And

they went the first and the second night, and destroyed thy two crops.

And the third night came unto me my wife and the ladies of the court,

and besought me to transform them. And I transformed them. Now she is

not in her usual health. And had she been in her usual health, thou

wouldst not have been able to overtake her; but since this has taken

place, and she has been caught, I will restore to thee Pryderi and

Rhiannon, and I will take the charm and illusion from off Dyved. Set her

therefore free.” “I will not set her free yet.” “What wilt thou more?”

he asked. “I will that there be no more charm upon the seven cantrevs of

Dyved, and that none shall be put upon it henceforth; moreover, that

vengeance be never taken for this, either upon Pryderi or Rhiannon, or

upon me.” “All this shalt thou have. And truly thou hast done wisely in

asking this. Upon thy head would have lit all this trouble.” “Yea,” said

he, “for fear thereof was it that I required this.” “Set now my wife at

liberty.” “I will not,” said he, “until I see Pryderi and Rhiannon with

me free.” “Behold, here they come,” he answered.

And thereupon behold Pryderi and Rhiannon. And he rose up to meet them,

and greeted them, and sat down beside them. “Ah, chieftain, set now my

wife at liberty,” said the bishop. “Hast thou not received all thou

didst ask?” “I will release her, gladly,” said he. And thereupon he set

her free.

Then he struck her with a magic wand, and she was changed back into a

young woman, the fairest ever seen.

“Look round upon thy land,” said he, “and thou wilt see it all tilled

and peopled as it was in its best estate.” And he rose up and looked

forth. And when he looked he saw all the lands tilled, and full of herds

and dwellings.

And thus ends this portion of the Mabinogi.

————

The following allusions to the preceding story are found in a letter of

the poet Southey to John Rickman, Esq., dated June 6th, 1802:

“You will read the Mabinogeon, concerning which I ought to have talked

to you. In the last, that most odd and Arabian-like story of the mouse,

mention is made of a begging scholar, that helps to the date; but where

did the Cymri get the imagination that could produce such a tale? That

enchantment of the basin hanging by the chain from heaven is in the

wildest spirit of the Arabian Nights. I am perfectly astonished that

such fictions should exist in Welsh. They throw no light on the origin

of romance, everything being utterly dissimilar to what we mean by that

term, but they do open a new world of fiction; and if the date of their

language be fixed about the twelfth or thirteenth century, I cannot but

think the mythological substance is of far earlier date; very probably

brought from the East by some of the first settlers or conquerors.”

————

CHAPTER XI

KILWICH AND OLWEN

KILYDD, a son of Prince Kelyddon, desired a wife as a helpmate, and the

wife that he chose was Goleudid, the daughter of Prince Anlawd. And

after their union the people put up prayers that they might have an

heir. And they had a son through the prayers of the people; and called

his name Kilwich.

After this the boy’s mother, Goleudid, the daughter of Prince Anlawd,

fell sick. Then she called her husband to her, and said to him, “Of this

sickness I shall die, and thou wilt take another wife. Now wives are the

gift of the Lord, but it would be wrong for thee to harm thy son.

Therefore I charge thee that thou take not a wife until thou see a briar

with two blossoms upon my grave.” And this he promised her. Then she

besought him to dress her grave every year, that no weeds might grow

thereon. So the queen died. Now the king sent an attendant every morning

to see if anything were growing upon the grave. And at the end of the

seventh year they neglected that which they had promised to the queen.

One day the king went to hunt; and he rode to the place of burial, to

see the grave, and to know if it were time that he should take a wife:

and the king saw the briar. And when he saw it, the king took counsel

where he should find a wife. Said one of his counsellors, “I know a wife

that will suit thee well; and she is the wife of King Doged.” And they

resolved to go to seek her; and they slew the king, and brought away his

wife. And they conquered the kings’ lands. And he married the widow of

King Doged, the sister of Yspadaden Penkawr.

And one day his stepmother said to Kilwich, “It were well for thee to

have a wife.” “I am not yet of an age to wed,” answered the youth. Then

said she unto him, “I declare to thee that it is thy destiny not to be

suited with a wife until thou obtain Olwen, the daughter of Yspadaden

Penkawr.” And the youth blushed, and the love of the maiden diffused

itself through all his frame, although he had never seen her. And his

father inquired of him, “What has come over thee, my son, and what

aileth thee?” “My stepmother has declared to me that I shall never have

a wife until I obtain Olwen, the daughter of Yspadaden Penkawr.” “That

will be easy for thee,” answered his father. “Arthur is thy cousin. Go,

therefore, unto Arthur, to cut thy hair, and ask this of him as a boon.”

And the youth pricked forth upon a steed with head dappled gray, four

winters old, firm of limb, with shell-formed hoofs, having a bridle of

linked gold on his head, and upon him a saddle of costly gold. And in

the youth’s hand were two spears of silver, sharp, well-tempered, headed

with steel, three ells in length, of an edge to wound the wind, and

cause blood to flow, and swifter than the fall of the dew-drop from the

blade of reed-grass, when the dew of June is at the heaviest. A

gold-hilted sword was upon his thigh, the blade of which was gilded,

bearing a cross of inlaid gold of the hue of the lightning of heaven.

His war-horn was of ivory. Before him were two brindled, white-breasted

greyhounds, having strong collars of rubies about their necks, reaching

from the shoulder to the ear. And the one that was upon the left side

bounded across to the right side, and the one on the right to the left,

and, like two sea-swallows, sported around him. And his courser cast up

four sods, with his four hoofs, like four swallows in the air, about his

head, now above, now below. About him was a four-cornered cloth of

purple, and an apple of gold was at each corner, and every one of the

apples was of the value of an hundred kine. And there was precious gold

of the value of three hundred kine upon his shoes, and upon his

stirrups, from his knee to the tip of his toe. And the blade of grass

bent not beneath him, so light was his courser’s tread, as he journeyed

toward the gate of Arthur’s palace.

Spoke the youth: “Is there a porter?” “There is; and if thou holdest not

thy peace, small will be thy welcome. I am Arthur’s porter every first

day of January.” “Open the portal.” “I will not open it.” “Wherefore

not?” “The knife is in the meat, and the drink is in the horn, and there

is revelry in Arthur’s hall; and none may enter therein but the son of a

king of a privileged country, or a craftsman bringing his craft. But

there will be refreshment for thy dogs and for thy horse; and for thee

there will be collops cooked and peppered, and luscious wine, and

mirthful songs; and food for fifty men shall be brought unto thee in the

guest-chamber, where the stranger and the sons of other countries eat,

who come not into the precincts of the palace of Arthur. Thou wilt fare

no worse there than thou wouldst with Arthur in the court. A lady shall

smooth thy couch, and shall lull thee with songs; and early to-morrow

morning, when the gate is open for the multitude that came hither

to-day, for thee shall it be opened first, and thou mayest sit in the

place that thou shalt choose in Arthur’s hall, from the upper end to the

lower.” Said the youth: “That will I not do. If thou openest the gate,

it is well. If thou dost not open it, I will bring disgrace upon thy

lord, and evil report upon thee. And I will set up three shouts at this

very gate, than which none were ever heard more deadly.” “What clamor

soever thou mayest make,” said Glewlwyd, the porter, “against the laws

of Arthur’s palace, shalt thou not enter therein, until I first go and

speak with Arthur.”

Then Glewlwyd went into the hall. And Arthur said to him, “Hast thou

news from the gate?” “Half of my life is passed,” said Glewlwyd, “and

half of thine. I was heretofore in Kaer Se and Asse, in Sach and Salach,

in Lotor and Fotor, and I have been in India the Great and India the

Lesser, and I have also been in Europe and Africa, and in the islands of

Corsica, and I was present when thou didst conquer Greece in the East.

Nine supreme sovereigns, handsome men, saw we there, but never did I

behold a man of equal dignity with him who is now at the door of the

portal.” Then said Arthur: “If walking thou didst enter here, return

thou running. It is unbecoming to keep such a man as thou sayest he is

in the wind and the rain.” Said Kay: “By the hand of my friend, if thou

wouldst follow my counsel, thou wouldst not break through the laws of

the court because of him.” “Not so, blessed Kay,” said Arthur; “it is an

honor to us to be resorted to, and the greater our courtesy, the greater

will be our renown and our fame and our glory.”

And Glewlwyd came to the gate, and opened the gate before Kilwich; and

although all dismounted upon the horse-block at the gate, yet did he not

dismount, but he rode in upon his charger. Then said he, “Greeting be

unto thee, sovereign ruler of this island, and be this greeting no less

unto the lowest than unto the highest, and be it equally unto thy

guests, and thy warriors, and thy chieftains; let all partake of it as

completely as thyself. And complete be thy favor, and thy fame, and thy

glory, throughout all this island.” “Greeting unto thee also,” said

Arthur; “sit thou between two of my warriors, and thou shalt have

minstrels before thee, and thou shalt enjoy the privileges of a king

born to a throne, as long as thou remainest here. And when I disperse my

presents to the visitors and strangers in this court, they shall be in

thy hand at my commencing.” Said the youth, “I came not here to consume

meat and drink; but if I obtain the boon that I seek, I will requite it

thee, and extol thee; but if I have it not, I will bear forth thy

dispraise to the four quarters of the world, as far as thy renown has

extended.” Then said Arthur, “Since thou wilt not remain here,

chieftain, thou shalt receive the boon, whatsoever thy tongue may name,

as far as the wind dries, and the rain moistens, and the sun revolves,

and the sea encircles, and the earth extends; save only my ship Prydwen,

and my mantle, and Caliburn, my sword, and Rhongomyant, my lance, and

Guenever, my wife. By the truth of Heaven, thou shalt have it

cheerfully, name what thou wilt.” “I would that thou bless my hair,”

said he. “That shall be granted thee.”

And Arthur took a golden comb, and scissors whereof the loops were of

silver, and he combed his hair. And Arthur inquired of him who he was;

“for my heart warms unto thee, and I know that thou art come of my

blood. Tell me, therefore, who thou art.” “I will tell thee,” said the

youth. “I am Kilwich, the son of Kilydd, the son of Prince Kelyddon, by

Goleudyd, my mother, the daughter of Prince Anlawd.” “That is true,”

said Arthur; “thou art my cousin. Whatsoever boon thou mayest ask, thou

shalt receive, be it what it may that thy tongue shall name.” “Pledge

the truth of Heaven and the faith of thy kingdom thereof.” “I pledge it

thee gladly.” “I crave of thee, then, that thou obtain for me Olwen, the

daughter of Yspadaden Penkawr, to wife; and this boon I likewise seek at

the hands of thy warriors. I seek it from Kay and from Bedwyr; and from

Gwynn, the son of Nudd, and Gadwy, the son of Geraint, and Prince

Flewddur Flam, and Iona, king of France, and Sel, the son of Selgi, and

Taliesin, the chief of the bards, and Geraint, the son of Erbin,

Garanwyn, the son of Kay, and Amren, the son of Bedwyr, Ol, the son of

Olwyd, Bedwin, the bishop, Guenever, the chief lady, and Guenhywach, her

sister, Morved, the daughter of Urien, and Gwenlian Deg, the majestic

maiden, Creiddylad,[68] the daughter of Lludd, the constant maiden, and

Ewaedah, the daughter of Kynvelyn,[69] the half-man.” All these did

Kilwich, the son of Kilydd, adjure to obtain his boon.

Then said Arthur, “O chieftain, I have never heard of the maiden of whom

thou speakest, nor of her kindred, but I will gladly send messengers in

search of her. Give me time to seek her.” And the youth said, “I will

willingly grant from this night to that at the end of the year to do

so.” Then Arthur sent messengers to every land within his dominions to

seek for the maiden, and at the end of the year Arthur’s messengers

returned without having gained any knowledge or intelligence concerning

Olwen, more than on the first day. Then said Kilwich, “Every one has

received his boon, and I yet lack mine. I will depart, and bear away thy

honor with me.” Then said Kay, “Rash chieftain! dost thou reproach

Arthur? Go with us, and we will not part until thou dost either confess

that the maiden exists not in the world, or until we obtain her.”

Thereupon Kay rose up. And Arthur called Bedwyr, who never shrank from

any enterprise upon which Kay was bound. None were equal to him in

swiftness throughout this island except Arthur alone; and although he

was one handed, three warriors could not shed blood faster than he on

the field of battle.

And Arthur called to Kyndelig, the guide, “Go thou upon this expedition

with the chieftain.” For as good a guide was he in a land which he had

never seen as he was in his own.

He called Gurhyr Gwalstat, because he knew all tongues.

He called Gawain, the son of Gwyar, because he never returned home

without achieving the adventure of which he went in quest.

And Arthur called Meneu, the son of Teirgwed, in order that, if they

went into a savage country, he might cast a charm and an illusion over

them, so that none might see them, whilst they could see every one.

They journeyed until they came to a vast open plain, wherein they saw a

great castle, which was the fairest of the castles of the world. And

when they came before the castle, they beheld a vast flock of sheep. And

upon the top of a mound there was a herdsman keeping the sheep. And a

rug made of skins was upon him, and by his side was a shaggy mastiff,

larger than a steed nine winters old.

Then said Kay, “Gurhyr Gwalstat, go thou and salute yonder man.” “Kay,”

said he, “I engaged not to go further than thou thyself.” “Let us go

then together,” answered Kay. Said Meneu, “Fear not to go thither, for I

will cast a spell upon the dog, so that he shall injure no one.” And

they went up to the mound whereon the herdsman was, and they said to

him, “How dost thou fare, herdsman?” “Not less fair be it to you than to

me.” “Whose are the sheep that thou dost keep, and to whom does yonder

castle belong?” “Stupid are ye, truly! not to know that this is the

castle of Yspadaden Penkawr. And ye also, who are ye?” “We are an

embassy from Arthur, come to seek Olwen, the daughter of Yspadaden

Penkawr.” “O men! the mercy of Heaven be upon you; do not that for all

the world. None who ever came hither on this quest has returned alive.”

And the herdsman rose up. And as he rose Kilwich gave unto him a ring of

gold. And he went home and gave the ring to his spouse to keep. And she

took the ring when it was given her, and she said, “Whence came this

ring, for thou art not wont to have good fortune.” “O wife, him to whom

this ring belonged thou shalt see here this evening.” “And who is he?”

asked the woman. “Kilwich, the son of Kilydd, by Goleudid, the daughter

of Prince Anlawd, who is come to seek Olwen as his wife.” And when she

heard that, she had joy that her nephew, the son of her sister, was

coming to her, and sorrow, because she had never known any one depart

alive who had come on that quest.

And the men went forward to the gate of the herdsman’s dwelling. And

when she heard their footsteps approaching, she ran out with joy to meet

them. And Kay snatched a billet out of the pile. And when she met them,

she sought to throw her arms about their necks. And Kay placed the log

between her two hands, and she squeezed it so that if became a twisted

coil. “O woman,” said Kay, “if thou hadst squeezed me thus, none could

ever again have set their affections on me. Evil love were this.” They

entered into the house and were served; and soon after, they all went

forth to amuse themselves. Then the woman opened a stone chest that was

before the chimney-corner, and out of it arose a youth with yellow,

curling hair. Said Gurhyr, “It is a pity to hide this youth. I know that

it is not his own crime that is thus visited upon him.” “This is but a

remnant,” said the woman. “Three and twenty of my sons has Yspadaden

Penkawr slain, and I have no more hope of this one than of the others.”

Then said Kay, “Let him come and be a companion with me, and he shall

not be slain unless I also am slain with him.” And they ate. And the

woman asked them, “Upon what errand come you here?” “We come to seek

Olwen for this youth.” Then said the woman, “In the name of Heaven,

since no one from the castle hath yet seen you, return again whence you

came.” “Heaven is our witness, that we will not return until we have

seen the maiden. Does she ever come hither, so that she may be seen?”

“She comes here every Saturday to wash her head, and in the vessel where

she washes she leaves all her rings, and she never either comes herself

or sends any messengers to fetch them.” “Will she come here if she is

sent to?” “Heaven knows that I will not destroy my soul, nor will I

betray those that trust me; unless you will pledge me your faith that

you will not harm her, I will not send to her.” “We pledge it,” said

they. So a message was sent, and she came.

The maiden was clothed in a robe of flame-colored silk, and about her

neck was a collar of ruddy gold, on which were precious emeralds and

rubies. More yellow was her head than the flower of the broom,[70] and

her skin was whiter than the foam of the wave, and fairer were her hands

and her fingers than the blossoms of the wood-anemone amidst the spray

of the meadow fountain. The eye of the trained hawk was not brighter

than hers. Her bosom was more snowy than the breast of the white swan,

her cheek was redder than the reddest roses. Whoso beheld her was filled

with her love. Four white trefoils sprung up wherever she trod. And

therefore was she called Olwen.

She entered the house and sat beside Kilwich upon the foremost bench;

and as soon as he saw her, he knew her. And Kilwich said unto her, “Ah!

maiden, thou art she whom I have loved; come away with me, lest they

speak evil of thee and of me. Many a day have I loved thee.” “I cannot

do this, for I have pledged my faith to my father not to go without his

counsel, for his life will last only until the time of my espousals.

Whatever is to be, must be. But I will give thee advice, if thou wilt

take it. Go, ask me of my father, and that which he shall require of

thee, grant it, and thou wilt obtain me; but if thou deny him anything,

thou wilt not obtain me, and it will be well for thee if thou escape

with thy life.” “I promise all this, if occasion offer,” said he.

She returned to her chamber, and they all rose up, and followed her to

the castle. And they slew the nine porters, that were at the nine gates,

in silence. And they slew the nine watch-dogs without one of them

barking. And they went forward to the hall.

“The greeting of Heaven and of man be unto thee, Yspadaden Penkawr,”

said they. “And you, wherefore come you?” “We come to ask thy daughter

Olwen for Kilwich, the son of Kilydd, the son of Prince Kelyddon.”

“Where are my pages and my servants? Raise up the forks beneath my two

eyebrows, which have fallen over my eyes, that I may see the fashion of

my son-in-law.” And they did so. “Come hither to-morrow, and you shall

have an answer.”

They rose to go forth, and Yspadaden Penkawr seized one of the three

poisoned darts that lay beside him, and threw it after them. And Bedwyr

caught it, and flung it, and pierced Yspadaden Penkawr grievously with

it through the knee. Then he said, “A cursed ungentle son-in-law, truly!

I shall ever walk the worse for his rudeness, and shall ever be without

a cure. This poisoned iron pains me like the bite of a gad-fly. Cursed

be the smith who forged it, and the anvil on which it was wrought! So

sharp is it!”

That night also they took up their abode in the house of the herdsman.

The next day, with the dawn, they arrayed themselves and proceeded to

the castle, and entered the hall; and they said, “Yspadaden Penkawr,

give us thy daughter in consideration of her dower and her maiden fee,

which we will pay to thee, and to her two kinswomen likewise.” Then he

said, “Her four great-grandmothers and her four great-grandsires are yet

alive; it is needful that I take counsel of them.” “Be it so,” they

answered, “we will go to meat.” As they rose up he took the second dart

that was beside him, and cast it after them. And Meneu, the son of

Gawedd, caught it, and flung it back at him, and wounded him in the

centre of the breast. “A cursed ungentle son-in-law, truly!” said he;

“the hard iron pains me like the bite of a horse-leech. Cursed be the

hearth whereon it was heated, and the smith who formed it! So sharp is

it! Henceforth, whenever I go up hill, I shall have a scant in my

breath, and a pain in my chest, and I shall often loathe my food.” And

they went to meat.

And the third day they returned to the palace. And Yspadaden Penkawr

said to them, “Shoot not at me again unless you desire death. Where are

my attendants? Lift up the forks of my eyebrows, which have fallen over

my eyeballs, that I may see the fashion of my son-in-law.” Then they

arose, and, as they did so, Yspadaden Penkawr took the third poisoned

dart and cast it at them. And Kilwich caught it, and threw it

vigorously, and wounded him through the eyeball. “A cursed ungentle

son-in-law, truly! As long as I remain alive, my eyesight will be the

worse. Whenever I go against the wind, my eyes will water; and

peradventure my head will burn, and I shall have a giddiness every new

moon. Like the bite of a mad dog is the stroke of this poisoned iron.

Cursed be the fire in which it was forged!” And they went to meat.

And the next day they came again to the palace, and they said, “Shoot

not at us any more, unless thou desirest such hurt and harm and torture

as thou now hast, and even more.” Said Kilwich, “Give me thy daughter;

and if thou wilt not give her, thou shalt receive thy death because of

her.” “Where is he that seeks my daughter? Come hither where I may see

thee.” And they placed him a chair face to face with him.

Said Yspadaden Penkawr, “Is it thou that seekest my daughter?”

“It is I,” answered Kilwich.

“I must have thy pledge that thou wilt not do toward me otherwise than

is just; and when I have gotten that which I shall name, my daughter

thou shalt have.”

“I promise thee that willingly,” said Kilwich; “name what thou wilt.”

“I will do so,” said he. “Seest thou yonder red tilled ground?”

“I see it.”

“When first I met the mother of this maiden, nine bushels of flax were

sown therein, and none has yet sprung up, white nor black. I require to

have the flax to sow in the new land yonder, that when it grows up it

may make a white wimple for my daughter’s head on the day of thy

wedding.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think it

will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get—the

harp of Teirtu, to play to us that night. When a man desires that it

should play, it does so of itself; and when he desires that it should

cease, it ceases. And this he will not give of his own free will, and

thou wilt not be able to compel him.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think it

will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. I

require thee to get me for my huntsman Mabon, the son of Modron. He was

taken from his mother when three nights old, and it is not known where

he now is, nor whether he is living or dead.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think it

will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get—the

two cubs of the wolf Gast Rhymhi; no leash in the world will hold them,

but a leash made from the beard of Dillus Varwawc, the robber. And the

leash will be of no avail unless it be plucked from his beard while he

is alive. While he lives he will not suffer this to be done to him, and

the leash will be of no use should he be dead, because it will be

brittle.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think it

will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get—the

sword of Gwernach the Giant; of his own free will he will not give it,

and thou wilt never be able to compel him.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think it

will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.

Difficulties shalt thou meet with, and nights without sleep, in seeking

this, and if thou obtain it not, neither shalt thou obtain my daughter.”

“Horses shall I have, and chivalry; and my lord and kinsman, Arthur,

will obtain for me all these things. And I shall gain thy daughter, and

thou shalt lose thy life.”

“Go forward. And thou shalt not be chargeable for food or raiment for my

daughter while thou art seeking these things; and when thou hast

compassed all these marvels, thou shalt have my daughter for thy wife.”

————

CHAPTER XII

KILWICH AND OLWEN (_Continued_)

ALL that day they journeyed until the evening, and then they beheld a

vast castle, which was the largest in the world. And lo! a black man,

larger than three of the men of this world, came out from the castle.

And they spoke unto him, and said, “O man, whose castle is that?”

“Stupid are ye, truly, O men! There is no one in the world that does not

know that this is the castle of Gwernach the Giant.” “What treatment is

there for guests and strangers that alight in that castle?” “O

chieftain, Heaven protect thee! No guests ever returned thence alive,

and no one may enter therein unless he brings with him his craft.”

Then they proceeded towards the gate. Said Gurhyr Gwalstat, “Is there a

porter?” “There is; wherefore dost thou call?” “Open the gate.” “I will

not open it.” “Wherefore wilt thou not?” “The knife is in the meat, and

the drink is in the horn, and there is revelry in the hall of Gwernach

the Giant; and except for a craftsman who brings his craft, the gate

will not be opened to-night.” “Verily, porter,” then said Kay, “my craft

bring I with me.” “What is thy craft?” “The best burnisher of swords am

I in the world.” “I will go and tell this unto Gwernach the Giant, and I

will bring thee an answer.”

So the porter went in, and Gwernach said to him, “Hast thou news from

the gate?” “I have. There is a party at the door of the gate who desire

to come in.” “Didst thou inquire of them if they possessed any art?” “I

did inquire,” said he, “and one told me that he was well skilled in the

burnishing of swords.” “We have need of him then. For some time have I

sought for some one to polish my sword, and could find no one. Let this

man enter, since he brings with him his craft.”

The porter thereupon returned and opened the gate. And Kay went in by

himself, and he saluted Gwernach the Giant. And a chair was placed for

him opposite to Gwernach. And Gwernach said to him, “O man, is it true

that is reported of thee, that thou knowest how to burnish swords?” “I

know full well how to do so,” answered Kay. Then was the sword of

Gwernach brought to him. And Kay took a blue whetstone from under his

arm, and asked whether he would have it burnished white or blue. “Do

with it as it seems good to thee, or as thou wouldst if it were thine

own.” Then Kay polished one half of the blade, and put it in his hand.

“Will this please thee?” asked he. “I would rather than all that is in

my dominions that the whole of it were like this. It is a marvel to me

that such a man as thou should be without a companion.” “O noble sir, I

have a companion, albeit he is not skilled in this art.” “Who may he

be?” “Let the porter go forth, and I will tell him whereby he may know

him. The head of the lance will leave its shaft, and draw blood from the

wind, and will descend upon its shaft again.” Then the gate was opened,

and Bedwyr entered. And Kay said, “Bedwyr is very skilful, though he

knows not this art.”

And there was much discourse among those who were without, because that

Kay and Bedwyr had gone in. And a young man who was with them, the only

son of the herdsman, got in also; and he contrived to admit all the

rest, but they kept themselves concealed.

The sword was now polished, and Kay gave it unto the hand of Gwernach

the Giant, to see if he were pleased with his work. And the giant said,

“The work is good; I am content therewith.” Said Kay, “It is thy

scabbard that hath rusted thy sword; give it to me, that I may take out

the wooden sides of it, and put in new ones.” And he took the scabbard

from him, and the sword in the other hand. And he came and stood over

against the giant, as if he would have put the sword into the scabbard;

and with it he struck at the head of the giant, and cut off his head at

one blow. Then they despoiled the castle, and took from it what goods

and jewels they would. And they returned to Arthur’s court, bearing with

them the sword of Gwernach the Giant.

And when they told Arthur how they had sped, Arthur said, “It is a good

beginning.” Then they took counsel, and said, “Which of these marvels

will it be best for us to seek next?” “It will be best,” said one, “to

seek Mabon, the son of Modron; and he will not be found unless we first

find Eidoel, the son of Aer, his kinsman.” Then Arthur rose up, and the

warriors of the island of Britain with him, to seek for Eidoel; and they

proceeded until they came to the castle of Glivi, where Eidoel was

imprisoned. Glivi stood on the summit of his castle, and he said,

“Arthur, what requirest thou of me, since nothing remains to me in this

fortress, and I have neither joy nor pleasure in it, neither wheat nor

oats? Seek not, therefore, to do me harm.” Said Arthur, “Not to injure

thee came I hither, but to seek for the prisoner that is with thee.” “I

will give thee my prisoner, though I had not thought to give him up to

any one, and therewith shalt thou have my support and my aid.”

His followers said unto Arthur, “Lord, go thou home, thou canst not

proceed with thy host in quest of such small adventures as these.” Then

said Arthur, “It were well for thee, Gurhyr Gwalstat, to go upon this

quest, for thou knowest all languages, and art familiar with those of

the birds and the beasts. Thou, Eidoel, oughtest likewise to go with thy

men in search of thy cousin. And as for you, Kay and Bedwyr, I have hope

of whatever adventure ye are in quest of, that ye will achieve it.

Achieve ye this adventure for me.”

They went forward until they came to the Ousel of Cilgwri. And Gurhyr

adjured her, saying, “Tell me if thou knowest aught of Mabon, the son of

Modron, who was taken when three nights old from between his mother and

the wall?” And the Ousel answered, “When I first came here, there was a

smith’s anvil in this place, and I was then a young bird; and from that

time no work has been done upon it, save the pecking of my beak every

evening; and now there is not so much as the size of a nut remaining

thereof; yet during all that time I have never heard of the man for whom

you inquire. Nevertheless, I will do that which it is fitting that I

should for an embassy from Arthur. There is a race of animals who were

formed before me, and I will be your guide to them.”

So they proceeded to the place where was the Stag of Redynvre. “Stag of

Redynvre, behold, we are come to thee, an embassy from Arthur, for we

have not heard of any animal older than thou. Say, knowest thou aught of

Mabon, the son of Modron, who was taken from his mother when three

nights old?” The Stag said, “When first I came hither there was a plain

all around me, without any trees save one oak sapling, which grew up to

be an oak with an hundred branches; and that oak has since perished, so

that now nothing remains of it but the withered stump; and from that day

to this I have been here, yet have I never heard of the man for whom you

inquire. Nevertheless, being an embassy from Arthur, I will be your

guide to the place where there is an animal which was formed before I

was, and the oldest animal in the world, and the one that has travelled

most, the Eagle of Gwern Abwy.”

Gurhyr said, “Eagle of Gwern Abwy, we have come to thee, an embassy from

Arthur, to ask thee if thou knowest aught of Mabon, the son of Modron,

who was taken from his mother when he was three nights old?” The Eagle

said, “I have been here for a great space of time, and when I first came

hither, there was a rock here from the top of which I pecked at the

stars every evening; and it has crumbled away, and now it is not so much

as a span high. All that time I have been here, and I have never heard

of the man for whom you inquire, except once when I went in search of

food as far as Llyn Llyw. And when I came there, I struck my talons into

a salmon, thinking he would serve me as food for a long time. But he

drew me into the water, and I was scarcely able to escape from him.

After that I made peace with him. And I drew fifty fish-spears out of

his back, and relieved him. Unless he know something of him whom you

seek, I cannot tell who may. However, I will guide you to the place

where he is.”

So they went thither; and the Eagle said, “Salmon of Llyn Llyw, I have

come to thee with an embassy from Arthur, to ask thee if thou knowest

aught of Mabon, the son of Modron, who was taken away at three nights

old from his mother.” “As much as I know I will tell thee. With every

tide I go along the river upward, until I come near to the walls of

Gloucester, and there have I found such wrong as I never found

elsewhere; and to the end that ye may give credence thereto, let one of

you go thither upon each of my two shoulders.” So Kay and Gurhyr

Gwalstat went upon the two shoulders of the Salmon, and they proceeded

until they came unto the wall of the prison; and they heard a great

wailing and lamenting from the dungeon. Said Gurhyr, “Who is it that

laments in this house of stone?” “Alas! it is Mabon, the son of Modron,

who is here imprisoned; and no imprisonment was ever so grievous as

mine.” “Hast thou hope of being released for gold or for silver, or for

any gifts of wealth, or through battle and fighting?” “By fighting will

what ever I may gain be obtained.”

Then they went thence, and returned to Arthur, and they told him where

Mabon, the son of Modron, was imprisoned. And Arthur summoned the

warriors of the island, and they journeyed as far as Gloucester, to the

place where Mabon was in prison. Kay and Bedwyr went upon the shoulders

of the fish, whilst the warriors of Arthur attacked the castle. And Kay

broke through the wall into the dungeon, and brought away the prisoner

upon his back, whilst the fight was going on between the warriors. And

Arthur returned home, and Mabon with him at liberty.

On a certain day as Gurhyr Gwalstat was walking over a mountain, he

heard a wailing and a grievous cry. And when he heard it, he sprang

forward and went towards it. And when he came there, he saw a fire

burning among the turf, and an ant-hill nearly surrounded with the fire.

And he drew his sword, and smote off the ant-hill close to the earth, so

that it escaped being burned in the fire. And the ants said to him,

“Receive from us the blessing of Heaven, and that which no man can give,

we give thee.” Then they fetched the nine bushels of flax-seed which

Yspadaden Penkawr had required of Kilwich, and they brought the full

measure, without lacking any, except one flax-seed, and that the lame

pismire brought in before night.

Then said Arthur, “Which of the marvels will it be best for us to seek

next?” “It will be best to seek for the two cubs of the wolf Gast

Rhymhi.”

“Is it known,” said Arthur, “where she is?” “She is in Aber Cleddyf,”

said one. Then Arthur went to the house of Tringad, in Aber Cleddyf, and

he inquired of him whether he had heard of her there. “She has often

slain my herds, and she is there below in a cave in Aber Cleddyf.”

Then Arthur went in his ship Prydwen by sea, and the others went by land

to hunt her. And they surrounded her and her two cubs, and took them and

carried them away.

As Kay and Bedwyr sat on a beacon-cairn on the summit of Plinlimmon, in

the highest wind that ever was, they looked around them and saw a great

smoke, afar off. Then said Kay, “By the hand of my friend, yonder is the

fire of a robber.” Then they hastened towards the smoke, and they came

so near to it that they could see Dillus Varwawc scorching a wild boar.

“Behold, yonder is the greatest robber that ever fled from Arthur,” said

Bedwyr to Kay. “Dost thou know him?” “I do know him,” answered Kay; “he

is Dillus Varwarc, and no leash in the world will be able to hold the

cubs of Gast Rhymi, save a leash made from the beard of him thou seest

yonder. And even that will be useless unless his beard be plucked out

alive, with wooden tweezers; for if dead it will be brittle.” “What

thinkest thou that we should do concerning this?” said Bedwyr. “Let us

suffer him,” said Kay, “to eat as much as he will of the meat, and after

that he will fall asleep.” And during that time they employed themselves

in making the wooden tweezers. And when Kay knew certainly that he was

asleep, he made a pit under his feet, and he struck him a violent blow,

and squeezed him into the pit. And there they twitched out his beard

completely with the wooden tweezers, and after that they slew him

altogether. And from thence they went, and took the leash made of Dillus

Varwawc’s beard, and they gave it into Arthur’s hand.

Thus they got all the marvels that Yspadaden Penkawr had required of

Kilwich; and they set forward, and took the marvels to his court. And

Kilwich said to Yspadaden Penkawr, “Is thy daughter mine now?” “She is

thine,” said he, “but therefore needest thou not thank me, but Arthur,

who hath accomplished this for thee.” Then Goreu, the son of Custennin,

the herdsman, whose brothers Yspadaden Penkawr had slain, seized him by

the hair of his head, and dragged him after him to the keep, and cut off

his head, and placed it on a stake on the citadel. Then they took

possession of his castle, and of his treasures. And that night Olwen

became Kilwich’s bride, and she continued to be his wife as long as she

lived.

————

CHAPTER XIII

TALIESIN

GWYDDNO GARANHIR was sovereign of Gwaelod, a territory bordering on the

sea. And he possessed a weir upon the strand between Dyvi and

Aberystwyth, near to his own castle, and the value of an hundred pounds

was taken in that weir every May eve. And Gwyddno had an only son named

Elphin, the most hapless of youths, and the most needy. And it grieved

his father sore, for he thought that he was born in an evil hour. By the

advice of his council, his father had granted him the drawing of the

weir that year, to see if good luck would ever befall him, and to give

him something wherewith to begin the world. And this was on the

twenty-ninth of April.

The next day, when Elphin went to look, there was nothing in the weir

but a leathern bag upon a pole of the weir. Then said the weir-ward unto

Elphin, “All thy ill-luck aforetime was nothing to this; and now thou

hast destroyed the virtues of the weir, which always yielded the value

of an hundred pounds every May eve; and to-night there is nothing but

this leathern skin within it.” “How now,” said Elphin, “there may be

therein the value of a hundred pounds.” Well! they took up the leathern

bag, and he who opened it saw the forehead of an infant, the fairest

that ever was seen; and he said, “Behold a radiant brow?” (In the Welsh

language, _taliesin_.) “Taliesin be he called,” said Elphin. And he

lifted the bag in his arms, and, lamenting his bad luck, placed the boy

sorrowfully behind him. And he made his horse amble gently, that before

had been trotting, and he carried him as softly as if he had been siting

in the easiest chair in the world. And presently the boy made a

Consolation, and praise to Elphin; and the Consolation was as you may

here see:

“Fair Elphin, cease to lament!

Never in Gwyddno’s weir

Was there such good luck as this night.

Being sad will not avail;

Better to trust in God than to forbode ill;

Weak and small as I am,

On the foaming beach of the ocean,

In the day of trouble I shall be

Of more service to thee than three hundred salmon.”

This was the first poem that Taliesin ever sung, being to console Elphin

in his grief for that the produce of the weir was lost, and what was

worse, that all the world would consider that it was through his fault

and ill-luck. Then Elphin asked him what he was, whether man or spirit.

And he sung thus:

“I have been formed a comely person;

Although I am but little, I am highly gifted;

Into a dark leathern bag I was thrown,

And on a boundless sea I was sent adrift.

From seas and from mountains

God brings wealth to the fortunate man.”

Then came Elphin to the house of Gwyddno, his father, and Taliesin with

him. Gwyddno asked him if he had had a good haul at the weir, and he

told him that he had got that which was better than fish. “What was

that?” said Gwyddno. “A bard,” said Elphin. Then said Gwyddno, “Alas!

what will he profit thee?” And Taliesin himself replied and said, “He

will profit him more than the weir ever profited thee.” Asked Gwyddno,

“Art thou able to speak, and thou so little?” And Taliesin answered him,

“I am better able to speak than thou to question me.” “Let me hear what

thou canst say,” quoth Gwyddno. Then Taliesin sang:

“Three times have I been born, I know by meditation;

All the sciences of the world are collected in my breast,

For I know what has been, and what hereafter will occur.”

Elphin gave his haul to his wife, and she nursed him tenderly and

lovingly. Thenceforward Elphin increased in riches more and more, day

after day, and in love and favor with the king; and there abode Taliesin

until he was thirteen years old, when Elphin, son of Gwyddno, went by a

Christmas invitation to his uncle, Maelgan Gwynedd, who held open court

at Christmas-tide in the castle of Dyganwy, for all the number of his

lords of both degrees, both spiritual and temporal, with a vast and

thronged host of knights and squires. And one arose and said, “Is there

in the whole world a king so great as Maelgan, or one on whom Heaven has

bestowed so many gifts as upon him;—form, and beauty, and meekness, and

strength, besides all the powers of the soul?” And together with these

they said that Heaven had given one gift that exceeded all the others,

which was the beauty, and grace, and wisdom, and modesty of his queen,

whose virtues surpassed those of all the ladies and noble maidens

throughout the whole kingdom. And with this they put questions one to

another, Who had braver men? Who had fairer or swifter horses or

greyhounds? Who had more skilful or wiser bards than Maelgan?

When they had all made an end of their praising the king and his gifts,

it befell that Elphin spoke on this wise. “Of a truth, none but a king

may vie with a king; but were he not a king, I would say that my wife

was as virtuous as any lady in the kingdom, and also that I have a bard

who is more skilful than all the king’s bards.” In a short space some of

his fellows told the king all the boastings of Elphin; and the king

ordered him to be thrown into a strong prison, until he might show the

truth as to the virtues of his wife, and the wisdom of his bard.

Now when Elphin had been put in a tower of the castle, with a thick

chain about his feet (it is said that it was a silver chain, because he

was of royal blood), the king, as the story relates, sent his son Rhun

to inquire into the demeanor of Elphin’s wife. Now Rhun was the most

graceless man in the world, and there was neither wife nor maiden with

whom he held converse but was evil spoken of. While Rhun went in haste

towards Elphin’s dwelling, being fully minded to bring disgrace upon his

wife, Taliesin told his mistress how that the king had placed his master

in durance in prison, and how that Rhun was coming in haste to strive to

bring disgrace upon her. Wherefore he caused his mistress to array one

of the maids of her kitchen in her apparel; which the noble lady gladly

did, and she loaded her hands with the best rings that she and her

husband possessed.

In this guise Taliesin caused his mistress to put the maiden to sit at

the board in her room at supper; and he made her to seem as her

mistress, and the mistress to seem as the maid. And when they were in

due time seated at their supper, in the manner that has been said, Rhun

suddenly arrived at Elphin’s dwelling, and was received with joy, for

the servants knew him; and they brought him to the room of their

mistress, in the semblance of whom the maid rose up from supper and

welcomed him gladly. And afterwards she sat down to supper again, and

Rhun with her. Then Rhun began jesting with the maid, who still kept the

semblance of her mistress. And verily this story shows that the maiden

became so intoxicated that she fell asleep; and the story relates that

it was a powder that Rhun put into the drink, that made her sleep so

soundly that she never felt it when he cut off from her hand her little

finger, whereon was the signet ring of Elphin, which he had sent to his

wife as a token a short time before. And Rhun returned to the king with

the finger and the ring as a proof, to show that he had cut it off from

her hand without her awaking from her sleep of intemperance.

The king rejoiced greatly at these tidings, and he sent for his

councillors, to whom he told the whole story from the beginning. And he

caused Elphin to be brought out of prison, and he chided him because of

his boast. And he spake on this wise: “Elphin, be it known to thee

beyond a doubt, that it is but folly for a man to trust in the virtues

of his wife further than he can see her; and that thou mayest be certain

of thy wife’s vileness, behold her finger, with thy signet ring upon it,

which was cut from her hand last night, while she slept the sleep of

intoxication.” Then thus spake Elphin: “With thy leave, mighty king, I

cannot deny my ring, for it is known of many; but verily I assert that

the finger around which it is was never attached to the hand of my wife;

for in truth and certainty there are three notable things pertaining to

it, none of which ever belonged to any of my wife’s fingers. The first

of the three is, that it is certainly known to me that this ring would

never remain upon her thumb, whereas you can plainly see that it is hard

to draw it over the joint of the little finger of the hand whence this

was cut. The second thing is, that my wife has never let pass one

Saturday since I have known her, without paring her nails before going

to bed, and you can see fully that the nail of this little finger has

not been pared for a month. The third is, truly, that the hand whence

this finger came was kneading rye dough within three days before the

finger was cut therefrom, and I can assure your highness that my wife

has never kneaded rye dough since my wife she has been.”

The king was mightily wroth with Elphin for so stoutly withstanding him,

respecting the goodness of his wife; wherefore he ordered him to his

prison a second time, saying that he should not be loosed thence until

he had proved the truth of his boast, as well concerning the wisdom of

his bard as the virtues of his wife.

In the meantime his wife and Taliesin remained joyful at Elphin’s

dwelling. And Taliesin showed his mistress how that Elphin was in prison

because of them; but he bade her be glad, for that he would go to

Maelgan’s court to free his master. So he took leave of his mistress,

and came to the court of Maelgan, who was going to sit in his hall, and

dine in his royal state, as it was the custom in those days for kings

and princes to do at every chief feast. As soon as Taliesin entered the

hall he placed himself in a quiet corner, near the place where the bards

and the minstrels were wont to come, in doing their service and duty to

the king, as is the custom at the high festivals, when the bounty is

proclaimed. So, when the bards and the heralds came to cry largess, and

to proclaim the power of the king, and his strength, at the moment when

they passed by the corner wherein he was crouching, Taliesin pouted out

his lips after them, and played “Blerwm, blerwm!” with his finger upon

his lips. Neither took they much notice of him as they went by but

proceeded forward till they came before the king, unto whom they made

their obeisance with their bodies, as they were wont, without speaking a

single word, but pouting out their lips, and making mouths at the king,

playing, “Blerwm, blerwm!” upon their lips with their fingers, as they

had seen the boy do. This sight caused the king to wonder, and to deem

within himself that they were drunk with many liquors. Wherefore he

commanded one of his lords, who served at the board, to go to them and

desire them to collect their wits, and to consider where they stood, and

what it was fitting for them to do. And this lord did so gladly. But

they ceased not from their folly any more than before. Whereupon he sent

to them a second time, and a third, desiring them to go forth from the

hall. At the last the king ordered one of his squires to give a blow to

the chief of them, named Heinin Vardd; and the squire took a broom and

struck him on the head, so that he fell back in his seat. Then he arose,

and went on his knees, and besought leave of the king’s grace to show

that this their fault was not through want of knowledge, neither through

drunkenness, but by the influence of some spirit that was in the hall.

And he spoke on this wise: “O honorable king, be it known to your grace

that not from the strength of drink, or of too much liquor, are we dumb,

but through the influence of a spirit that sits in the corner yonder, in

the form of a child.” Forthwith the king commanded the squire to fetch

him; and he went to the nook where Taliesin sat, and brought him before

the king, who asked him what he was, and whence he came. And he answered

the king in verse:

“Primary chief bard am I to Elphin,

And my native country is the region of the summer stars;

I have been in Asia with Noah in the ark,

I have seen the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah,

I was in India when Rome was built,

I have now come here to the remnant of Troia.”

When the king and his nobles had heard the song, they wondered much, for

they had never heard the like from a boy so young as he. And when the

king knew that he was the bard of Elphin he bade Heinin, his first and

wisest bard, to answer Taliesin, and to strive with him. But when he

came he could do no other than play “Blerwm!” on his lips; and when he

sent for the others of the four and twenty bards, they all did likewise,

and could do no other. And Maelgan asked the boy Taliesin what was his

errand, and he answered him in song:

“Elphin, the son of Gwyddno,

Is in the land of Artro,

Secured by thirteen locks,

For praising his instructor.

Therefore I, Taliesin,

Chief of the bards of the west,

Will loosen Elphin

Out of a golden fetter.”

Then he sang to them a riddle:

“Discover thou what is

The strong creature from before the flood,

Without flesh, without bone,

Without vein, without blood,

Without head, without feet;

It will neither be older nor younger

Than at the beginning.

Behold how the sea whitens

When first it comes,

When it comes from the south,

When it strikes on coasts.

It is in the field, it is in the wood,

But the eye cannot perceive it.

One Being has prepared it,

By a tremendous blast,

To wreak vengeance

On Maelgan Gwynedd.

While he was thus singing his verse, there arose a mighty storm of wind,

so that the king and all his nobles thought that the castle would fall

upon their heads. And the king caused them to fetch Elphin in haste from

his dungeon, and placed him before Taliesin. And it is said that

immediately he sung a verse, so that the chains opened from about his

feet.

After that Taliesin brought Elphin’s wife before them, and showed that

she had not one finger wanting. And in this manner did he set his master

free from prison, and protect the innocence of his mistress, and silence

the bards so that not one of them dared to say a word. Right glad was

Elphin, right glad was Taliesin.

[BLANK PAGE]

HERO MYTHS OF THE BRITISH RACE

BEOWULF

NOTABLE among the names of heroes of the British race is that of

Beowulf, which appeals to all English-speaking people in a very special

way, since he is the one hero in whose story we may see the ideals of

our English forefathers before they left their Continental home to cross

to the islands of Britain.

Although this hero had distinguished himself by numerous feats of

strength during his boyhood and early youth, it was as the deliverer of

Hrothgar, king of Denmark, from the monster Grendel that he first gained

wide renown. Grendel was half monster and half man, and had his abode in

the fen-fastnesses in the vicinity of Hrothgar’s residence. Night after

night he would steal into the king’s great palace called Heorot and slay

sometimes as many as thirty at one time of the knights sleeping there.

Beowulf put himself at the head of a selected band of warriors, went

against the monster, and after a terrible fight slew it. The following

night Grendel’s mother, a fiend scarcely less terrible than her son,

carried off one of Hrothgar’s boldest thanes. Once more Beowulf went to

the help of the Danish king, followed the she-monster to her lair at the

bottom of a muddy lake in the midst of the swamp, and with his good

sword Hrunting and his own muscular arms broke the sea-woman’s neck.

Upon his return to his own country of the Geats, loaded with honors

bestowed upon him by Hrothgar, Beowulf served the king of Geatland as

the latter’s most trusted counsellor and champion. When, after many

years, the king fell before an enemy, the Geats unanimously chose

Beowulf for their new king. His fame as a warrior kept his country free

from invasion, and his wisdom as a statesman increased its prosperity

and happiness.

In the fiftieth year of Beowulf’s reign, however, a great terror fell

upon the land in the way of a monstrous fire-dragon, which flew forth by

night from its den in the rocks, lighting up the blackness with its

blazing breath, and burning houses and homesteads, men and cattle, with

the flames from its mouth. When the news came to Beowulf that his people

were suffering and dying, and that no warrior dared to risk his life in

an effort to deliver the country from this deadly devastation, the aged

king took up his shield and sword and went forth to his last fight. At

the entrance of the dragon’s cave Beowulf raised his voice and shouted a

furious defiance to the awesome guardian of the den. Roaring hideously

and flapping his glowing wings together, the dragon rushed forth and

half flew, half sprang, on Beowulf. Then began a fearful combat, which

ended in Beowulf’s piercing the dragon’s scaly armor and inflicting a

mortal wound, but alas! in himself being given a gash in the neck by his

opponent’s poisoned fangs which resulted in his death. As he lay

stretched on the ground, his head supported by Wiglaf, an honored

warrior who had helped in the fight with the dragon, Beowulf roused

himself to say, as he grasped Wiglaf’s hand:

“Thou must now look to the needs of the nation;

Here dwell I no longer, for Destiny calleth me!

Bid thou my warriors after my funeral pyre

Build me a burial-cairn high on the sea-cliff’s head;

So that the seafarers Beowulf’s Barrow

Henceforth shall name it, they who drive far and wide

Over the mighty flood their foamy keels.

Thou art the last of all the kindred of Wagmund!

Wyrd has swept all my kin, all the brave chiefs away!

Now must I follow them!”

These last words spoken, the king of the Geats, brave to seek danger and

brave to look on death and Fate undaunted, fell back dead. According to

his last desires, his followers gathered wood and piled it on the

cliff-head. Upon this funeral pyre was laid Beowulf’s body and consumed

to ashes. Then, upon the same cliff of Hronesness, was erected a huge

burial cairn, widespread and lofty, to be known thereafter as Beowulf’s

Barrow.

————

CUCHULAIN, CHAMPION OF IRELAND

AMONG all the early literatures of Europe, there are two which, at

exactly opposite corners of the continent, display most strikingly

similar characteristics. These are the Greek and the Irish, and the

legend of the Irish champion Cuchulain, which well illustrates the

similarity of the literatures, bears so close a resemblance to the story

of Achilles as to win for this hero the title of “the Irish Achilles.”

Certainly in reckless courage, power of inspiring dread, sense of

personal merit, and frankness of speech the Irish hero is fully equal to

the mighty Greek.

Cuchulain was the nephew of King Conor of Ulster, son of his sister

Dechtire, and it is said that his father was no mortal man, but the

great god Lugh of the Long Hand. Cuchulain was brought up by King Conor

himself, and even while he was still a boy his fame spread all over

Ireland. His warlike deeds were those of a proved warrior, not of a

child of nursery age; and by the time Cuchulain was seventeen he was

without peer among the champions of Ulster.

Upon Cuchulain’s marriage to Emer, daughter of Forgall the Wily, a Druid

of great power, the couple took up their residence at Armagh, the

capital of Ulster, under the protection of King Conor. Here there was

one chief, Bricriu of the Bitter Tongue, who, like Thersites among the

Grecian leaders, delighted in making mischief. Soon he had on foot plans

for stirring up strife among the heroes of Ulster, leaders among whom

were the mighty Laegaire, Conall Cearnach, cousin of Cuchulain, and

Cuchulain himself. Inviting the members of King Conor’s court to dinner,

Bricriu arranged that a contest should arise over who should have the

“champion’s portion,” and so successful was he that, to avoid a bloody

fight, the three heroes mentioned decided to submit their claims to the

championship of Ireland to King Ailill of Connaught.

Ailill put the heroes to an unexpected test. Their dinner was served

them in a separate room, into which three magic beasts, in the shape of

monstrous cats, were sent by the king. When they saw them Laegire and

Conall rose from their meal, climbed among the rafters, and stayed there

all night. Cuchulain waited until one cat attacked him, and then,

drawing his sword, struck the monster. It showed no further sign of

fight, and at daybreak the magic beasts disappeared.

As Laegire and Conall claimed that this test was an unfair one, Ailill

sent the three rivals to Curoi of Kerry, a just and wise man, who set

out to discover by wizardry and enchantments the best among the heroes.

In turn they stood watch outside Curoi’s castle, where Laegire and

Conall were overcome by a huge giant, who hurled spears of mighty oak

trees, and ended by throwing them over the wall into the courtyard.

Cuchulain alone withstood the giant, whereupon he was attacked by other

magic foes. Among these was a dragon, which flew on horrible wings from

a neighboring lake, and seemed ready to devour everything in its way.

Cuchulain sprang up, giving his wonderful hero-leap, thrust his arm into

the dragon’s mouth and down its throat, and tore out its heart. After

the monster fell dead, he cut off its scaly head.

As even yet Cuchulain’s opponents would not admit his championship, they

were all three directed to return to Armagh, to await Curoi’s judgment.

Here it happened that all the Ulster heroes were in the great hall one

night, except Cuchulain and his cousin Conall. As they sat in order of

rank, a terrible stranger, gigantic in stature, hideous of aspect, with

ravening yellow eyes, entered. In his hand he bore an enormous axe, with

keen and shining edge. Upon King Conor’s inquiring his business there,

the stranger replied:

“Behold my axe! The man who will grasp it to-day may cut my head off

with it, provided that I may, in like manner, cut off his head

to-morrow. If you have no champion who dare face me, I will say that

Ulster has lost her courage and is dishonored.”

At once Laegire accepted the challenge. The giant laid his head on a

block, and at a blow the hero severed it from the body. Thereupon the

giant arose, took the head and the axe, and thus, headless, strode from

the hall. But the following night, when he returned, sound as ever, to

claim the fulfilment of Laegire’s promise, the latter’s heart failed him

and he did not come forward. The stranger then jeered at the men of

Ulster because their great champion durst not keep his agreement, nor

face the blow he should receive in return for the one he gave.

The men of Ulster were utterly ashamed, but Conall Cearnach, who was

present that night, made a new agreement with the stranger. He gave a

blow which beheaded the giant, but again, when the latter returned whole

and sound on the following evening, the champion was not to be found.

Now it was the turn of Cuchulain, who, as the others had done, cut off

the giant’s head at one stroke. The next day the members of Conor’s

court watched Cuchulain to see what he would do. They would not have

been surprised if he had failed like the others, who now were present.

The champion, however, showed no signs of failing or retreat. He sat

sorrowfully in his place, and with a sigh said to King Conor as they

waited: “Do not leave this place till all is over. Death is coming to me

very surely, but I must fulfil my agreement, for I would rather die than

break my word.”

Towards the close of day the stranger strode into the hall exultant.

“Where is Cuchulain?” he cried.

“Here I am,” was the reply.

“Ah, poor boy! your speech is sad to-night, and the fear of death lies

heavy on you; but at least you have redeemed your word and have not

failed me.”

The youth rose from his seat and went towards him, as he stood with the

great axe ready, and knelt to receive the blow.

The hero of Ulster laid his head on the block; but the giant was not

satisfied. “Stretch out your neck better,” said he.

“You are playing with me, to torment me,” said Cuchulain. “Slay me now

speedily, for I did not keep you waiting last night.”

However, he stretched out his neck as ordered, and the stranger raised

his axe till it crashed upwards through the rafters of the hall, like

the crash of trees falling in a storm. When the axe came down with a

terrific sound all men looked fearfully at Cuchulain. The descending axe

had not even touched him; it had come down with the blunt side on the

ground, and the youth knelt there unharmed. Smiling at him, and leaning

on his axe, stood no terrible and hideous stranger, but Curoi of Kerry,

come to give his decision at last.

“Rise up, Cuchulain,” said Curoi. “There is none among all the heroes of

Ulster to equal you in courage and loyalty and truth. The Championship

of the Heroes of Ireland is yours from this day forth, and the

Champion’s Portion at all feasts; and to your wife I adjudge the first

place among all the women of Ulster. Woe to him who dares to dispute

this decision!” Thereupon Curoi vanished, and the warriors gathered

around Cuchulain, and all with one voice acclaimed him the Champion of

the Heroes of all Ireland—a title which has clung to him until this

day.

This is one of many stories told of the Irish champion, whose deeds of

bravery would fill many pages. Cuchulain finally came to his end on the

field of battle, after a fight in which he displayed all his usual

gallantry but in which unfair means were used to overcome him.

For Wales and for England during centuries Arthur has been the

representative “very gentle perfect knight.” In a similar way, in

England’s sister isle, Cuchulain stands ever for the highest ideals of

the Irish Gaels.

————

HEREWARD THE WAKE

IN Hereward the Wake (or “Watchful”) is found one of those heroes whose

date can be ascertained with a fair amount of exactness and yet in whose

story occur mythological elements which seem to belong to all ages. The

folklore of primitive races is a great storehouse whence a people can

choose tales and heroic deeds to glorify its own national hero, careless

that the same tales and deeds have done duty for other peoples and other

heroes. Hence it happens that Hereward the Saxon, a patriot hero as real

and actual as Nelson or George Washington, whose deeds were recorded in

prose and verse within forty years of his death, was even then

surrounded by a cloud of romance and mystery, which hid in vagueness his

family, his marriage, and even his death.

Briefly it may be stated that Hereward was a native of Lincolnshire, and

was in his prime about 1070. In that year he joined a party of Danes who

appeared in England, attacked Peterborough and sacked the abbey there,

and afterward took refuge in the Isle of Ely. Here he was besieged by

William the Conqueror, and was finally forced to yield to the Norman. He

thus came to stand for the defeated Saxon race, and his name has been

passed down as that of the darling hero of the Saxons. For his splendid

defence of Ely they forgave his final surrender to Duke William; they

attributed to him all the virtues supposed to be inherent in the

free-born, and all the glorious valor on which the English prided

themselves; and, lastly, they surrounded his death with a halo of

desperate fighting, and made his last conflict as wonderful as that of

Roland at Roncesvalles. If Roland is the ideal of Norman feudal

chivalry, Hereward is equally the ideal of Anglo-Saxon sturdy manliness

and knighthood.

An account of one of Hereward’s adventures as a youth will serve as

illustration of the stories told of his prowess. On an enforced visit to

Cornwall, he found that King Alef, a petty British chief, had betrothed

his fair daughter to a terrible Pictish giant, breaking off, in order to

do it, her troth-plight with Prince Sigtryg of Waterford, son of a

Danish king in Ireland. Hereward, ever chivalrous, picked a quarrel with

the giant and killed him in fair fight, whereupon the king threw him

into prison. In the following night, however, the released princess

arranged that the gallant Saxon should be freed and sent hot-foot for

her lover, Prince Sigtryg. After many adventures Hereward reached the

prince, who hastened to return to Cornwall with the young hero. But to

the grief of both, they learned upon their arrival that the princess had

just been betrothed to a wild Cornish hero, Haco, and the wedding feast

was to be held that very day. Sigtryg at once sent a troop of forty

Danes to King Alef demanding the fulfilment of the troth-plight between

himself and his daughter, and threatening vengeance if it were broken.

To this threat the king returned no answer, and no Dane came back to

tell of their reception.

Sigtryg would have waited till morning, trusting in the honor of the

king, but Hereward disguised himself as a minstrel and obtained

admission to the bridal feast, where he soon won applause by his

beautiful singing. The bridegroom, Haco, in a rapture offered him any

boon he liked to ask, but he demanded only a cup of wine from the hands

of the bride. When she brought it to him he flung into the empty cup the

betrothal ring, the token she had sent to Sigtryg, and said: “I thank

thee, lady, and would reward thee for thy gentleness to a wandering

minstrel; I give back the cup, richer than before by the kind thoughts

of which it bears the token.” The princess looked at him, gazed into the

goblet, and saw her ring; then, looking again, she recognized her

deliverer and knew that rescue was at hand.

While men feasted Hereward listened and talked, and found out that the

forty Danes were prisoners, to be released on the morrow when Haco was

sure of his bride, but released useless and miserable, since they would

be turned adrift blinded. Haco was taking his lovely bride back to his

own land, and Hereward saw that any rescue, to be successful, must be

attempted on the march.

Returning to Sigtryg, the young Saxon told all that he had learned, and

the Danes planned an ambush in the ravine where Haco had decided to

blind and set free his captives. The whole was carried out exactly as

Hereward arranged it. The Cornishmen, with the Danish captives, passed

first without attack; next came Haco, riding grim and ferocious beside

his silent bride, he exulting in his success, she looking eagerly for

any signs of rescue. As they passed Hereward sprang from his shelter,

crying, “Upon them, Danes, and set your brethren free!” and himself

struck down Haco and smote off his head. There was a short struggle, but

soon the rescued Danes were able to aid their deliverers, and the

Cornish guards were all slain; the men of King Alef, never very zealous

for the cause of Haco, fled, and the Danes were left masters of the

field.

Sigtryg had in the meantime seen to the safety of the princess, and now,

placing her between himself and Hereward, he escorted her to the ship,

which soon brought them to Waterford and a happy bridal. The Prince and

Princess of Waterford always recognized in Hereward their deliverer and

best friend, and in their gratitude wished him to dwell with them

always; but the hero’s roving and daring temper forbade his settling

down, but rather urged him on to deeds of arms in other lands, where he

quickly won a renown second to none.

————

ROBIN HOOD