The old stories tell that King Arthur and his gallant knights are not
dead; they are only sleeping and will awake with renewed vigour, should
ever they be needed to fight the enemies of their beloved land. And
their resting place is within the great upstanding limestone rock of
Craig-y-Ddinas in South Wales.
There is a tale told of a Welshman from Llantrisant who was accosted
on London Bridge, of all places, by a strange little man with a grey
beard, who asked where he had cut the hazel staff he carried. The
Welshman replied: “In my own country not far from my home.”
“Where that staff was cut,” the grey beard said, “is gold beyond
counting and I can show you how to get it.” So the Welshman invited his
queer acquaintance to accompany him to his home, and shortly afterwards
the two set out for Craig-y-Ddinas, which is a few miles away in the
Vale of Neath.
They came to an entrance of a cave close by where the hazel staff had
been cut, and the stranger bade the Welshman enter. Within the entrance
was a silver bell hanging from the roof, beyond which a passage led to
a great cavernous hall where, around a massive oak table, were a number
of warriors, fast asleep, but still clad in their armour and with
their weapons by their sides. One of these ancient warriors, with a
long silver beard, wore a crown upon his head. This was the great King
Arthur himself, the stranger said.
But what most attracted the eye of the Welshman was a mighty stack
of gold piled high in the centre of the table, upon which the light
from the flickering flames of a fire in one corner of the underground
chamber glinted pleasantly.
“Now help yourself,” said the stranger, “but in carrying out your gold,
do not ring the bell or you will awaken the knights. If you should
chance to ring it be ready to answer immediately for they will ask: ‘Is
it day?’ and you must reply: ‘Sleep on, it is still night.’ Then all
may be well.” With this the mysterious stranger disappeared.
The Welshman did as he had been instructed, although in his hurry to
escape with the treasure he did cause the bell to chime. But his answer
satisfied the awakened warriors who instantly returned to their age-old
slumbers.
For many years this Welshman lived in luxury and ease upon his stolen
treasure, but at last it was exhausted, and he determined to go back
again to the cave and seek some more. This time his greed tempted him
to carry away more gold than he could easily lift. He staggered panting
with his heavy burden to the entrance, and then again he blundered
against the silver bell which gave out its warning notes.
The ancient warriors awakened. “Is it day?” they cried, but the
Welshman was so breathless with his exertion that he could not reply.
Then the knights rose from their chairs and fell upon him, beating him
cruelly before they ejected him roughly from their cavern, and closed
and locked the door behind him.
The greedy fellow lived for many years after this adventure but he
never recovered from his trouncing and he died a cripple and a pauper
in the town where he had lived in such opulence, and although he tried
many times to find the treasure chamber again he could never do so. And
so it is supposed that King Arthur and his knights still sleep on in
Craig-y-Ddinas, awaiting the call to further action which may some day
come.
Llantrisant, where the hero--or should it not be villain?--of this
strange old story lived, is a charming little town straggling up the
steep slopes of a wooded hill with--in this part of the world--the
inevitable ruined castle close at hand. It is a forgotten little place
in the midst of varied country with fine views from the top of the
hill, over a moorland district towards the mountains of Brecknock.
Craig-y-Ddinas you will find in the beautiful Vale of Neath a little
further west. It rises precipitously from the edge of the little river
Mellte, and from its top, where the fairies dance of nights, you get a
superb view of the lovely valley. Here you are in some of the grandest
scenery in Wales, a country particularly rich in waterfalls and rushing
brooks.
It is a lovely land skirted on the south by the Great Western Line,
that runs from Neath to Aberdare. Neath, on the main line, is a good
centre from which to start to explore this beautiful valley.
And when you tire of the mountains, you can turn southwards and see
that stretch of little known coast, with its bold headlands and
spring-turfed cliffs that runs from Briton Ferry as far as busy Barry
Docks. Strangers do not often come here, yet in all our land it would
be hard to find a more attractive district, made yet more pleasing by
the absence of _other_ holiday makers.
[Illustration: _The Vale of Neath._]
[Illustration: a woman sitting by window holding a bird and looking
over her shoulder out the window.]