Title: The Mabinogion
Author: Lady Charlotte Guest, - To be updated
Language: English
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Transcribed from the 1849 edition text by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org



                              THE MABINOGION


                    TRANSLATED BY LADY CHARLOTTE GUEST



CONTENTS

Introduction                             1
The Lady of the Fountain                 2
Peredur the Son of Evrawc                3
Geraint the son of Erbin                 4
Kilhwch and Olwen                        5
The dream of Rhonabwy                    6
Pwyll Prince of Dyved                    7
Branwen the daughter of Llyr             8
Manawyddan the son of Llyr               9
Math the son of Mathonwy                10
The dream of Maxen Wledig               11
The story of Lludd and Llevelys         12
Taliesin                                13



INTRODUCTION


WHILST engaged on the Translations contained in these volumes, and on the
Notes appended to the various Tales, I have found myself led unavoidably
into a much more extensive course of reading than I had originally
contemplated, and one which in great measure bears directly upon the
earlier Mediæval Romance.

Before commencing these labours, I was aware, generally, that there
existed a connexion between the Welsh Mabinogion and the Romance of the
Continent; but as I advanced, I became better acquainted with the
closeness and extent of that connexion, its history, and the proofs by
which it is supported.

At the same time, indeed, I became aware, and still strongly feel, that
it is one thing to collect facts, and quite another to classify and draw
from them their legitimate conclusions; and though I am loth that what
has been collected with some pains, should be entirely thrown away, it is
unwillingly, and with diffidence, that I trespass beyond the acknowledged
province of a translator.

In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries there arose into general
notoriety in Europe, a body of “Romance,” which in various forms retained
its popularity till the Reformation.  In it the plot, the incidents, the
characters, were almost wholly those of Chivalry, that bond which united
the warriors of France, Spain, and Italy, with those of pure Teutonic
descent, and embraced more or less firmly all the nations of Europe,
excepting only the Slavonic races, not yet risen to power, and the Celts,
who had fallen from it.  It is not difficult to account for this latter
omission.  The Celts, driven from the plains into the mountains and
islands, preserved their liberty, and hated their oppressors with fierce,
and not causeless, hatred.  A proud and free people, isolated both in
country and language, were not likely to adopt customs which implied
brotherhood with their foes.

Such being the case, it is remarkable that when the chief romances are
examined, the name of many of the heroes and their scenes of action are
found to be Celtic, and those of persons and places famous in the
traditions of Wales and Brittany.  Of this the romances of Ywaine and
Gawaine, Sir Perceval de Galles, Eric and Enide, Mort d’Arthur, Sir
Lancelot, Sir Tristan, the Graal, &c., may be cited as examples.  In some
cases a tendency to triads, and other matters of internal evidence, point
in the same direction.

It may seem difficult to account for this.  Although the ancient dominion
of the Celts over Europe is not without enduring evidence in the names of
the mountains and streams, the great features of a country, yet the loss
of their prior language by the great mass of the Celtic nations in
Southern Europe (if indeed their successors in territory be at all of
their blood), prevents us from clearly seeing, and makes us wonder, how
stories, originally embodied in the Celtic dialects of Great Britain and
France, could so influence the literature of nations to whom the Celtic
languages were utterly unknown.  Whence then came these internal marks,
and these proper names of persons and places, the features of a story
usually of earliest date and least likely to change?

These romances were found in England, France, Germany, Norway, Sweden,
and even Iceland, as early as the beginning of the thirteenth and end of
the twelfth century.  The Germans, who propagated them through the
nations of the North, derived them certainly from France.  Robert Wace
published his Anglo-Norman Romance of the Brut d’Angleterre about 1155.
Sir Tristan was written in French prose in 1170; and The Chevalier au
Lion, Chevalier de l’Epée, and Sir Lancelot du Lac, in metrical French,
by Chrestien de Troyes, before 1200.

From these facts it is to be argued that the further back these romances
are traced, the more clearly does it appear that they spread over the
Continent from the North-west of France.  The older versions, it may be
remarked, are far more simple than the later corruptions.  In them there
is less allusion to the habits and usages of Chivalry, and the Welsh
names and elements stand out in stronger relief.  It is a great step to
be able to trace the stocks of these romances back to Wace, or to his
country and age.  For Wace’s work was not original.  He himself, a native
of Jersey, appears to have derived much of it from the “Historia
Britonum” of Gruffydd ab Arthur, commonly known as “Geoffrey of
Monmouth,” born 1128, who himself professes to have translated from a
British original.  It is, however, very possible that Wace may have had
access, like Geoffrey, to independent sources of information.

To the claims set up on behalf of Wace and Geoffrey, to be regarded as
the channels by which the Cymric tales passed into the Continental
Romance, may be added those of a third almost contemporary author.
Layamon, a Saxon priest, dwelling, about 1200, upon the banks of the
upper Severn, acknowledges for the source of his British history, the
_English_ Bede, the _Latin_ Albin, and the _French_ Wace.  The last-named
however is by very much his chief, and, for Welsh matters, his only
avowed authority.  His book, nevertheless, contains a number of names and
stories relating to Wales, of which no traces appear in Wace, or indeed
in Geoffrey, but which he was certainly in a very favourable position to
obtain for himself.  Layamon, therefore, not only confirms Geoffrey in
some points, but it is clear, that, professing to follow Wace, he had
independent access to the great body of Welsh literature then current.
Sir F. Madden has put this matter very clearly, in his recent edition of
Layamon.  The Abbé de la Rue, also, was of opinion that Gaimar, an
Anglo-Norman, in the reign of Stephen, usually regarded as a translator
of Geoffrey of Monmouth, had access to a Welsh independent authority.

In addition to these, is to be mentioned the English version of Sir
Tristrem, which Sir Walter Scott considered to be derived from a distinct
Celtic source, and not, like the later Amadis, Palmerin, and Lord
Berners’s Canon of Romance, imported into English literature by
translation from the French.  For the Auntours of Arthur, recently
published by the Camden Society, their Editor, Mr. Robson, seems to hint
at a similar claim.

Here then are various known channels, by which portions of Welsh and
Armoric fiction crossed the Celtic border, and gave rise to the more
ornate, and widely-spread romance of the Age of Chivalry.  It is not
improbable that there may have existed many others.  It appears then that
a large portion of the stocks of Mediæval Romance proceeded from Wales.
We have next to see in what condition they are still found in that
country.

That Wales possessed an ancient literature, containing various lyric
compositions, and certain triads, in which are arranged historical facts
or moral aphorisms, has been shown by Sharon Turner, who has established
the high antiquity of many of these compositions.

The more strictly Romantic Literature of Wales has been less fortunate,
though not less deserving of critical attention.  Small portions only of
it have hitherto appeared in print, the remainder being still hidden in
the obscurity of ancient Manuscripts: of these the chief is supposed to
be the Red Book of Hergest, now in the Library of Jesus College, Oxford,
and of the fourteenth century.  This contains, besides poems, the prose
romances known as Mabinogion.  The Black Book of Caermarthen, preserved
at Hengwrt, and considered not to be of later date than the twelfth
century, is said to contain poems only. {1}

The Mabinogion, however, though thus early recorded in the Welsh tongue,
are in their existing form by no means wholly Welsh.  They are of two
tolerably distinct classes.  Of these, the older contains few allusions
to Norman customs, manners, arts, arms, and luxuries.  The other, and
less ancient, are full of such allusions, and of ecclesiastical terms.
Both classes, no doubt, are equally of Welsh root, but the former are not
more overlaid or corrupted, than might have been expected, from the
communication that so early took place between the Normans and the Welsh;
whereas the latter probably migrated from Wales, and were brought back
and re-translated after an absence of centuries, with a load of Norman
additions.  Kilhwch and Olwen, and the dream of Rhonabwy, may be cited as
examples of the older and purer class; the Lady of the Fountain, Peredur,
and Geraint ab Erbin, of the later, or decorated.

Besides these, indeed, there are a few tales, as Amlyn and Amic, Sir
Bevis of Hamtoun, the Seven Wise Masters, and the story of Charlemagne,
so obviously of foreign extraction, and of late introduction into Wales,
not presenting even a Welsh name, or allusion, and of such very slender
intrinsic merit, that although comprised in the Llyvr Coch, they have not
a shadow of claim to form part of the Canon of Welsh Romance.  Therefore,
although I have translated and examined them, I have given them no place
in these volumes.

There is one argument in favour of the high antiquity in Wales of many of
the Mabinogion, which deserves to be mentioned here.  This argument is
founded on the topography of the country.  It is found that Saxon names
of places are very frequently definitions of the nature of the locality
to which they are attached, as Clifton, Deepden, Bridge-ford, Thorpe,
Ham, Wick, and the like; whereas those of Wales are more frequently
commemorative of some event, real or supposed, said to have happened on
or near the spot, or bearing allusion to some person renowned in the
story of the country or district.  Such are “Llyn y Morwynion,” the Lake
of the Maidens; “Rhyd y Bedd,” the Ford of the Grave; “Bryn Cyfergyr,”
the Hill of Assault; and so on.  But as these names could not have
preceded the events to which they refer, the events themselves must be
not unfrequently as old as the early settlement in the country.  And as
some of these events and fictions are the subjects of, and are explained
by, existing Welsh legends, it follows that the legends must be, in some
shape or other, of very remote antiquity.  It will be observed that this
argument supports _remote_ antiquity only for such legends as are
connected with the greater topographical features, as mountains, lakes,
rivers, seas, which must have been named at an early period in the
inhabitation of the country by man.  But there exist, also, legends
connected with the lesser features, as pools, hills, detached rocks,
caves, fords, and the like, places not necessarily named by the earlier
settlers, but the names of which are, nevertheless, probably very old,
since the words of which they are composed are in many cases not retained
in the colloquial tongue, in which they must once have been included, and
are in some instances lost from the language altogether, so much so as to
be only partially explicable even by scholars.  The argument applies
likewise, in their degree, to camps, barrows, and other artificial
earth-works.

Conclusions thus drawn, when established, rest upon a very firm basis.
They depend upon the number and appositeness of the facts, and it would
be very interesting to pursue this branch of evidence in detail.  In
following up this idea, the names to be sought for might thus be
classed:—

I.  Names of the great features, involving proper names and actions.

Cadair Idris and Cadair Arthur both involve more than a mere name.  Idris
and Arthur must have been invested with heroic qualifications to have
been placed in such “seats.”

II.  Names of lesser features, as “Bryn y Saeth,” Hill of the Dart; “Llyn
Llyngclys,” Lake of the Engulphed Court; “Ceven y Bedd,” the Ridge of the
Grave; “Rhyd y Saeson,” the Saxons’ Ford.

III.  Names of mixed natural and artificial objects, as “Coeten Arthur,”
Arthur’s Coit; “Cerrig y Drudion,” the Crag of the Heroes; which involve
actions.  And such as embody proper names only, as “Cerrig Howell,” the
Crag of Howell; “Caer Arianrod,” the Camp of Arianrod; “Bron Goronwy,”
the Breast (of the Hill) of Goronwy; “Castell mab Wynion,” the Castle of
the son of Wynion; “Nant Gwrtheyrn,” the Rill of Vortigern.

The selection of names would demand much care and discretion.  The
translations should be indisputable, and, where known, the connexion of a
name with a legend should be noted.  Such a name as “Mochdrev,”
Swine-town, would be valueless unless accompanied by a legend.

It is always valuable to find a place or work called after an individual,
because it may help to support some tradition of his existence or his
actions.  But it is requisite that care be taken not to push the
etymological dissection too far.  Thus, “Caer Arianrod” should be taken
simply as the “Camp of Arianrod,” and not rendered the “Camp of the
silver circle,” because the latter, though it might possibly have
something to do with the reason for which the name was borne by Arianrod
herself, had clearly no reference to its application to her camp.

It appears to me, then, looking back upon what has been advanced:—

I.  That we have throughout Europe, at an early period, a great body of
literature, known as Mediæval Romance, which, amidst much that is wholly
of Teutonic origin and character, includes certain well-marked traces of
an older Celtic nucleus.

II.  Proceeding backwards in time, we find these romances, their
ornaments falling away at each step, existing towards the twelfth
century, of simpler structure, and with less encumbered Celtic features,
in the works of Wace, and other Bards of the Langue d’Oil.

III.  We find that Geoffrey of Monmouth, Layamon, and other early British
and Anglo-Saxon historians, and minstrels, on the one hand, transmitted
to Europe the rudiments of its after romance, much of which, on the other
hand, they drew from Wales.

IV.  Crossing into Wales we find, in the Mabinogion, the evident
counterpart of the Celtic portion of the continental romance, mixed up,
indeed, with various reflex additions from beyond the border, but still
containing ample internal evidence of a Welsh original.

V.  Looking at the connexion between divers of the more ancient
Mabinogion, and the topographical nomenclature of part of the country, we
find evidence of the great, though indefinite, antiquity of these tales,
and of an origin, which, if not indigenous, is certainly derived from no
European nation.

It was with a general belief in some of these conclusions, that I
commenced my labours, and I end them with my impressions strongly
confirmed.  The subject is one not unworthy of the talents of a Llwyd or
a Prichard.  It might, I think, be shown, by pursuing the inquiry, that
the Cymric nation is not only, as Dr. Prichard has proved it to be, an
early offshoot of the Indo-European family, and a people of unmixed
descent, but that when driven out of their conquests by the later
nations, the names and exploits of their heroes, and the compositions of
their bards, spread far and wide among the invaders, and affected
intimately their tastes and literature for many centuries, and that it
has strong claims to be considered the cradle of European Romance.

                                                                  C. E. G.

DOWLAIS, _August 29th_, _1848_.



THE LADY OF THE FOUNTAIN


KING ARTHUR was at Caerlleon upon Usk; and one day he sat in his chamber;
and with him were Owain the son of Urien, and Kynon the son of Clydno,
and Kai the son of Kyner; and Gwenhwyvar and her handmaidens at
needlework by the window.  And if it should be said that there was a
porter at Arthur’s palace, there was none.  Glewlwyd Gavaelvawr was
there, acting as porter, to welcome guests and strangers, and to receive
them with honour, and to inform them of the manners and customs of the
Court; and to direct those who came to the Hall or to the
presence-chamber, and those who came to take up their lodging.

In the centre of the chamber King Arthur sat upon a seat of green rushes,
over which was spread a covering of flame-coloured satin, and a cushion
of red satin was under his elbow.

Then Arthur spoke, “If I thought you would not disparage me,” said he, “I
would sleep while I wait for my repast; and you can entertain one another
with relating tales, and can obtain a flagon of mead and some meat from
Kai.”  And the King went to sleep.  And Kynon the son of Clydno asked Kai
for that which Arthur had promised them.  “I, too, will have the good
tale which he promised to me,” said Kai.  “Nay,” answered Kynon, “fairer
will it be for thee to fulfill Arthur’s behest, in the first place, and
then we will tell thee the best tale that we know.”  So Kai went to the
kitchen and to the mead-cellar, and returned bearing a flagon of mead and
a golden goblet, and a handful of skewers, upon which were broiled
collops of meat.  Then they ate the collops and began to drink the mead.
“Now,” said Kai, “it is time for you to give me my story.”  “Kynon,” said
Owain, “do thou pay to Kai the tale that is his due.”  “Truly,” said
Kynon, “thou are older, and art a better teller of tales, and hast seen
more marvellous things than I; do thou therefore pay Kai his tale.”
“Begin thyself,” quoth Owain, “with the best that thou knowest.”  “I will
do so,” answered Kynon.

“I was the only son of my mother and father, and I was exceedingly
aspiring, and my daring was very great.  I thought there was no
enterprise in the world too mighty for me, and after I had achieved all
the adventures that were in my own country, I equipped myself, and set
forth to journey through deserts and distant regions.  And at length it
chanced that I came to the fairest valley in the world, wherein were
trees of equal growth; and a river ran through the valley, and a path was
by the side of the river.  And I followed the path until mid-day, and
continued my journey along the remainder of the valley until the evening;
and at the extremity of a plain I came to a large and lustrous Castle, at
the foot of which was a torrent.  And I approached the Castle, and there
I beheld two youths with yellow curling hair, each with a frontlet of
gold upon his head, and clad in a garment of yellow satin, and they had
gold clasps upon their insteps.  In the hand of each of them was an ivory
bow, strung with the sinews of the stag; and their arrows had shafts of
the bone of the whale, and were winged with peacock’s feathers; the
shafts also had golden heads.  And they had daggers with blades of gold,
and with hilts of the bone of the whale.  And they were shooting their
daggers.

“And a little way from them I saw a man in the prime of life, with his
beard newly shorn, clad in a robe and a mantle of yellow satin; and round
the top of his mantle was a band of gold lace.  On his feet were shoes of
variegated leather, fastened by two bosses of gold.  When I saw him, I
went towards him and saluted him, and such was his courtesy that he no
sooner received my greeting than he returned it.  And he went with me
towards the Castle.  Now there were no dwellers in the Castle except
those who were in one hall.  And there I saw four-and-twenty damsels,
embroidering satin at a window.  And this I tell thee, Kai, that the
least fair of them was fairer than the fairest maid thou hast ever beheld
in the Island of Britain, and the least lovely of them was more lovely
than Gwenhwyvar, the wife of Arthur, when she has appeared loveliest at
the Offering, on the day of the Nativity, or at the feast of Easter.
They rose up at my coming, and six of them took my horse, and divested me
of my armour; and six others took my arms, and washed them in a vessel
until they were perfectly bright.  And the third six spread cloths upon
the tables and prepared meat.  And the fourth six took off my soiled
garments, and placed others upon me; namely, an under-vest and a doublet
of fine linen, and a robe, and a surcoat, and a mantle of yellow satin
with a broad gold band upon the mantle.  And they placed cushions both
beneath and around me, with coverings of red linen; and I sat down.  Now
the six maidens who had taken my horse, unharnessed him, as well as if
they had been the best squires in the Island of Britain.  Then, behold,
they brought bowls of silver wherein was water to wash, and towels of
linen, some green and some white; and I washed.  And in a little while
the man sat down to the table.  And I sat next to him, and below me sat
all the maidens, except those who waited on us.  And the table was of
silver, and the cloths upon the table were of linen; and no vessel was
served upon the table that was not either of gold or of silver, or of
buffalo-horn.  And our meat was brought to us.  And verily, Kai, I saw
there every sort of meat and every sort of liquor that I have ever seen
elsewhere; but the meat and the liquor were better served there than I
have ever seen them in any other place.

“Until the repast was half over, neither the man nor any one of the
damsels spoke a single word to me; but when the man perceived that it
would be more agreeable to me to converse than to eat any more, he began
to inquire of me who I was.  I said I was glad to find that there was
some one who would discourse with me, and that it was not considered so
great a crime at that Court for people to hold converse together.
‘Chieftain,’ said the man, ‘we would have talked to thee sooner, but we
feared to disturb thee during thy repast; now, however, we will
discourse.’  Then I told the man who I was, and what was the cause of my
journey; and said that I was seeking whether any one was superior to me,
or whether I could gain the mastery over all.  The man looked upon me,
and he smiled and said, ‘If I did not fear to distress thee too much, I
would show thee that which thou seekest.’  Upon this I became anxious and
sorrowful, and when the man perceived it, he said, ‘If thou wouldest
rather that I should show thee thy disadvantage than thine advantage, I
will do so.  Sleep here to-night, and in the morning arise early, and
take the road upwards through the valley until thou reachest the wood
through which thou camest hither.  A little way within the wood thou wilt
meet with a road branching off to the right, by which thou must proceed,
until thou comest to a large sheltered glade with a mound in the centre.
And thou wilt see a black man of great stature on the top of the mound.
He is not smaller in size than two of the men of this world.  He has but
one foot; and one eye in the middle of his forehead.  And he has a club
of iron, and it is certain that there are no two men in the world who
would not find their burden in that club.  And he is not a comely man,
but on the contrary he is exceedingly ill-favoured; and he is the
woodward of that wood.  And thou wilt see a thousand wild animals grazing
around him.  Inquire of him the way out of the glade, and he will reply
to thee briefly, and will point out the road by which thou shalt find
that which thou art in quest of.’

“And long seemed that night to me.  And the next morning I arose and
equipped myself, and mounted my horse, and proceeded straight through the
valley to the wood; and I followed the cross-road which the man had
pointed out to me, till at length I arrived at the glade.  And there was
I three times more astonished at the number of wild animals that I
beheld, than the man had said I should be.  And the black man was there,
sitting upon the top of the mound.  Huge of stature as the man had told
me that he was, I found him to exceed by far the description he had given
me of him.  As for the iron club which the man had told me was a burden
for two men, I am certain, Kai, that it would be a heavy weight for four
warriors to lift; and this was in the black man’s hand.  And he only
spoke to me in answer to my questions.  Then I asked him what power he
held over those animals. ‘I will show thee, little man,’ said he.  And he
took his club in his hand, and with it he struck a stag a great blow so
that he brayed vehemently, and at his braying the animals came together,
as numerous as the stars in the sky, so that it was difficult for me to
find room in the glade to stand among them.  There were serpents, and
dragons, and divers sorts of animals.  And he looked at them, and bade
them go and feed; and they bowed their heads, and did him homage as
vassals to their lord.

“Then the black man said to me, ‘Seest thou now, little man, what power I
hold over these animals?’  Then I inquired of him the way, and he became
very rough in his manner to me; however, he asked me whither I would go?
And when I told him who I was and what I sought, he directed me.  ‘Take,’
said he, ‘that path that leads towards the head of the glade, and ascend
the wooded steep until thou comest to its summit; and there thou wilt
find an open space like to a large valley, and in the midst of it a tall
tree, whose branches are greener than the greenest pine-trees.  Under
this tree is a fountain, and by the side of the fountain a marble slab,
and on the marble slab a silver bowl, attached by a chain of silver, so
that it may not be carried away.  Take the bowl and throw a bowlful of
water upon the slab, and thou wilt hear a mighty peal of thunder, so that
thou wilt think that heaven and earth are trembling with its fury.  With
the thunder there will come a shower so severe that it will be scarce
possible for thee to endure it and live.  And the shower will be of
hailstones; and after the shower, the weather will become fair, but every
leaf that was upon the tree will have been carried away by the shower.
Then a flight of birds will come and alight upon the tree; and in thine
own country thou didst never hear a strain so sweet as that which they
will sing.  And at the moment thou art most delighted with the song of
the birds, thou wilt hear a murmuring and complaining coming towards thee
along the valley.  And thou wilt see a knight upon a coal-black horse,
clothed in black velvet, and with a pennon of black linen upon his lance;
and he will ride unto thee to encounter thee with the utmost speed.  If
thou fleest from him he will overtake thee, and if thou abidest there, as
sure as thou art a mounted knight, he will leave thee on foot.  And if
thou dost not find trouble in that adventure, thou needest not seek it
during the rest of thy life.’

“So I journeyed on, until I reached the summit of the steep, and there I
found everything as the black man had described it to me.  And I went up
to the tree, and beneath it I saw the fountain, and by its side the
marble slab, and the silver bowl fastened by the chain.  Then I took the
bowl, and cast a bowlful of water upon the slab; and thereupon, behold,
the thunder came, much more violent than the black man had led me to
expect; and after the thunder came the shower; and of a truth I tell
thee, Kai, that there is neither man nor beast that can endure that
shower and live.  For not one of those hailstones would be stopped,
either by the flesh or by the skin, until it had reached the bone.  I
turned my horse’s flank towards the shower, and placed the beak of my
shield over his head and neck, while I held the upper part of it over my
own head.  And thus I withstood the shower.  When I looked on the tree
there was not a single leaf upon it, and then the sky became clear, and
with that, behold the birds lighted upon the tree, and sang.  And truly,
Kai, I never heard any melody equal to that, either before or since.  And
when I was most charmed with listening to the birds, lo, a murmuring
voice was heard through the valley, approaching me and saying, ‘Oh,
Knight, what has brought thee hither?  What evil have I done to thee,
that thou shouldst act towards me and my possessions as thou hast this
day?  Dost thou not know that the shower to-day has left in my dominions
neither man nor beast alive that was exposed to it?’  And thereupon,
behold, a Knight on a black horse appeared, clothed in jet-black velvet,
and with a tabard of black linen about him.  And we charged each other,
and, as the onset was furious, it was not long before I was overthrown.
Then the Knight passed the shaft of his lance through the bridle rein of
my horse, and rode off with the two horses, leaving me where I was.  And
he did not even bestow so much notice upon me as to imprison me, nor did
he despoil me of my arms.  So I returned along the road by which I had
come.  And when I reached the glade where the black man was, I confess to
thee, Kai, it is a marvel that I did not melt down into a liquid pool,
through the shame that I felt at the black man’s derision.  And that
night I came to the same castle where I had spent the night preceding.
And I was more agreeably entertained that night than I had been the night
before; and I was better feasted, and I conversed freely with the inmates
of the castle, and none of them alluded to my expedition to the fountain,
neither did I mention it to any; and I remained there that night.  When I
arose on the morrow, I found, ready saddled, a dark bay palfrey, with
nostrils as red as scarlet; and after putting on my armour, and leaving
there my blessing, I returned to my own Court.  And that horse I still
possess, and he is in the stable yonder.  And I declare that I would not
part with him for the best palfrey in the Island of Britain.

“Now of a truth, Kai, no man ever before confessed to an adventure so
much to his own discredit, and verily it seems strange to me, that
neither before nor since have I heard of any person besides myself who
knew of this adventure, and that the subject of it should exist within
King Arthur’s dominions, without any other person lighting upon it.”

“Now,” quoth Owain, “would it not be well to go and endeavour to discover
that place?”

“By the hand of my friend,” said Kai, “often dost thou utter that with
thy tongue which thou wouldst not make good with thy deeds.”

“In very truth,” said Gwenhwyvar, “it were better thou wert hanged, Kai,
than to use such uncourteous speech towards a man like Owain.”

“By the hand of my friend, good Lady,” said Kai, “thy praise of Owain is
not greater than mine.”

With that Arthur awoke, and asked if he had not been sleeping a little.

“Yes, Lord,” answered Owain, “thou hast slept awhile.”

“Is it time for us to go to meat?”

“It is, Lord,” said Owain.

Then the horn for washing was sounded, and the King and all his household
sat down to eat.  And when the meal was ended, Owain withdrew to his
lodging, and made ready his horse and his arms.

On the morrow, with the dawn of day, he put on his armour, and mounted
his charger, and travelled through distant lands and over desert
mountains.  And at length he arrived at the valley which Kynon had
described to him; and he was certain that it was the same that he sought.
And journeying along the valley by the side of the river, he followed its
course till he came to the plain and within sight of the Castle.  When he
approached the Castle, he saw the youths shooting their daggers in the
place where Kynon had seen them, and the yellow man, to whom the Castle
belonged, standing hard by.  And no sooner had Owain saluted the yellow
man than he was saluted by him in return.

And he went forward towards the Castle, and there he saw the chamber, and
when he had entered the chamber he beheld the maidens working at satin
embroidery, in chairs of gold.  And their beauty and their comeliness
seemed to Owain far greater than Kynon had represented to him.  And they
rose to wait upon Owain, as they had done to Kynon, and the meal which
they set before him gave more satisfaction to Owain than it had done to
Kynon.

About the middle of the repast, the yellow man asked Owain the object of
his journey.  And Owain made it known to him, and said, “I am in quest of
the Knight who guards the fountain.”  Upon this the yellow man smiled,
and said that he was as loth to point out that adventure to Owain as he
had been to Kynon.  However, he described the whole to Owain, and they
retired to rest.

The next morning Owain found his horse made ready for him by the damsels,
and he set forward and came to the glade where the black man was.  And
the stature of the black man seemed more wonderful to Owain than it had
done to Kynon, and Owain asked of him his road, and he showed it to him.
And Owain followed the road, as Kynon had done, till he came to the green
tree; and he beheld the fountain, and the slab beside the fountain, with
the bowl upon it.  And Owain took the bowl, and threw a bowlful of water
upon the slab.  And, lo, the thunder was heard, and after the thunder
came the shower, much more violent than Kynon had described, and after
the shower the sky became bright.  And when Owain looked at the tree,
there was not one leaf upon it.  And immediately the birds came, and
settled upon the tree, and sang.  And when their song was most pleasing
to Owain, he beheld a Knight coming towards him through the valley, and
he prepared to receive him; and encountered him violently.  Having broken
both their lances, they drew their swords, and fought blade to blade.
Then Owain struck the Knight a blow through his helmet, head-piece and
visor, and through the skin, and the flesh, and the bone, until it
wounded the very brain.  Then the black Knight felt that he had received
a mortal wound, upon which he turned his horse’s head, and fled.  And
Owain pursued him, and followed close upon him, although he was not near
enough to strike him with his sword.  Thereupon Owain descried a vast and
resplendent Castle.  And they came to the Castle gate.  And the black
Knight was allowed to enter, and the portcullis was let fall upon Owain;
and it struck his horse behind the saddle, and cut him in two, and
carried away the rowels of the spurs that were upon Owain’s heels.  And
the portcullis descended to the floor.  And the rowels of the spurs and
part of the horse were without, and Owain with the other part of the
horse remained between the two gates, and the inner gate was closed, so
that Owain could not go thence; and Owain was in a perplexing situation.
And while he was in this state, he could see through an aperture in the
gate, a street facing him, with a row of houses on each side.  And he
beheld a maiden, with yellow curling hair, and a frontlet of gold upon
her head; and she was clad in a dress of yellow satin, and on her feet
were shoes of variegated leather.  And she approached the gate, and
desired that it should be opened.  “Heaven knows, Lady,” said Owain, “it
is no more possible for me to open to thee from hence, than it is for
thee to set me free.”  “Truly,” said the damsel, “it is very sad that
thou canst not be released, and every woman ought to succour thee, for I
never saw one more faithful in the service of ladies than thou.  As a
friend thou art the most sincere, and as a lover the most devoted.
Therefore,” quoth she, “whatever is in my power to do for thy release, I
will do it.  Take this ring and put it on thy finger, with the stone
inside thy hand; and close thy hand upon the stone.  And as long as thou
concealest it, it will conceal thee.  When they have consulted together,
they will come forth to fetch thee, in order to put thee to death; and
they will be much grieved that they cannot find thee.  And I will await
thee on the horseblock yonder; and thou wilt be able to see me, though I
cannot see thee; therefore come and place thy hand upon my shoulder, that
I may know that thou art near me.  And by the way that I go hence, do
thou accompany me.”

Then she went away from Owain, and he did all that the maiden had told
him.  And the people of the Castle came to seek Owain, to put him to
death, and when they found nothing but the half of his horse, they were
sorely grieved.

And Owain vanished from among them, and went to the maiden, and placed
his hand upon her shoulder; whereupon she set off, and Owain followed
her, until they came to the door of a large and beautiful chamber, and
the maiden opened it, and they went in, and closed the door.  And Owain
looked around the chamber, and behold there was not even a single nail in
it that was not painted with gorgeous colours; and there was not a single
panel that had not sundry images in gold portrayed upon it.

The maiden kindled a fire, and took water in a silver bowl, and put a
towel of white linen on her shoulder, and gave Owain water to wash.  Then
she placed before him a silver table, inlaid with gold; upon which was a
cloth of yellow linen; and she brought him food.  And of a truth, Owain
had never seen any kind of meat that was not there in abundance, but it
was better cooked there than he had ever found it in any other place.
Nor did he ever see so excellent a display of meat and drink, as there.
And there was not one vessel from which he was served, that was not of
gold or of silver.  And Owain ate and drank, until late in the afternoon,
when lo, they heard a mighty clamour in the Castle; and Owain asked the
maiden what that outcry was.  “They are administering extreme unction,”
said she, “to the Nobleman who owns the Castle.”  And Owain went to
sleep.

The couch which the maiden had prepared for him was meet for Arthur
himself; it was of scarlet, and fur, and satin, and sendal, and fine
linen.  In the middle of the night they heard a woful outcry.  “What
outcry again is this?” said Owain.  “The Nobleman who owned the Castle is
now dead,” said the maiden.  And a little after daybreak, they heard an
exceeding loud clamour and wailing.  And Owain asked the maiden what was
the cause of it.  “They are bearing to the church the body of the
Nobleman who owned the Castle.”

And Owain rose up, and clothed himself, and opened a window of the
chamber, and looked towards the Castle; and he could see neither the
bounds, nor the extent of the hosts that filled the streets.  And they
were fully armed; and a vast number of women were with them, both on
horseback and on foot; and all the ecclesiastics in the city, singing.
And it seemed to Owain that the sky resounded with the vehemence of their
cries, and with the noise of the trumpets, and with the singing of the
ecclesiastics.  In the midst of the throng, he beheld the bier, over
which was a veil of white linen; and wax tapers were burning beside and
around it, and none that supported the bier was lower in rank than a
powerful Baron.

Never did Owain see an assemblage so gorgeous with satin, and silk, and
sendal.  And following the train, he beheld a lady with yellow hair
falling over her shoulders, and stained with blood; and about her a dress
of yellow satin, which was torn.  Upon her feet were shoes of variegated
leather.  And it was a marvel that the ends of her fingers were not
bruised, from the violence with which she smote her hands together.
Truly she would have been the fairest lady Owain ever saw, had she been
in her usual guise.  And her cry was louder than the shout of the men, or
the clamour of the trumpets.  No sooner had he beheld the lady, than he
became inflamed with her love, so that it took entire possession of him.

Then he inquired of the maiden who the lady was.  “Heaven knows,” replied
the maiden, “she may be said to be the fairest, and the most chaste, and
the most liberal, and the wisest, and the most noble of women.  And she
is my mistress; and she is called the Countess of the Fountain, the wife
of him whom thou didst slay yesterday.”  “Verily,” said Owain, “she is
the woman that I love best.”  “Verily,” said the maiden, “she shall also
love thee not a little.”

And with that the maid arose, and kindled a fire, and filled a pot with
water, and placed it to warm; and she brought a towel of white linen, and
placed it around Owain’s neck; and she took a goblet of ivory, and a
silver basin, and filled them with warm water, wherewith she washed
Owain’s head.  Then she opened a wooden casket, and drew forth a razor,
whose haft was of ivory, and upon which were two rivets of gold.  And she
shaved his beard, and she dried his head, and his throat, with the towel.
Then she rose up from before Owain, and brought him to eat.  And truly
Owain had never so good a meal, nor was he ever so well served.

When he had finished his repast, the maiden arranged his couch.  “Come
here,” said she, “and sleep, and I will go and woo for thee.”  And Owain
went to sleep, and the maiden shut the door of the chamber after her, and
went towards the Castle.  When she came there, she found nothing but
mourning, and sorrow; and the Countess in her chamber could not bear the
sight of any one through grief.  Luned came and saluted her, but the
Countess answered her not.  And the maiden bent down towards her, and
said, “What aileth thee, that thou answerest no one to-day?”  “Luned,”
said the Countess, “what change hath befallen thee, that thou hast not
come to visit me in my grief?  It was wrong in thee, and I having made
thee rich; it was wrong in thee that thou didst not come to see me in my
distress.  That was wrong in thee.”  “Truly,” said Luned, “I thought thy
good sense was greater than I find it to be.  Is it well for thee to
mourn after that good man, or for anything else, that thou canst not
have?”  “I declare to heaven,” said the Countess, “that in the whole
world there is not a man equal to him.”  “Not so,” said Luned, “for an
ugly man would be as good as, or better than he.”  “I declare to heaven,”
said the Countess, “that were it not repugnant to me to cause to be put
to death one whom I have brought up, I would have thee executed, for
making such a comparison to me.  As it is, I will banish thee.”  “I am
glad,” said Luned, “that thou hast no other cause to do so, than that I
would have been of service to thee where thou didst not know what was to
thine advantage.  And henceforth evil betide whichever of us shall make
the first advance towards reconciliation to the other; whether I should
seek an invitation from thee, or thou of thine own accord shouldst send
to invite me.”

With that Luned went forth: and the Countess arose and followed her to
the door of the chamber, and began coughing loudly.  And when Luned
looked back, the Countess beckoned to her; and she returned to the
Countess.  “In truth,” said the Countess, “evil is thy disposition; but
if thou knowest what is to my advantage, declare it to me.”  “I will do
so,” quoth she.

“Thou knowest that except by warfare and arms it is impossible for thee
to preserve thy possessions; delay not, therefore, to seek some one who
can defend them.”  “And how can I do that?” said the Countess.  “I will
tell thee,” said Luned.  “Unless thou canst defend the fountain, thou
canst not maintain thy dominions; and no one can defend the fountain,
except it be a knight of Arthur’s household; and I will go to Arthur’s
Court, and ill betide me, if I return thence without a warrior who can
guard the fountain as well as, or even better than, he who defended it
formerly.”  “That will be hard to perform,” said the Countess.  “Go,
however, and make proof of that which thou hast promised.”

Luned set out, under the pretence of going to Arthur’s Court; but she
went back to the chamber where she had left Owain; and she tarried there
with him as long as it might have taken her to have travelled to the
Court of King Arthur.  And at the end of that time, she apparelled
herself and went to visit the Countess.  And the Countess was much
rejoiced when she saw her, and inquired what news she brought from the
Court.  “I bring thee the best of news,” said Luned, “for I have
compassed the object of my mission.  When wilt thou, that I should
present to thee the chieftain who has come with me hither?”  “Bring him
here to visit me to-morrow, at mid-day,” said the Countess, “and I will
cause the town to be assembled by that time.”

And Luned returned home.  And the next day, at noon, Owain arrayed
himself in a coat, and a surcoat, and a mantle of yellow satin, upon
which was a broad band of gold lace; and on his feet were high shoes of
variegated leather, which were fastened by golden clasps, in the form of
lions.  And they proceeded to the chamber of the Countess.

Right glad was the Countess of their coming, and she gazed steadfastly
upon Owain, and said, “Luned, this knight has not the look of a
traveller.”  “What harm is there in that, lady?” said Luned.  “I am
certain,” said the Countess, “that no other man than this chased the soul
from the body of my lord.”  “So much the better for thee, lady,” said
Luned, “for had he not been stronger than thy lord he could not have
deprived him of life.  There is no remedy for that which is past, be it
as it may.”  “Go back to thine abode,” said the Countess, “and I will
take counsel.”

The next day the Countess caused all her subjects to assemble, and showed
them that her earldom was left defenceless, and that it could not be
protected but with horse and arms, and military skill.  “Therefore,” said
she, “this is what I offer for your choice: either let one of you take
me, or give your consent for me to take a husband from elsewhere to
defend my dominions.”

So they came to the determination that it was better that she should have
permission to marry some one from elsewhere; and, thereupon, she sent for
the bishops and archbishops to celebrate her nuptials with Owain.  And
the men of the earldom did Owain homage.

And Owain defended the Fountain with lance and sword.  And this is the
manner in which he defended it: Whensoever a knight came there he
overthrew him, and sold him for his full worth, and what he thus gained
he divided among his barons and his knights; and no man in the whole
world could be more beloved than he was by his subjects.  And it was thus
for the space of three years.

                                * * * * *

It befell that as Gwalchmai went forth one day with King Arthur, he
perceived him to be very sad and sorrowful.  And Gwalchmai was much
grieved to see Arthur in this state; and he questioned him, saying, “Oh,
my lord! what has befallen thee?”  “In sooth, Gwalchmai,” said Arthur, “I
am grieved concerning Owain, whom I have lost these three years, and I
shall certainly die if the fourth year passes without my seeing him.  Now
I am sure, that it is through the tale which Kynon the son of Clydno
related, that I have lost Owain.”  “There is no need for thee,” said
Gwalchmai, “to summon to arms thy whole dominions on this account, for
thou thyself and the men of thy household will be able to avenge Owain,
if he be slain; or to set him free, if he be in prison; and, if alive, to
bring him back with thee.”  And it was settled according to what
Gwalchmai had said.

Then Arthur and the men of his household prepared to go and seek Owain,
and their number was three thousand, besides their attendants.  And Kynon
the son of Clydno acted as their guide.  And Arthur came to the Castle
where Kynon had been before, and when he came there the youths were
shooting in the same place, and the yellow man was standing hard by.
When the yellow man saw Arthur he greeted him, and invited him to the
Castle; and Arthur accepted his invitation, and they entered the Castle
together.  And great as was the number of his retinue, their presence was
scarcely observed in the Castle, so vast was its extent.  And the maidens
rose up to wait on them, and the service of the maidens appeared to them
all to excel any attendance they had ever met with; and even the pages
who had charge of the horses were no worse served, that night, than
Arthur himself would have been in his own palace.

The next morning Arthur set out thence, with Kynon for his guide, and
came to the place where the black man was.  And the stature of the black
man was more surprising to Arthur than it had been represented to him.
And they came to the top of the wooded steep, and traversed the valley
till they reached the green tree, where they saw the fountain, and the
bowl, and the slab.  And upon that, Kai came to Arthur and spoke to him.
“My lord,” said he, “I know the meaning of all this, and my request is,
that thou wilt permit me to throw the water on the slab, and to receive
the first adventure that may befall.”  And Arthur gave him leave.

Then Kai threw a bowlful of water upon the slab, and immediately there
came the thunder, and after the thunder the shower.  And such a
thunderstorm they had never known before, and many of the attendants who
were in Arthur’s train were killed by the shower.  After the shower had
ceased the sky became clear; and on looking at the tree they beheld it
completely leafless.  Then the birds descended upon the tree, and the
song of the birds was far sweeter than any strain they had ever heard
before.  Then they beheld a knight on a coal-black horse, clothed in
black satin, coming rapidly towards them.  And Kai met him and
encountered him, and it was not long before Kai was overthrown.  And the
knight withdrew, and Arthur and his host encamped for the night.

And when they arose in the morning, they perceived the signal of combat
upon the lance of the Knight.  And Kai came to Arthur, and spoke to him:
“My lord,” said he, “though I was overthrown yesterday, if it seem good
to thee, I would gladly meet the Knight again to-day.”  “Thou mayst do
so,” said Arthur.  And Kai went towards the Knight.  And on the spot he
overthrew Kai, and struck him with the head of his lance in the forehead,
so that it broke his helmet and the head-piece, and pierced the skin and
the flesh, the breadth of the spear-head, even to the bone.  And Kai
returned to his companions.

After this, all the household of Arthur went forth, one after the other,
to combat the Knight, until there was not one that was not overthrown by
him, except Arthur and Gwalchmai.  And Arthur armed himself to encounter
the Knight.  “Oh, my lord,” said Gwalchmai, “permit me to fight with him
first.”  And Arthur permitted him.  And he went forth to meet the Knight,
having over himself and his horse a satin robe of honour which had been
sent him by the daughter of the Earl of Rhangyw, and in this dress he was
not known by any of the host.  And they charged each other, and fought
all that day until the evening, and neither of them was able to unhorse
the other.

The next day they fought with strong lances, and neither of them could
obtain the mastery.

And the third day they fought with exceeding strong lances.  And they
were incensed with rage, and fought furiously, even until noon.  And they
gave each other such a shock that the girths of their horses were broken,
so that they fell over their horses’ cruppers to the ground.  And they
rose up speedily, and drew their swords, and resumed the combat; and the
multitude that witnessed their encounter felt assured that they had never
before seen two men so valiant or so powerful.  And had it been midnight,
it would have been light from the fire that flashed from their weapons.
And the Knight gave Gwalchmai a blow that turned his helmet from off his
face, so that the Knight knew that it was Gwalchmai.  Then Owain said,
“My lord Gwalchmai, I did not know thee for my cousin, owing to the robe
of honour that enveloped thee; take my sword and my arms.”  Said
Gwalchmai, “Thou, Owain, art the victor; take thou my sword.”  And with
that Arthur saw that they were conversing, and advanced towards them.
“My lord Arthur,” said Gwalchmai, “here is Owain, who has vanquished me,
and will not take my arms.”  “My lord,” said Owain, “it is he that has
vanquished me, and he will not take my sword.”  “Give me your swords,”
said Arthur, “and then neither of you has vanquished the other.”  Then
Owain put his arms around Arthur’s neck, and they embraced.  And all the
host hurried forward to see Owain, and to embrace him; and there was nigh
being a loss of life, so great was the press.

And they retired that night, and the next day Arthur prepared to depart.
“My lord,” said Owain, “this is not well of thee; for I have been absent
from thee these three years, and during all that time, up to this very
day, I have been preparing a banquet for thee, knowing that thou wouldst
come to seek me.  Tarry with me, therefore, until thou and thy attendants
have recovered the fatigues of the journey, and have been anointed.”

And they all proceeded to the Castle of the Countess of the Fountain, and
the banquet which had been three years preparing was consumed in three
months.  Never had they a more delicious or agreeable banquet.  And
Arthur prepared to depart.  Then he sent an embassy to the Countess, to
beseech her to permit Owain to go with him for the space of three months,
that he might show him to the nobles and the fair dames of the Island of
Britain.  And the Countess gave her consent, although it was very painful
to her.  So Owain came with Arthur to the Island of Britain.  And when he
was once more amongst his kindred and friends, he remained three years,
instead of three months, with them.

                                * * * * *

And as Owain one day sat at meat, in the city of Caerlleon upon Usk,
behold a damsel entered upon a bay horse, with a curling mane and covered
with foam, and the bridle and so much as was seen of the saddle were of
gold.  And the damsel was arrayed in a dress of yellow satin.  And she
came up to Owain, and took the ring from off his hand.  “Thus,” said she,
“shall be treated the deceiver, the traitor, the faithless, the
disgraced, and the beardless.”  And she turned her horse’s head and
departed.

Then his adventure came to Owain’s remembrance, and he was sorrowful; and
having finished eating he went to his own abode and made preparations
that night.  And the next day he arose but did not go to the Court, but
wandered to the distant parts of the earth and to uncultivated mountains.
And he remained there until all his apparel was worn out, and his body
was wasted away, and his hair was grown long.  And he went about with the
wild beasts and fed with them, until they became familiar with him; but
at length he grew so weak that he could no longer bear them company.
Then he descended from the mountains to the valley, and came to a park
that was the fairest in the world, and belonged to a widowed Countess.

One day the Countess and her maidens went forth to walk by a lake, that
was in the middle of the park.  And they saw the form of a man.  And they
were terrified.  Nevertheless they went near him, and touched him, and
looked at him.  And they saw that there was life in him, though he was
exhausted by the heat of the sun.  And the Countess returned to the
Castle, and took a flask full of precious ointment, and gave it to one of
her maidens.  “Go with this,” said she, “and take with thee yonder horse
and clothing, and place them near the man we saw just now.  And anoint
him with this balsam, near his heart; and if there is life in him, he
will arise through the efficacy of this balsam.  Then watch what he will
do.”

And the maiden departed from her, and poured the whole of the balsam upon
Owain, and left the horse and the garments hard by, and went a little way
off, and hid herself to watch him.  In a short time she saw him begin to
move his arms; and he rose up, and looked at his person, and became
ashamed of the unseemliness of his appearance.  Then he perceived the
horse and the garments that were near him.  And he crept forward till he
was able to draw the garments to him from off the saddle.  And he clothed
himself, and with difficulty mounted the horse.  Then the damsel
discovered herself to him, and saluted him.  And he was rejoiced when he
saw her, and inquired of her, what land and what territory that was.
“Truly,” said the maiden, “a widowed Countess owns yonder Castle; at the
death of her husband, he left her two Earldoms, but at this day she has
but this one dwelling that has not been wrested from her by a young Earl,
who is her neighbour, because she refused to become his wife.”  “That is
pity,” said Owain.  And he and the maiden proceeded to the Castle; and he
alighted there, and the maiden conducted him to a pleasant chamber, and
kindled a fire and left him.

And the maiden came to the Countess, and gave the flask into her hand.
“Ha! maiden,” said the Countess, “where is all the balsam?”  “Have I not
used it all?” said she.  “Oh, maiden,” said the Countess, “I cannot
easily forgive thee this; it is sad for me to have wasted seven-score
pounds’ worth of precious ointment upon a stranger whom I know not.
However, maiden, wait thou upon him, until he is quite recovered.”

And the maiden did so, and furnished him with meat and drink, and fire,
and lodging, and medicaments, until he was well again.  And in three
months he was restored to his former guise, and became even more comely
than he had ever been before.

One day Owain heard a great tumult, and a sound of arms in the Castle,
and he inquired of the maiden the cause thereof.  “The Earl,” said she,
“whom I mentioned to thee, has come before the Castle, with a numerous
army, to subdue the Countess.”  And Owain inquired of her whether the
Countess had a horse and arms in her possession.  “She has the best in
the world,” said the maiden.  “Wilt thou go and request the loan of a
horse and arms for me,” said Owain, “that I may go and look at this
army?”  “I will,” said the maiden.

And she came to the Countess, and told her what Owain had said.  And the
Countess laughed.  “Truly,” said she, “I will even give him a horse and
arms for ever; such a horse and such arms had he never yet, and I am glad
that they should be taken by him to-day, lest my enemies should have them
against my will to-morrow.  Yet I know not what he would do with them.”

The Countess bade them bring out a beautiful black steed, upon which was
a beechen saddle, and a suit of armour, for man and horse.  And Owain
armed himself, and mounted the horse, and went forth, attended by two
pages completely equipped, with horses and arms.  And when they came near
to the Earl’s army, they could see neither its extent nor its extremity.
And Owain asked the pages in which troop the Earl was.  “In yonder
troop,” said they, “in which are four yellow standards.  Two of them are
before, and two behind him.”  “Now,” said Owain, “do you return and await
me near the portal of the Castle.”  So they returned, and Owain pressed
forward until he met the Earl.  And Owain drew him completely out of his
saddle, and turned his horse’s head towards the Castle, and though it was
with difficulty, he brought the Earl to the portal, where the pages
awaited him.  And in they came.  And Owain presented the Earl as a gift
to the Countess.  And said to her, “Behold a requital to thee for thy
blessed balsam.”

The army encamped around the Castle.  And the Earl restored to the
Countess the two Earldoms he had taken from her, as a ransom for his
life; and for his freedom he gave her the half of his own dominions, and
all his gold, and his silver, and his jewels, besides hostages.

And Owain took his departure.  And the Countess and all her subjects
besought him to remain, but Owain chose rather to wander through distant
lands and deserts.

And as he journeyed, he heard a loud yelling in a wood.  And it was
repeated a second and a third time.  And Owain went towards the spot, and
beheld a huge craggy mound, in the middle of the wood; on the side of
which was a grey rock.  And there was a cleft in the rock, and a serpent
was within the cleft.  And near the rock stood a black lion, and every
time the lion sought to go thence, the serpent darted towards him to
attack him.  And Owain unsheathed his sword, and drew near to the rock;
and as the serpent sprang out, he struck him with his sword, and cut him
in two.  And he dried his sword, and went on his way, as before.  But
behold the lion followed him, and played about him, as though it had been
a greyhound that he had reared.

They proceeded thus throughout the day, until the evening.  And when it
was time for Owain to take his rest, he dismounted, and turned his horse
loose in a flat and wooded meadow.  And he struck fire, and when the fire
was kindled, the lion brought him fuel enough to last for three nights.
And the lion disappeared.  And presently the lion returned, bearing a
fine large roebuck.  And he threw it down before Owain, who went towards
the fire with it.

And Owain took the roebuck, and skinned it, and placed collops of its
flesh upon skewers, around the fire.  The rest of the buck he gave to the
lion to devour.  While he was doing this, he heard a deep sigh near him,
and a second, and a third.  And Owain called out to know whether the sigh
he heard proceeded from a mortal; and he received answer that it did.
“Who art thou?” said Owain.  “Truly,” said the voice, “I am Luned, the
handmaiden of the Countess of the Fountain.”  “And what dost thou here?”
said Owain.  “I am imprisoned,” said she, “on account of the knight who
came from Arthur’s Court, and married the Countess.  And he stayed a
short time with her, but he afterwards departed for the Court of Arthur,
and has not returned since.  And he was the friend I loved best in the
world.  And two of the pages in the Countess’s chamber traduced him, and
called him a deceiver.  And I told them that they two were not a match
for him alone.  So they imprisoned me in the stone vault, and said that I
should be put to death, unless he came himself to deliver me, by a
certain day; and that is no further off than the day after to-morrow.
And I have no one to send to seek him for me.  And his name is Owain the
son of Urien.”  “And art thou certain that if that knight knew all this,
he would come to thy rescue?”  “I am most certain of it,” said she.

When the collops were cooked, Owain divided them into two parts, between
himself and the maiden; and after they had eaten, they talked together,
until the day dawned.  And the next morning Owain inquired of the damsel,
if there was any place where he could get food and entertainment for that
night.  “There is, Lord,” said she; “cross over yonder, and go along the
side of the river, and in a short time thou wilt see a great Castle, in
which are many towers, and the Earl who owns that Castle is the most
hospitable man in the world.  There thou mayst spend the night.”

Never did sentinel keep stricter watch over his lord, than the lion that
night over Owain.

And Owain accoutred his horse, and passed across by the ford, and came in
sight of the Castle.  And he entered it, and was honourably received.
And his horse was well cared for, and plenty of fodder was placed before
him.  Then the lion went and lay down in the horse’s manger; so that none
of the people of the Castle dared to approach him.  The treatment which
Owain met with there was such as he had never known elsewhere, for every
one was as sorrowful as though death had been upon him.  And they went to
meat; and the Earl sat upon one side of Owain, and on the other side his
only daughter.  And Owain had never seen any more lovely than she.  Then
the lion came and placed himself between Owain’s feet, and he fed him
with every kind of food that he took himself.  And he never saw anything
equal to the sadness of the people.

In the middle of the repast the Earl began to bid Owain welcome.  “Then,”
said Owain, “behold, it is time for thee to be cheerful.”  “Heaven
knows,” said the Earl, “that it is not thy coming that makes us
sorrowful, but we have cause enough for sadness and care.”  “What is
that?” said Owain.  “I have two sons,” replied the Earl, “and yesterday
they went to the mountains to hunt.  Now there is on the mountain a
monster who kills men and devours them, and he seized my sons; and
to-morrow is the time he has fixed to be here, and he threatens that he
will then slay my sons before my eyes, unless I will deliver into his
hands this my daughter.  He has the form of a man, but in stature he is
no less than a giant.”

“Truly,” said Owain, “that is lamentable.  And which wilt thou do?”
“Heaven knows,” said the Earl, “it will be better that my sons should be
slain against my will, than that I should voluntarily give up my daughter
to him to ill-treat and destroy.”  Then they talked about other things,
and Owain stayed there that night.

The next morning they heard an exceeding great clamour, which was caused
by the coming of the giant with the two youths.  And the Earl was anxious
both to protect his Castle and to release his two sons.  Then Owain put
on his armour and went forth to encounter the giant, and the lion
followed him.  And when the giant saw that Owain was armed, he rushed
towards him and attacked him.  And the lion fought with the giant much
more fiercely than Owain did.  “Truly,” said the giant, “I should find no
difficulty in fighting with thee, were it not for the animal that is with
thee.”  Upon that Owain took the lion back to the Castle and shut the
gate upon him, and then he returned to fight the giant, as before.  And
the lion roared very loud, for he heard that it went hard with Owain.
And he climbed up till he reached the top of the Earl’s hall, and thence
he got to the top of the Castle, and he sprang down from the walls and
went and joined Owain.  And the lion gave the giant a stroke with his
paw, which tore him from his shoulder to his hip, and his heart was laid
bare, and the giant fell down dead.  Then Owain restored the two youths
to their father.

The Earl besought Owain to remain with him, and he would not, but set
forward towards the meadow where Luned was.  And when he came there he
saw a great fire kindled, and two youths with beautiful curling auburn
hair were leading the maiden to cast her into the fire.  And Owain asked
them what charge they had against her.  And they told him of the compact
that was between them, as the maiden had done the night before.  “And,”
said they, “Owain has failed her, therefore we are taking her to be
burnt.”  “Truly,” said Owain, “he is a good knight, and if he knew that
the maiden was in such peril, I marvel that he came not to her rescue;
but if you will accept me in his stead, I will do battle with you.”  “We
will,” said the youths, “by him who made us.”

And they attacked Owain, and he was hard beset by them.  And with that
the lion came to Owain’s assistance, and they two got the better of the
young men.  And they said to him, “Chieftain, it was not agreed that we
should fight save with thyself alone, and it is harder for us to contend
with yonder animal than with thee.”  And Owain put the lion in the place
where the maiden had been imprisoned, and blocked up the door with
stones, and he went to fight with the young men, as before.  But Owain
had not his usual strength, and the two youths pressed hard upon him.
And the lion roared incessantly at seeing Owain in trouble; and he burst
through the wall until he found a way out, and rushed upon the young men,
and instantly slew them.  So Luned was saved from being burned.

Then Owain returned with Luned to the dominions of the Countess of the
Fountain.  And when he went thence he took the Countess with him to
Arthur’s Court, and she was his wife as long as she lived.

                                * * * * *

And then he took the road that led to the Court of the savage black man,
and Owain fought with him, and the lion did not quit Owain until he had
vanquished him.  And when he reached the Court of the savage black man he
entered the hall, and beheld four-and-twenty ladies, the fairest that
could be seen.  And the garments which they had on were not worth
four-and twenty pence, and they were as sorrowful as death.  And Owain
asked them the cause of their sadness.  And they said, “We are the
daughters of Earls, and we all came here with our husbands, whom we
dearly loved.  And we were received with honour and rejoicing.  And we
were thrown into a state of stupor, and while we were thus, the demon who
owns this Castle slew all our husbands, and took from us our horses, and
our raiment, and our gold, and our silver; and the corpses of our
husbands are still in this house, and many others with them.  And this,
Chieftain, is the cause of our grief, and we are sorry that thou art come
hither, lest harm should befall thee.”

And Owain was grieved when he heard this.  And he went forth from the
Castle, and he beheld a knight approaching him, who saluted him in a
friendly and cheerful manner, as if he had been a brother.  And this was
the savage black man.  “In very sooth,” said Owain, “it is not to seek
thy friendship that I am here.”  “In sooth,” said he, “thou shalt not
find it then.”  And with that they charged each other, and fought
furiously.  And Owain overcame him, and bound his hands behind his back.
Then the black savage besought Owain to spare his life, and spoke thus:
“My lord Owain,” said he, “it was foretold that thou shouldst come hither
and vanquish me, and thou hast done so.  I was a robber here, and my
house was a house of spoil; but grant me my life, and I will become the
keeper of an Hospice, and I will maintain this house as an Hospice for
weak and for strong, as long as I live, for the good of thy soul.”  And
Owain accepted this proposal of him, and remained there that night.

And the next day he took the four-and-twenty ladies, and their horses,
and their raiment, and what they possessed of goods and jewels, and
proceeded with them to Arthur’s Court.  And if Arthur was rejoiced when
he saw him, after he had lost him the first time, his joy was now much
greater.  And of those ladies, such as wished to remain in Arthur’s Court
remained there, and such as wished to depart departed.

And thenceforward Owain dwelt at Arthur’s Court greatly beloved, as the
head of his household, until he went away with his followers; and those
were the army of three hundred ravens which Kenverchyn had left him.  And
wherever Owain went with these he was victorious.

And this is the tale of THE LADY OF THE FOUNTAIN.



PEREDUR THE SON OF EVRAWC


EARL EVRAWC owned the Earldom of the North.  And he had seven sons.  And
Evrawc maintained himself not so much by his own possessions as by
attending tournaments, and wars, and combats.  And, as it often befalls
those who join in encounters and wars, he was slain, and six of his sons
likewise.  Now the name of his seventh son was Peredur, and he was the
youngest of them.  And he was not of an age to go to wars and encounters,
otherwise he might have been slain as well as his father and brothers.
His mother was a scheming and thoughtful woman, and she was very
solicitous concerning this her only son and his possessions.  So she took
counsel with herself to leave the inhabited country, and to flee to the
deserts and unfrequented wildernesses.  And she permitted none to bear
her company thither but women and boys, and spiritless men, who were both
unaccustomed and unequal to war and fighting.  And none dared to bring
either horses or arms where her son was, lest he should set his mind upon
them.  And the youth went daily to divert himself in the forest, by
flinging sticks and staves.  And one day he saw his mother’s flock of
goats, and near the goats two hinds were standing.  And he marvelled
greatly that these two should be without horns, while the others had
them.  And he thought they had long run wild, and on that account they
had lost their horns.  And by activity and swiftness of foot, he drove
the hinds and the goats together into the house which there was for the
goats at the extremity of the forest.  Then Peredur returned to his
mother.  “Ah, mother,” said he, “a marvellous thing have I seen in the
wood; two of thy goats have run wild, and lost their horns, through their
having been so long missing in the wood.  And no man had ever more
trouble than I had to drive them in.”  Then they all arose and went to
see.  And when they beheld the hinds they were greatly astonished.

And one day they saw three knights coming along the horse-road on the
borders of the forest.  And the three knights were Gwalchmai the son of
Gwyar, and Geneir Gwystyl, and Owain the son of Urien.  And Owain kept on
the track of the knight who had divided the apples in Arthur’s Court,
whom they were in pursuit of.  “Mother,” said Peredur, “what are those
yonder?”  “They are angels, my son,” said she.  “By my faith,” said
Peredur, “I will go and become an angel with them.”  And Peredur went to
the road, and met them.  “Tell me, good soul,” said Owain, “sawest thou a
knight pass this way, either to-day or yesterday?”  “I know not,”
answered he, “what a knight is.”  “Such an one as I am,” said Owain.  “If
thou wilt tell me what I ask thee, I will tell thee that which thou
askest me.”  “Gladly will I do so,” replied Owain.  “What is this?”
demanded Peredur, concerning the saddle.  “It is a saddle,” said Owain.
Then he asked about all the accoutrements which he saw upon the men, and
the horses, and the arms, and what they were for, and how they were used.
And Owain shewed him all these things fully, and told him what use was
made of them.  “Go forward,” said Peredur, “for I saw such an one as thou
inquirest for, and I will follow thee.”

Then Peredur returned to his mother and her company, and he said to her,
“Mother, those were not angels, but honourable knights.”  Then his mother
swooned away.  And Peredur went to the place where they kept the horses
that carried firewood, and that brought meat and drink from the inhabited
country to the desert.  And he took a bony piebald horse, which seemed to
him the strongest of them.  And he pressed a pack into the form of a
saddle, and with twisted twigs he imitated the trappings which he had
seen upon the horses.  And when Peredur came again to his mother, the
Countess had recovered from her swoon.  “My son,” said she, “desirest
thou to ride forth?”  “Yes, with thy leave,” said he.  “Wait, then, that
I may counsel thee before thou goest.”  “Willingly,” he answered; “speak
quickly.”  “Go forward, then,” she said, “to the Court of Arthur, where
there are the best, and the boldest, and the most bountiful of men.  And
wherever thou seest a church, repeat there thy Paternoster unto it.  And
if thou see meat and drink, and have need of them, and none have the
kindness or the courtesy to give them to thee, take them thyself.  If
thou hear an outcry, proceed towards it, especially if it be the outcry
of a woman.  If thou see a fair jewel, possess thyself of it, and give it
to another, for thus thou shalt obtain praise.  If thou see a fair woman,
pay thy court to her, whether she will or no; for thus thou wilt render
thyself a better and more esteemed man than thou wast before.”

After this discourse, Peredur mounted the horse, and taking a handful of
sharp-pointed forks in his hand, he rode forth.  And he journeyed two
days and two nights in the woody wildernesses, and in desert places,
without food and without drink.  And then he came to a vast wild wood,
and far within the wood he saw a fair even glade, and in the glade he saw
a tent, and the tent seeming to him to be a church, he repeated his
Paternoster to it.  And he went towards it, and the door of the tent was
open.  And a golden chair was near the door.  And on the chair sat a
lovely auburn-haired maiden, with a golden frontlet on her forehead, and
sparkling stones in the frontlet, and with a large gold ring on her hand.
And Peredur dismounted, and entered the tent.  And the maiden was glad at
his coming, and bade him welcome.  At the entrance of the tent he saw
food, and two flasks full of wine, and two loaves of fine wheaten flour,
and collops of the flesh of the wild boar.  “My mother told me,” said
Peredur, “wheresoever I saw meat and drink, to take it.”  “Take the meat
and welcome, chieftain,” said she.  So Peredur took half of the meat and
of the liquor himself, and left the rest to the maiden.  And when Peredur
had finished eating, he bent upon his knee before the maiden.  “My
mother,” said he, “told me, wheresoever I saw a fair jewel, to take it.”
“Do so, my soul,” said she.  So Peredur took the ring.  And he mounted
his horse, and proceeded on his journey.

After this, behold the knight came to whom the tent belonged; and he was
the Lord of the Glade.  And he saw the track of the horse, and he said to
the maiden, “Tell me who has been here since I departed.”  “A man,” said
she, “of wonderful demeanour.”  And she described to him what Peredur’s
appearance and conduct had been.  “Tell me,” said he, “did he offer thee
any wrong?”  “No,” answered the maiden, “by my faith, he harmed me not.”
“By my faith, I do not believe thee; and until I can meet with him, and
revenge the insult he has done me, and wreak my vengeance upon him, thou
shalt not remain two nights in the same house.”  And the knight arose,
and set forth to seek Peredur.

Meanwhile Peredur journeyed on towards Arthur’s Court.  And before he
reached it, another knight had been there, who gave a ring of thick gold
at the door of the gate for holding his horse, and went into the Hall
where Arthur and his household, and Gwenhwyvar and her maidens, were
assembled.  And the page of the chamber was serving Gwenhwyvar with a
golden goblet.  Then the knight dashed the liquor that was therein upon
her face, and upon her stomacher, and gave her a violent blow on the
face, and said, “If any have the boldness to dispute this goblet with me,
and to revenge the insult to Gwenhwyvar, let him follow me to the meadow,
and there I will await him.”  So the knight took his horse, and rode to
the meadow.  And all the household hung down their heads, lest any of
them should be requested to go and avenge the insult to Gwenhwyvar.  For
it seemed to them, that no one would have ventured on so daring an
outrage, unless he possessed such powers, through magic or charms, that
none could be able to take vengeance upon him.  Then, behold, Peredur
entered the Hall, upon the bony piebald horse, with the uncouth trappings
upon it; and in this way he traversed the whole length of the Hall.  In
the centre of the Hall stood Kai.  “Tell me, tall man,” said Peredur, “is
that Arthur yonder?”  “What wouldest thou with Arthur?” asked Kai.  “My
mother told me to go to Arthur, and receive the honour of knighthood.”
“By my faith,” said he, “thou art all too meanly equipped with horse and
with arms.”  Thereupon he was perceived by all the household, and they
threw sticks at him.  Then, behold, a dwarf came forward.  He had already
been a year at Arthur’s Court, both he and a female dwarf.  They had
craved harbourage of Arthur, and had obtained it; and during the whole
year, neither of them had spoken a single word to any one.  When the
dwarf beheld Peredur, “Haha!” said he, “the welcome of Heaven be unto
thee, goodly Peredur, son of Evrawc, the chief of warriors, and flower of
knighthood.”  “Truly,” said Kai, “thou art ill-taught to remain a year
mute at Arthur’s Court, with choice of society; and now, before the face
of Arthur and all his household, to call out, and declare such a man as
this the chief of warriors, and the flower of knighthood.”  And he gave
him such a box on the ear that he fell senseless to the ground.  Then
exclaimed the female dwarf, “Haha! goodly Peredur, son of Evrawc; the
welcome of Heaven be unto thee, flower of knights, and light of
chivalry.”  “Of a truth, maiden,” said Kai, “thou art ill-bred to remain
mute for a year at the Court of Arthur, and then to speak as thou dost of
such a man as this.”  And Kai kicked her with his foot, so that she fell
to the ground senseless.  “Tall man,” said Peredur, “shew me which is
Arthur.”  “Hold thy peace,” said Kai, “and go after the knight who went
hence to the meadow, and take from him the goblet, and overthrow him, and
possess thyself of his horse and arms, and then thou shalt receive the
order of knighthood.”  “I will do so, tall man,” said Peredur.  So he
turned his horse’s head towards the meadow.  And when he came there, the
knight was riding up and down, proud of his strength, and valour, and
noble mien.  “Tell me,” said the knight, “didst thou see any one coming
after me from the Court?”  “The tall man that was there,” said he,
“desired me to come, and overthrow thee, and to take from thee the
goblet, and thy horse and thy armour for myself.”  “Silence!” said the
knight; “go back to the Court, and tell Arthur, from me, either to come
himself, or to send some other to fight with me; and unless he do so
quickly, I will not wait for him.”  “By my faith,” said Peredur, “choose
thou whether it shall be willingly or unwillingly, but I will have the
horse, and the arms, and the goblet.”  And upon this the knight ran at
him furiously, and struck him a violent blow with the shaft of his spear,
between the neck and the shoulder.  “Haha! lad,” said Peredur, “my
mother’s servants were not used to play with me in this wise; therefore,
thus will I play with thee.”  And thereupon he struck him with a
sharp-pointed fork, and it hit him in the eye, and came out at the back
of his neck, so that he instantly fell down lifeless.

“Verily,” said Owain the son of Urien to Kai, “thou wert ill-advised,
when thou didst send that madman after the knight.  For one of two things
must befall him.  He must either be overthrown, or slain.  If he is
overthrown by the knight, he will be counted by him to be an honourable
person of the Court, and an eternal disgrace will it be to Arthur and his
warriors.  And if he is slain, the disgrace will be the same, and
moreover, his sin will be upon him; therefore will I go to see what has
befallen him.”  So Owain went to the meadow, and he found Peredur
dragging the man about.  “What art thou doing thus?” said Owain.  “This
iron coat,” said Peredur, “will never come from off him; not by my
efforts, at any rate.”  And Owain unfastened his armour and his clothes.
“Here, my good soul,” said he, “is a horse and armour better than thine.
Take them joyfully, and come with me to Arthur, to receive the order of
knighthood, for thou dost merit it.”  “May I never shew my face again if
I go,” said Peredur; “but take thou the goblet to Gwenhwyvar, and tell
Arthur, that wherever I am, I will be his vassal, and will do him what
profit and service I am able.  And say that I will not come to his Court
until I have encountered the tall man that is there, to revenge the
injury he did to the dwarf and dwarfess.”  And Owain went back to the
Court, and related all these things to Arthur and Gwenhwyvar, and to all
the household.

And Peredur rode forward.  And as he proceeded, behold a knight met him.
“Whence comest thou?” said the knight.  “I come from Arthur’s Court,”
said Peredur.  “Art thou one of his men?” asked he.  “Yes, by my faith,”
he answered.  “A good service, truly, is that of Arthur.”  “Wherefore
sayest thou so?” said Peredur.  “I will tell thee,” said he; “I have
always been Arthur’s enemy, and all such of his men as I have ever
encountered I have slain.”  And without further parlance they fought, and
it was not long before Peredur brought him to the ground, over his
horse’s crupper.  Then the knight besought his mercy.  “Mercy thou shalt
have,” said Peredur, “if thou wilt make oath to me, that thou wilt go to
Arthur’s Court, and tell him that it was I that overthrew thee, for the
honour of his service; and say, that I will never come to the Court until
I have avenged the insult offered to the dwarf and dwarfess.”  The knight
pledged him his faith of this, and proceeded to the Court of Arthur, and
said as he had promised, and conveyed the threat to Kai.

And Peredur rode forward.  And within that week he encountered sixteen
knights, and overthrew them all shamefully.  And they all went to
Arthur’s Court, taking with them the same message which the first knight
had conveyed from Peredur, and the same threat which he had sent to Kai.
And thereupon Kai was reproved by Arthur; and Kai was greatly grieved
thereat.

And Peredur rode forward.  And he came to a vast and desert wood, on the
confines of which was a lake.  And on the other side was a fair castle.
And on the border of the lake he saw a venerable, hoary-headed man,
sitting upon a velvet cushion, and having a garment of velvet upon him.
And his attendants were fishing in the lake.  When the hoary-headed man
beheld Peredur approaching, he arose and went towards the castle.  And
the old man was lame.  Peredur rode to the palace, and the door was open,
and he entered the hall.  And there was the hoary-headed man sitting on a
cushion, and a large blazing fire burning before him.  And the household
and the company arose to meet Peredur, and disarrayed him.  And the man
asked the youth to sit on the cushion; and they sat down, and conversed
together.  When it was time, the tables were laid, and they went to meat.
And when they had finished their meal, the man inquired of Peredur if he
knew well how to fight with the sword.  “I know not,” said Peredur, “but
were I to be taught, doubtless I should.”  “Whoever can play well with
the cudgel and shield, will also be able to fight with a sword.”  And the
man had two sons; the one had yellow hair, and the other auburn.  “Arise,
youths,” said he, “and play with the cudgel and the shield.”  And so did
they.  “Tell me, my soul,” said the man, “which of the youths thinkest
thou plays best.”  “I think,” said Peredur, “that the yellow-haired youth
could draw blood from the other, if he chose.”  “Arise thou, my life, and
take the cudgel and the shield from the hand of the youth with the auburn
hair, and draw blood from the yellow-haired youth if thou canst.”  So
Peredur arose, and went to play with the yellow-haired youth; and he
lifted up his arm, and struck him such a mighty blow, that his brow fell
over his eye, and the blood flowed forth.  “Ah, my life,” said the man,
“come now, and sit down, for thou wilt become the best fighter with the
sword of any in this island; and I am thy uncle, thy mother’s brother.
And with me shalt thou remain a space, in order to learn the manners and
customs of different countries, and courtesy, and gentleness, and noble
bearing.  Leave, then, the habits and the discourse of thy mother, and I
will be thy teacher; and I will raise thee to the rank of knight from
this time forward.  And thus do thou.  If thou seest aught to cause thee
wonder, ask not the meaning of it; if no one has the courtesy to inform
thee, the reproach will not fall upon thee, but upon me that am thy
teacher.”  And they had abundance of honour and service.  And when it was
time they went to sleep.  At the break of day, Peredur arose, and took
his horse, and with his uncle’s permission he rode forth.  And he came to
a vast desert wood, and at the further end of the wood was a meadow, and
on the other side of the meadow he saw a large castle.  And thitherward
Peredur bent his way, and he found the gate open, and he proceeded to the
hall.  And he beheld a stately hoary-headed man sitting on one side of
the hall, and many pages around him, who arose to receive and to honour
Peredur.  And they placed him by the side of the owner of the palace.
Then they discoursed together; and when it was time to eat, they caused
Peredur to sit beside the nobleman during the repast.  And when they had
eaten and drunk as much as they desired, the nobleman asked Peredur
whether he could fight with a sword?  “Were I to receive instruction,”
said Peredur, “I think I could.”  Now, there was on the floor of the hall
a huge staple, as large as a warrior could grasp.  “Take yonder sword,”
said the man to Peredur, “and strike the iron staple.”  So Peredur arose
and struck the staple, so that he cut it in two; and the sword broke into
two parts also.  “Place the two parts together, and reunite them,” and
Peredur placed them together, and they became entire as they were before.
And a second time he struck upon the staple, so that both it and the
sword broke in two, and as before they reunited.  And the third time he
gave a like blow, and placed the broken parts together, and neither the
staple nor the sword would unite as before.  “Youth,” said the nobleman,
“come now, and sit down, and my blessing be upon thee.  Thou fightest
best with the sword of any man in the kingdom.  Thou hast arrived at
two-thirds of thy strength, and the other third thou hast not yet
obtained; and when thou attainest to thy full power, none will be able to
contend with thee.  I am thy uncle, thy mother’s brother, and I am
brother to the man in whose house thou wast last night.”  Then Peredur
and his uncle discoursed together, and he beheld two youths enter the
hall, and proceed up to the chamber, bearing a spear of mighty size, with
three streams of blood flowing from the point to the ground.  And when
all the company saw this, they began wailing and lamenting.  But for all
that, the man did not break off his discourse with Peredur.  And as he
did not tell Peredur the meaning of what he saw, he forbore to ask him
concerning it.  And when the clamour had a little subsided, behold two
maidens entered, with a large salver between them, in which was a man’s
head, surrounded by a profusion of blood.  And thereupon the company of
the court made so great an outcry, that it was irksome to be in the same
hall with them.  But at length they were silent.  And when time was that
they should sleep, Peredur was brought into a fair chamber.

And the next day, with his uncle’s permission, he rode forth.  And he
came to a wood, and far within the wood he heard a loud cry, and he saw a
beautiful woman with auburn hair, and a horse with a saddle upon it,
standing near her, and a corpse by her side.  And as she strove to place
the corpse upon the horse, it fell to the ground, and thereupon she made
a great lamentation.  “Tell me, sister,” said Peredur, “wherefore art
thou bewailing?”  “Oh! accursed Peredur, little pity has my ill-fortune
ever met with from thee.”  “Wherefore,” said Peredur, “am I accursed?”
“Because thou wast the cause of thy mother’s death; for when thou didst
ride forth against her will, anguish seized upon her heart, so that she
died; and therefore art thou accursed.  And the dwarf and the dwarfess
that thou sawest at Arthur’s Court were the dwarfs of thy father and
mother; and I am thy foster-sister, and this was my wedded husband, and
he was slain by the knight that is in the glade in the wood; and do not
thou go near him, lest thou shouldest be slain by him likewise.”  “My
sister, thou dost reproach me wrongfully; through my having so long
remained amongst you, I shall scarcely vanquish him; and had I continued
longer, it would, indeed, be difficult for me to succeed.  Cease,
therefore, thy lamenting, for it is of no avail, and I will bury the
body, and then I will go in quest of the knight, and see if I can do
vengeance upon him.”  And when he had buried the body, they went to the
place where the knight was, and found him riding proudly along the glade;
and he inquired of Peredur whence he came.  “I come from Arthur’s Court.”
“And art thou one of Arthur’s men?”  “Yes, by my faith.”  “A profitable
alliance, truly, is that of Arthur.”  And without further parlance, they
encountered one another, and immediately Peredur overthrew the knight,
and he besought mercy of Peredur.  “Mercy shalt thou have,” said he,
“upon these terms, that thou take this woman in marriage, and do her all
the honour and reverence in thy power, seeing thou hast, without cause,
slain her wedded husband; and that thou go to Arthur’s Court, and shew
him that it was I that overthrew thee, to do him honour and service; and
that thou tell him that I will never come to his Court again until I have
met with the tall man that is there, to take vengeance upon him for his
insult to the dwarf and dwarfess.”  And he took the knight’s assurance,
that he would perform all this.  Then the knight provided the lady with a
horse and garments that were suitable for her, and took her with him to
Arthur’s Court.  And he told Arthur all that had occurred, and gave the
defiance to Kai.  And Arthur and all his household reproved Kai, for
having driven such a youth as Peredur from his Court.

Said Owain the son of Urien, “This youth will never come into the Court
until Kai has gone forth from it.”  “By my faith,” said Arthur, “I will
search all the deserts in the Island of Britain, until I find Peredur,
and then let him and his adversary do their utmost to each other.”

Then Peredur rode forward.  And he came to a desert wood, where he saw
not the track either of men or animals, and where there was nothing but
bushes and weeds.  And at the upper end of the wood he saw a vast castle,
wherein were many strong towers; and when he came near the gate, he found
the weeds taller than he had seen them elsewhere.  And he struck the gate
with the shaft of his lance, and thereupon behold a lean, auburn-haired
youth came to an opening in the battlements.  “Choose thou, chieftain,”
said he, “whether shall I open the gate unto thee, or shall I announce
unto those that are chief, that thou art at the gateway?”  “Say that I am
here,” said Peredur, “and if it is desired that I should enter, I will go
in.”  And the youth came back, and opened the gate for Peredur.  And when
he went into the hall, he beheld eighteen youths, lean and red-headed, of
the same height, and of the same aspect, and of the same dress, and of
the same age as the one who had opened the gate for him.  And they were
well skilled in courtesy and in service.  And they disarrayed him.  Then
they sat down to discourse.  Thereupon, behold five maidens came from the
chamber into the hall.  And Peredur was certain that he had never seen
another of so fair an aspect as the chief of the maidens.  And she had an
old garment of satin upon her, which had once been handsome, but was then
so tattered, that her skin could be seen through it.  And whiter was her
skin than the bloom of crystal, and her hair and her two eyebrows were
blacker than jet, and on her cheeks were two red spots, redder than
whatever is reddest.  And the maiden welcomed Peredur, and put her arms
about his neck, and made him sit down beside her.  Not long after this he
saw two nuns enter, and a flask full of wine was borne by one, and six
loaves of white bread by the other.  “Lady,” said they, “Heaven is
witness, that there is not so much of food and liquor as this left in
yonder Convent this night.”  Then they went to meat, and Peredur observed
that the maiden wished to give more of the food and of the liquor to him
than to any of the others.  “My sister,” said Peredur, “I will share out
the food and the liquor.”  “Not so, my soul,” said she.  “By my faith but
I will.”  So Peredur took the bread, and he gave an equal portion of it
to each alike, as well as a cup full of the liquor.  And when it was time
for them to sleep, a chamber was prepared for Peredur, and he went to
rest.

“Behold, sister,” said the youths to the fairest and most exalted of the
maidens, “we have counsel for thee.”  “What may it be?” she inquired.
“Go to the youth that is in the upper chamber, and offer to become his
wife, or the lady of his love, if it seem well to him.”  “That were
indeed unfitting,” said she.  “Hitherto I have not been the lady-love of
any knight, and to make him such an offer before I am wooed by him, that,
truly, can I not do.”  “By our confession to Heaven, unless thou actest
thus, we will leave thee here to thy enemies, to do as they will with
thee.”  And through fear of this, the maiden went forth; and shedding
tears, she proceeded to the chamber.  And with the noise of the door
opening, Peredur awoke; and the maiden was weeping and lamenting.  “Tell
me, my sister,” said Peredur, “wherefore dost thou weep?”  “I will tell
thee, lord,” said she.  “My father possessed these dominions as their
chief, and this palace was his, and with it he held the best earldom in
the kingdom; then the son of another earl sought me of my father, and I
was not willing to be given unto him, and my father would not give me
against my will, either to him or any earl in the world.  And my father
had no child except myself.  And after my father’s death, these dominions
came into my own hands, and then was I less willing to accept him than
before.  So he made war upon me, and conquered all my possessions, except
this one house.  And through the valour of the men whom thou hast seen,
who are my foster-brothers, and the strength of the house, it can never
be taken while food and drink remain.  And now our provisions are
exhausted; but, as thou hast seen, we have been fed by the nuns, to whom
the country is free.  And at length they also are without supply of food
or liquor.  And at no later date than to-morrow, the earl will come
against this place with all his forces; and if I fall into his power, my
fate will be no better than to be given over to the grooms of his horses.
Therefore, lord, I am come to offer to place myself in thy hands, that
thou mayest succour me, either by taking me hence, or by defending me
here, whichever may seem best unto thee.”  “Go, my sister,” said he, “and
sleep; nor will I depart from thee until I do that which thou requirest,
or prove whether I can assist thee or not.”  The maiden went again to
rest; and the next morning she came to Peredur, and saluted him.  “Heaven
prosper thee, my soul, and what tidings dost thou bring?”  “None other,
than that the earl and all his forces have alighted at the gate, and I
never beheld any place so covered with tents, and thronged with knights
challenging others to the combat.”  “Truly,” said Peredur, “let my horse
be made ready.”  So his horse was accoutred, and he arose and sallied
forth to the meadow.  And there was a knight riding proudly along the
meadow, having raised the signal for battle.  And they encountered, and
Peredur threw the knight over his horse’s crupper to the ground.  And at
the close of the day, one of the chief knights came to fight with him,
and he overthrew him also, so that he besought his mercy.  “Who art
thou?” said Peredur.  “Verily,” said he, “I am Master of the Household to
the earl.”  “And how much of the countess’s possessions is there in thy
power?”  “The third part, verily,” answered he.  “Then,” said Peredur,
“restore to her the third of her possessions in full, and all the profit
thou hast made by them, and bring meat and drink for a hundred men, with
their horses and arms, to her court this night.  And thou shalt remain
her captive, unless she wish to take thy life.”  And this he did
forthwith.  And that night the maiden was right joyful, and they fared
plenteously.

And the next day Peredur rode forth to the meadow; and that day he
vanquished a multitude of the host.  And at the close of the day, there
came a proud and stately knight, and Peredur overthrew him, and he
besought his mercy.  “Who art thou?” said Peredur.  “I am Steward of the
Palace,” said he.  “And how much of the maiden’s possessions are under
thy control?”  “One-third part,” answered he.  “Verily,” said Peredur,
“thou shalt fully restore to the maiden her possessions, and, moreover,
thou shalt give her meat and drink for two hundred men, and their horses
and their arms.  And for thyself, thou shalt be her captive.”  And
immediately it was so done.

And the third day Peredur rode forth to the meadow; and he vanquished
more that day than on either of the preceding.  And at the close of the
day, an earl came to encounter him, and he overthrew him, and he besought
his mercy.  “Who art thou?” said Peredur.  “I am the earl,” said he.  “I
will not conceal it from thee.”  “Verily,” said Peredur, “thou shalt
restore the whole of the maiden’s earldom, and shalt give her thine own
earldom in addition thereto, and meat and drink for three hundred men,
and their horses and arms, and thou thyself shalt remain in her power.”
And thus it was fulfilled.  And Peredur tarried three weeks in the
country, causing tribute and obedience to be paid to the maiden, and the
government to be placed in her hands.  “With thy leave,” said Peredur, “I
will go hence.”  “Verily, my brother, desirest thou this?”  “Yes, by my
faith; and had it not been for love of thee, I should not have been here
thus long.”  “My soul,” said she, “who art thou?”  “I am Peredur the son
of Evrawc from the North; and if ever thou art in trouble or in danger,
acquaint me therewith, and if I can, I will protect thee.”

So Peredur rode forth.  And far thence there met him a lady, mounted on a
horse that was lean, and covered with sweat; and she saluted the youth.
“Whence comest thou, my sister?”  Then she told him the cause of her
journey.  Now she was the wife of the Lord of the Glade.  “Behold,” said
he, “I am the knight through whom thou art in trouble, and he shall
repent it, who has treated thee thus.”  Thereupon, behold a knight rode
up, and he inquired of Peredur, if he had seen a knight such as he was
seeking.  “Hold thy peace,” said Peredur, “I am he whom thou seekest; and
by my faith, thou deservest ill of thy household for thy treatment of the
maiden, for she is innocent concerning me.”  So they encountered, and
they were not long in combat ere Peredur overthrew the knight, and he
besought his mercy.  “Mercy thou shalt have,” said Peredur, “so thou wilt
return by the way thou camest, and declare that thou holdest the maiden
innocent, and so that thou wilt acknowledge unto her the reverse thou
hast sustained at my hands.”  And the knight plighted him his faith
thereto.

Then Peredur rode forward.  And above him he beheld a castle, and
thitherward he went.  And he struck upon the gate with his lance, and
then, behold, a comely auburn-haired youth opened the gate, and he had
the stature of a warrior, and the years of a boy.  And when Peredur came
into the hall, there was a tall and stately lady sitting in a chair, and
many handmaidens around her; and the lady rejoiced at his coming.  And
when it was time, they went to meat.  And after their repast was
finished, “It were well for thee, chieftain,” said she, “to go elsewhere
to sleep.”  “Wherefore can I not sleep here?” said Peredur.  “Nine
sorceresses are here, my soul, of the sorceresses of Gloucester, and
their father and their mother are with them; and unless we can make our
escape before daybreak, we shall be slain; and already they have
conquered and laid waste all the country, except this one dwelling.”
“Behold,” said Peredur, “I will remain here to-night, and if you are in
trouble, I will do you what service I can; but harm shall you not receive
from me.”  So they went to rest.  And with the break of day, Peredur
heard a dreadful outcry.  And he hastily arose, and went forth in his
vest and his doublet, with his sword about his neck, and he saw a
sorceress overtake one of the watch, who cried out violently.  Peredur
attacked the sorceress, and struck her upon the head with his sword, so
that he flattened her helmet and her head-piece like a dish upon her
head.  “Thy mercy, goodly Peredur, son of Evrawc, and the mercy of
Heaven.”  “How knowest thou, hag, that I am Peredur?”  “By destiny, and
the foreknowledge that I should suffer harm from thee.  And thou shalt
take a horse and armour of me; and with me thou shalt go to learn
chivalry and the use of thy arms.”  Said Peredur, “Thou shalt have mercy,
if thou pledge thy faith thou wilt never more injure the dominions of the
Countess.”  And Peredur took surety of this, and with permission of the
Countess, he set forth with the sorceress to the palace of the
sorceresses.  And there he remained for three weeks, and then he made
choice of a horse and arms, and went his way.

And in the evening he entered a valley, and at the head of the valley he
came to a hermit’s cell, and the hermit welcomed him gladly, and there he
spent the night.  And in the morning he arose, and when he went forth,
behold a shower of snow had fallen the night before, and a hawk had
killed a wild fowl in front of the cell.  And the noise of the horse
scared the hawk away, and a raven alighted upon the bird.  And Peredur
stood, and compared the blackness of the raven and the whiteness of the
snow, and the redness of the blood, to the hair of the lady that best he
loved, which was blacker than jet, and to her skin which was whiter than
the snow, and to the two red spots upon her cheeks, which were redder
than the blood upon the snow appeared to be.

Now Arthur and his household were in search of Peredur.  “Know ye,” said
Arthur, “who is the knight with the long spear that stands by the brook
up yonder?”  “Lord,” said one of them, “I will go and learn who he is.”
So the youth came to the place where Peredur was, and asked him what he
did thus, and who he was.  And from the intensity with which he thought
upon the lady whom best he loved, he gave him no answer.  Then the youth
thrust at Peredur with his lance, and Peredur turned upon him, and struck
him over his horse’s crupper to the ground.  And after this,
four-and-twenty youths came to him, and he did not answer one more than
another, but gave the same reception to all, bringing them with one
single thrust to the ground.  And then came Kai, and spoke to Peredur
rudely and angrily; and Peredur took him with his lance under the jaw,
and cast him from him with a thrust, so that he broke his arm and his
shoulder-blade, and he rode over him one-and-twenty times.  And while he
lay thus, stunned with the violence of the pain that he had suffered, his
horse returned back at a wild and prancing pace.  And when the household
saw the horse come back without his rider, they rode forth in haste to
the place where the encounter had been.  And when they first came there,
they thought that Kai was slain; but they found that if he had a skilful
physician, he yet might live.  And Peredur moved not from his meditation,
on seeing the concourse that was around Kai.  And Kai was brought to
Arthur’s tent, and Arthur caused skilful physicians to come to him.  And
Arthur was grieved that Kai had met with this reverse, for he loved him
greatly.

“Then,” said Gwalchmai, “it is not fitting that any should disturb an
honourable knight from his thought unadvisedly; for either he is
pondering some damage that he has sustained, or he is thinking of the
lady whom best he loves.  And through such ill-advised proceeding,
perchance this misadventure has befallen him who last met with him.  And
if it seem well to thee, lord, I will go and see if this knight hath
changed from his thought; and if he has, I will ask him courteously to
come and visit thee.”  Then Kai was wroth, and he spoke angry and
spiteful words.  “Gwalchmai,” said he, “I know that thou wilt bring him
because he is fatigued.  Little praise and honour, nevertheless, wilt
thou have from vanquishing a weary knight, who is tired with fighting.
Yet thus hast thou gained the advantage over many.  And while thy speech
and thy soft words last, a coat of thin linen were armour sufficient for
thee, and thou wilt not need to break either lance or sword in fighting
with the knight in the state he is in.”  Then said Gwalchmai to Kai,
“Thou mightest use more pleasant words, wert thou so minded: and it
behoves thee not upon me to wreak thy wrath and thy displeasure.
Methinks I shall bring the knight hither with me without breaking either
my arm or my shoulder.”  Then said Arthur to Gwalchmai, “Thou speakest
like a wise and prudent man; go, and take enough of armour about thee,
and choose thy horse.”  And Gwalchmai accoutred himself and rode forward
hastily to the place where Peredur was.

And Peredur was resting on the shaft of his spear, pondering the same
thought, and Gwalchmai came to him without any signs of hostility, and
said to him, “If I thought that it would be as agreeable to thee as it
would be to me, I would converse with thee.  I have also a message from
Arthur unto thee, to pray thee to come and visit him.  And two men have
been before on this errand.”  “That is true,” said Peredur, “and
uncourteously they came.  They attacked me, and I was annoyed thereat,
for it was not pleasing to me to be drawn from the thought that I was in,
for I was thinking of the lady whom best I love, and thus was she brought
to my mind:—I was looking upon the snow, and upon the raven, and upon the
drops of the blood of the bird that the hawk had killed upon the snow.
And I bethought me that her whiteness was like that of the snow, and that
the blackness of her hair and her eyebrows like that of the raven, and
that the two red spots upon her cheeks were like the two drops of blood.”
Said Gwalchmai, “This was not an ungentle thought, and I should marvel if
it were pleasant to thee to be drawn from it.”  “Tell me,” said Peredur,
“is Kai in Arthur’s Court?”  “He is,” said he, “and behold he is the
knight that fought with thee last; and it would have been better for him
had he not come, for his arm and his shoulder-blade were broken with the
fall which he had from thy spear.”  “Verily,” said Peredur, “I am not
sorry to have thus begun to avenge the insult to the dwarf and dwarfess.”
Then Gwalchmai marvelled to hear him speak of the dwarf and the dwarfess;
and he approached him, and threw his arms around his neck, and asked him
what was his name.  “Peredur the son of Evrawc am I called,” said he;
“and thou, Who art thou?”  “I am called Gwalchmai,” he replied.  “I am
right glad to meet with thee,” said Peredur, “for in every country where
I have been I have heard of thy fame for prowess and uprightness, and I
solicit thy fellowship.”  “Thou shalt have it, by my faith, and grant me
thine,” said he, “Gladly will I do so,” answered Peredur.

So they rode forth together joyfully towards the place where Arthur was,
and when Kai saw them coming, he said, “I knew that Gwalchmai needed not
to fight the knight.  And it is no wonder that he should gain fame; more
can he do by his fair words than I by the strength of my arm.”  And
Peredur went with Gwalchmai to his tent, and they took off their armour.
And Peredur put on garments like those that Gwalchmai wore, and they went
together unto Arthur, and saluted him.  “Behold, lord,” said Gwalchmai,
“him whom thou hast sought so long.”  “Welcome unto thee, chieftain,”
said Arthur.  “With me thou shalt remain; and had I known thy valour had
been such, thou shouldst not have left me as thou didst; nevertheless,
this was predicted of thee by the dwarf and the dwarfess, whom Kai
ill-treated and whom thou hast avenged.”  And hereupon, behold there came
the Queen and her handmaidens, and Peredur saluted them.  And they were
rejoiced to see him, and bade him welcome.  And Arthur did him great
honour and respect, and they returned towards Caerlleon.

And the first night Peredur came to Caerlleon to Arthur’s Court, and as
he walked in the city after his repast, behold, there met him Angharad
Law Eurawc.  “By my faith, sister,” said Peredur, “thou art a beauteous
and lovely maiden; and, were it pleasing to thee, I could love thee above
all women.”  “I pledge my faith,” said she, “that I do not love thee, nor
will I ever do so.”  “I also pledge my faith,” said Peredur, “that I will
never speak a word to any Christian again, until thou come to love me
above all men.”

The next day Peredur went forth by the high road, along a mountain-ridge,
and he saw a valley of a circular form, the confines of which were rocky
and wooded.  And the flat part of the valley was in meadows, and there
were fields betwixt the meadows and the wood.  And in the bosom of the
wood he saw large black houses of uncouth workmanship.  And he
dismounted, and led his horse towards the wood.  And a little way within
the wood he saw a rocky ledge, along which the road lay.  And upon the
ledge was a lion bound by a chain, and sleeping.  And beneath the lion he
saw a deep pit of immense size, full of the bones of men and animals.
And Peredur drew his sword and struck the lion, so that he fell into the
mouth of the pit and hung there by the chain; and with a second blow he
struck the chain and broke it, and the lion fell into the pit; and
Peredur led his horse over the rocky ledge, until he came into the
valley.  And in the centre of the valley he saw a fair castle, and he
went towards it.  And in the meadow by the castle he beheld a huge grey
man sitting, who was larger than any man he had ever before seen.  And
two young pages were shooting the hilts of their daggers, of the bone of
the sea-horse.  And one of the pages had red hair, and the other auburn.
And they went before him to the place where the grey man was, and Peredur
saluted him.  And the grey man said, “Disgrace to the beard of my
porter.”  Then Peredur understood that the porter was the lion.—And the
grey man and the pages went together into the castle, and Peredur
accompanied them; and he found it a fair and noble place.  And they
proceeded to the hall, and the tables were already laid, and upon them
was abundance of food and liquor.  And thereupon he saw an aged woman and
a young woman come from the chamber; and they were the most stately women
he had ever seen.  Then they washed and went to meat, and the grey man
sat in the upper seat at the head of the table, and the aged woman next
to him.  And Peredur and the maiden were placed together, and the two
young pages served them.  And the maiden gazed sorrowfully upon Peredur,
and Peredur asked the maiden wherefore she was sad.  “For thee, my soul;
for, from when I first beheld thee, I have loved thee above all men.  And
it pains me to know that so gentle a youth as thou should have such a
doom as awaits thee to-morrow.  Sawest thou the numerous black houses in
the bosom of the wood?  All these belong to the vassals of the grey man
yonder, who is my father.  And they are all giants.  And to-morrow they
will rise up against thee, and will slay thee.  And the Round Valley is
this valley called.”  “Listen, fair maiden, wilt thou contrive that my
horse and arms be in the same lodging with me to-night?”  “Gladly will I
cause it so to be, by Heaven, if I can.”

And when it was time for them to sleep rather than to carouse, they went
to rest.  And the maiden caused Peredur’s horse and arms to be in the
same lodging with him.  And the next morning Peredur heard a great tumult
of men and horses around the castle.  And Peredur arose, and armed
himself and his horse, and went to the meadow.  Then the aged woman and
the maiden came to the grey man: “Lord,” said they, “take the word of the
youth, that he will never disclose what he has seen in this place, and we
will be his sureties that he keep it.”  “I will not do so, by my faith,”
said the grey man.  So Peredur fought with the host, and towards evening
he had slain the one-third of them without receiving any hurt himself.
Then said the aged woman, “Behold, many of thy host have been slain by
the youth; do thou, therefore, grant him mercy.”  “I will not grant it,
by my faith,” said he.  And the aged woman and the fair maiden were upon
the battlements of the castle, looking forth.  And at that juncture,
Peredur encountered the yellow-haired youth and slew him.  “Lord,” said
the maiden, “grant the young man mercy.”  “That will I not do, by
Heaven,” he replied; and thereupon Peredur attacked the auburn-haired
youth, and slew him likewise.  “It were better that thou hadst accorded
mercy to the youth before he had slain thy two sons; for now scarcely
wilt thou thyself escape from him.”  “Go, maiden, and beseech the youth
to grant mercy unto us, for we yield ourselves into his hands.”  So the
maiden came to the place where Peredur was, and besought mercy for her
father, and for all such of his vassals as had escaped alive.  “Thou
shalt have it, on condition that thy father and all that are under him go
and render homage to Arthur, and tell him that it was his vassal Peredur
that did him this service.”  “This will we do willingly, by Heaven.”
“And you shall also receive baptism; and I will send to Arthur, and
beseech him to bestow this valley upon thee and upon thy heirs after thee
for ever.”  Then they went in, and the grey man and the tall woman
saluted Peredur.  And the grey man said unto him, “Since I have possessed
this valley I have not seen any Christian depart with his life, save
thyself.  And we will go to do homage to Arthur, and to embrace the faith
and be baptized.”  Then said Peredur, “To Heaven I render thanks that I
have not broken my vow to the lady that best I love, which was, that I
would not speak one word unto any Christian.”

That night they tarried there.  And the next day, in the morning, the
grey man, with his company, set forth to Arthur’s Court; and they did
homage unto Arthur, and he caused them to be baptized.  And the grey man
told Arthur that it was Peredur that had vanquished them.  And Arthur
gave the valley to the grey man and his company, to hold it of him as
Peredur had besought.  And with Arthur’s permission, the grey man went
back to the Round Valley.

Peredur rode forward next day, and he traversed a vast tract of desert,
in which no dwellings were.  And at length he came to a habitation, mean
and small.  And there he heard that there was a serpent that lay upon a
gold ring, and suffered none to inhabit the country for seven miles
around.  And Peredur came to the place where he heard the serpent was.
And angrily, furiously, and desperately fought he with the serpent; and
at last he killed it, and took away the ring.  And thus he was for a long
time without speaking a word to any Christian.  And therefrom he lost his
colour and his aspect, through extreme longing after the Court of Arthur,
and the society of the lady whom best he loved, and of his companions.
Then he proceeded forward to Arthur’s Court, and on the road there met
him Arthur’s household going on a particular errand, with Kai at their
head.  And Peredur knew them all, but none of the household recognized
him.  “Whence comest thou, chieftain?” said Kai.  And this he asked him
twice and three times, and he answered him not.  And Kai thrust him
through the thigh with his lance.  And lest he should be compelled to
speak, and to break his vow, he went on without stopping.  “Then,” said
Gwalchmai, “I declare to Heaven, Kai, that thou hast acted ill in
committing such an outrage on a youth like this, who cannot speak.”

And Gwalchmai returned back to Arthur’s Court.  “Lady,” said he to
Gwenhwyvar, “seest thou how wicked an outrage Kai has committed upon this
youth who cannot speak; for Heaven’s sake, and for mine, cause him to
have medical care before I come back, and I will repay thee the charge.”

And before the men returned from their errand, a knight came to the
meadow beside Arthur’s Palace, to dare some one to the encounter.  And
his challenge was accepted; and Peredur fought with him, and overthrew
him.  And for a week he overthrew one knight every day.

And one day, Arthur and his household were going to Church, and they
beheld a knight who had raised the signal for combat.  “Verily,” said
Arthur, “by the valour of men, I will not go hence until I have my horse
and my arms to overthrow yonder boor.”  Then went the attendants to fetch
Arthur’s horse and arms.  And Peredur met the attendants as they were
going back, and he took the horse and arms from them, and proceeded to
the meadow; and all those who saw him arise and go to do battle with the
knight, went upon the tops of the houses, and the mounds, and the high
places, to behold the combat.  And Peredur beckoned with his hand to the
knight to commence the fight.  And the knight thrust at him, but he was
not thereby moved from where he stood.  And Peredur spurred his horse,
and ran at him wrathfully, furiously, fiercely, desperately, and with
mighty rage, and he gave him a thrust, deadly-wounding, severe, furious,
adroit, and strong, under his jaw, and raised him out of his saddle, and
cast him a long way from him.  And Peredur went back, and left the horse
and the arms with the attendant as before, and he went on foot to the
Palace.

Then Peredur went by the name of the Dumb Youth.  And behold, Angharad
Law Eurawc met him.  “I declare to Heaven, chieftain,” said she, “woful
is it that thou canst not speak; for couldst thou speak, I would love
thee best of all men; and by my faith, although thou canst not, I do love
thee above all.”  “Heaven reward thee, my sister,” said Peredur, “by my
faith I also do love thee.”  Thereupon it was known that he was Peredur.
And then he held fellowship with Gwalchmai, and Owain the son of Urien,
and all the household, and he remained in Arthur’s Court.

                                * * * * *

Arthur was in Caerlleon upon Usk; and he went to hunt, and Peredur went
with him.  And Peredur let loose his dog upon a hart, and the dog killed
the hart in a desert place.  And a short space from him he saw signs of a
dwelling, and towards the dwelling he went, and he beheld a hall, and at
the door of the hall he found bald swarthy youths playing at chess.  And
when he entered, he beheld three maidens sitting on a bench, and they
were all clothed alike, as became persons of high rank.  And he came, and
sat by them upon the bench; and one of the maidens looked steadfastly
upon Peredur, and wept.  And Peredur asked her wherefore she was weeping.
“Through grief, that I should see so fair a youth as thou art, slain.”
“Who will slay me?” inquired Peredur.  “If thou art so daring as to
remain here to-night, I will tell thee.”  “How great soever my danger may
be from remaining here, I will listen unto thee.”  “This Palace is owned
by him who is my father,” said the maiden, “and he slays every one who
comes hither without his leave.”  “What sort of a man is thy father, that
he is able to slay every one thus?”  “A man who does violence and wrong
unto his neighbours, and who renders justice unto none.”  And hereupon he
saw the youths arise and clear the chessmen from the board.  And he heard
a great tumult; and after the tumult there came in a huge black one-eyed
man, and the maidens arose to meet him.  And they disarrayed him, and he
went and sat down; and after he had rested and pondered awhile, he looked
at Peredur, and asked who the knight was.  “Lord,” said one of the
maidens, “he is the fairest and gentlest youth that ever thou didst see.
And for the sake of Heaven, and of thine own dignity, have patience with
him.”  “For thy sake I will have patience, and I will grant him his life
this night.”  Then Peredur came towards them to the fire, and partook of
food and liquor, and entered into discourse with the ladies.  And being
elated with the liquor, he said to the black man, “It is a marvel to me,
so mighty as thou sayest thou art, who could have put out thine eye.”
“It is one of my habits,” said the black man, “that whosoever puts to me
the question which thou hast asked, shall not escape with his life,
either as a free gift or for a price.”  “Lord,” said the maiden,
“whatsoever he may say to thee in jest, and through the excitement of
liquor, make good that which thou saidst and didst promise me just now.”
“I will do so, gladly, for thy sake,” said he.  “Willingly will I grant
him his life this night.”  And that night thus they remained.

And the next day the black man got up, and put on his armour, and said to
Peredur, “Arise, man, and suffer death.”  And Peredur said unto him, “Do
one of two things, black man; if thou wilt fight with me, either throw
off thy own armour, or give arms to me, that I may encounter thee.”  “Ha,
man,” said he, “couldst thou fight, if thou hadst arms?  Take, then, what
arms thou dost choose.”  And thereupon the maiden came to Peredur with
such arms as pleased him; and he fought with the black man, and forced
him to crave his mercy.  “Black man, thou shalt have mercy, provided thou
tell me who thou art, and who put out thine eye.”  “Lord, I will tell
thee; I lost it in fighting with the Black Serpent of the Carn.  There is
a mound, which is called the Mound of Mourning; and on the mound there is
a carn, and in the carn there is a serpent, and on the tail of the
serpent there is a stone, and the virtues of the stone are such, that
whosoever should hold it in one hand, in the other he will have as much
gold as he may desire.  And in fighting with this serpent was it that I
lost my eye.  And the Black Oppressor am I called.  And for this reason I
am called the Black Oppressor, that there is not a single man around me
whom I have not oppressed, and justice have I done unto none.”  “Tell
me,” said Peredur, “how far is it hence?”  “The same day that thou
settest forth, thou wilt come to the Palace of the Sons of the King of
the Tortures.”  “Wherefore are they called thus?”  “The Addanc of the
Lake slays them once every day.  When thou goest thence, thou wilt come
to the Court of the Countess of the Achievements.”  “What achievements
are there?” asked Peredur.  “Three hundred men there are in her
household, and unto every stranger that comes to the Court, the
achievements of her household are related.  And this is the manner of
it,—the three hundred men of the household sit next unto the Lady; and
that not through disrespect unto the guests, but that they may relate the
achievements of the household.  And the day that thou goest thence, thou
wilt reach the Mound of Mourning, and round about the mound there are the
owners of three hundred tents guarding the serpent.”  “Since thou hast,
indeed, been an oppressor so long,” said Peredur, “I will cause that thou
continue so no longer.”  So he slew him.

Then the maiden spoke, and began to converse with him.  “If thou wast
poor when thou camest here, henceforth thou wilt be rich through the
treasure of the black man whom thou hast slain.  Thou seest the many
lovely maidens that there are in this Court; thou shalt have her whom
thou best likest for the lady of thy love.”  “Lady, I came not hither
from my country to woo; but match yourselves as it liketh you with the
comely youths I see here; and none of your goods do I desire, for I need
them not.”  Then Peredur rode forward, and he came to the Palace of the
Sons of the King of the Tortures; and when he entered the Palace, he saw
none but women; and they rose up, and were joyful at his coming; and as
they began to discourse with him, he beheld a charger arrive, with a
saddle upon it, and a corpse in the saddle.  And one of the women arose,
and took the corpse from the saddle, and anointed it in a vessel of warm
water, which was below the door, and placed precious balsam upon it; and
the man rose up alive, and came to the place where Peredur was, and
greeted him, and was joyful to see him.  And two other men came in upon
their saddles, and the maiden treated these two in the same manner as she
had done the first.  Then Peredur asked the chieftain wherefore it was
thus.  And they told him, that there was an Addanc in a cave, which slew
them once every day.  And thus they remained that night.

And next morning the youths arose to sally forth, and Peredur besought
them, for the sake of the ladies of their love, to permit him to go with
them; but they refused him, saying, “If thou shouldst be slain there,
thou hast none to bring thee back to life again.”  And they rode forward,
and Peredur followed after them; and, after they had disappeared out of
his sight, he came to a mound, whereon sat the fairest lady he had ever
beheld.  “I know thy quest,” said she; “thou art going to encounter the
Addanc, and he will slay thee, and that not by courage, but by craft.  He
has a cave, and at the entrance of the cave there is a stone pillar, and
he sees every one that enters, and none see him; and from behind the
pillar he slays every one with a poisonous dart.  And if thou wouldst
pledge me thy faith to love me above all women, I would give thee a
stone, by which thou shouldst see him when thou goest in, and he should
not see thee.”  “I will, by my troth,” said Peredur, “for when first I
beheld thee I loved thee; and where shall I seek thee?”  “When thou
seekest me, seek towards India.”  And the maiden vanished, after placing
the stone in Peredur’s hand.

And he came towards a valley, through which ran a river; and the borders
of the valley were wooded, and on each side of the river were level
meadows.  And on one side of the river he saw a flock of white sheep, and
on the other a flock of black sheep.  And whenever one of the white sheep
bleated, one of the black sheep would cross over and become white; and
when one of the black sheep bleated, one of the white sheep would cross
over and become black.  And he saw a tall tree by the side of the river,
one half of which was in flames from the root to the top, and the other
half was green and in full leaf.  And nigh thereto he saw a youth sitting
upon a mound, and two greyhounds, white-breasted and spotted, in leashes,
lying by his side.  And certain was he that he had never seen a youth of
so royal a bearing as he.  And in the wood opposite he heard hounds
raising a herd of deer.  And Peredur saluted the youth, and the youth
greeted him in return.  And there were three roads leading from the
mound; two of them were wide roads, and the third was more narrow.  And
Peredur inquired where the three roads went.  “One of them goes to my
palace,” said the youth; “and one of two things I counsel thee to do;
either to proceed to my palace, which is before thee, and where thou wilt
find my wife, or else to remain here to see the hounds chasing the roused
deer from the wood to the plain.  And thou shalt see the best greyhounds
thou didst ever behold, and the boldest in the chase, kill them by the
water beside us; and when it is time to go to meat, my page will come
with my horse to meet me, and thou shalt rest in my palace to-night.”
“Heaven reward thee; but I cannot tarry, for onward must I go.”  “The
other road leads to the town, which is near here, and wherein food and
liquor may be bought; and the road which is narrower than the others goes
towards the cave of the Addanc.”  “With thy permission, young man, I will
go that way.”

And Peredur went towards the cave.  And he took the stone in his left
hand, and his lance in his right.  And as he went in he perceived the
Addanc, and he pierced him through with his lance, and cut off his head.
And as he came from the cave, behold the three companions were at the
entrance; and they saluted Peredur, and told him that there was a
prediction that he should slay that monster.  And Peredur gave the head
to the young men, and they offered him in marriage whichever of the three
sisters he might choose, and half their kingdom with her.  “I came not
hither to woo,” said Peredur, “but if peradventure I took a wife, I
should prefer your sister to all others.”  And Peredur rode forward, and
he heard a noise behind him.  And he looked back, and saw a man upon a
red horse, with red armour upon him; and the man rode up by his side, and
saluted him, and wished him the favour of Heaven and of man.  And Peredur
greeted the youth kindly.  “Lord, I come to make a request unto thee.”
“What wouldest thou?”  “That thou shouldest take me as thine attendant.”
“Whom then should I take as my attendant, if I did so?”  “I will not
conceal from thee what kindred I am of.  Etlym Gleddyv Coch am I called,
an Earl from the East Country.”  “I marvel that thou shouldest offer to
become attendant to a man whose possessions are no greater than thine
own; for I have but an earldom like thyself.  But since thou desirest to
be my attendant, I will take thee joyfully.”

And they went forward to the Court of the Countess, and all they of the
Court were glad at their coming; and they were told it was not through
disrespect they were placed below the household, but that such was the
usage of the Court.  For, whoever should overthrow the three hundred men
of her household, would sit next the Countess, and she would love him
above all men.  And Peredur having overthrown the three hundred men of
her household, sat down beside her, and the Countess said, “I thank
Heaven that I have a youth so fair and so valiant as thou, since I have
not obtained the man whom best I love.”  “Who is he whom best thou
lovest?”  “By my faith, Etlym Gleddyv Coch is the man whom I love best,
and I have never seen him.”  “Of a truth, Etlym is my companion; and
behold here he is, and for his sake did I come to joust with thy
household.  And he could have done so better than I, had it pleased him.
And I do give thee unto him.”  “Heaven reward thee, fair youth, and I
will take the man whom I love above all others.”  And the Countess became
Etlym’s bride from that moment.

And the next day Peredur set forth towards the Mound of Mourning.  “By
thy hand, lord, but I will go with thee,” said Etlym.  Then they went
forwards till they came in sight of the mound and the tents.  “Go unto
yonder men,” said Peredur to Etlym, “and desire them to come and do me
homage.”  So Etlym went unto them, and said unto them thus,—“Come and do
homage to my lord.”  “Who is thy lord?” said they.  “Peredur with the
long lance is my lord,” said Etlym.  “Were it permitted to slay a
messenger, thou shouldest not go back to thy lord alive, for making unto
Kings, and Earls, and Barons so arrogant a demand as to go and do him
homage.”  Peredur desired him to go back to them, and to give them their
choice, either to do him homage, or to do battle with him.  And they
chose rather to do battle.  And that day Peredur overthrew the owners of
a hundred tents; and the next day he overthrew the owners of a hundred
more; and the third day the remaining hundred took counsel to do homage
to Peredur.  And Peredur inquired of them, wherefore they were there.
And they told him they were guarding the serpent until he should die.
“For then should we fight for the stone among ourselves, and whoever
should be conqueror among us would have the stone.”  “Await here,” said
Peredur, “and I will go to encounter the serpent.”  “Not so, lord,” said
they; “we will go altogether to encounter the serpent.”  “Verily,” said
Peredur, “that will I not permit; for if the serpent be slain, I shall
derive no more fame therefrom than one of you.”  Then he went to the
place where the serpent was, and slew it, and came back to them, and
said, “Reckon up what you have spent since you have been here, and I will
repay you to the full.”  And he paid to each what he said was his claim.
And he required of them only that they should acknowledge themselves his
vassals.  And he said to Etlym, “Go back unto her whom thou lovest best,
and I will go forwards, and I will reward thee for having been my
attendant.”  And he gave Etlym the stone.  “Heaven repay thee and prosper
thee,” said Etlym.

And Peredur rode thence, and he came to the fairest valley he had ever
seen, through which ran a river; and there he beheld many tents of
various colours.  And he marvelled still more at the number of
water-mills and of wind-mills that he saw.  And there rode up with him a
tall auburn-haired man, in workman’s garb, and Peredur inquired of him
who he was.  “I am the chief miller,” said he, “of all the mills yonder.”
“Wilt thou give me lodging?” said Peredur.  “I will, gladly,” he
answered.  And Peredur came to the miller’s house, and the miller had a
fair and pleasant dwelling.  And Peredur asked money as a loan from the
miller, that he might buy meat and liquor for himself and for the
household, and he promised that he would pay him again ere he went
thence.  And he inquired of the miller, wherefore such a multitude was
there assembled.  Said the miller to Peredur, “One thing is certain:
either thou art a man from afar, or thou art beside thyself.  The Empress
of Cristinobyl the Great is here; and she will have no one but the man
who is most valiant; for riches does she not require.  And it was
impossible to bring food for so many thousands as are here, therefore
were all these mills constructed.”  And that night they took their rest.

And the next day Peredur arose, and he equipped himself and his horse for
the tournament.  And among the other tents he beheld one, which was the
fairest he had ever seen.  And he saw a beauteous maiden leaning her head
out of a window of the tent, and he had never seen a maiden more lovely
than she.  And upon her was a garment of satin.  And he gazed fixedly on
the maiden, and began to love her greatly.  And he remained there, gazing
upon the maiden from morning until mid-day, and from mid-day until
evening; and then the tournament was ended and he went to his lodging and
drew off his armour.  Then he asked money of the miller as a loan, and
the miller’s wife was wroth with Peredur; nevertheless, the miller lent
him the money.  And the next day he did in like manner as he had done the
day before.  And at night he came to his lodging, and took money as a
loan from the miller.  And the third day, as he was in the same place,
gazing upon the maiden, he felt a hard blow between the neck and the
shoulder, from the edge of an axe.  And when he looked behind him, he saw
that it was the miller; and the miller said to him, “Do one of two
things: either turn thy head from hence, or go to the tournament.”  And
Peredur smiled on the miller, and went to the tournament; and all that
encountered him that day he overthrew.  And as many as he vanquished he
sent as a gift to the Empress, and their horses and arms he sent as a
gift to the wife of the miller, in payment of the borrowed money.
Peredur attended the tournament until all were overthrown, and he sent
all the men to the prison of the Empress, and the horses and arms to the
wife of the miller, in payment of the borrowed money.  And the Empress
sent to the Knight of the Mill, to ask him to come and visit her.  And
Peredur went not for the first nor for the second message.  And the third
time she sent a hundred knights to bring him against his will, and they
went to him and told him their mission from the Empress.  And Peredur
fought well with them, and caused them to be bound like stags, and thrown
into the mill-dyke.  And the Empress sought advice of a wise man who was
in her counsel; and he said to her, “With thy permission, I will go to
him myself.”  So he came to Peredur, and saluted him, and besought him,
for the sake of the lady of his love, to come and visit the Empress.  And
they went, together with the miller.  And Peredur went and sat down in
the outer chamber of the tent, and she came and placed herself by his
side.  And there was but little discourse between them.  And Peredur took
his leave, and went to his lodging.

And the next day he came to visit her, and when he came into the tent
there was no one chamber less decorated than the others.  And they knew
not where he would sit.  And Peredur went and sat beside the Empress, and
discoursed with her courteously.  And while they were thus, they beheld a
black man enter with a goblet full of wine in his hand.  And he dropped
upon his knee before the Empress, and besought her to give it to no one
who would not fight with him for it.  And she looked upon Peredur.
“Lady,” said he, “bestow on me the goblet.”  And Peredur drank the wine,
and gave the goblet to the miller’s wife.  And while they were thus,
behold there entered a black man of larger stature than the other, with a
wild beast’s claw in his hand, wrought into the form of a goblet and
filled with wine.  And he presented it to the Empress, and besought her
to give it to no one but the man who would fight with him.  “Lady,” said
Peredur, “bestow it on me.”  And she gave it to him.  And Peredur drank
the wine, and sent the goblet to the wife of the miller.  And while they
were thus, behold a rough-looking, crisp-haired man, taller than either
of the others, came in with a bowl in his hand full of wine; and he bent
upon his knee, and gave it into the hands of the Empress, and he besought
her to give it to none but him who would fight with him for it; and she
gave it to Peredur, and he sent it to the miller’s wife.  And that night
Peredur returned to his lodging; and the next day he accoutred himself
and his horse, and went to the meadow and slew the three men.  Then
Peredur proceeded to the tent, and the Empress said to him, “Goodly
Peredur, remember the faith thou didst pledge me when I gave thee the
stone, and thou didst kill the Addanc.”  “Lady,” answered he, “thou
sayest truth, I do remember it.”  And Peredur was entertained by the
Empress fourteen years, as the story relates.

                                * * * * *

Arthur was at Caerlleon upon Usk, his principal palace; and in the centre
of the floor of the hall were four men sitting on a carpet of velvet,
Owain the son of Urien, and Gwalchmai the son of Gwyar, and Howel the son
of Emyr Llydaw, and Peredur of the long lance.  And thereupon they saw a
black curly-headed maiden enter, riding upon a yellow mule, with jagged
thongs in her hand to urge it on; and having a rough and hideous aspect.
Blacker were her face and her two hands than the blackest iron covered
with pitch; and her hue was not more frightful than her form.  High
cheeks had she, and a face lengthened downwards, and a short nose with
distended nostrils.  And one eye was of a piercing mottled grey, and the
other was as black as jet, deep-sunk in her head.  And her teeth were
long and yellow, more yellow were they than the flower of the broom.  And
her stomach rose from the breast-bone, higher than her chin.  And her
back was in the shape of a crook, and her legs were large and bony.  And
her figure was very thin and spare, except her feet and her legs, which
were of huge size.  And she greeted Arthur and all his household except
Peredur.  And to Peredur she spoke harsh and angry words.  “Peredur, I
greet thee not, seeing that thou dost not merit it.  Blind was fate in
giving thee fame and favour.  When thou wast in the Court of the Lame
King, and didst see there the youth bearing the streaming spear, from the
points of which were drops of blood flowing in streams, even to the hand
of the youth, and many other wonders likewise, thou didst not inquire
their meaning nor their cause.  Hadst thou done so, the King would have
been restored to health, and his dominions to peace.  Whereas from
henceforth, he will have to endure battles and conflicts, and his knights
will perish, and wives will be widowed, and maidens will be left
portionless, and all this is because of thee.”  Then said she unto
Arthur, “May it please thee, lord, my dwelling is far hence, in the
stately castle of which thou hast heard, and therein are five hundred and
sixty-six knights of the order of Chivalry, and the lady whom best he
loves with each; and whoever would acquire fame in arms, and encounters,
and conflicts, he will gain it there, if he deserve it.  And whoso would
reach the summit of fame and of honour, I know where he may find it.
There is a castle on a lofty mountain, and there is a maiden therein, and
she is detained a prisoner there, and whoever shall set her free will
attain the summit of the fame of the world.”  And thereupon she rode
away.

Said Gwalchmai, “By my faith, I will not rest tranquilly until I have
proved if I can release the maiden.”  And many of Arthur’s household
joined themselves with him.  Then, likewise, said Peredur, “By my faith,
I will not rest tranquilly until I know the story and the meaning of the
lance whereof the black maiden spoke.”  And while they were equipping
themselves, behold a knight came to the gate.  And he had the size and
the strength of a warrior, and was equipped with arms and habiliments.
And he went forward, and saluted Arthur and all his household, except
Gwalchmai.  And the knight had upon his shoulder a shield, ingrained with
gold, with a fesse of azure blue upon it, and his whole armour was of the
same hue.  And he said to Gwalchmai, “Thou didst slay my lord by thy
treachery and deceit, and that will I prove upon thee.”  Then Gwalchmai
rose up.  “Behold,” said he, “here is my gage against thee, to maintain,
either in this place or wherever else thou wilt, that I am not a traitor
or deceiver.”  “Before the King whom I obey, will I that my encounter
with thee take place,” said the knight.  “Willingly,” said Gwalchmai; “go
forward, and I will follow thee.”  So the knight went forth, and
Gwalchmai accoutred himself, and there was offered unto him abundance of
armour, but he would take none but his own.  And when Gwalchmai and
Peredur were equipped, they set forth to follow him, by reason of their
fellowship and of the great friendship that was between them.  And they
did not go after him in company together, but each went his own way.

At the dawn of day Gwalchmai came to a valley, and in the valley he saw a
fortress, and within the fortress a vast palace and lofty towers around
it.  And he beheld a knight coming out to hunt from the other side,
mounted on a spirited black snorting palfrey, that advanced at a prancing
pace, proudly stepping, and nimbly bounding, and sure of foot; and this
was the man to whom the palace belonged.  And Gwalchmai saluted him.
“Heaven prosper thee, chieftain,” said he, “and whence comest thou?”  “I
come,” answered Gwalchmai, “from the Court of Arthur.”  “And art thou
Arthur’s vassal?”  “Yes, by my faith,” said Gwalchmai.  “I will give thee
good counsel,” said the knight.  “I see that thou art tired and weary; go
unto my palace, if it may please thee, and tarry there to-night.”
“Willingly, lord,” said he, “and Heaven reward thee.”  “Take this ring as
a token to the porter, and go forward to yonder tower, and therein thou
wilt find my sister.”  And Gwalchmai went to the gate, and showed the
ring, and proceeded to the tower.  And on entering he beheld a large
blazing fire, burning without smoke and with a bright and lofty flame,
and a beauteous and stately maiden was sitting on a chair by the fire.
And the maiden was glad at his coming, and welcomed him, and advanced to
meet him.  And he went and sat beside the maiden, and they took their
repast.  And when their repast was over, they discoursed pleasantly
together.  And while they were thus, behold there entered a venerable
hoary-headed man.  “Ah! base girl,” said he, “if thou didst think it was
right for thee to entertain and to sit by yonder man, thou wouldest not
do so.”  And he withdrew his head, and went forth.  “Ah! chieftain,” said
the maiden, “if thou wilt do as I counsel thee, thou wilt shut the door,
lest the man should have a plot against thee.”  Upon that Gwalchmai
arose, and when he came near unto the door, the man, with sixty others,
fully armed, were ascending the tower.  And Gwalchmai defended the door
with a chessboard, that none might enter until the man should return from
the chase.  And thereupon, behold the Earl arrived.  “What is all this?”
asked he.  “It is a sad thing,” said the hoary-headed man; “the young
girl yonder has been sitting and eating with him who slew your father.
He is Gwalchmai, the son of Gwyar.”  “Hold thy peace, then,” said the
Earl, “I will go in.”  And the Earl was joyful concerning Gwalchmai.
“Ha! chieftain,” said he, “it was wrong of thee to come to my court, when
thou knewest that thou didst slay my father; and though we cannot avenge
him, Heaven will avenge him upon thee.”  “My soul,” said Gwalchmai, “thus
it is: I came not here either to acknowledge or to deny having slain thy
father; but I am on a message from Arthur, and therefore do I crave the
space of a year until I shall return from my embassy, and then, upon my
faith, I will come back unto this palace, and do one of two things,
either acknowledge it, or deny it.”  And the time was granted him
willingly; and he remained there that night.  And the next morning he
rode forth.  And the story relates nothing further of Gwalchmai
respecting this adventure.

And Peredur rode forward.  And he wandered over the whole island, seeking
tidings of the black maiden, and he could meet with none.  And he came to
an unknown land, in the centre of a valley, watered by a river.  And as
he traversed the valley he beheld a horseman coming towards him, and
wearing the garments of a priest; and he besought his blessing.
“Wretched man,” said he, “thou meritest no blessing, and thou wouldest
not be profited by one, seeing that thou art clad in armour on such a day
as this.”  “And what day is to-day?” said Peredur.  “To-day is Good
Friday,” he answered.  “Chide me not that I knew not this, seeing that it
is a year to-day since I journeyed forth from my country.”  Then he
dismounted, and led his horse in his hand.  And he had not proceeded far
along the high road before he came to a cross road, and the cross road
traversed a wood.  And on the other side of the wood he saw an
unfortified castle, which appeared to be inhabited.  And at the gate of
the castle there met him the priest whom he had seen before, and he asked
his blessing.  “The blessing of Heaven be unto thee,” said he, “it is
more fitting to travel in thy present guise than as thou wast erewhile;
and this night thou shalt tarry with me.”  So he remained there that
night.

And the next day Peredur sought to go forth.  “To-day may no one journey.
Thou shalt remain with me to-day and to-morrow, and the day following,
and I will direct thee as best I may to the place which thou art
seeking.”  And the fourth day Peredur sought to go forth, and he
entreated the priest to tell him how he should find the Castle of
Wonders.  “What I know thereof I will tell thee,” he replied.  “Go over
yonder mountain, and on the other side of the mountain thou wilt come to
a river, and in the valley wherein the river runs is a King’s palace,
wherein the King sojourned during Easter.  And if thou mayest have
tidings anywhere of the Castle of Wonders, thou wilt have them there.”

Then Peredur rode forward.  And he came to the valley in which was the
river, and there met him a number of men going to hunt, and in the midst
of them was a man of exalted rank, and Peredur saluted him.  “Choose,
chieftain,” said the man, “whether thou wilt go with me to the chase, or
wilt proceed to my palace, and I will dispatch one of my household to
commend thee to my daughter, who is there, and who will entertain thee
with food and liquor until I return from hunting; and whatever may be
thine errand, such as I can obtain for thee thou shalt gladly have.”  And
the King sent a little yellow page with him as an attendant; and when
they came to the palace the lady had arisen, and was about to wash before
meat.  Peredur went forward, and she saluted him joyfully, and placed him
by her side.  And they took their repast.  And whatsoever Peredur said
unto her, she laughed loudly, so that all in the palace could hear.  Then
spoke the yellow page to the lady.  “By my faith,” said he, “this youth
is already thy husband; or if he be not, thy mind and thy thoughts are
set upon him.”  And the little yellow page went unto the King, and told
him that it seemed to him that the youth whom he had met with was his
daughter’s husband, or if he were not so already that he would shortly
become so unless he were cautious.  “What is thy counsel in this matter,
youth?” said the King.  “My counsel is,” he replied, “that thou set
strong men upon him, to seize him, until thou hast ascertained the truth
respecting this.”  So he set strong men upon Peredur, who seized him and
cast him into prison.  And the maiden went before her father, and asked
him wherefore he had caused the youth from Arthur’s Court to be
imprisoned.  “In truth,” he answered, “he shall not be free to-night, nor
to-morrow, nor the day following, and he shall not come from where he
is.”  She replied not to what the King had said, but she went to the
youth.  “Is it unpleasant to thee to be here?” said she.  “I should not
care if I were not,” he replied.  “Thy couch and thy treatment shall be
in no wise inferior to that of the King himself, and thou shalt have the
best entertainment that the palace affords.  And if it were more pleasing
to thee that my couch should be here, that I might discourse with thee,
it should be so, cheerfully.”  “This can I not refuse,” said Peredur.
And he remained in prison that night.  And the maiden provided all that
she had promised him.

And the next day Peredur heard a tumult in the town.  “Tell me, fair
maiden, what is that tumult?” said Peredur.  “All the King’s hosts and
his forces have come to the town to-day.”  “And what seek they here?” he
inquired.  “There is an Earl near this place who possesses two Earldoms,
and is as powerful as a King; and an engagement will take place between
them to-day.”  “I beseech thee,” said Peredur, “to cause a horse and arms
to be brought, that I may view the encounter, and I promise to come back
to my prison again.”  “Gladly,” said she, “will I provide thee with horse
and arms.”  So she gave him a horse and arms, and a bright scarlet robe
of honour over his armour, and a yellow shield upon his shoulder.  And he
went to the combat; and as many of the Earl’s men as encountered him that
day he overthrew; and he returned to his prison.  And the maiden asked
tidings of Peredur, and he answered her not a word.  And she went and
asked tidings of her father, and inquired who had acquitted himself best
of the household.  And he said that he knew not, but that it was a man
with a scarlet robe of honour over his armour, and a yellow shield upon
his shoulder.  Then she smiled, and returned to where Peredur was, and
did him great honour that night.  And for three days did Peredur slay the
Earl’s men; and before any one could know who he was, he returned to his
prison.  And the fourth day Peredur slew the Earl himself.  And the
maiden went unto her father, and inquired of him the news.  “I have good
news for thee,” said the King; “the Earl is slain, and I am the owner of
his two Earldoms.”  “Knowest thou, lord, who slew him?”  “I do not know,”
said the King.  “It was the knight with the scarlet robe of honour and
the yellow shield.”  “Lord,” said she, “I know who that is.”  “By
Heaven!” he exclaimed, “who is he?”  “Lord,” she replied, “he is the
knight whom thou hast imprisoned.”  Then he went unto Peredur, and
saluted him, and told him that he would reward the service he had done
him, in any way he might desire.  And when they went to meat, Peredur was
placed beside the King, and the maiden on the other side of Peredur.  “I
will give thee,” said the King, “my daughter in marriage, and half my
kingdom with her, and the two Earldoms as a gift.”  “Heaven reward thee,
lord,” said Peredur, “but I came not here to woo.”  “What seekest thou
then, chieftain?”  “I am seeking tidings of the Castle of Wonders.”  “Thy
enterprise is greater, chieftain, than thou wilt wish to pursue,” said
the maiden, “nevertheless, tidings shalt thou have of the Castle, and
thou shalt have a guide through my father’s dominions, and a sufficiency
of provisions for thy journey, for thou art, O chieftain, the man whom
best I love.”  Then she said to him, “Go over yonder mountain, and thou
wilt find a lake, and in the middle of the lake there is a Castle, and
that is the Castle that is called the Castle of Wonders; and we know not
what wonders are therein, but thus is it called.”

And Peredur proceeded towards the Castle, and the gate of the Castle was
open.  And when he came to the hall, the door was open, and he entered.
And he beheld a chessboard in the hall, and the chessmen were playing
against each other, by themselves.  And the side that he favoured lost
the game, and thereupon the others set up a shout, as though they had
been living men.  And Peredur was wroth, and took the chessmen in his
lap, and cast the chessboard into the lake.  And when he had done thus,
behold the black maiden came in, and she said to him, “The welcome of
Heaven be not unto thee.  Thou hadst rather do evil than good.”  “What
complaint hast thou against me, maiden?” said Peredur.  “That thou hast
occasioned unto the Empress the loss of her chessboard, which she would
not have lost for all her empire.  And the way in which thou mayest
recover the chessboard is, to repair to the Castle of Ysbidinongyl, where
is a black man, who lays waste the dominions of the Empress; and if thou
canst slay him, thou wilt recover the chessboard.  But if thou goest
there, thou wilt not return alive.”  “Wilt thou direct me thither?” said
Peredur.  “I will show thee the way,” she replied.  So he went to the
Castle of Ysbidinongyl, and he fought with the black man.  And the black
man besought mercy of Peredur.  “Mercy will I grant thee,” said he, “on
condition that thou cause the chessboard to be restored to the place
where it was when I entered the hall.”  Then the maiden came to him, and
said, “The malediction of Heaven attend thee for thy work, since thou
hast left that monster alive, who lays waste all the possessions of the
Empress.”  “I granted him his life,” said Peredur, “that he might cause
the chessboard to be restored.”  “The chessboard is not in the place
where thou didst find it; go back, therefore, and slay him,” answered
she.  So Peredur went back, and slew the black man.  And when he returned
to the palace, he found the black maiden there.  “Ah! maiden,” said
Peredur, “where is the Empress?”  “I declare to Heaven that thou wilt not
see her now, unless thou dost slay the monster that is in yonder forest.”
“What monster is there?”  “It is a stag that is as swift as the swiftest
bird; and he has one horn in his forehead, as long as the shaft of a
spear, and as sharp as whatever is sharpest.  And he destroys the
branches of the best trees in the forest, and he kills every animal that
he meets with therein; and those that he doth not slay perish of hunger.
And what is worse than that, he comes every night, and drinks up the
fish-pond, and leaves the fishes exposed, so that for the most part they
die before the water returns again.”  “Maiden,” said Peredur, “wilt thou
come and show me this animal?”  “Not so,” said the maiden, “for he has
not permitted any mortal to enter the forest for above a twelvemonth.
Behold, here is a little dog belonging to the Empress, which will rouse
the stag, and will chase him towards thee, and the stag will attack
thee.”  Then the little dog went as a guide to Peredur, and roused the
stag, and brought him towards the place where Peredur was.  And the stag
attacked Peredur, and he let him pass by him, and as he did so, he smote
off his head with his sword.  And while he was looking at the head of the
stag, he saw a lady on horseback coming towards him.  And she took the
little dog in the lappet of her cap, and the head and the body of the
stag lay before her.  And around the stag’s neck was a golden collar.
“Ha! chieftain,” said she, “uncourteously hast thou acted in slaying the
fairest jewel that was in my dominions.”  “I was entreated so to do; and
is there any way by which I can obtain thy friendship?”  “There is,” she
replied.  “Go thou forward unto yonder mountain, and there thou wilt find
a grove; and in the grove there is a cromlech; do thou there challenge a
man three times to fight, and thou shalt have my friendship.”

So Peredur proceeded onward, and came to the side of the grove, and
challenged any man to fight.  And a black man arose from beneath the
cromlech, mounted upon a bony horse, and both he and his horse were clad
in huge rusty armour.  And they fought.  And as often as Peredur cast the
black man to the earth, he would jump again into his saddle.  And Peredur
dismounted, and drew his sword; and thereupon the black man disappeared
with Peredur’s horse and his own, so that he could not gain sight of him
a second time.  And Peredur went along the mountain, and on the other
side of the mountain he beheld a castle in the valley, wherein was a
river.  And he went to the castle; and as he entered it, he saw a hall,
and the door of the hall was open, and he went in.  And there he saw a
lame grey-headed man sitting on one side of the hall, with Gwalchmai
beside him.  And Peredur beheld his horse, which the black man had taken,
in the same stall with that of Gwalchmai.  And they were glad concerning
Peredur.  And he went and seated himself on the other side of the
hoary-headed man.  Then, behold a yellow-haired youth came, and bent upon
the knee before Peredur, and besought his friendship.  “Lord,” said the
youth, “it was I that came in the form of the black maiden to Arthur’s
Court, and when thou didst throw down the chessboard, and when thou didst
slay the black man of Ysbidinongyl, and when thou didst slay the stag,
and when thou didst go to fight the black man of the cromlech.  And I
came with the bloody head in the salver, and with the lance that streamed
with blood from the point to the hand, all along the shaft; and the head
was thy cousin’s, and he was killed by the sorceresses of Gloucester, who
also lamed thine uncle; and I am thy cousin.  And there is a prediction
that thou art to avenge these things.”  Then Peredur and Gwalchmai took
counsel, and sent to Arthur and his household, to beseech them to come
against the sorceresses.  And they began to fight with them; and one of
the sorceresses slew one of Arthur’s men before Peredur’s face, and
Peredur bade her forbear.  And the sorceress slew a man before Peredur’s
face a second time, and a second time he forbad her.  And the third time
the sorceress slew a man before the face of Peredur; and then Peredur
drew his sword, and smote the sorceress on the helmet; and all her
head-armour was split in two parts.  And she set up a cry, and desired
the other sorceresses to flee, and told them that this was Peredur, the
man who had learnt Chivalry with them, and by whom they were destined to
be slain.  Then Arthur and his household fell upon the sorceresses, and
slew the sorceresses of Gloucester every one.  And thus is it related
concerning the Castle of Wonders.



GERAINT THE SON OF ERBIN


ARTHUR was accustomed to hold his Court at Caerlleon upon Usk.  And there
he held it seven Easters and five Christmases.  And once upon a time he
held his Court there at Whitsuntide.  For Caerlleon was the place most
easy of access in his dominions, both by sea and by land.  And there were
assembled nine crowned kings, who were his tributaries, and likewise
earls and barons.  For they were his invited guests at all the high
festivals, unless they were prevented by any great hindrance.  And when
he was at Caerlleon, holding his Court, thirteen churches were set apart
for mass.  And thus were they appointed: one church for Arthur, and his
kings, and his guests; and the second for Gwenhwyvar and her ladies; and
the third for the Steward of the Household and the suitors; and the
fourth for the Franks and the other officers; and the other nine churches
were for the nine Masters of the Household and chiefly for Cwalchmai; for
he, from the eminence of his warlike fame, and from the nobleness of his
birth, was the most exalted of the nine.  And there was no other
arrangement respecting the churches than that which we have mentioned
above.

Glewlwyd Gavaelvawr was the chief porter; but he did not himself perform
the office, except at one of the three high festivals, for he had seven
men to serve him, and they divided the year amongst them.  They were
Grynn, and Pen Pighon, and Llaes Cymyn, and Gogyfwlch, and Gwrdnei with
cat’s eyes, who could see as well by night as by day, and Drem the son of
Dremhitid, and Clust the son of Clustveinyd; and these were Arthur’s
guards.  And on Whit-Tuesday, as the King sat at the banquet, lo! there
entered a tall, fair-headed youth, clad in a coat and a surcoat of
diapered satin, and a golden-hilted sword about his neck, and low shoes
of leather upon his feet.  And he came, and stood before Arthur.  “Hail
to thee, Lord!” said he.  “Heaven prosper thee,” he answered, “and be
thou welcome.  Dost thou bring any new tidings?”  “I do, Lord,” he said.
“I know thee not,” said Arthur.  “It is a marvel to me that thou dost not
know me.  I am one of thy foresters, Lord, in the Forest of Dean, and my
name is Madawc, the son of Twrgadarn.”  “Tell me thine errand,” said
Arthur.  “I will do so, Lord,” said he.  “In the Forest I saw a stag, the
like of which beheld I never yet.”  “What is there about him,” asked
Arthur, “that thou never yet didst see his like?”  “He is of pure white,
Lord, and he does not herd with any other animal through stateliness and
pride, so royal is his bearing.  And I come to seek thy counsel, Lord,
and to know thy will concerning him.”  “It seems best to me,” said
Arthur, “to go and hunt him to-morrow at break of day; and to cause
general notice thereof to be given to-night in all quarters of the
Court.”  And Arryfuerys was Arthur’s chief huntsman, and Arelivri was his
chief page.  And all received notice; and thus it was arranged.  And they
sent the youth before them.  Then Gwenhwyvar said to Arthur, “Wilt thou
permit me, Lord,” said she, “to go to-morrow to see and hear the hunt of
the stag of which the young man spoke?”  “I will gladly,” said Arthur.
“Then will I go,” said she.  And Gwalchmai said to Arthur, “Lord, if it
seem well to thee, permit that into whose hunt soever the stag shall
come, that one, be he a knight, or one on foot, may cut off his head, and
give it to whom he pleases, whether to his own lady-love, or to the lady
of his friend.”  “I grant it gladly,” said Arthur, “and let the Steward
of the Household be chastised, if all are not ready to-morrow for the
chase.”

And they passed the night with songs, and diversions, and discourse, and
ample entertainment.  And when it was time for them all to go to sleep,
they went.  And when the next day came, they arose; and Arthur called the
attendants, who guarded his couch.  And these were four pages, whose
names were Cadyrnerth the son of Porthawr Gandwy, and Ambreu the son of
Bedwor, and Amhar the son of Arthur, and Goreu the son of Custennin.  And
these men came to Arthur and saluted him, and arrayed him in his
garments.  And Arthur wondered that Gwenhwyvar did not awake, and did not
move in her bed; and the attendants wished to awaken her.  “Disturb her
not,” said Arthur, “for she had rather sleep than go to see the hunting.”

Then Arthur went forth, and he heard two horns sounding, one from near
the lodging of the chief huntsman, and the other from near that of the
chief page.  And the whole assembly of the multitudes came to Arthur, and
they took the road to the Forest.

And after Arthur had gone forth from the palace, Gwenhwyvar awoke, and
called to her maidens, and apparelled herself.  “Maidens,” said she, “I
had leave last night to go and see the hunt.  Go one of you to the
stable, and order hither a horse such as a woman may ride.”  And one of
them went, and she found but two horses in the stable, and Gwenhwyvar and
one of her maidens mounted them, and went through the Usk, and followed
the track of the men and the horses.  And as they rode thus, they heard a
loud and rushing sound; and they looked behind them, and beheld a knight
upon a hunter foal of mighty size; and the rider was a fair-haired youth,
bare-legged, and of princely mien, and a golden-hilted sword was at his
side, and a robe and a surcoat of satin were upon him, and two low shoes
of leather upon his feet; and around him was a scarf of blue purple, at
each corner of which was a golden apple.  And his horse stepped stately,
and swift, and proud; and he overtook Gwenhwyvar, and saluted her.
“Heaven prosper thee, Geraint,” said she, “I knew thee when first I saw
thee just now.  And the welcome of Heaven be unto thee.  And why didst
thou not go with thy lord to hunt?”  “Because I knew not when he went,”
said he.  “I marvel, too,” said she, “how he could go unknown to me.”
“Indeed, lady,” said he.  “I was asleep, and knew not when he went; but
thou, O young man, art the most agreeable companion I could have in the
whole kingdom; and it may be, that I shall be more amused with the
hunting than they; for we shall hear the horns when they sound, and we
shall hear the dogs when they are let loose, and begin to cry.”  So they
went to the edge of the Forest, and there they stood.  “From this place,”
said she, “we shall hear when the dogs are let loose.”  And thereupon,
they heard a loud noise, and they looked towards the spot whence it came,
and they beheld a dwarf riding upon a horse, stately, and foaming, and
prancing, and strong, and spirited.  And in the hand of the dwarf was a
whip.  And near the dwarf they saw a lady upon a beautiful white horse,
of steady and stately pace; and she was clothed in a garment of gold
brocade.  And near her was a knight upon a warhorse of large size, with
heavy and bright armour both upon himself and upon his horse.  And truly
they never before saw a knight, or a horse, or armour, of such remarkable
size.  And they were all near to each other.

“Geraint,” said Gwenhwyvar, “knowest thou the name of that tall knight
yonder?”  “I know him not,” said he, “and the strange armour that he
wears prevents my either seeing his face or his features.”  “Go, maiden,”
said Gwenhwyvar, “and ask the dwarf who that knight is.”  Then the maiden
went up to the dwarf; and the dwarf waited for the maiden, when he saw
her coming towards him.  And the maiden inquired of the dwarf who the
knight was.  “I will not tell thee,” he answered.  “Since thou art so
churlish as not to tell me,” said she, “I will ask him himself.”  “Thou
shalt not ask him, by my faith,” said he.  “Wherefore?” said she.
“Because thou art not of honour sufficient to befit thee to speak to my
Lord.”  Then the maiden turned her horse’s head towards the knight, upon
which the dwarf struck her with the whip that was in his hand across the
face and the eyes, until the blood flowed forth.  And the maiden, through
the hurt she received from the blow, returned to Gwenhwyvar, complaining
of the pain.  “Very rudely has the dwarf treated thee,” said Geraint.  “I
will go myself to know who the knight is.”  “Go,” said Gwenhwyvar.  And
Geraint went up to the dwarf.  “Who is yonder knight?” said Geraint.  “I
will not tell thee,” said the dwarf.  “Then will I ask him himself,” said
he.  “That wilt thou not, by my faith,” said the dwarf, “thou art not
honourable enough to speak with my Lord.”  Said Geraint, “I have spoken
with men of equal rank with him.”  And he turned his horse’s head towards
the knight; but the dwarf overtook him, and struck him as he had done the
maiden, so that the blood coloured the scarf that Geraint wore.  Then
Geraint put his hand upon the hilt of his sword, but he took counsel with
himself, and considered that it would be no vengeance for him to slay the
dwarf, and to be attacked unarmed by the armed knight, so he returned to
where Gwenhwyvar was.

“Thou hast acted wisely and discreetly,” said she.  “Lady,” said he, “I
will follow him yet, with thy permission; and at last he will come to
some inhabited place, where I may have arms either as a loan or for a
pledge, so that I may encounter the knight.”  “Go,” said she, “and do not
attack him until thou hast good arms, and I shall be very anxious
concerning thee, until I hear tidings of thee.”  “If I am alive,” said
he, “thou shalt hear tidings of me by to-morrow afternoon;” and with that
he departed.

And the road they took was below the palace of Caerlleon, and across the
ford of the Usk; and they went along a fair, and even, and lofty ridge of
ground, until they came to a town, and at the extremity of the town they
saw a Fortress and a Castle.  And they came to the extremity of the town.
And as the knight passed through it, all the people arose, and saluted
him, and bade him welcome.  And when Geraint came into the town, he
looked at every house, to see if he knew any of those whom he saw.  But
he knew none, and none knew him to do him the kindness to let him have
arms either as a loan or for a pledge.  And every house he saw was full
of men, and arms, and horses.  And they were polishing shields, and
burnishing swords, and washing armour, and shoeing horses.  And the
knight, and the lady, and the dwarf rode up to the Castle that was in the
town, and every one was glad in the Castle.  And from the battlements and
the gates they risked their necks, through their eagerness to greet them,
and to show their joy.

Geraint stood there to see whether the knight would remain in the Castle;
and when he was certain that he would do so, he looked around him; and at
a little distance from the town he saw an old palace in ruins, wherein
was a hall that was falling to decay.  And as he knew not any one in the
town, he went towards the old palace; and when he came near to the
palace, he saw but one chamber, and a bridge of marble-stone leading to
it.  And upon the bridge he saw sitting a hoary-headed man, upon whom
were tattered garments.  And Geraint gazed steadfastly upon him for a
long time.  Then the hoary-headed man spoke to him.  “Young man,” he
said, “wherefore art thou thoughtful?”  “I am thoughtful,” said he,
“because I know not where to go to-night.”  “Wilt thou come forward this
way, chieftain?” said he, “and thou shalt have of the best that can be
procured for thee.”  So Geraint went forward.  And the hoary-headed man
preceded him into the hall.  And in the hall he dismounted, and he left
there his horse.  Then he went on to the upper chamber with the
hoary-headed man.  And in the chamber he beheld an old decrepit woman,
sitting on a cushion, with old, tattered garments of satin upon her; and
it seemed to him that he had never seen a woman fairer than she must have
been, when in the fulness of youth.  And beside her was a maiden, upon
whom were a vest and a veil, that were old, and beginning to be worn out.
And truly, he never saw a maiden more full of comeliness, and grace, and
beauty than she.  And the hoary-headed man said to the maiden, “There is
no attendant for the horse of this youth but thyself.”  “I will render
the best service I am able,” said she, “both to him and to his horse.”
And the maiden disarrayed the youth, and then she furnished his horse
with straw and with corn.  And she went to the hall as before, and then
she returned to the chamber.  And the hoary-headed man said to the
maiden, “Go to the town,” said he, “and bring hither the best that thou
canst find both of food and of liquor.”  “I will, gladly, Lord,” said
she.  And to the town went the maiden.  And they conversed together while
the maiden was at the town.  And, behold! the maiden came back, and a
youth with her, bearing on his back a costrel full of good purchased
mead, and a quarter of a young bullock.  And in the hands of the maiden
was a quantity of white bread, and she had some manchet bread in her
veil, and she came into the chamber.  “I could not obtain better than
this,” said she, “nor with better should I have been trusted.”  “It is
good enough,” said Geraint.  And they caused the meat to be boiled; and
when their food was ready, they sat down.  And it was on this wise;
Geraint sat between the hoary-headed man and his wife, and the maiden
served them.  And they ate and drank.

And when they had finished eating, Geraint talked with the hoary-headed
man, and he asked him in the first place, to whom belonged the palace
that he was in.  “Truly,” said he, “it was I that built it, and to me
also belonged the city and the castle which thou sawest.”  “Alas!” said
Geraint, “how is it that thou hast lost them now?”  “I lost a great
Earldom as well as these,” said he; “and this is how I lost them.  I had
a nephew, the son of my brother, and I took his possessions to myself;
and when he came to his strength, he demanded of me his property, but I
withheld it from him.  So he made war upon me, and wrested from me all
that I possessed.”  “Good Sir,” said Geraint, “wilt thou tell me
wherefore came the knight, and the lady, and the dwarf, just now into the
town, and what is the preparation which I saw, and the putting of arms in
order?”  “I will do so,” said he.  “The preparations are for the game
that is to be held to-morrow by the young Earl, which will be on this
wise.  In the midst of a meadow which is here, two forks will be set up,
and upon the two forks a silver rod, and upon the silver rod a
Sparrow-Hawk, and for the Sparrow-Hawk there will be a tournament.  And
to the tournament will go all the array thou didst see in the city, of
men, and of horses, and of arms.  And with each man will go the lady he
loves best; and no man can joust for the Sparrow-Hawk, except the lady he
loves best be with him.  And the knight that thou sawest has gained the
Sparrow-Hawk these two years; and if he gains it the third year, they
will, from that time, send it every year to him, and he himself will come
here no more.  And he will be called the Knight of the Sparrow-Hawk from
that time forth.”  “Sir,” said Geraint, “what is thy counsel to me
concerning this knight, on account of the insult which I received from
the dwarf, and that which was received by the maiden of Gwenhwyvar, the
wife of Arthur?”  And Geraint told the hoary-headed man what the insult
was that he had received.  “It is not easy to counsel thee, inasmuch as
thou hast neither dame nor maiden belonging to thee, for whom thou canst
joust.  Yet, I have arms here, which thou couldest have; and there is my
horse also, if he seem to thee better than thine own.”  “Ah!  Sir,” said
he, “Heaven reward thee.  But my own horse, to which I am accustomed,
together with thy arms, will suffice me.  And if, when the appointed time
shall come to-morrow, thou wilt permit me, Sir, to challenge for yonder
maiden that is thy daughter, I will engage, if I escape from the
tournament, to love the maiden as long as I live; and if I do not escape,
she will remain unsullied as before.”  “Gladly will I permit thee,” said
the hoary-headed man, “and since thou dost thus resolve, it is necessary
that thy horse and arms should be ready to-morrow at break of day.  For
then the Knight of the Sparrow-Hawk will make proclamation, and ask the
lady he loves best to take the Sparrow-Hawk.  ‘For,’ will he say to her,
‘thou art the fairest of women, and thou didst possess it last year, and
the year previous; and if any deny it thee to-day, by force will I defend
it for thee.’  And therefore,” said the hoary-headed man, “it is needful
for thee to be there at daybreak; and we three will be with thee.”  And
thus was it settled.

And at night, lo! they went to sleep; and before the dawn they arose, and
arrayed themselves; and by the time that it was day, they were all four
in the meadow.  And there was the Knight of the Sparrow-Hawk making the
proclamation, and asking his lady-love to fetch the Sparrow-Hawk.  “Fetch
it not,” said Geraint, “for there is here a maiden, who is fairer, and
more noble, and more comely, and who has a better claim to it than thou.”
“If thou maintainest the Sparrow-Hawk to be due to her, come forward, and
do battle with me.”  And Geraint went forward to the top of the meadow,
having upon himself and upon his horse armour which was heavy, and rusty,
and worthless, and of uncouth shape.  Then they encountered each other,
and they broke a set of lances, and they broke a second set, and a third.
And thus they did at every onset, and they broke as many lances as were
brought to them.  And when the Earl and his company saw the Knight of the
Sparrow-Hawk gaining the mastery, there was shouting, and joy, and mirth
amongst them.  And the hoary-headed man, and his wife, and his daughter
were sorrowful.  And the hoary-headed man served Geraint lances as often
as he broke them, and the dwarf served the Knight of the Sparrow-Hawk.
Then the hoary-headed man came to Geraint.  “Oh! chieftain,” said he,
“since no other will hold with thee, behold, here is the lance which was
in my hand on the day when I received the honour of knighthood; and from
that time to this I never broke it.  And it has an excellent point.”
Then Geraint took the lance, thanking the hoary-headed man.  And
thereupon the dwarf also brought a lance to his lord.  “Behold, here is a
lance for thee, not less good than his,” said the dwarf.  “And bethink
thee, that no knight ever withstood thee before so long as this one has
done.”  “I declare to Heaven,” said Geraint, “that unless death takes me
quickly hence, he shall fare never the better for thy service.”  And
Geraint pricked his horse towards him from afar, and warning him, he
rushed upon him, and gave him a blow so severe, and furious, and fierce,
upon the face of his shield, that he cleft it in two, and broke his
armour, and burst his girths, so that both he and his saddle were borne
to the ground over the horse’s crupper.  And Geraint dismounted quickly.
And he was wroth, and he drew his sword, and rushed fiercely upon him.
Then the knight also arose, and drew his sword against Geraint.  And they
fought on foot with their swords until their arms struck sparks of fire
like stars from one another; and thus they continued fighting until the
blood and sweat obscured the light from their eyes.  And when Geraint
prevailed, the hoary-headed man, and his wife, and his daughter were
glad; and when the knight prevailed, it rejoiced the Earl and his party.
Then the hoary-headed man saw Geraint receive a severe stroke, and he
went up to him quickly, and said to him, “Oh, chieftain, remember the
treatment which thou hadst from the dwarf; and wilt thou not seek
vengeance for the insult to thyself, and for the insult to Gwenhwyvar the
wife of Arthur!”  And Geraint was roused by what he said to him, and he
called to him all his strength, and lifted up his sword, and struck the
knight upon the crown of his head, so that he broke all his head-armour,
and cut through all the flesh and the skin, even to the skull, until he
wounded the bone.

Then the knight fell upon his knees, and cast his sword from his hand,
and besought mercy of Geraint.  “Of a truth,” said he, “I relinquish my
overdaring and my pride in craving thy mercy; and unless I have time to
commit myself to Heaven for my sins, and to talk with a priest, thy mercy
will avail me little.”  “I will grant thee grace upon this condition,”
said Geraint, “that thou wilt go to Gwenhwyvar the wife of Arthur, to do
her satisfaction for the insult which her maiden received from thy dwarf.
As to myself, for the insult which I received from thee and thy dwarf, I
am content with that which I have done unto thee.  Dismount not from the
time thou goest hence until thou comest into the presence of Gwenhwyvar,
to make her what atonement shall be adjudged at the Court of Arthur.”
“This will I do gladly.  And who art thou?” said he.  “I am Geraint the
son of Erbin.  And declare thou also who thou art.”  “I am Edeyrn the son
of Nudd.”  Then he threw himself upon his horse, and went forward to
Arthur’s Court, and the lady he loved best went before him and the dwarf,
with much lamentation.  And thus far this story up to that time.

                                * * * * *

Then came the little Earl and his hosts to Geraint, and saluted him, and
bade him to his castle.  “I may not go,” said Geraint, “but where I was
last night, there will I be to-night also.”  “Since thou wilt none of my
inviting, thou shalt have abundance of all that I can command for thee,
in the place thou wast last night.  And I will order ointment for thee,
to recover thee from thy fatigues, and from the weariness that is upon
thee.”  “Heaven reward thee,” said Geraint, “and I will go to my
lodging.”  And thus went Geraint, and Earl Ynywl, and his wife, and his
daughter.  And when they reached the chamber, the household servants and
attendants of the young Earl had arrived at the Court, and they arranged
all the houses, dressing them with straw and with fire; and in a short
time the ointment was ready, and Geraint came there, and they washed his
head.  Then came the young Earl, with forty honourable knights from among
his attendants, and those who were bidden to the tournament.  And Geraint
came from the anointing.  And the Earl asked him to go to the hall to
eat.  “Where is the Earl Ynywl,” said Geraint, “and his wife, and his
daughter?”  “They are in the chamber yonder,” said the Earl’s
chamberlain, “arraying themselves in garments which the Earl has caused
to be brought for them.”  “Let not the damsel array herself,” said he,
“except in her vest and her veil, until she come to the Court of Arthur,
to be clad by Gwenhwyvar in such garments as she may choose.”  So the
maiden did not array herself.

Then they all entered the hall, and they washed, and went, and sat down
to meat.  And thus were they seated.  On one side of Geraint sat the
young Earl, and Earl Ynywl beyond him; and on the other side of Geraint
were the maiden and her mother.  And after these all sat according to
their precedence in honour.  And they ate.  And they were served
abundantly, and they received a profusion of divers kind of gifts.  Then
they conversed together.  And the young Earl invited Geraint to visit him
next day.  “I will not, by Heaven,” said Geraint.  “To the Court of
Arthur will I go with this maiden to-morrow.  And it is enough for me, as
long as Earl Ynywl is in poverty and trouble; and I go chiefly to seek to
add to his maintenance.”  “Ah, chieftain,” said the young Earl, “it is
not by my fault that Earl Ynywl is without his possessions.”  “By my
faith,” said Geraint, “he shall not remain without them, unless death
quickly takes me hence.”  “Oh, chieftain,” said he, “with regard to the
disagreement between me and Ynywl, I will gladly abide by thy counsel,
and agree to what thou mayest judge right between us.”  “I but ask thee,”
said Geraint, “to restore to him what is his, and what he should have
received from the time he lost his possessions, even until this day.”
“That I will do gladly, for thee,” answered he.  “Then,” said Geraint,
“whosoever is here who owes homage to Ynywl, let him come forward, and
perform it on the spot.”  And all the men did so.  And by that treaty
they abided.  And his castle, and his town, and all his possessions were
restored to Ynywl.  And he received back all that he had lost, even to
the smallest jewel.

Then spoke Earl Ynywl to Geraint.  “Chieftain,” said he, “behold the
maiden for whom thou didst challenge at the tournament, I bestow her upon
thee.”  “She shall go with me,” said Geraint, “to the Court of Arthur;
and Arthur and Gwenhwyvar they shall dispose of her as they will.”  And
the next day they proceeded to Arthur’s Court.  So far concerning
Geraint.

                                * * * * *

Now, this is how Arthur hunted the stag.  The men and the dogs were
divided into hunting parties, and the dogs were let loose upon the stag.
And the last dog that was let loose was the favourite dog of Arthur.
Cavall was his name.  And he left all the other dogs behind him, and
turned the stag.  And at the second turn, the stag came towards the
hunting party of Arthur.  And Arthur set upon him.  And before he could
be slain by any other, Arthur cut off his head.  Then they sounded the
death horn for slaying, and they all gathered round.

Then came Kadyrieith to Arthur, and spoke to him.  “Lord,” said he,
“behold, yonder is Gwenhwyvar, and none with her save only one maiden.”
“Command Gildas the son of Caw, and all the scholars of the Court,” said
Arthur, “to attend Gwenhwyvar to the palace.”  And they did so.

Then they all set forth, holding converse together concerning the head of
the stag, to whom it should be given.  One wished that it should be given
to the lady best beloved by him, and another to the lady whom he loved
best.  And all they of the household, and the knights, disputed sharply
concerning the head.  And with that they came to the palace.  And when
Arthur and Gwenhwyvar heard them disputing about the head of the stag,
Gwenhwyvar said to Arthur, “My lord, this is my counsel concerning the
stag’s head; let it not be given away until Geraint the son of Erbin
shall return from the errand he is upon.”  And Gwenhwyvar told Arthur
what that errand was.  “Right gladly shall it be so,” said Arthur.  And
thus it was settled.  And the next day Gwenhwyvar caused a watch to be
set upon the ramparts for Geraint’s coming.  And after mid-day they
beheld an unshapely little man upon a horse, and after him, as they
supposed, a dame or a damsel, also on horseback, and after her a knight
of large stature, bowed down, and hanging his head low and sorrowfully,
and clad in broken and worthless armour.

And before they came near to the gate, one of the watch went to
Gwenhwyvar, and told her what kind of people they saw, and what aspect
they bore.  “I know not who they are,” said he.  “But I know,” said
Gwenhwyvar; “this is the knight whom Geraint pursued, and methinks that
he comes not here by his own free will.  But Geraint has overtaken him,
and avenged the insult to the maiden to the uttermost.”  And thereupon,
behold a porter came to the spot where Gwenhwyvar was.  “Lady,” said he,
“at the gate there is a knight, and I saw never a man of so pitiful an
aspect to look upon as he.  Miserable and broken is the armour that he
wears, and the hue of blood is more conspicuous upon it than its own
colour.”  “Knowest thou his name?” said she.  “I do,” said he; “he tells
me that he is Edeyrn the son of Nudd.”  Then she replied, “I know him
not.”

So Gwenhwyvar went to the gate to meet him, and he entered.  And
Gwenhwyvar was sorry when she saw the condition he was in, even though he
was accompanied by the churlish dwarf.  Then Edeyrn saluted Gwenhwyvar.
“Heaven protect thee,” said she.  “Lady,” said he, “Geraint the son of
Erbin, thy best and most valiant servant, greets thee.”  “Did he meet
thee?” she asked.  “Yes,” said he, “and it was not to my advantage; and
that was not his fault, but mine, Lady.  And Geraint greets thee well;
and in greeting thee he compelled me to come hither to do thy pleasure
for the insult which thy maiden received from the dwarf.  He forgives the
insult to himself, in consideration of his having put me in peril of my
life.  And he imposed on me a condition, manly, and honourable, and
warrior-like, which was to do thee justice, Lady.”  “Now, where did he
overtake thee?”  “At the place where we were jousting, and contending for
the Sparrow-Hawk, in the town which is now called Cardiff.  And there
were none with him save three persons, of a mean and tattered condition.
And these were an aged, hoary-headed man, and a woman advanced in years,
and a fair young maiden, clad in worn-out garments.  And it was for the
avouchment of the love of that maiden that Geraint jousted for the
Sparrow-Hawk at the tournament, for he said that that maiden was better
entitled to the Sparrow-Hawk than this maiden who was with me.  And
thereupon we encountered each other, and he left me, Lady, as thou
seest.”  “Sir,” said she, “when thinkest thou that Geraint will be here?”
“To-morrow, Lady, I think he will be here with the maiden.”

Then Arthur came to him, and he saluted Arthur; and Arthur gazed a long
time upon him, and was amazed to see him thus.  And thinking that he knew
him, he inquired of him, “Art thou Edeyrn the son of Nudd?”  “I am,
Lord,” said he, “and I have met with much trouble, and received wounds
unsupportable.”  Then he told Arthur all his adventure.  “Well,” said
Arthur, “from what I hear, it behoves Gwenhwyvar to be merciful towards
thee.”  “The mercy which thou desirest, Lord,” said she, “will I grant to
him, since it is as insulting to thee that an insult should be offered to
me as to thyself.”  “Thus will it be best to do,” said Arthur; “let this
man have medical care until it be known whether he may live.  And if he
live, he shall do such satisfaction as shall be judged best by the men of
the Court; and take thou sureties to that effect.  And if he die, too
much will be the death of such a youth as Edeyrn for an insult to a
maiden.”  “This pleases me,” said Gwenhwyvar.  And Arthur became surety
for Edeyrn, and Caradawc the son of Llyr, Gwallawg the son of Llenawg,
and Owain the son of Nudd, and Gwalchmai, and many others with them.  And
Arthur caused Morgan Tud to be called to him.  He was the chief
physician.  “Take with thee Edeyrn the son of Nudd, and cause a chamber
to be prepared for him, and let him have the aid of medicine as thou
wouldst do unto myself, if I were wounded, and let none into his chamber
to molest him, but thyself and thy disciples, to administer to him
remedies.”  “I will do so gladly, Lord,” said Morgan Tud.  Then said the
steward of the household, “Whither is it right, Lord, to order the
maiden?”  “To Gwenhwyvar and her handmaidens,” said he.  And the steward
of the household so ordered her.  Thus far concerning them.

                                * * * * *

The next day came Geraint towards the Court; and there was a watch set on
the ramparts by Gwenhwyvar, lest he should arrive unawares.  And one of
the watch came to the place where Gwenhwyvar was.  “Lady,” said he,
“methinks that I see Geraint, and the maiden with him.  He is on
horseback, but he has his walking gear upon him, and the maiden appears
to be in white, seeming to be clad in a garment of linen.”  “Assemble all
the women,” said Gwenhwyvar, “and come to meet Geraint, to welcome him,
and wish him joy.”  And Gwenhwyvar went to meet Geraint and the maiden.
And when Geraint came to the place where Gwenhwyvar was, he saluted her.
“Heaven prosper thee,” said she, “and welcome to thee.  And thy career
has been successful, and fortunate, and resistless, and glorious.  And
Heaven reward thee, that thou hast so proudly caused me to have
retribution.”  “Lady,” said he, “I earnestly desired to obtain thee
satisfaction according to thy will; and, behold, here is the maiden
through whom thou hadst thy revenge.”  “Verily,” said Gwenhwyvar, “the
welcome of Heaven be unto her; and it is fitting that we should receive
her joyfully.”  Then they went in, and dismounted.  And Geraint came to
where Arthur was, and saluted him.  “Heaven protect thee,” said Arthur,
“and the welcome of Heaven be unto thee.  And since Edeyrn the son of
Nudd has received his overthrow and wounds from thy hands, thou hast had
a prosperous career.”  “Not upon me be the blame,” said Geraint, “it was
through the arrogance of Edeyrn the son of Nudd himself that we were not
friends.  I would not quit him until I knew who he was, and until the one
had vanquished the other.”  “Now,” said Arthur, “where is the maiden for
whom I heard thou didst give challenge?”  “She is gone with Gwenhwyvar to
her chamber.”

Then went Arthur to see the maiden.  And Arthur, and all his companions,
and his whole Court, were glad concerning the maiden.  And certain were
they all, that had her array been suitable to her beauty, they had never
seen a maid fairer than she.  And Arthur gave away the maiden to Geraint.
And the usual bond made between two persons was made between Geraint and
the maiden, and the choicest of all Gwenhwyvar’s apparel was given to the
maiden; and thus arrayed, she appeared comely and graceful to all who
beheld her.  And that day and that night were spent in abundance of
minstrelsy, and ample gifts of liquor, and a multitude of games.  And
when it was time for them to go to sleep, they went.  And in the chamber
where the couch of Arthur and Gwenhwyvar was, the couch of Geraint and
Enid was prepared.  And from that time she became his bride.  And the
next day Arthur satisfied all the claimants upon Geraint with bountiful
gifts.  And the maiden took up her abode in the palace; and she had many
companions, both men and women, and there was no maiden more esteemed
than she in the Island of Britain.

Then spake Gwenhwyvar.  “Rightly did I judge,” said she, “concerning the
head of the stag, that it should not be given to any until Geraint’s
return; and, behold, here is a fit occasion for bestowing it.  Let it be
given to Enid the daughter of Ynywl, the most illustrious maiden.  And I
do not believe that any will begrudge it her, for between her and every
one here there exists nothing but love and friendship.”  Much applauded
was this by them all, and by Arthur also.  And the head of the stag was
given to Enid.  And thereupon her fame increased, and her friends
thenceforward became more in number than before.  And Geraint from that
time forth loved the stag, and the tournament, and hard encounters; and
he came victorious from them all.  And a year, and a second, and a third,
he proceeded thus, until his fame had flown over the face of the kingdom.

                                * * * * *

And once upon a time Arthur was holding his Court at Caerlleon upon Usk,
at Whitsuntide.  And, behold, there came to him ambassadors, wise and
prudent, full of knowledge, and eloquent of speech, and they saluted
Arthur.  “Heaven prosper you,” said Arthur, “and the welcome of Heaven be
unto you.  And whence do you come?”  “We come, Lord,” said they, “from
Cornwall; and we are ambassadors from Erbin the son of Custennin, thy
uncle, and our mission is unto thee.  And he greets thee well, as an
uncle should greet his nephew, and as a vassal should greet his lord.
And he represents unto thee that he waxes heavy and feeble, and is
advancing in years.  And the neighbouring chiefs, knowing this, grow
insolent towards him, and covet his land and possessions.  And he
earnestly beseeches thee, Lord, to permit Geraint his son to return to
him, to protect his possessions, and to become acquainted with his
boundaries.  And unto him he represents that it were better for him to
spend the flower of his youth and the prime of his age in preserving his
own boundaries, than in tournaments, which are productive of no profit,
although he obtains glory in them.”

“Well,” said Arthur, “go, and divest yourselves of your accoutrements,
and take food, and refresh yourselves after your fatigues; and before you
go forth hence you shall have an answer.”  And they went to eat.  And
Arthur considered that it would go hard with him to let Geraint depart
from him and from his Court; neither did he think it fair that his cousin
should be restrained from going to protect his dominions and his
boundaries, seeing that his father was unable to do so.  No less was the
grief and regret of Gwenhwyvar, and all her women, and all her damsels,
through fear that the maiden would leave them.  And that day and that
night were spent in abundance of feasting.  And Arthur showed Geraint the
cause of the mission, and of the coming of the ambassadors to him out of
Cornwall.  “Truly,” said Geraint, “be it to my advantage or disadvantage,
Lord, I will do according to thy will concerning this embassy.”
“Behold,” said Arthur, “though it grieves me to part with thee, it is my
counsel that thou go to dwell in thine own dominions, and to defend thy
boundaries, and to take with thee to accompany thee as many as thou wilt
of those thou lovest best among my faithful ones, and among thy friends,
and among thy companions in arms.”  “Heaven reward thee; and this will I
do,” said Geraint.  “What discourse,” said Gwenhwyvar, “do I hear between
you?  Is it of those who are to conduct Geraint to his country?”  “It
is,” said Arthur.  “Then it is needful for me to consider,” said she,
“concerning companions and a provision for the lady that is with me?”
“Thou wilt do well,” said Arthur.

And that night they went to sleep.  And the next day the ambassadors were
permitted to depart, and they were told that Geraint should follow them.
And on the third day Geraint set forth, and many went with him.
Gwalchmai the son of Gwyar, and Riogonedd the son of the king of Ireland,
and Ondyaw the son of the duke of Burgundy, Gwilim the son of the ruler
of the Franks, Howel the son of Emyr of Brittany, Elivry, and Nawkyrd,
Gwynn the son of Tringad, Goreu the son of Custennin, Gweir Gwrhyd Vawr,
Garannaw the son of Golithmer, Peredur the son of Evrawc, Gwynnllogell,
Gwyr a judge in the Court of Arthur, Dyvyr the son of Alun of Dyved,
Gwrei Gwalstawd Ieithoedd, Bedwyr the son of Bedrawd, Hadwry the son of
Gwryon, Kai the son of Kynyr, Odyar the Frank, the Steward of Arthur’s
Court, and Edeyrn the son of Nudd.  Said Geraint, “I think that I shall
have enough of knighthood with me.”  “Yes,” said Arthur, “but it will not
be fitting for thee to take Edeyrn with thee, although he is well, until
peace shall be made between him and Gwenhwyvar.”  “Gwenhwyvar can permit
him to go with me, if he give sureties.”  “If she please, she can let him
go without sureties, for enough of pain and affliction has he suffered
for the insult which the maiden received from the dwarf.”  “Truly,” said
Gwenhwyvar, “since it seems well to thee and to Geraint, I will do this
gladly, Lord.”  Then she permitted Edeyrn freely to depart.  And many
there were who accompanied Geraint, and they set forth; and never was
there seen a fairer host journeying towards the Severn.  And on the other
side of the Severn were the nobles of Erbin the son of Custennin, and his
foster-father at their head, to welcome Geraint with gladness; and many
of the women of the Court, with his mother, came to receive Enid the
daughter of Ynywl, his wife.  And there was great rejoicing and gladness
throughout the whole Court, and throughout all the country, concerning
Geraint, because of the greatness of their love towards him, and of the
greatness of the fame which he had gained since he went from amongst
them, and because he was come to take possession of his dominions and to
preserve his boundaries.  And they came to the Court.  And in the Court
they had ample entertainment, and a multitude of gifts and abundance of
liquor, and a sufficiency of service, and a variety of minstrelsy and of
games.  And to do honour to Geraint, all the chief men of the country
were invited that night to visit him.  And they passed that day and that
night in the utmost enjoyment.  And at dawn next day Erbin arose, and
summoned to him Geraint, and the noble persons who had borne him company.
And he said to Geraint, “I am a feeble and aged man, and whilst I was
able to maintain the dominion for thee and for myself, I did so.  But
thou art young, and in the flower of thy vigour and of thy youth;
henceforth do thou preserve thy possessions.”  “Truly,” said Geraint,
“with my consent thou shalt not give the power over thy dominions at this
time into my hands, and thou shalt not take me from Arthur’s Court.”
“Into thy hands will I give them,” said Erbin, “and this day also shalt
thou receive the homage of thy subjects.”

Then said Gwalchmai, “It were better for thee to satisfy those who have
boons to ask, to-day, and to-morrow thou canst receive the homage of thy
dominions.”  So all that had boons to ask were summoned into one place.
And Kadyrieith came to them, to know what were their requests.  And every
one asked that which he desired.  And the followers of Arthur began to
make gifts, and immediately the men of Cornwall came, and gave also.  And
they were not long in giving, so eager was every one to bestow gifts.
And of those who came to ask gifts, none departed unsatisfied.  And that
day and that night were spent in the utmost enjoyment.

And the next day, at dawn, Erbin desired Geraint to send messengers to
the men, to ask them whether it was displeasing to them that he should
come to receive their homage, and whether they had anything to object to
him.  Then Geraint sent ambassadors to the men of Cornwall, to ask them
this.  And they all said that it would be the fulness of joy and honour
to them for Geraint to come and receive their homage.  So he received the
homage of such as were there.  And they remained with him till the third
night.  And the day after the followers of Arthur intended to go away.
“It is too soon for you to go away yet,” said he, “stay with me until I
have finished receiving the homage of my chief men, who have agreed to
come to me.”  And they remained with him until he had done so.  Then they
set forth towards the Court of Arthur; and Geraint went to bear them
company, and Enid also, as far as Diganhwy: there they parted.  Then
Ondyaw the son of the duke of Burgundy said to Geraint, “Go first of all
and visit the uppermost parts of thy dominions, and see well to the
boundaries of thy territories; and if thou hast any trouble respecting
them, send unto thy companions.”  “Heaven reward thee,” said Geraint,
“and this will I do.”  And Geraint journeyed to the uttermost part of his
dominions.  And experienced guides, and the chief men of his country,
went with him.  And the furthermost point that they showed him he kept
possession of.

And, as he had been used to do when he was at Arthur’s Court, he
frequented tournaments.  And he became acquainted with valiant and mighty
men, until he had gained as much fame there as he had formerly done
elsewhere.  And he enriched his Court, and his companions, and his
nobles, with the best horses and the best arms, and with the best and
most valuable jewels, and he ceased not until his fame had flown over the
face of the whole kingdom.  And when he knew that it was thus, he began
to love ease and pleasure, for there was no one who was worth his
opposing.  And he loved his wife, and liked to continue in the palace,
with minstrelsy and diversions.  And for a long time he abode at home.
And after that he began to shut himself up in the chamber of his wife,
and he took no delight in anything besides, insomuch that he gave up the
friendship of his nobles, together with his hunting and his amusements,
and lost the hearts of all the host in his Court; and there was murmuring
and scoffing concerning him among the inhabitants of the palace, on
account of his relinquishing so completely their companionship for the
love of his wife.  And these tidings came to Erbin.  And when Erbin had
heard these things, he spoke unto Enid, and inquired of her whether it
was she that had caused Geraint to act thus, and to forsake his people
and his hosts.  “Not I, by my confession unto Heaven,” said she, “there
is nothing more hateful to me than this.”  And she knew not what she
should do, for, although it was hard for her to own this to Geraint, yet
was it not more easy for her to listen to what she heard, without warning
Geraint concerning it.  And she was very sorrowful.

And one morning in the summer time, they were upon their couch, and
Geraint lay upon the edge of it.  And Enid was without sleep in the
apartment, which had windows of glass.  And the sun shone upon the couch.
And the clothes had slipped from off his arms and his breast, and he was
asleep.  Then she gazed upon the marvellous beauty of his appearance, and
she said, “Alas, and am I the cause that these arms and this breast have
lost their glory and the warlike fame which they once so richly enjoyed!”
And as she said this, the tears dropped from her eyes, and they fell upon
his breast.  And the tears she shed, and the words she had spoken, awoke
him; and another thing contributed to awaken him, and that was the idea
that it was not in thinking of him that she spoke thus, but that it was
because she loved some other man more than him, and that she wished for
other society, and thereupon Geraint was troubled in his mind, and he
called his squire; and when he came to him, “Go quickly,” said he, “and
prepare my horse and my arms, and make them ready.  And do thou arise,”
said he to Enid, “and apparel thyself; and cause thy horse to be
accoutred, and clothe thee in the worst riding-dress that thou hast in
thy possession.  And evil betide me,” said he, “if thou returnest here
until thou knowest whether I have lost my strength so completely as thou
didst say.  And if it be so, it will then be easy for thee to seek the
society thou didst wish for of him of whom thou wast thinking.”  So she
arose, and clothed herself in her meanest garments.  “I know nothing,
Lord,” said she, “of thy meaning.”  “Neither wilt thou know at this
time,” said he.

Then Geraint went to see Erbin.  “Sir,” said he, “I am going upon a
quest, and I am not certain when I may come back.  Take heed, therefore,
unto thy possessions, until my return.”  “I will do so,” said he, “but it
is strange to me that thou shouldest go so suddenly.  And who will
proceed with thee, since thou art not strong enough to traverse the land
of Lloegyr alone?”  “But one person only will go with me.”  “Heaven
counsel thee, my son,” said Erbin, “and may many attach themselves to
thee in Lloegyr.”  Then went Geraint to the place where his horse was,
and it was equipped with foreign armour, heavy and shining.  And he
desired Enid to mount her horse, and to ride forward, and to keep a long
way before him.  “And whatever thou mayest see, and whatever thou mayest
hear concerning me,” said he, “do thou not turn back.  And unless I speak
unto thee, say not thou one word either.”  And they set forward.  And he
did not choose the pleasantest and most frequented road, but that which
was the wildest and most beset by thieves, and robbers, and venomous
animals.  And they came to a high road, which they followed till they saw
a vast forest, and they went towards it, and they saw four armed horsemen
come forth from the forest.  When the horsemen had beheld them, one of
them said to the others, “Behold, here is a good occasion for us to
capture two horses and armour, and a lady likewise; for this we shall
have no difficulty in doing against yonder single knight, who hangs his
head so pensively and heavily.”  And Enid heard this discourse, and she
knew not what she should do through fear of Geraint, who had told her to
be silent.  “The vengeance of Heaven be upon me,” she said, “if I would
not rather receive my death from his hand than from the hand of any
other; and though he should slay me yet will I speak to him, lest I
should have the misery to witness his death.”  So she waited for Geraint
until he came near to her.  “Lord,” said she, “didst thou hear the words
of those men concerning thee?”  Then he lifted up his eyes, and looked at
her angrily.  “Thou hadst only,” said he, “to hold thy peace as I bade
thee.  I wish but for silence, and not for warning.  And though thou
shouldest desire to see my defeat and my death by the hands of those men,
yet do I feel no dread.”  Then the foremost of them couched his lance,
and rushed upon Geraint.  And he received him, and that not feebly.  But
he let the thrust go by him, while he struck the horseman upon the centre
of his shield in such a manner that his shield was split, and his armour
broken, and so that a cubit’s length of the shaft of Geraint’s lance
passed through his body, and sent him to the earth, the length of the
lance over his horse’s crupper.  Then the second horseman attacked him
furiously, being wroth at the death of his companion.  But with one
thrust Geraint overthrew him also, and killed him as he had done the
other.  Then the third set upon him, and he killed him in like manner.
And thus also he slew the fourth.  Sad and sorrowful was the maiden as
she saw all this.  Geraint dismounted from his horse, and took the arms
of the men he had slain, and placed them upon their saddles, and tied
together the reins of their horses, and he mounted his horse again.
“Behold what thou must do,” said he; “take the four horses, and drive
them before thee, and proceed forward, as I bade thee just now.  And say
not one word unto me, unless I speak first unto thee.  And I declare unto
Heaven,” said he, “if thou doest not thus, it will be to thy cost.”  “I
will do, as far as I can, Lord,” said she, “according to thy desire.”
Then they went forward through the forest; and when they left the forest,
they came to a vast plain, in the centre of which was a group of thickly
tangled copse-wood; and from out thereof they beheld three horsemen
coming towards them, well equipped with armour, both they and their
horses.  Then the maiden looked steadfastly upon them; and when they had
come near, she heard them say one to another, “Behold, here is a good
arrival for us; here are coming for us four horses and four suits of
armour.  We shall easily obtain them spite of yonder dolorous knight, and
the maiden also will fall into our power.”  “This is but too true,” said
she to herself, “for my husband is tired with his former combat.  The
vengeance of Heaven will be upon me, unless I warn him of this.”  So the
maiden waited until Geraint came up to her.  “Lord,” said she, “dust thou
not hear the discourse of yonder men concerning thee?”  “What was it?”
asked he.  “They say to one another, that they will easily obtain all
this spoil.”  “I declare to Heaven,” he answered, “that their words are
less grievous to me than that thou wilt not be silent, and abide by my
counsel.”  “My Lord,” said she, “I feared lest they should surprise thee
unawares.”  “Hold thy peace, then,” said he, “do not I desire silence?”
And thereupon one of the horsemen couched his lance, and attacked
Geraint.  And he made a thrust at him, which he thought would be very
effective; but Geraint received it carelessly, and struck it aside, and
then he rushed upon him, and aimed at the centre of his person, and from
the shock of man and horse, the quantity of his armour did not avail him,
and the head of the lance and part of the shaft passed through him, so
that he was carried to the ground an arm and a spear’s length over the
crupper of his horse.  And both the other horsemen came forward in their
turn, but their onset was not more successful than that of their
companion.  And the maiden stood by, looking at all this; and on the one
hand she was in trouble lest Geraint should be wounded in his encounter
with the men, and on the other hand she was joyful to see him victorious.
Then Geraint dismounted, and bound the three suits of armour upon the
three saddles, and he fastened the reins of all the horses together, so
that he had seven horses with him.  And he mounted his own horse, and
commanded the maiden to drive forward the others.  “It is no more use for
me to speak to thee than to refrain, for thou wilt not attend to my
advice.”  “I will do so, as far as I am able, Lord,” said she; “but I
cannot conceal from thee the fierce and threatening words which I may
hear against thee, Lord, from such strange people as those that haunt
this wilderness.”  “I declare to Heaven,” said he, “that I desire nought
but silence; therefore, hold thy peace.”  “I will, Lord, while I can.”
And the maiden went on with the horses before her, and she pursued her
way straight onwards.  And from the copse-wood already mentioned, they
journeyed over a vast and dreary open plain.  And at a great distance
from them they beheld a wood, and they could see neither end nor boundary
to the wood, except on that side that was nearest to them, and they went
towards it.  Then there came from out the wood five horsemen, eager, and
bold, and mighty, and strong, mounted upon chargers that were powerful,
and large of bone, and high-mettled, and proudly snorting, and both the
men and the horses were well equipped with arms.  And when they drew near
to them, Enid heard them say, “Behold, here is a fine booty coming to us,
which we shall obtain easily and without labour, for we shall have no
trouble in taking all those horses and arms, and the lady also, from
yonder single knight, so doleful and sad.”

Sorely grieved was the maiden upon hearing this discourse, so that she
knew not in the world what she should do.  At last, however, she
determined to warn Geraint; so she turned her horse’s head towards him.
“Lord,” said she, “if thou hadst heard as I did what yonder horsemen said
concerning thee, thy heaviness would be greater than it is.”  Angrily and
bitterly did Geraint smile upon her, and he said, “Thee do I hear doing
everything that I forbade thee; but it may be that thou will repent this
yet.”  And immediately, behold, the men met them, and victoriously and
gallantly did Geraint overcome them all five.  And he placed the five
suits of armour upon the five saddles, and tied together the reins of the
twelve horses, and gave them in charge to Enid.  “I know not,” said he,
“what good it is for me to order thee; but this time I charge thee in an
especial manner.”  So the maiden went forward towards the wood, keeping
in advance of Geraint, as he had desired her; and it grieved him as much
as his wrath would permit, to see a maiden so illustrious as she having
so much trouble with the care of the horses.  Then they reached the wood,
and it was both deep and vast; and in the wood night overtook them.  “Ah,
maiden,” said he, “it is vain to attempt proceeding forward!”  “Well,
Lord,” said she, “whatsoever thou wishest, we will do.”  “It will be best
for us,” he answered, “to turn out of the wood, and to rest, and wait for
the day, in order to pursue our journey.”  “That will we, gladly,” said
she.  And they did so.  Having dismounted himself, he took her down from
her horse.  “I cannot, by any means, refrain from sleep, through
weariness,” said he.  “Do thou, therefore, watch the horses, and sleep
not.”  “I will, Lord,” said she.  Then he went to sleep in his armour,
and thus passed the night, which was not long at that season.  And when
she saw the dawn of day appear, she looked around her, to see if he were
waking, and thereupon he woke.  “My Lord,” she said, “I have desired to
awake thee for some time.”  But he spake nothing to her about fatigue, as
he had desired her to be silent.  Then he arose, and said unto her, “Take
the horses, and ride on; and keep straight on before thee as thou didst
yesterday.”  And early in the day they left the wood, and they came to an
open country, with meadows on one hand, and mowers mowing the meadows.
And there was a river before them, and the horses bent down, and drank
the water.  And they went up out of the river by a lofty steep; and there
they met a slender stripling, with a satchel about his neck, and they saw
that there was something in the satchel, but they knew not what it was.
And he had a small blue pitcher in his hand, and a bowl on the mouth of
the pitcher.  And the youth saluted Geraint.  “Heaven prosper thee,” said
Geraint, “and whence dost thou come?”  “I come,” said he, “from the city
that lies before thee.  My Lord,” he added, “will it be displeasing to
thee if I ask whence thou comest also?”  “By no means—through yonder wood
did I come.”  “Thou camest not through the wood to-day.”  “No,” he
replied, “we were in the wood last night.”  “I warrant,” said the youth,
“that thy condition there last night was not the most pleasant, and that
thou hadst neither meat nor drink.”  “No, by my faith,” said he.  “Wilt
thou follow my counsel,” said the youth, “and take thy meal from me?”
“What sort of meal?” he inquired.  “The breakfast which is sent for
yonder mowers, nothing less than bread and meat and wine; and if thou
wilt, Sir, they shall have none of it.”  “I will,” said he, “and Heaven
reward thee for it.”

So Geraint alighted, and the youth took the maiden from off her horse.
Then they washed, and took their repast.  And the youth cut the bread in
slices, and gave them drink, and served them withal.  And when they had
finished, the youth arose, and said to Geraint, “My Lord, with thy
permission, I will now go and fetch some food for the mowers.”  “Go,
first, to the town,” said Geraint, “and take a lodging for me in the best
place that thou knowest, and the most commodious one for the horses, and
take thou whichever horse and arms thou choosest in payment for thy
service and thy gift.”  “Heaven reward thee, Lord,” said the youth, “and
this would be ample to repay services much greater than those I have
rendered unto thee.”  And to the town went the youth, and he took the
best and the most pleasant lodgings that he knew; and after that he went
to the palace, having the horse and armour with him, and proceeded to the
place where the Earl was, and told him all his adventure.  “I go now,
Lord,” said he, “to meet the young man, and to conduct him to his
lodging.”  “Go, gladly,” said the Earl, “and right joyfully shall he be
received here, if he so come.”  And the youth went to meet Geraint, and
told him that he would be received gladly by the Earl in his own palace;
but he would go only to his lodgings.  And he had a goodly chamber, in
which was plenty of straw, and drapery, and a spacious and commodious
place he had for the horses; and the youth prepared for them plenty of
provender.  And after they had disarrayed themselves, Geraint spoke thus
to Enid: “Go,” said he, “to the other side of the chamber, and come not
to this side of the house; and thou mayest call to thee the woman of the
house, if thou wilt.”  “I will do, Lord,” said she, “as thou sayest.”
And thereupon the man of the house came to Geraint, and welcomed him.
“Oh, chieftain,” he said, “hast thou taken thy meal?”  “I have,” said he.
Then the youth spoke to him, and inquired if he would not drink something
before he met the Earl.  “Truly I will,” said he.  So the youth went into
the town, and brought them drink.  And they drank.  “I must needs sleep,”
said Geraint.  “Well,” said the youth; “and whilst thou sleepest, I will
go to see the Earl.”  “Go, gladly,” he said, “and come here again when I
require thee.”  And Geraint went to sleep; and so did Enid also.

And the youth came to the place where the Earl was, and the Earl asked
him where the lodgings of the knight were, and he told him.  “I must go,”
said the youth, “to wait on him in the evening.”  “Go,” answered the
Earl, “and greet him well from me, and tell him that in the evening I
will go to see him.”  “This will I do,” said the youth.  So he came when
it was time for them to awake.  And they arose, and went forth.  And when
it was time for them to take their food, they took it.  And the youth
served them.  And Geraint inquired of the man of the house, whether there
were any of his companions that he wished to invite to him, and he said
that there were.  “Bring them hither, and entertain them at my cost with
the best thou canst buy in the town.”

And the man of the house brought there those whom he chose, and feasted
them at Geraint’s expense.  Thereupon, behold, the Earl came to visit
Geraint, and his twelve honourable knights with him.  And Geraint rose
up, and welcomed him.  “Heaven preserve thee,” said the Earl.  Then they
all sat down according to their precedence in honour.  And the Earl
conversed with Geraint, and inquired of him the object of his journey.
“I have none,” he replied, “but to seek adventures, and to follow my own
inclination.”  Then the Earl cast his eye upon Enid, and he looked at her
steadfastly.  And he thought he had never seen a maiden fairer or more
comely than she.  And he set all his thoughts and his affections upon
her.  Then he asked of Geraint, “Have I thy permission to go and converse
with yonder maiden, for I see that she is apart from thee?”  “Thou hast
it gladly,” said he.  So the Earl went to the place where the maiden was,
and spake with her.  “Ah, maiden,” said he, “it cannot be pleasant to
thee to journey thus with yonder man!”  “It is not unpleasant to me,”
said she, “to journey the same road that he journeys.”  “Thou hast
neither youths nor maidens to serve thee,” said he.  “Truly,” she
replied, “it is more pleasant for me to follow yonder man, than to be
served by youths and maidens.”  “I will give thee good counsel,” said he.
“All my Earldom will I place in thy possession, if thou wilt dwell with
me.”  “That will I not, by Heaven,” she said; “yonder man was the first
to whom my faith was ever pledged; and shall I prove inconstant to him!”
“Thou art in the wrong,” said the Earl; “if I slay the man yonder, I can
keep thee with me as long as I choose; and when thou no longer pleasest
me I can turn thee away.  But if thou goest with me by thine own good
will, I protest that our union shall continue eternal and undivided as
long as I remain alive.”  Then she pondered these words of his, and she
considered that it was advisable to encourage him in his request.
“Behold, then, chieftain, this is most expedient for thee to do to save
me any needless imputation; come here to-morrow, and take me away as
though I knew nothing thereof.”  “I will do so,” said he.  So he arose,
and took his leave, and went forth with his attendants.  And she told not
then to Geraint any of the conversation which she had had with the Earl,
lest it should rouse his anger, and cause him uneasiness and care.

And at the usual hour they went to sleep.  And at the beginning of the
night Enid slept a little; and at midnight she arose, and placed all
Geraint’s armour together, so that it might be ready to put on.  And
although fearful of her errand, she came to the side of Geraint’s bed;
and she spoke to him softly and gently, saying, “My Lord, arise, and
clothe thyself, for these were the words of the Earl to me, and his
intention concerning me.”  So she told Geraint all that had passed.  And
although he was wroth with her, he took warning, and clothed himself.
And she lighted a candle, that he might have light to do so.  “Leave
there the candle,” said he, “and desire the man of the house to come
here.”  Then she went, and the man of the house came to him.  “Dost thou
know how much I owe thee?” asked Geraint.  “I think thou owest but
little.”  “Take the eleven horses and the eleven suits of armour.”
“Heaven reward thee, lord,” said he, “but I spent not the value of one
suit of armour upon thee.”  “For that reason,” said he, “thou wilt be the
richer.  And now, wilt thou come to guide me out of the town?”  “I will,
gladly,” said he, “and in which direction dost thou intend to go?”  “I
wish to leave the town by a different way from that by which I entered
it.”  So the man of the lodgings accompanied him as far as he desired.
Then he bade the maiden to go on before him; and she did so, and went
straight forward, and his host returned home.  And he had only just
reached his house, when, behold, the greatest tumult approached that was
ever heard.  And when he looked out, he saw fourscore knights in complete
armour around the house, with the Earl Dwnn at their head.  “Where is the
knight that was here?” said the Earl.  “By thy hand,” said he, “he went
hence some time ago.”  “Wherefore, villain,” said he, “didst thou let him
go without informing me?”  “My Lord, thou didst not command me to do so,
else would I not have allowed him to depart.”  “What way dost thou think
that he took?”  “I know not, except that he went along the high road.”
And they turned their horses’ heads that way, and seeing the tracks of
the horses upon the high road, they followed.  And when the maiden beheld
the dawning of the day, she looked behind her, and saw vast clouds of
dust coming nearer and nearer to her.  And thereupon she became uneasy,
and she thought that it was the Earl and his host coming after them.  And
thereupon she beheld a knight appearing through the mist.  “By my faith,”
said she, “though he should slay me, it were better for me to receive my
death at his hands, than to see him killed without warning him.  My
Lord,” she said to him, “seest thou yonder man hastening after thee, and
many others with him?”  “I do see him,” said he; “and in despite of all
my orders, I see that thou wilt never keep silence.”  Then he turned upon
the knight, and with the first thrust he threw him down under his horse’s
feet.  And as long as there remained one of the fourscore knights, he
overthrew every one of them at the first onset.  And from the weakest to
the strongest, they all attacked him one after the other, except the
Earl: and last of all the Earl came against him also.  And he broke his
lance, and then he broke a second.  But Geraint turned upon him, and
struck him with his lance upon the centre of his shield, so that by that
single thrust the shield was split, and all his armour broken, and he
himself was brought over his horse’s crupper to the ground, and was in
peril of his life.  And Geraint drew near to him; and at the noise of the
trampling of his horse the Earl revived.  “Mercy, Lord,” said he to
Geraint.  And Geraint granted him mercy.  But through the hardness of the
ground where they had fallen, and the violence of the stroke which they
had received, there was not a single knight amongst them that escaped
without receiving a fall, mortally severe, and grievously painful, and
desperately wounding, from the hand of Geraint.

And Geraint journeyed along the high road that was before him, and the
maiden went on first; and near them they beheld a valley which was the
fairest ever seen, and which had a large river running through it; and
there was a bridge over the river, and the high road led to the bridge.
And above the bridge upon the opposite side of the river, they beheld a
fortified town, the fairest ever seen.  And as they approached the
bridge, Geraint saw coming towards him from a thick copse a man mounted
upon a large and lofty steed, even of pace and spirited though tractable.
“Ah, knight,” said Geraint, “whence comest thou?”  “I come,” said he,
“from the valley below us.”  “Canst thou tell me,” said Geraint, “who is
the owner of this fair valley and yonder walled town?”  “I will tell
thee, willingly,” said he.  “Gwiffert Petit he is called by the Franks,
but the Cymry call him the Little King.”  “Can I go by yonder bridge,”
said Geraint, “and by the lower highway that is beneath the town?”  Said
the knight, “Thou canst not go by his tower on the other side of the
bridge, unless thou dost intend to combat him; because it is his custom
to encounter every knight that comes upon his lands.”  “I declare to
Heaven,” said Geraint, “that I will, nevertheless, pursue my journey that
way.”  “If thou dost so,” said the knight, “thou wilt probably meet with
shame and disgrace in reward for thy daring.”  Then Geraint proceeded
along the road that led to the town, and the road brought him to a ground
that was hard, and rugged, and high, and ridgy.  And as he journeyed
thus, he beheld a knight following him upon a warhorse, strong, and
large, and proudly-stepping, and wide-hoofed, and broad-chested.  And he
never saw a man of smaller stature than he who was upon the horse.  And
both he and his horse were completely armed.  When he had overtaken
Geraint, he said to him, “Tell me, chieftain, whether it is through
ignorance or through presumption that thou seekest to insult my dignity,
and to infringe my rules.”  “Nay,” answered Geraint, “I knew not this
road was forbid to any.”  “Thou didst know it,” said the other; “come
with me to my Court, to give me satisfaction.”  “That will I not, by my
faith,” said Geraint; “I would not go even to thy Lord’s Court, excepting
Arthur were thy Lord.”  “By the hand of Arthur himself,” said the knight,
“I will have satisfaction of thee, or receive my overthrow at thy hands.”
And immediately they charged one another.  And a squire of his came to
serve him with lances as he broke them.  And they gave each other such
hard and severe strokes that their shields lost all their colour.  But it
was very difficult for Geraint to fight with him on account of his small
size, for he was hardly able to get a full aim at him with all the
efforts he could make.  And they fought thus until their horses were
brought down upon their knees; and at length Geraint threw the knight
headlong to the ground; and then they fought on foot, and they gave one
another blows so boldly fierce, so frequent, and so severely powerful,
that their helmets were pierced, and their skullcaps were broken, and
their arms were shattered, and the light of their eyes was darkened by
sweat and blood.  At the last Geraint became enraged, and he called to
him all his strength; and boldly angry, and swiftly resolute, and
furiously determined, he lifted up his sword, and struck him on the crown
of his head a blow so mortally painful, so violent, so fierce, and so
penetrating, that it cut through all his head armour, and his skin, and
his flesh, until it wounded the very bone, and the sword flew out of the
hand of the Little King to the furthest end of the plain, and he besought
Geraint that he would have mercy and compassion upon him.  “Though thou
hast been neither courteous nor just,” said Geraint, “thou shalt have
mercy, upon condition that thou wilt become my ally, and engage never to
fight against me again, but to come to my assistance whenever thou
hearest of my being in trouble.”  “This will I do, gladly, Lord,” said
he.  So he pledged him his faith thereof.  “And now, Lord, come with me,”
said he, “to my Court yonder, to recover from thy weariness and fatigue.”
“That will I not, by Heaven,” said he.

Then Gwiffert Petit beheld Enid where she stood, and it grieved him to
see one of her noble mien appear so deeply afflicted.  And he said to
Geraint, “My Lord, thou doest wrong not to take repose, and refresh
thyself awhile; for, if thou meetest with any difficulty in thy present
condition, it will not be easy for thee to surmount it.”  But Geraint
would do no other than proceed on his journey, and he mounted his horse
in pain, and all covered with blood.  And the maiden went on first, and
they proceeded towards the wood which they saw before them.

And the heat of the sun was very great, and through the blood and sweat,
Geraint’s armour cleaved to his flesh; and when they came into the wood,
he stood under a tree, to avoid the sun’s heat; and his wounds pained him
more than they had done at the time when he received them.  And the
maiden stood under another tree.  And lo! they heard the sound of horns,
and a tumultuous noise; and the occasion of it was, that Arthur and his
company had come down to the wood.  And while Geraint was considering
which way he should go to avoid them, behold, he was espied by a
foot-page, who was an attendant on the Steward of the Household; and he
went to the Steward, and told him what kind of man he had seen in the
wood.  Then the Steward caused his horse to be saddled, and he took his
lance and his shield, and went to the place where Geraint was.  “Ah,
knight!” said he, “what dost thou here?”  “I am standing under a shady
tree, to avoid the heat and the rays of the sun.”  “Wherefore is thy
journey, and who art thou?”  “I seek adventures, and go where I list.”
“Indeed,” said Kai; “then come with me to see Arthur, who is here hard
by.”  “That will I not, by Heaven,” said Geraint.  “Thou must needs
come,” said Kai.  Then Geraint knew who he was, but Kai did not know
Geraint.  And Kai attacked Geraint as best he could.  And Geraint became
wroth, and he struck him with the shaft of his lance, so that he rolled
headlong to the ground.  But chastisement worse than this would he not
inflict on him.

Scared and wildly Kai arose, and he mounted his horse, and went back to
his lodging.  And thence he proceeded to Gwalchmai’s tent.  “Oh, Sir,”
said he to Gwalchmai, “I was told by one of the attendants, that he saw
in the wood above a wounded knight, having on battered armour; and if
thou dost right, thou wilt go and see if this be true.”  “I care not if I
do so,” said Gwalchmai.  “Take, then, thy horse, and some of thy armour,”
said Kai; “for I hear that he is not over courteous to those who approach
him.”  So Gwalchmai took his spear and his shield, and mounted his horse,
and came to the spot where Geraint was.  “Sir Knight,” said he,
“wherefore is thy journey?”  “I journey for my own pleasure, and to seek
the adventures of the world.”  “Wilt thou tell me who thou art; or wilt
thou come and visit Arthur, who is near at hand?”  “I will make no
alliance with thee, nor will I go and visit Arthur,” said he.  And he
knew that it was Gwalchmai, but Gwalchmai knew him not.  “I purpose not
to leave thee,” said Gwalchmai, “till I know who thou art.”  And he
charged him with his lance, and struck him on his shield, so that the
shaft was shivered into splinters, and their horses were front to front.
Then Gwalchmai gazed fixedly upon him, and he knew him.  “Ah, Geraint,”
said he, “is it thou that art here?”  “I am not Geraint,” said he.
“Geraint thou art, by Heaven,” he replied, “and a wretched and insane
expedition is this.”  Then he looked around, and beheld Enid, and he
welcomed her gladly.  “Geraint,” said Gwalchmai, “come thou and see
Arthur; he is thy lord and thy cousin.”  “I will not,” said he, “for I am
not in a fit state to go and see any one.”  Thereupon, behold, one of the
pages came after Gwalchmai to speak to him.  So he sent him to apprise
Arthur that Geraint was there wounded, and that he would not go to visit
him, and that it was pitiable to see the plight that he was in.  And this
he did without Geraint’s knowledge, inasmuch as he spoke in a whisper to
the page.  “Entreat Arthur,” said he, “to have his tent brought near to
the road, for he will not meet him willingly, and it is not easy to
compel him in the mood he is in.”  So the page came to Arthur, and told
him this.  And he caused his tent to be removed unto the side of the
road.  And the maiden rejoiced in her heart.  And Gwalchmai led Geraint
onwards along the road, till they came to the place where Arthur was
encamped, and the pages were pitching his tent by the roadside.  “Lord,”
said Geraint, “all hail unto thee.”  “Heaven prosper thee; and who art
thou?” said Arthur.  “It is Geraint,” said Gwalchmai, “and of his own
free will would he not come to meet thee.”  “Verily,” said Arthur, “he is
bereft of his reason.”  Then came Enid, and saluted Arthur.  “Heaven
protect thee,” said he.  And thereupon he caused one of the pages to take
her from her horse.  “Alas! Enid,” said Arthur, “what expedition is
this?”  “I know not, Lord,” said she, “save that it behoves me to journey
by the same road that he journeys.”  “My Lord,” said Geraint, “with thy
permission we will depart.”  “Whither wilt thou go?” said Arthur.  “Thou
canst not proceed now, unless it be unto thy death.”  “He will not suffer
himself to be invited by me,” said Gwalchmai.  “But by me he will,” said
Arthur; “and, moreover, he does not go from here until he is healed.”  “I
had rather, Lord,” said Geraint, “that thou wouldest let me go forth.”
“That will I not, I declare to Heaven,” said he.  Then he caused a maiden
to be sent for to conduct Enid to the tent where Gwenhwyvar’s chamber
was.  And Gwenhwyvar and all her women were joyful at her coming; and
they took off her riding-dress, and placed other garments upon her.
Arthur also called Kadyrieith, and ordered him to pitch a tent for
Geraint and the physicians; and he enjoined him to provide him with
abundance of all that might be requisite for him.  And Kadyrieith did as
he had commanded him.  And Morgan Tud and his disciples were brought to
Geraint.

And Arthur and his hosts remained there nearly a month, whilst Geraint
was being healed.  And when he was fully recovered, Geraint came to
Arthur, and asked his permission to depart.  “I know not if thou art
quite well.”  “In truth I am, Lord,” said Geraint.  “I shall not believe
thee concerning that, but the physicians that were with thee.”  So Arthur
caused the physicians to be summoned to him, and asked them if it were
true.  “It is true, Lord,” said Morgan Tud.  So the next day Arthur
permitted him to go forth, and he pursued his journey.  And on the same
day Arthur removed thence.  And Geraint desired Enid to go on, and to
keep before him, as she had formerly done.  And she 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 unto 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 armour, 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 of
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, and opened
his wounds anew, and all his blood began to flow from him.  But Geraint
drew his sword, and attacked the giant, and gave him 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 saw her, 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 the host that
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, his blood flowing excessively; but it appears to me that he did
not leave the giants without killing some of them, if not all.”  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 litter-couch in front of the table that was in
the hall.  Then they all took off their travelling 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 on thee; be, therefore,
happy and joyful.”  “I declare to Heaven,” said she, “that henceforth I
shall never be joyful while I live.”  “Come, then,” said he, “and eat.”
“No, by Heaven, I will not,” she answered.  “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 eat 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 on
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 up on 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 stayed 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 colour 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 from the ground, 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 trampling 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, “Oh! chieftain,
whoever thou art, what renown wilt thou gain by slaying a dead man?”
“Oh! Heaven,” said he, “is it Geraint?”  “Yes, in truth,” said she.  “And
who art thou?”  “I am the Little King,” he answered, “coming to thy
assistance, for I heard that thou wast in trouble.  And if thou hadst
followed my advice, none of these hardships would have befallen thee.”
“Nothing can happen,” said Geraint, “without the will of Heaven, though
much good results from counsel.”  “Yes,” said the Little King, “and I
know good counsel for thee now.  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 the Little King’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.  And
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, the Little King caused his armour
to be repaired, until it was as good as it had ever been.  And they
remained there a fortnight and a month.

Then the Little King said to Geraint, “Now will we go towards my own
Court, to take rest, and amuse ourselves.”  “Not so,” said Geraint, “we
will first journey for one day more, and return again.”  “With all my
heart,” said the Little King, “do thou go then.”  And early in the day
they set forth.  And more gladly and more joyfully did Enid journey with
them that day than she had ever done.  And they came to the main road.
And when they reached a place where the road divided in two, they beheld
a man on foot coming towards them along one of these roads, and Gwiffert
asked the man whence he came.  “I come,” said he, “from an errand in the
country.”  “Tell me,” said Geraint, “which is the best for me to follow
of these two roads?”  “That is the best for thee to follow,” answered he,
“for if thou goest by this one, thou wilt never return.  Below us,” said
he, “there is a hedge of mist, and within it are enchanted games, and no
one who has gone there has ever returned.  And the Court of the Earl
Owain is there, and he permits no one to go to lodge in the town, except
he will go to his Court.”  “I declare to Heaven,” said Geraint, “that we
will take the lower road.”  And they went along it until they came to the
town.  And they took the fairest and pleasantest place in the town for
their lodging.  And while they were thus, behold, a young man came to
them, and greeted them.  “Heaven be propitious to thee,” said they.
“Good Sirs,” said he, “what preparations are you making here?”  “We are
taking up our lodging,” said they, “to pass the night.”  “It is not the
custom with him who owns the town,” he answered, “to permit any of gentle
birth, unless they come to stay in his Court, to abide here; therefore,
come ye to the Court.”  “We will come, gladly,” said Geraint.  And they
went with the page, and they were joyfully received.  And the Earl came
to the hall to meet them, and he commanded the tables to be laid.  And
they washed, and sat down.  And this is the order in which they sat:
Geraint on one side of the Earl, and Enid on the other side, and next to
Enid the Little King, and then the Countess next to Geraint; and all
after that as became their rank.  Then Geraint recollected the games, and
thought that he should not go to them; and on that account he did not
eat.  Then the Earl looked upon Geraint, and considered, and he bethought
him that his not eating was because of the games, and it grieved him that
he had ever established those games, were it only on account of losing
such a youth as Geraint.  And if Geraint had asked him to abolish the
games, he would gladly have done so.  Then the Earl said to Geraint,
“What thought occupies thy mind, that thou dost not eat?  If thou
hesitatest about going to the games, thou shalt not go, and no other of
thy rank shall ever go either.”  “Heaven reward thee,” said Geraint, “but
I wish nothing better than to go to the games, and to be shown the way
thither.”  “If that is what thou dost prefer, thou shalt obtain it
willingly.”  “I do prefer it, indeed,” said he.  Then they ate, and they
were amply served, and they had a variety of gifts, and abundance of
liquor.  And when they had finished eating they arose.  And Geraint
called for his horse and his armour, and he accoutred both himself and
his horse.  And all the hosts went forth until they came to the side of
the hedge, and the hedge was so lofty, that it reached as high as they
could see in the air, and upon every stake in the hedge, except two,
there was the head of a man, and the number of stakes throughout the
hedge was very great.  Then said the Little King, “May no one go in with
the chieftain?”  “No one may,” said Earl Owain.  “Which way can I enter?”
inquired Geraint.  “I know not,” said Owain, “but enter by the way that
thou wilt, and that seemeth easiest to thee.”

Then fearlessly and unhesitatingly Geraint dashed forward into the mist.
And on leaving the mist, he came to a large orchard; and in the orchard
he saw an open space, wherein was a tent of red satin; and the door of
the tent was open, and an apple-tree stood in front of the door of the
tent; and on a branch of the apple-tree hung a huge hunting-horn.  Then
he dismounted, and went into the tent; and there was no one in the tent
save one maiden sitting in a golden chair, and another chair was opposite
to her, empty.  And Geraint went to the empty chair, and sat down
therein.  “Ah! chieftain,” said the maiden, “I would not counsel thee to
sit in that chair.”  “Wherefore?” said Geraint.  “The man to whom that
chair belongs has never suffered another to sit in it.”  “I care not,”
said Geraint, “though it displease him that I sit in the chair.”  And
thereupon they heard a mighty tumult around the tent.  And Geraint looked
to see what was the cause of the tumult.  And he beheld without a knight
mounted upon a warhorse, proudly snorting, high-mettled, and large of
bone; and a robe of honour in two parts was upon him and upon his horse,
and beneath it was plenty of armour.  “Tell me, chieftain,” said he to
Geraint, “who it was that bade thee sit there?”  “Myself,” answered he.
“It was wrong of thee to do me this shame and disgrace.  Arise, and do me
satisfaction for thine insolence.”  Then Geraint arose; and they
encountered immediately; and they broke a set of lances, and a second
set, and a third; and they gave each other fierce and frequent strokes;
and at last Geraint became enraged, and he urged on his horse, and rushed
upon him, and gave him a thrust on the centre of his shield, so that it
was split, and so that the head of his lance went through his armour, and
his girths were broken, and he himself was borne headlong to the ground
the length of Geraint’s lance and arm, over his horse’s crupper.  “Oh, my
Lord!” said he, “thy mercy, and thou shalt have what thou wilt.”  “I only
desire,” said Geraint, “that this game shall no longer exist here, nor
the hedge of mist, nor magic, nor enchantment.”  “Thou shalt have this
gladly, Lord,” he replied.  “Cause, then, the mist to disappear from this
place,” said Geraint.  “Sound yonder horn,” said he, “and when thou
soundest it, the mist will vanish; but it will not go hence unless the
horn be blown by the knight by whom I am vanquished.”  And sad and
sorrowful was Enid where she remained, through anxiety concerning
Geraint.  Then Geraint went and sounded the horn.  And at the first blast
he gave, the mist vanished.  And all the hosts came together, and they
all became reconciled to each other.  And the Earl invited Geraint and
the Little King to stay with him that night.  And the next morning they
separated.  And Geraint went towards his own dominions; and thenceforth
he reigned prosperously, and his warlike fame and splendour lasted with
renown and honour both to him and to Enid from that time forth.



KILHWCH AND OLWEN
OR THE
TWRCH TRWYTH


KILYDD the son of Prince Kelyddon desired a wife as a helpmate, and the
wife that he chose was Goleuddydd, the daughter of Prince Anlawdd.  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.  From the
time of her pregnancy Goleuddydd became wild, and wandered about, without
habitation; but when her delivery was at hand, her reason came back to
her.  Then she went to a mountain where there was a swineherd, keeping a
herd of swine.  And through fear of the swine the queen was delivered.
And the swineherd took the boy, and brought him to the palace; and he was
christened, and they called him Kilhwch, because he had been found in a
swine’s burrow.  Nevertheless the boy was of gentle lineage, and cousin
unto Arthur; and they put him out to nurse.

After this the boy’s mother, Goleuddydd, the daughter of Prince Anlawdd,
fell sick.  Then she called her husband unto 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 nothing 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 the master neglected that which he 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 one daughter that she had along with her.  And they conquered
the king’s lands.

On a certain day, as the lady walked abroad, she came to the house of an
old crone that dwelt in the town, and that had no tooth in her head.  And
the queen said to her, “Old woman, tell me that which I shall ask thee,
for the love of Heaven.  Where are the children of the man who has
carried me away by violence?”  Said the crone, “He has not children.”
Said the queen, “Woe is me, that I should have come to one who is
childless!”  Then said the hag, “Thou needest not lament on account of
that, for there is a prediction he shall have an heir by thee, and by
none other.  Moreover, be not sorrowful, for he has one son.”

The lady returned home with joy; and she asked her consort, “Wherefore
hast thou concealed thy children from me?”  The king said, “I will do so
no longer.”  And he sent messengers for his son, and he was brought to
the Court.  His stepmother said unto him, “It were well for thee to have
a wife, and I have a daughter who is sought of every man of renown in the
world.”  “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 Yspaddaden 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 Yspaddaden 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 grey, of 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 dewdrop from the blade of
reed-grass upon the earth when the dew of June is at the heaviest.  A
gold-hilted sword was upon his thigh, the blade of which was of gold,
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 on 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 towards 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.  And during every other part of the year but this, the
office is filled by Huandaw, and Gogigwc, and Llaeskenym, and
Pennpingyon, who goes upon his head to save his feet, neither towards the
sky nor towards the earth, but like a rolling stone upon the floor of the
court.”  “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 horses; 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 unto the precincts of the Palace of Arthur.  Thou wilt fare no worse
there than thou wouldest 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 come 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 more deadly, from the top of Pengwaed in Cornwall to
the bottom of Dinsol, in the North, and to Esgair Oervel, in Ireland.
And all the women in this Palace that are pregnant shall lose their
offspring; and such as are not pregnant, their hearts shall be turned by
illness, so that they shall never bear children from this day forward.”
“What clamour soever thou mayest make,” said Glewlwyd Gavaelvawr,
“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 past, and half of thine.  I was
heretofore in Kaer Se and Asse, in Sach and Salach, in Lotor and Fotor;
and I have been heretofore in India the Great and India the Lesser; and I
was in the battle of Dau Ynyr, when the twelve hostages were brought from
Llychlyn.  And I have also been in Europe, and in Africa, and in the
islands of Corsica, and in Caer Brythwch, and Brythach, and Verthach; and
I was present when formerly thou didst slay the family of Clis the son of
Merin, and when thou didst slay Mil Du the son of Ducum, and when thou
didst conquer Greece in the East.  And I have been in Caer Oeth and
Annoeth, and in Caer Nevenhyr; 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 in here, return thou running.  And every one that beholds the
light, and every one that opens and shuts the eye, let them shew him
respect, and serve him, some with gold-mounted drinking-horns, others
with collops cooked and peppered, until food and drink can be prepared
for him.  It is unbecoming to keep such a man as thou sayest he is, in
the wind and the rain.”  Said Kai, “By the hand of my friend, if thou
wouldest follow my counsel, thou wouldest not break through the laws of
the Court because of him.”  “Not so, blessed Kai.  It is an honour 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 him; and
although all dismounted upon the horseblock at the gate, yet did he not
dismount, but rode in upon his charger.  Then said Kilhwch, “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 favour, 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 dispense 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; and 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; and my mantle; and
Caledvwlch, my sword; and Rhongomyant, my lance; and Wynebgwrthucher, my
shield; and Carnwenhau, my dagger; and Gwenhwyvar, my wife.  By the truth
of Heaven, thou shalt have it cheerfully, name what thou wilt.”  “I would
that thou bless my hair.”  “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 Kilhwch, the son of Kilydd, the son of Prince Kelyddon, by
Goleuddydd, my mother, the daughter of Prince Anlawdd.”  “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 Yspaddaden Penkawr; and this boon I likewise seek at the
hands of thy warriors.  I seek it from Kai, and Bedwyr, and Greidawl
Galldonyd, and Gwythyr the son of Greidawl, and Greid the son of Eri, and
Kynddelig Kyvarwydd, and Tathal Twyll Goleu, and Maelwys the son of
Baeddan, and Crychwr the son of Nes, and Cubert the son of Daere, and
Percos the son of Poch, and Lluber Beuthach, and Corvil Bervach, and
Gwynn the son of Nudd, and Edeyrn the son of Nudd, and Gadwy the son of
Geraint, and Prince Fflewddur Fflam, and Ruawn Pebyr the son of Dorath,
and Bradwen the son of Moren Mynawc, and Moren Mynawc himself, and
Dalldav the son of Kimin Côv, and the son of Alun Dyved, and the son of
Saidi, and the son of Gwryon, and Uchtryd Ardywad Kad, and Kynwas
Curvagyl, and Gwrhyr Gwarthegvras, and Isperyr Ewingath, and Gallcoyt
Govynynat, and Duach, and Grathach, and Nerthach, the sons of Gwawrddur
Kyrvach (these men came forth from the confines of hell), and Kilydd
Canhastyr, and Canastyr Kanllaw, and Cors Cant-Ewin, and Esgeir Gulhwch
Govynkawn, and Drustwrn Hayarn, and Glewlwyd Gavaelvawr, and Lloch
Llawwynnyawc, and Aunwas Adeiniawc, and Sinnoch the son of Seithved, and
Gwennwynwyn the son of Naw, and Bedyw the son of Seithved, and Gobrwy the
son of Echel Vorddwyttwll, and Echel Vorddwyttwll himself, and Mael the
son of Roycol, and Dadweir Dallpenn, and Garwyli the son of Gwythawc
Gwyr, and Gwythawc Gwyr himself, and Gormant the son of Ricca, and Menw
the son of Teirgwaedd, and Digon the son of Alar, and Selyf the son of
Smoit, and Gusg the son of Atheu, and Nerth the son of Kedarn, and
Drudwas the son of Tryffin, and Twrch the son of Perif, and Twrch the son
of Annwas, and Iona king of France, and Sel the son of Selgi, and Teregud
the son of Iaen, and Sulyen the son of Iaen, and Bradwen the son of Iaen,
and Moren the son of Iaen, and Siawn the son of Iaen, and Cradawc the son
of Iaen.  (They were men of Caerdathal, of Arthur’s kindred on his
father’s side.)  Dirmyg the son of Kaw, and Justic the son of Kaw, and
Etmic the son of Kaw, and Anghawd the son of Kaw, and Ovan the son of
Kaw, and Kelin the son of Kaw, and Connyn the son of Kaw, and Mabsant the
son of Kaw, and Gwyngad the son of Kaw, and Llwybyr the son of Kaw, and
Coth the son of Kaw, and Meilic the son of Kaw, and Kynwas the son of
Kaw, and Ardwyad the son of Kaw, and Ergyryad the son of Kaw, and Neb the
son of Kaw, and Gilda the son of Kaw, and Calcas the son of Kaw, and
Hueil the son of Kaw (he never yet made a request at the hand of any
Lord).  And Samson Vinsych, and Taliesin the chief of the bards, and
Manawyddan the son of Llyr, and Llary the son of Prince Kasnar, and
Ysperni the son of Fflergant king of Armorica, and Saranhon the son of
Glythwyr, and Llawr Eilerw, and Annyanniawc the son of Menw the son of
Teirgwaedd, and Gwynn the son of Nwyvre, and Fflam the son of Nwyvre, and
Geraint the son of Erbin, and Ermid the son of Erbin, and Dyvel the son
of Erbin, and Gwynn the son of Ermid, and Kyndrwyn the son of Ermid, and
Hyveidd Unllenn, and Eiddon Vawr Vrydic, and Reidwn Arwy, and Gormant the
son of Ricca (Arthur’s brother by his mother’s side; the Penhynev of
Cornwall was his father), and Llawnrodded Varvawc, and Nodawl Varyf
Twrch, and Berth the son of Kado, and Rheidwn the son of Beli, and
Iscovan Hael, and Iscawin the son of Panon, and Morvran the son of Tegid
(no one struck him in the battle of Camlan by reason of his ugliness; all
thought he was an auxiliary devil.  Hair had he upon him like the hair of
a stag).  And Sandde Bryd Angel (no one touched him with a spear in the
battle of Camlan because of his beauty; all thought he was a ministering
angel).  And Kynwyl Sant (the third man that escaped from the battle of
Camlan, and he was the last who parted from Arthur on Hengroen his
horse).  And Uchtryd the son of Erim, and Eus the son of Erim, and Henwas
Adeinawg the son of Erim, and Henbedestyr the son of Erim, and Sgilti
Yscawndroed the son of Erim. (Unto these three men belonged these three
qualities,—With Henbedestyr there was not any one who could keep pace,
either on horseback or on foot; with Henwas Adeinawg, no four-footed
beast could run the distance of an acre, much less could it go beyond it;
and as to Sgilti Yscawndroed, when he intended to go upon a message for
his Lord, he never sought to find a path, but knowing whither he was to
go, if his way lay through a wood he went along the tops of the trees.
During his whole life, a blade of reed grass bent not beneath his feet,
much less did one ever break, so lightly did he tread.)  Teithi Hên the
son of Gwynhan (his dominions were swallowed up by the sea, and he
himself hardly escaped, and he came to Arthur; and his knife had this
peculiarity, that from the time that he came there no haft would ever
remain upon it, and owing to this a sickness came over him, and he pined
away during the remainder of his life, and of this he died).  And
Carneddyr the son of Govynyon Hên, and Gwenwynwyn the son of Nav
Gyssevin, Arthur’s champion, and Llysgadrudd Emys, and Gwrbothu Hên
(uncles unto Arthur were they, his mother’s brothers).  Kulvanawyd the
son of Goryon, and Llenlleawg Wyddel from the headland of Ganion, and
Dyvynwal Moel, and Dunard king of the North, Teirnon Twryf Bliant, and
Tegvan Gloff, and Tegyr Talgellawg, Gwrdinal the son of Ebrei, and
Morgant Hael, Gwystyl the son of Rhun the son of Nwython, and Llwyddeu
the son of Nwython, and Gwydre the son of Llwyddeu (Gwenabwy the daughter
of [Kaw] was his mother, Hueil his uncle stabbed him, and hatred was
between Hueil and Arthur because of the wound).  Drem the son of Dremidyd
(when the gnat arose in the morning with the sun, he could see it from
Gelli Wic in Cornwall, as far off as Pen Blathaon in North Britain).  And
Eidyol the son of Ner, and Glwyddyn Saer (who constructed Ehangwen,
Arthur’s Hall).  Kynyr Keinvarvawc (when he was told he had a son born he
said to his wife, ‘Damsel, if thy son be mine, his heart will be always
cold, and there will be no warmth in his hands; and he will have another
peculiarity, if he is my son he will always be stubborn; and he will have
another peculiarity, when he carries a burden, whether it be large or
small, no one will be able to see it, either before him or at his back;
and he will have another peculiarity, no one will be able to resist fire
and water so well as he will; and he will have another peculiarity, there
will never be a servant or an officer equal to him’).  Henwas, and
Henwyneb (an old companion to Arthur).  Gwallgoyc (another; when he came
to a town, though there were three hundred houses in it, if he wanted
anything, he would not let sleep come to the eyes of any one whilst he
remained there).  Berwyn the son of Gerenhir, and Paris king of France,
and Osla Gyllellvawr (who bore a short broad dagger.  When Arthur and his
hosts came before a torrent, they would seek for a narrow place where
they might pass the water, and would lay the sheathed dagger across the
torrent, and it would form a bridge sufficient for the armies of the
three Islands of Britain, and of the three islands adjacent, with their
spoil).  Gwyddawg the son of Menestyr (who slew Kai, and whom Arthur
slew, together with his brothers, to revenge Kai).  Garanwyn the son of
Kai, and Amren the son of Bedwyr, and Ely Amyr, and Rheu Rhwyd Dyrys, and
Rhun Rhudwern, and Eli, and Trachmyr (Arthur’s chief huntsmen).  And
Llwyddeu the son of Kelcoed, and Hunabwy the son of Gwryon, and Gwynn
Godyvron, and Gweir Datharwenniddawg, and Gweir the son of Cadell the son
of Talaryant, and Gweir Gwrhyd Ennwir, and Gweir Paladyr Hir (the uncles
of Arthur, the brothers of his mother).  The sons of Llwch Llawwynnyawg
(from beyond the raging sea).  Llenlleawg Wyddel, and Ardderchawg
Prydain.  Cas the son of Saidi, Gwrvan Gwallt Avwyn, and Gwyllennhin the
king of France, and Gwittart the son of Oedd king of Ireland.  Garselit
Wyddel, Panawr Pen Bagad, and Ffleudor the son of Nav, Gwynnhyvar mayor
of Cornwall and Devon (the ninth man that rallied the battle of Camlan).
Keli and Kueli, and Gilla Coes Hydd (he would clear three hundred acres
at one bound: the chief leaper of Ireland was he).  Sol, and Gwadyn
Ossol, and Gwadyn Odyeith.  (Sol could stand all day upon one foot.
Gwadyn Ossol, if he stood upon the top of the highest mountain in the
world, it would become a level plain under his feet.  Gwadyn Odyeith, the
soles of his feet emitted sparks of fire when they struck upon things
hard, like the heated mass when drawn out of the forge.  He cleared the
way for Arthur when he came to any stoppage.)  Hirerwm and Hiratrwm.
(The day they went on a visit three Cantrevs provided for their
entertainment, and they feasted until noon and drank until night, when
they went to sleep.  And then they devoured the heads of the vermin
through hunger, as if they had never eaten anything.  When they made a
visit they left neither the fat nor the lean, neither the hot nor the
cold, the sour nor the sweet, the fresh nor the salt, the boiled nor the
raw.)  Huarwar the son of Aflawn (who asked Arthur such a boon as would
satisfy him.  It was the third great plague of Cornwall when he received
it.  None could get a smile from him but when he was satisfied).  Gware
Gwallt Euryn.  The two cubs of Gast Rhymi, Gwyddrud and Gwyddneu Astrus.
Sugyn the son of Sugnedydd (who would suck up the sea on which were three
hundred ships so as to leave nothing but a dry strand.  He was
broad-chested).  Rhacymwri, the attendant of Arthur (whatever barn he was
shown, were there the produce of thirty ploughs within it, he would
strike it with an iron flail until the rafters, the beams, and the boards
were no better than the small oats in the mow upon the floor of the
barn).  Dygyflwng and Anoeth Veidawg.  And Hir Eiddyl, and Hir Amreu
(they were two attendants of Arthur).  And Gwevyl the son of Gwestad (on
the day that he was sad, he would let one of his lips drop below his
waist, while he turned up the other like a cap upon his head).  Uchtryd
Varyf Draws (who spread his red untrimmed beard over the eight-and-forty
rafters which were in Arthur’s Hall).  Elidyr Gyvarwydd.  Yskyrdav and
Yscudydd (two attendants of Gwenhwyvar were they.  Their feet were swift
as their thoughts when bearing a message).  Brys the son of Bryssethach
(from the Hill of the Black Fernbrake in North Britain).  And Grudlwyn
Gorr.  Bwlch, and Kyfwlch, and Sefwlch, the sons of Cleddyf Kyfwlch, the
grandsons of Cleddyf Difwlch.  (Their three shields were three gleaming
glitterers; their three spears were three pointed piercers; their three
swords were three grinding gashers; Glas, Glessic, and Gleisad.  Their
three dogs, Call, Cuall, and Cavall.  Their three horses, Hwyrdyddwd, and
Drwgdyddwd, and Llwyrdyddwg.  Their three wives, Och, and Garym, and
Diaspad.  Their three grandchildren, Lluched, and Neved, and Eissiwed.
Their three daughters, Drwg, and Gwaeth, and Gwaethav Oll.  Their three
hand-maids, Eheubryd the daughter of Kyfwlch, Gorascwrn the daughter of
Nerth, Ewaedan the daughter of Kynvelyn Keudawd Pwyll the half-man.)
Dwnn Diessic Unbenn, Eiladyr the son of Pen Llarcau, Kynedyr Wyllt the
son of Hettwn Talaryant, Sawyl Ben Uchel, Gwalchmai the son of Gwyar,
Gwalhaved the son of Gwyar, Gwrhyr Gwastawd Ieithoedd (to whom all
tongues were known), and Kethcrwm the Priest.  Clust the son of
Clustveinad (though he were buried seven cubits beneath the earth, he
would hear the ant fifty miles off rise from her nest in the morning).
Medyr the son of Methredydd (from Gelli Wic he could, in a twinkling,
shoot the wren through the two legs upon Esgeir Oervel in Ireland).
Gwiawn Llygad Cath (who could cut a haw from the eye of the gnat without
hurting him).  Ol the son of Olwydd (seven years before he was born his
father’s swine were carried off, and when he grew up a man he tracked the
swine, and brought them back in seven herds).  Bedwini the Bishop (who
blessed Arthur’s meat and drink).  For the sake of the golden-chained
daughters of this island.  For the sake of Gwenhwyvar its chief lady, and
Gwennhwyach her sister, and Rathtyeu the only daughter of Clemenhill, and
Rhelemon the daughter of Kai, and Tannwen the daughter of Gweir
Datharwenîddawg.  Gwenn Alarch the daughter of Kynwyl Canbwch.  Eurneid
the daughter of Clydno Eiddin.  Eneuawc the daughter of Bedwyr.  Enrydreg
the daughter of Tudvathar.  Gwennwledyr the daughter of Gwaledyr Kyrvach.
Erddudnid the daughter of Tryffin.  Eurolwen the daughter of Gwdolwyn
Gorr.  Teleri the daughter of Peul.  Indeg the daughter of Garwy Hir.
Morvudd the daughter of Urien Rheged.  Gwenllian Deg the majestic maiden.
Creiddylad the daughter of Lludd Llaw Ereint.  (She was the most splendid
maiden in the three Islands of the mighty, and in the three Islands
adjacent, and for her Gwythyr the son of Greidawl and Gwynn the son of
Nudd fight every first of May until the day of doom.)  Ellylw the
daughter of Neol Kynn-Crog (she lived three ages).  Essyllt Vinwen and
Essyllt Vingul.”  And all these did Kilhwch the son of Kilydd adjure to
obtain his boon.

Then said Arthur, “Oh! 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 Kilhwch, “Every one has
received his boon, and I yet lack mine.  I will depart and bear away thy
honour with me.”  Then said Kai, “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 Kai rose up.  Kai had this peculiarity, that his breath lasted
nine nights and nine days under water, and he could exist nine nights and
nine days without sleep.  A wound from Kai’s sword no physician could
heal.  Very subtle was Kai.  When it pleased him he could render himself
as tall as the highest tree in the forest.  And he had another
peculiarity,—so great was the heat of his nature, that, when it rained
hardest, whatever he carried remained dry for a handbreadth above and a
handbreadth below his hand; and when his companions were coldest, it was
to them as fuel with which to light their fire.

And Arthur called Bedwyr, who never shrank from any enterprise upon which
Kai was bound.  None was equal to him in swiftness throughout this island
except Arthur and Drych Ail Kibddar.  And although he was one-handed,
three warriors could not shed blood faster than he on the field of
battle.  Another property he had; his lance would produce a wound equal
to those of nine opposing lances.

And Arthur called to Kynddelig 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 Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd, because he knew all tongues.

He called Gwalchmai the son of Gwyar, because he never returned home
without achieving the adventure of which he went in quest.  He was the
best of footmen and the best of knights.  He was nephew to Arthur, the
son of his sister, and his cousin.

And Arthur called Menw the son of Teirgwaedd, 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
they journeyed that day until the evening, and when they thought they
were nigh to the castle, they were no nearer to it than they had been in
the morning.  And the second and the third day they journeyed, and even
then scarcely could they reach so far.  And when they came before the
castle, they beheld a vast flock of sheep, which was boundless and
without an end.  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.  Never had he
lost even a lamb from his flock, much less a large sheep.  He let no
occasion ever pass without doing some hurt and harm.  All the dead trees
and bushes in the plain he burnt with his breath down to the very ground.

Then said Kai, “Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd, go thou and salute yonder
man.”  “Kai,” said he, “I engaged not to go further than thou thyself.”
“Let us go then together,” answered Kai.  Said Menw the son of
Teirgwaedd, “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, O
herdsman?”  “No less fair be it to you than to me.”  “Truly, art thou the
chief?”  “There is no hurt to injure me but my own.” {5}  “Whose are the
sheep that thou dost keep, and to whom does yonder castle belong?”
“Stupid are ye, truly!  Through the whole world is it known that this is
the castle of Yspaddaden Penkawr.”  “And who art thou?”  “I am called
Custennin the son of Dyfnedig, and my brother Yspaddaden Penkawr
oppressed me because of my possessions.  And ye also, who are ye?”  “We
are an embassy from Arthur, come to seek Olwen the daughter of Yspaddaden
Penkawr.”  “Oh 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 arose, Kilhwch gave unto him a ring
of gold.  And he sought to put on the ring, but it was too small for him,
so he placed it in the finger of his glove.  And he went home, and gave
the glove to his spouse to keep.  And she took the ring from the glove
when it was given her, and she said, “Whence came this ring, for thou art
not wont to have good fortune?”  “I went,” said he, “to the sea to seek
for fish, and lo, I saw a corpse borne by the waves.  And a fairer corpse
than it did I never behold.  And from its finger did I take this ring.”
“O man! does the sea permit its dead to wear jewels?  Show me then this
body.”  “Oh wife, him to whom this ring belonged thou shalt see here in
the evening.”  “And who is he?” asked the woman, “Kilhwch the son of
Kilydd, the son of Prince Kelyddon, by Goleuddydd the daughter of Prince
Anlawdd, his mother, who is come to seek Olwen as his wife.”  And when
she heard that, her feelings were divided between the joy that she had
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 they went forward to the gate of Custennin the herdsman’s dwelling.
And when she heard their footsteps approaching, she ran out with joy to
meet them.  And Kai snatched a billet out of the pile.  And when she met
them she sought to throw her arms about their necks.  And Kai placed the
log between her two hands, and she squeezed it so that it became a
twisted coil.  “Oh woman,” said Kai, “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 Gwrhyr, “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
Yspaddaden Penkawr slain, and I have no more hope of this one than of the
others.”  Then said Kai, “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.”  Said Kai, “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-coloured 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, 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, the glance of the
three-mewed falcon 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 Kilhwch upon the foremost bench;
and as soon as he saw her he knew her.  And Kilhwch 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, 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, Yspaddaden Penkawr,”
said they.  “And you, wherefore come you?”  “We come to ask thy daughter
Olwen, for Kilhwch 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 Yspaddaden 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 Yspaddaden 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 gadfly.  Cursed be
the smith who forged it, and the anvil whereon it was wrought!  So sharp
is it!”

That night also they took up their abode in the house of Custennin the
herdsman.  The next day with the dawn they arrayed themselves in haste
and proceeded to the castle, and entered the hall, and they said,
“Yspaddaden 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.  And unless thou wilt do so, thou shalt meet with thy death on
her account.”  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,” answered they, “we will go to meat.”  As they rose
up, he took the second dart that was beside him, and cast it after them.
And Menw the son of Gwaedd caught it, and flung it back at him, and
wounded him in the centre of the breast, so that it came out at the small
of his back.  “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 a 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 Yspaddaden 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, Yspaddaden Penkawr took the third poisoned
dart and cast it at them.  And Kilhwch caught it and threw it vigorously,
and wounded him through the eyeball, so that the dart came out at the
back of his head.  “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.  Cursed be the fire in which it was
forged.  Like the bite of a mad dog is the stroke of this poisoned iron.”
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.”  “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 Yspaddaden Penkawr, “Is it thou that seekest my daughter?”  “It is
I,” answered Kilhwch.  “I must have thy pledge that thou wilt not do
towards 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 Kilhwch, “name what thou wilt.”  “I will do so,” said
he.

“Seest thou yonder vast hill?”  “I see it.”  “I require that it be rooted
up, and that the grubbings be burned for manure on the face of the land,
and that it be ploughed and sown in one day, and in one day that the
grain ripen.  And of that wheat I intend to make food and liquor fit for
the wedding of thee and my daughter.  And all this I require done in one
day.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“Though this be easy for thee, there is yet that which will not be so.
No husbandman can till or prepare this land, so wild is it, except
Amaethon the son of Don, and he will not come with thee by 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 that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.
Govannon the son of Don to come to the headland to rid the iron, he will
do no work of his own good will except for a lawful king, and thou wilt
not be able to compel him.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get; the two
dun oxen of Gwlwlyd, both yoked together, to plough the wild land yonder
stoutly.  He will not give them of his own free will, and thou wilt not
be able to compel him.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get; the
yellow and the brindled bull yoked together do I require.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get; the two
horned oxen, one of which is beyond, and the other this side of the
peaked mountain, yoked together in the same plough.  And these are
Nynniaw and Peibaw whom God turned into oxen on account of their sins.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  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, neither white nor black; and I
have the measure by me still.  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 that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  Honey
that is nine times sweeter than the honey of the virgin swarm, without
scum and bees, do I require to make bragget for the feast.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“The vessel of Llwyr the son of Llwyryon, which is of the utmost value.
There is no other vessel in the world that can hold this drink.  Of his
free will thou wilt not get it, and thou canst not compel him.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  The
basket of Gwyddneu Garanhir, if the whole world should come together,
thrice nine men at a time, the meat that each of them desired would be
found within it.  I require to eat therefrom on the night that my
daughter becomes thy bride.  He will give it to no one of his own free
will, and thou canst not compel him.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  The
horn of Gwlgawd Gododin to serve us with liquor that night.  He will not
give it 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 that
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 that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  The
cauldron of Diwrnach Wyddel, the steward of Odgar the son of Aedd, king
of Ireland, to boil the meat for thy marriage feast.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  It is
needful for me to wash my head, and shave my beard, and I require the
tusk of Yskithyrwyn Penbaedd to shave myself withal, neither shall I
profit by its use if it be not plucked alive out of his head.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  There
is no one in the world that can pluck it out of his head except Odgar the
son of Aedd, king of Ireland.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  I will
not trust any one to keep the tusk except Gado of North Britain.  Now the
threescore Cantrevs of North Britain are under his sway, and of his own
free will he will not come out of his kingdom, and thou wilt not be able
to compel him.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  I must
spread out my hair in order to shave it, and it will never be spread out
unless I have the blood of the jet-black sorceress, the daughter of the
pure white sorceress, from Pen Nant Govid, on the confines of Hell.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  I will
not have the blood unless I have it warm, and no vessels will keep warm
the liquid that is put therein except the bottles of Gwyddolwyd Gorr,
which preserve the heat of the liquor that is put into them in the east,
until they arrive at the west.  And he will not give them 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 that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  Some
will desire fresh milk, and it will not be possible to have fresh milk
for all, unless we have the bottles of Rhinnon Rhin Barnawd, wherein no
liquor ever turns sour.  And he will not give them 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 that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.
Throughout the world there is not a comb or scissors with which I can
arrange my hair, on account of its rankness, except the comb and scissors
that are between the two ears of Twrch Trwyth, the son of Prince Tared.
He will not give them 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 that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  It
will not be possible to hunt Twrch Trwyth without Drudwyn the whelp of
Greid, the son of Eri.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.
Throughout the world there is not a leash that can hold him, except the
leash of Cwrs Cant Ewin.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.
Throughout the world there is no collar that will hold the leash except
the collar of Canhastyr Canllaw.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  The
chain of Kilydd Canhastyr to fasten the collar to the leash.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.
Throughout the world there is not a huntsman who can hunt with this dog,
except 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 that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  Gwynn
Mygdwn, the horse of Gweddw, that is as swift as the wave, to carry Mabon
the son of Modron to hunt the boar Trwyth.  He will not give him 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 that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  Thou
wilt not get Mabon, for it is not known where he is, unless thou find
Eidoel, his kinsman in blood, the son of Aer.  For it would be useless to
seek for him.  He is his cousin.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.
Garselit the Gwyddelian is the chief huntsman of Ireland; the Twrch
Trwyth can never be hunted without him.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  A
leash made from the beard of Dillus Varvawc, for that is the only one
that can hold those two cubs.  And the leash will be of no avail unless
it be plucked from his beard while he is alive, and twitched out with
wooden tweezers.  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 that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.
Throughout the world there is no huntsman that can hold those two whelps
except Kynedyr Wyllt, the son of Hettwn Glafyrawc; he is nine times more
wild than the wildest beast upon the mountains.  Him wilt thou never get,
neither wilt thou ever get my daughter.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  It is
not possible to hunt the boar Trwyth without Gwynn the son of Nudd, whom
God has placed over the brood of devils in Annwvyn, lest they should
destroy the present race.  He will never be spared thence.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  There
is not a horse in the world that can carry Gwynn to hunt the Twrch
Trwyth, except Du, the horse of Mor of Oerveddawg.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  Until
Gilennhin the king of France shall come, the Twrch Trwyth cannot be
hunted.  It will be unseemly for him to leave his kingdom for thy sake,
and he will never come hither.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  The
Twrch Trwyth can never be hunted without the son of Alun Dyved; he is
well skilled in letting loose the dogs.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  The
Twrch Trwyth cannot be hunted unless thou get Aned and Aethlem.  They are
as swift as the gale of wind, and they were never let loose upon a beast
that they did not kill him.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get; Arthur
and his companions to hunt the Twrch Trwyth.  He is a mighty man, and he
will not come for thee, neither wilt thou be able to compel him.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  The
Twrch Trwyth cannot be hunted unless thou get Bwlch, and Kyfwlch [and
Sefwlch], the grandsons of Cleddyf Difwlch.  Their three shields are
three gleaming glitterers.  Their three spears are three pointed
piercers.  Their three swords are three griding gashers, Glas, Glessic,
and Clersag.  Their three dogs, Call, Cuall, and Cavall.  Their three
horses, Hwyrdydwg, and Drwgdydwg, and Llwyrdydwg.  Their three wives,
Och, and Garam, and Diaspad.  Their three grandchildren, Lluched, and
Vyned, and Eissiwed.  Their three daughters, Drwg, and Gwaeth, and
Gwaethav Oll.  Their three hand-maids [Eheubryd, the daughter of Kyfwlch;
Gorasgwrn, the daughter of Nerth; and Gwaedan, the daughter of Kynvelyn].
These three men shall sound the horn, and all the others shall shout, so
that all will think that the sky is falling to the earth.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
it will not be easy.”

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get.  The
sword of Gwrnach the Giant; he will never be slain except therewith.  Of
his own free will he will not give it, either for a price or as a gift,
and thou wilt never be able to compel him.”

“It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think that
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.”

                                * * * * *

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,
huger than three of the men of this world, came out from the castle.  And
they spoke unto him, “Whence comest thou, O man?”  “From the castle which
you see yonder.”  “Whose castle is that?” asked they.  “Stupid are ye
truly, O men.  There is no one in the world that does not know to whom
this castle belongs.  It is the castle of Gwrnach the Giant.”  “What
treatment is there for guests and strangers that alight in that castle?”
“Oh!  Chieftain, Heaven protect thee.  No guest ever returned thence
alive, and no one may enter therein unless he brings with him his craft.”

Then they proceeded towards the gate.  Said Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd,
“Is there a porter?”  “There is.  And thou, if thy tongue be not mute in
thy head, 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 Gwrnach the
Giant, and except for a craftsman who brings his craft, the gate will not
be opened to-night.”  “Verily, porter,” then said Kai, “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 Gwrnach the Giant, and I will
bring thee an answer.”

So the porter went in, and Gwrnach said to him, “Hast thou any 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 Kai went in by himself, and he saluted
Gwrnach the Giant.  And a chair was placed for him opposite to Gwrnach.
And Gwrnach said to him, “Oh 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 Kai.  Then was the sword of Gwrnach brought to him.  And
Kai took a blue whetstone from under his arm, and asked him whether he
would have it burnished white or blue.  “Do with it as it seems good to
thee, and as thou wouldest if it were thine own.”  Then Kai 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 unto this.  It is a marvel to me that such a man as thou
should be without a companion.”  “Oh! 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 his
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 Kai said, “Bedwyr is very skilful, although he knows not
this art.”

And there was much discourse among those who were without, because that
Kai and Bedwyr had gone in.  And a young man who was with them, the only
son of Custennin the herdsman, got in also.  And he caused all his
companions to keep close to him as he passed the three wards, and until
he came into the midst of the castle.  And his companions said unto the
son of Custennin, “Thou hast done this!  Thou art the best of all men.”
And thenceforth he was called Goreu, the son of Custennin.  Then they
dispersed to their lodgings, that they might slay those who lodged
therein, unknown to the Giant.

The sword was now polished, and Kai gave it unto the hand of Gwrnach the
Giant, to see if he were pleased with his work.  And the Giant said, “The
work is good, I am content therewith.”  Said Kai, “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 again on the same day, at the beginning of the year,
they came to Arthur’s Court, bearing with them the sword of Gwrnach the
Giant.

Now, when they told Arthur how they had sped, Arthur said, “Which of
these marvels will it be best for us to seek first?”  “It will be best,”
said they, “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 Islands of Britain with him, to seek for
Eidoel; and they proceeded until they came before 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, Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd, 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 my men in search of thy cousin.  And as for you, Kai 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 Gwrhyr
adjured her for the sake of Heaven, 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 the vengeance of Heaven be upon me,
if during all that time I have ever heard of the man for whom you
inquire.  Nevertheless I will do that which is right, and that which it
is fitting that I should do 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.”

So they proceeded to the place where was the Owl of Cwm Cawlwyd.  “Owl of
Cwm Cawlwyd, here is an embassy from Arthur; knowest thou aught of Mabon
the son of Modron, who was taken after three nights from his mother?”
“If I knew I would tell you.  When first I came hither, the wide valley
you see was a wooded glen.  And a race of men came and rooted it up.  And
there grew there a second wood; and this wood is the third.  My wings,
are they not withered stumps?  Yet all this time, even until to-day, I
have never heard of the man for whom you inquire.  Nevertheless, I will
be the guide of Arthur’s embassy until you come to the place where is the
oldest animal in this world, and the one that has travelled most, the
Eagle of Gwern Abwy.”

Gwrhyr 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 now it is not so much as a span high.  From that day to this
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 deep, and I was
scarcely able to escape from him.  After that I went with my whole
kindred to attack him, and to try to destroy him, but he sent messengers,
and made peace with me; and came and besought me to take fifty fish
spears out of his back.  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 concerning 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 upwards, 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 Kai and Gwrhyr
Gwalstawt Ieithoedd 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 Gwrhyr, “Who is it
that laments in this house of stone?”  “Alas, there is reason enough for
whoever is here to lament.  It is Mabon the son of Modron who is here
imprisoned; and no imprisonment was ever so grievous as mine, neither
that of Llud Llaw Ereint, nor that of Greid the son of Eri.”  “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 whatever 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.  Kai and Bedwyr went upon the shoulders of the
fish, whilst the warriors of Arthur attacked the castle.  And Kai 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.

                                * * * * *

Said Arthur, “Which of the marvels will it be best for us now to seek
first?”  “It will be best to seek for the two cubs of Gast Rhymhi.”  “Is
it known,” asked Arthur, “where she is?”  “She is in Aber Deu 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.  “In what form may
she be?”  “She is in the form of a she-wolf,” said he; “and with her
there are two cubs.”  “She has often slain my herds, and she is there
below in a cave in Aber Cleddyf.”

So 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 God did
change them again for Arthur into their own form.  And the host of Arthur
dispersed themselves into parties of one and two.

                                * * * * *

On a certain day, as Gwythyr the son of Greidawl 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 drew
his sword, and smote off an ant-hill close to the earth, whereby 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 will
give thee.”  Then they fetched the nine bushels of flax-seed which
Yspaddaden Penkawr had required of Kilhwch, and they brought the full
measure without lacking any, except one flax-seed, and that the lame
pismire brought in before night.

                                * * * * *

As Kai and Bedwyr sat on a beacon carn on the summit of Plinlimmon, in
the highest wind that ever was in the world, they looked around them, and
saw a great smoke towards the south, afar off, which did not bend with
the wind.  Then said Kai, “By the hand of my friend, behold, 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 Varvawc scorching a wild
boar.  “Behold, yonder is the greatest robber that ever fled from
Arthur,” said Bedwyr unto Kai.  “Dost thou know him?”  “I do know him,”
answered Kai, “he is Dillus Varvawc, and no leash in the world will be
able to hold Drudwyn, the cub of Greid the son of Eri, save a leash made
from the beard of him thou seest yonder.  And even that will be useless,
unless his beard be plucked 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 Kai, “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
Kai knew certainly that he was asleep, he made a pit under his feet, the
largest in the world, 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 both went to Gelli Wic, in Cornwall, and took the
leash made of Dillus Varvawc’s beard with them, and they gave it into
Arthur’s hand.  Then Arthur composed this Englyn—

   Kai made a leash
   Of Dillus son of Eurei’s beard.
   Were he alive, thy death he’d be.

And thereupon Kai was wroth, so that the warriors of the Island could
scarcely make peace between Kai and Arthur.  And thenceforth, neither in
Arthur’s troubles, nor for the slaying of his men, would Kai come forward
to his aid for ever after.

                                * * * * *

Said Arthur, “Which of the marvels is it best for us now to seek?”  “It
is best for us to seek Drudwyn, the cub of Greid the son of Eri.”

A little while before this, Creiddylad the daughter of Lludd Llaw Ereint,
and Gwythyr the son of Greidawl, were betrothed.  And before she had
become his bride, Gwyn ap Nudd came and carried her away by force; and
Gwythyr the son of Greidawl gathered his host together, and went to fight
with Gwyn ap Nudd.  But Gwyn overcame him, and captured Greid the son of
Eri, and Glinneu the son of Taran, and Gwrgwst Ledlwm, and Dynvarth his
son.  And he captured Penn the son of Nethawg, and Nwython, and Kyledyr
Wyllt his son.  And they slew Nwython, and took out his heart, and
constrained Kyledyr to eat the heart of his father.  And therefrom
Kyledyr became mad.  When Arthur heard of this, he went to the North, and
summoned Gwyn ap Nudd before him, and set free the nobles whom he had put
in prison, and made peace between Gwyn ap Nudd and Gwythyr the son of
Griedawl.  And this was the peace that was made:—that the maiden should
remain in her father’s house, without advantage to either of them, and
that Gwyn ap Nudd and Gwythyr the son of Greidawl should fight for her
every first of May, from thenceforth until the day of doom, and that
whichever of them should then be conqueror should have the maiden.

And when Arthur had thus reconciled these chieftains, he obtained Mygdwn,
Gweddw’s horse, and the leash of Cwrs Cant Ewin.

And after that Arthur went into Armorica, and with him Mabon the son of
Mellt, and Gware Gwallt Euryn, to seek the two dogs of Glythmyr Ledewic.
And when he had got them, he went to the West of Ireland, in search of
Gwrgi Seven; and Odgar the son of Aedd king of Ireland went with him.
And thence went Arthur into the North, and captured Kyledyr Wyllt; and he
went after Yskithyrwyn Penbaedd.  And Mabon the son of Mellt came with
the two dogs of Glythmyr Ledewic in his hand, and Drudwyn, the cub of
Greid the son of Eri.  And Arthur went himself to the chase, leading his
own dog Cavall.  And Kaw, of North Britain, mounted Arthur’s mare
Llamrei, and was first in the attack.  Then Kaw, of North Britain,
wielded a mighty axe, and absolutely daring he came valiantly up to the
boar, and clave his head in twain.  And Kaw took away the tusk.  Now the
boar was not slain by the dogs that Yspaddaden had mentioned, but by
Cavall, Arthur’s own dog.

And after Yskithyrwyn Penbaedd was killed, Arthur and his host departed
to Gelli Wic in Cornwall.  And thence he sent Menw the son of Teirgwaedd
to see if the precious things were between the two ears of Twrch Trwyth,
since it were useless to encounter him if they were not there.  Albeit it
was certain where he was, for he had laid waste the third part of
Ireland.  And Menw went to seek for him, and he met with him in Ireland,
in Esgeir Oervel.  And Menw took the form of a bird; and he descended
upon the top of his lair, and strove to snatch away one of the precious
things from him, but he carried away nothing but one of his bristles.
And the boar rose up angrily and shook himself so that some of his venom
fell upon Menw, and he was never well from that day forward.

After this Arthur sent an embassy to Odgar, the son of Aedd king of
Ireland, to ask for the cauldron of Diwrnach Wyddel, his purveyor.  And
Odgar commanded him to give it.  But Diwrnach said, “Heaven is my
witness, if it would avail him anything even to look at it, he should not
do so.”  And the embassy of Arthur returned from Ireland with this
denial.  And Arthur set forward with a small retinue, and entered into
Prydwen, his ship, and went over to Ireland.  And they proceeded into the
house of Diwrnach Wyddel.  And the hosts of Odgar saw their strength.
When they had eaten and drunk as much as they desired, Arthur demanded to
have the cauldron.  And he answered, “If I would have given it to any
one, I would have given it at the word of Odgar king of Ireland.”

When he had given them this denial, Bedwyr arose and seized hold of the
cauldron, and placed it upon the back of Hygwyd, Arthur’s servant, who
was brother, by the mother’s side, to Arthur’s servant, Cachamwri.  His
office was always to carry Arthur’s cauldron, and to place fire under it.
And Llenlleawg Wyddel seized Caledvwlch, and brandished it.  And they
slew Diwrnach Wyddel and his company.  Then came the Irish and fought
with them.  And when he had put them to flight, Arthur with his men went
forward to the ship, carrying away the cauldron full of Irish money.  And
he disembarked at the house of Llwydden the son of Kelcoed, at Porth
Kerddin in Dyved.  And there is the measure of the cauldron.

Then Arthur summoned unto him all the warriors that were in the three
Islands of Britain, and in the three Islands adjacent, and all that were
in France and in Armorica, in Normandy and in the Summer Country, and all
that were chosen footmen and valiant horsemen.  And with all these he
went into Ireland.  And in Ireland there was great fear and terror
concerning him.  And when Arthur had landed in the country, there came
unto him the saints of Ireland and besought his protection.  And he
granted his protection unto them, and they gave him their blessing.  Then
the men of Ireland came unto Arthur, and brought him provisions.  And
Arthur went as far as Esgeir Oervel in Ireland, to the place where the
Boar Trwyth was with his seven young pigs.  And the dogs were let loose
upon him from all sides.  That day until evening the Irish fought with
him, nevertheless he laid waste the fifth part of Ireland.  And on the
day following the household of Arthur fought with him, and they were
worsted by him, and got no advantage.  And the third day Arthur himself
encountered him, and he fought with him nine nights and nine days without
so much as killing even one little pig.  The warriors inquired of Arthur
what was the origin of that swine; and he told them that he was once a
king, and that God had transformed him into a swine for his sins.

Then Arthur sent Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd, to endeavour to speak with
him.  And Gwrhyr assumed the form of a bird, and alighted upon the top of
the lair, where he was with the seven young pigs.  And Gwrhyr Gwalstawt
Ieithoedd asked him, “By him who turned you into this form, if you can
speak, let some one of you, I beseech you, come and talk with Arthur.”
Grugyn Gwrych Ereint made answer to him.  (Now his bristles were like
silver wire, and whether he went through the wood or through the plain,
he was to be traced by the glittering of his bristles.)  And this was the
answer that Grugyn made: “By him who turned us into this form, we will
not do so, and we will not speak with Arthur.  That we have been
transformed thus is enough for us to suffer, without your coming here to
fight with us.”  “I will tell you.  Arthur comes but to fight for the
comb, and the razor, and the scissors which are between the two ears of
Twrch Trwyth.”  Said Grugyn, “Except he first take his life, he will
never have those precious things.  And to-morrow morning we will rise up
hence, and we will go into Arthur’s country, and there will we do all the
mischief that we can.”

So they set forth through the sea towards Wales.  And Arthur and his
hosts, and his horses and his dogs, entered Prydwen, that they might
encounter them without delay.  Twrch Trwyth landed in Porth Cleis in
Dyved, and Arthur came to Mynyw.  The next day it was told to Arthur that
they had gone by, and he overtook them as they were killing the cattle of
Kynnwas Kwrr y Vagyl, having slain all that were at Aber Gleddyf, of man
and beast, before the coming of Arthur.

Now when Arthur approached, Twrch Trwyth went on as far as Preseleu, and
Arthur and his hosts followed him thither, and Arthur sent men to hunt
him; Eli and Trachmyr, leading Drudwyn the whelp of Greid the son of Eri,
and Gwarthegyd the son of Kaw, in another quarter, with the two dogs of
Glythmyr Ledewic, and Bedwyr leading Cavall, Arthur’s own dog.  And all
the warriors ranged themselves around the Nyver.  And there came there
the three sons of Cleddyf Divwlch, men who had gained much fame at the
slaying of Yskithyrwyn Penbaedd; and they went on from Glyn Nyver, and
came to Cwm Kerwyn.

And there Twrch Trwyth made a stand, and slew four of Arthur’s champions,
Gwarthegyd the son of Kaw, and Tarawc of Allt Clwyd, and Rheidwn the son
of Eli Atver, and Iscovan Hael.  And after he had slain these men, he
made a second stand in the same place.  And there he slew Gwydre the son
of Arthur, and Garselit Wyddel, and Glew the son of Ysgawd, and Iscawyn
the son of Panon; and there he himself was wounded.

And the next morning before it was day, some of the men came up with him.
And he slew Huandaw, and Gogigwr, and Penpingon, three attendants upon
Glewlwyd Gavaelvawr, so that Heaven knows he had not an attendant
remaining, excepting only Llaesgevyn, a man from whom no one ever derived
any good.  And together with these he slew many of the men of that
country, and Gwlydyn Saer, Arthur’s chief Architect.

Then Arthur overtook him at Pelumyawc, and there he slew Madawc the son
of Teithyon, and Gwyn the son of Tringad, the son of Neved, and Eiryawn
Penllorau.  Thence he went to Aberteivi, where he made another stand, and
where he slew Kyflas the son of Kynan, and Gwilenhin king of France.
Then he went as far as Glyn Ystu, and there the men and the dogs lost
him.

Then Arthur summoned unto him Gwyn ab Nudd, and he asked him if he knew
aught of Twrch Trwyth.  And he said that he did not.

And all the huntsmen went to hunt the swine as far as Dyffryn Llychwr.
And Grugyn Gwallt Ereint and Llwydawg Govynnyad closed with them and
killed all the huntsmen, so that there escaped but one man only.  And
Arthur and his hosts came to the place where Grugyn and Llwydawg were.
And there he let loose the whole of the dogs upon them, and with the
shout and barking that was set up, Twrch Trwyth came to their assistance.

And from the time that they came across the Irish sea, Arthur had never
got sight of him until then.  So he set men and dogs upon him, and
thereupon he started off and went to Mynydd Amanw.  And there one of his
young pigs was killed.  Then they set upon him life for life, and Twrch
Llawin was slain, and then there was slain another of the swine, Gwys was
his name.  After that he went on to Dyffryn Amanw, and there Banw and
Bennwig were killed.  Of all his pigs there went with him alive from that
place none save Grugyn Gwallt Ereint and Llwydawg Govynnyad.

Thence he went on to Llwch Ewin, and Arthur overtook him there, and he
made a stand.  And there he slew Echel Forddwytwll, and Garwyli the son
of Gwyddawg Gwyr, and many men and dogs likewise.  And thence they went
to Llwch Tawy.  Grugyn Gwrych Ereint parted from them there, and went to
Din Tywi.  And thence he proceeded to Ceredigiawn, and Eli and Trachmyr
with him, and a multitude likewise.  Then he came to Garth Gregyn, and
there Llwydawg Govynnyad fought in the midst of them, and slew Rhudvyw
Rhys and many others with him.  Then Llwydawg went thence to Ystrad Yw,
and there the men of Armorica met him, and there he slew Hirpeissawg the
king of Armorica, and Llygatrudd Emys, and Gwrbothu, Arthur’s uncles, his
mother’s brothers, and there was he himself slain.

Twrch Trwyth went from there to between Tawy and Euyas, and Arthur
summoned all Cornwall and Devon unto him, to the estuary of the Severn,
and he said to the warriors of this Island, “Twrch Trwyth has slain many
of my men, but, by the valour of warriors, while I live he shall not go
into Cornwall.  And I will not follow him any longer, but I will oppose
him life to life.  Do ye as ye will.”  And he resolved that he would send
a body of knights, with the dogs of the Island, as far as Euyas, who
should return thence to the Severn, and that tried warriors should
traverse the Island, and force him into the Severn.  And Mabon the son of
Modron came up with him at the Severn, upon Gwynn Mygdwn, the horse of
Gweddw, and Goreu the son of Custennin, and Menw the son of Teirgwaedd;
this was betwixt Llyn Lliwan and Aber Gwy.  And Arthur fell upon him
together with the champions of Britain.  And Osla Kyllellvawr drew near,
and Manawyddan the son of Llyr, and Kacmwri the servant of Arthur, and
Gwyngelli, and they seized hold of him, catching him first by his feet,
and plunged him in the Severn, so that it overwhelmed him.  On the one
side, Mabon the son of Modron spurred his steed and snatched his razor
from him, and Kyledyr Wyllt came up with him on the other side, upon
another steed, in the Severn, and took from him the scissors.  But before
they could obtain the comb, he had regained the ground with his feet, and
from the moment that he reached the shore, neither dog, nor man, nor
horse could overtake him until he came to Cornwall.  If they had had
trouble in getting the jewels from him, much more had they in seeking to
save the two men from being drowned.  Kacmwri, as they drew him forth,
was dragged by two millstones into the deep.  And as Osla Kyllellvawr was
running after the boar, his knife had dropped out of the sheath, and he
had lost it, and after that, the sheath became full of water, and its
weight drew him down into the deep, as they were drawing him forth.

Then Arthur and his hosts proceeded until they overtook the boar in
Cornwall, and the trouble which they had met with before was mere play to
what they encountered in seeking the comb.  But from one difficulty to
another, the comb was at length obtained.  And then he was hunted from
Cornwall, and driven straight forward into the deep sea.  And thenceforth
it was never known whither he went; and Aned and Aethlem with him.  Then
went Arthur to Gelli Wic, in Cornwall, to anoint himself, and to rest
from his fatigues.

Said Arthur, “Is there any one of the marvels yet unobtained?”  Said one
of his men, “There is—the blood of the witch Orddu, the daughter of the
witch Orwen, of Pen Nant Govid, on the confines of Hell.”  Arthur set
forth towards the North, and came to the place where was the witch’s
cave.  And Gwyn ab Nudd, and Gwythyr the son of Greidawl, counselled him
to send Kacmwri, and Hygwyd his brother, to fight with the witch.  And as
they entered the cave, the witch seized upon them, and she caught Hygwyd
by the hair of his head, and threw him on the floor beneath her.  And
Kacmwri caught her by the hair of her head, and dragged her to the earth
from off Hygwyd, but she turned again upon them both, and drove them both
out with kicks and with cuffs.

And Arthur was wroth at seeing his two attendants almost slain, and he
sought to enter the cave; but Gwyn and Gwythyr said unto him, “It would
not be fitting or seemly for us to see thee squabbling with a hag.  Let
Hiramreu and Hireidil go to the cave.”  So they went.  But if great was
the trouble of the first two that went, much greater was that of these
two.  And Heaven knows that not one of the four could move from the spot,
until they placed them all upon Llamrei, Arthur’s mare.  And then Arthur
rushed to the door of the cave, and at the door he struck at the witch,
with Carnwennan his dagger, and clove her in twain, so that she fell in
two parts.  And Kaw, of North Britain, took the blood of the witch and
kept it.

Then Kilhwch set forward, and Goreu the son of Custennin with him, and as
many as wished ill to Yspaddaden Penkawr.  And they took the marvels with
them to his court.  And Kaw of North Britain came and shaved his beard,
skin, and flesh clean off to the very bone from ear to ear.  “Art thou
shaved, man?” said Kilhwch.  “I am shaved,” answered he.  “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.  By my free
will thou shouldest never have had her, for with her I lose my life.”
Then Goreu the son of Custennin 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 Kilhwch’s bride, and she continued to be his
wife as long as she lived.  And the hosts of Arthur dispersed themselves,
each man to his own country.  And thus did Kilhwch obtain Olwen, the
daughter of Yspaddaden Penkawr.



THE DREAM OF RHONABWY


MADAWC the son of Maredudd possessed Powys within its boundaries, from
Porfoed to Gwauan in the uplands of Arwystli.  And at that time he had a
brother, Iorwerth the son of Maredudd, in rank not equal to himself.  And
Iorwerth had great sorrow and heaviness because of the honour and power
that his brother enjoyed, which he shared not.  And he sought his fellows
and his foster-brothers, and took counsel with them what he should do in
this matter.  And they resolved to dispatch some of their number to go
and seek a maintenance for him.  Then Madawc offered him to become Master
of the Household and to have horses, and arms, and honour, and to fare
like as himself.  But Iorwerth refused this.

And Iorwerth made an inroad into Loegria, slaying the inhabitants, and
burning houses, and carrying away prisoners.  And Madawc took counsel
with the men of Powys, and they determined to place an hundred men in
each of the three Commots of Powys to seek for him.  And thus did they in
the plains of Powys from Aber Ceirawc, and in Allictwn Ver, and in Rhyd
Wilure, on the Vyrnwy, the three best Commots of Powys.  So he was none
the better, he nor his household, in Powys, nor in the plains thereof.
And they spread these men over the plains as far as Nillystwn Trevan.

Now one of the men who was upon this quest was called Rhonabwy.  And
Rhonabwy and Kynwrig Vrychgoch, a man of Mawddwy, and Cadwgan Vras, a man
of Moelvre in Kynlleith, came together to the house of Heilyn Goch the
son of Cadwgan the son of Iddon.  And when they came near to the house,
they saw an old hall, very black and having an upright gable, whence
issued a great smoke; and on entering, they found the floor full of
puddles and mounds; and it was difficult to stand thereon, so slippery
was it with the mire of cattle.  And where the puddles were, a man might
go up to his ankles in water and dirt.  And there were boughs of holly
spread over the floor, whereof the cattle had browsed the sprigs.  When
they came to the hall of the house, they beheld cells full of dust, and
very gloomy, and on one side an old hag making a fire.  And whenever she
felt cold, she cast a lapful of chaff upon the fire, and raised such a
smoke, that it was scarcely to be borne, as it rose up the nostrils.  And
on the other side was a yellow calf-skin on the floor; a main privilege
was it to any one who should get upon that hide.

And when they had sat down, they asked the hag where were the people of
the house.  And the hag spoke not, but muttered.  Thereupon behold the
people of the house entered; a ruddy, clownish, curly-headed man, with a
burthen of faggots on his back, and a pale slender woman, also carrying a
bundle under her arm.  And they barely welcomed the men, and kindled a
fire with the boughs.  And the woman cooked something, and gave them to
eat, barley bread, and cheese, and milk and water.

And there arose a storm of wind and rain, so that it was hardly possible
to go forth with safety.  And being weary with their journey, they laid
themselves down and sought to sleep.  And when they looked at the couch,
it seemed to be made but of a little coarse straw full of dust and
vermin, with the stems of boughs sticking up there-through, for the
cattle had eaten all the straw that was placed at the head and the foot.
And upon it was stretched an old russet-coloured rug, threadbare and
ragged; and a coarse sheet, full of slits, was upon the rug, and an
ill-stuffed pillow, and a worn-out cover upon the sheet.  And after much
suffering from the vermin, and from the discomfort of their couch, a
heavy sleep fell on Rhonabwy’s companions.  But Rhonabwy, not being able
either to sleep or to rest, thought he should suffer less if he went to
lie upon the yellow calf-skin that was stretched out on the floor.  And
there he slept.

As soon as sleep had come upon his eyes, it seemed to him that he was
journeying with his companions across the plain of Argyngroeg, and he
thought that he went towards Rhyd y Groes on the Severn.  As he
journeyed, he heard a mighty noise, the like whereof heard he never
before; and looking behind him, he beheld a youth with yellow curling
hair, and with his beard newly trimmed, mounted on a chestnut horse,
whereof the legs were grey from the top of the forelegs, and from the
bend of the hindlegs downwards.  And the rider wore a coat of yellow
satin sewn with green silk, and on his thigh was a gold-hilted sword,
with a scabbard of new leather of Cordova, belted with the skin of the
deer, and clasped with gold.  And over this was a scarf of yellow satin
wrought with green silk, the borders whereof were likewise green.  And
the green of the caparison of the horse, and of his rider, was as green
as the leaves of the fir-tree, and the yellow was as yellow as the
blossom of the broom.  So fierce was the aspect of the knight, that fear
seized upon them, and they began to flee.  And the knight pursued them.
And when the horse breathed forth, the men became distant from him, and
when he drew in his breath, they were drawn near to him, even to the
horse’s chest.  And when he had overtaken them, they besought his mercy.
“You have it gladly,” said he, “fear nought.”  “Ha, chieftain, since thou
hast mercy upon me, tell me also who thou art,” said Rhonabwy.  “I will
not conceal my lineage from thee, I am Iddawc the son of Mynyo, yet not
by my name, but by my nickname am I best known.”  “And wilt thou tell us
what thy nickname is?”  “I will tell you; it is Iddawc Cordd Prydain.”
“Ha, chieftain,” said Rhonabwy, “why art thou called thus?”  “I will tell
thee.  I was one of the messengers between Arthur and Medrawd his nephew,
at the battle of Camlan; and I was then a reckless youth, and through my
desire for battle, I kindled strife between them, and stirred up wrath,
when I was sent by Arthur the Emperor to reason with Medrawd, and to show
him, that he was his foster-father and his uncle, and to seek for peace,
lest the sons of the Kings of the Island of Britain, and of the nobles,
should be slain.  And whereas Arthur charged me with the fairest sayings
he could think of, I uttered unto Medrawd the harshest I could devise.
And therefore am I called Iddawc Cordd Prydain, for from this did the
battle of Camlan ensue.  And three nights before the end of the battle of
Camlan I left them, and went to the Llech Las in North Britain to do
penance.  And there I remained doing penance seven years, and after that
I gained pardon.”

Then lo! they heard a mighty sound which was much louder than that which
they had heard before, and when they looked round towards the sound, they
beheld a ruddy youth, without beard or whiskers, noble of mien, and
mounted on a stately courser.  And from the shoulders and the front of
the knees downwards the horse was bay.  And upon the man was a dress of
red satin wrought with yellow silk, and yellow were the borders of his
scarf.  And such parts of his apparel and of the trappings of his horse
as were yellow, as yellow were they as the blossom of the broom, and such
as were red, were as ruddy as the ruddiest blood in the world.

Then, behold the horseman overtook them, and he asked of Iddawc a share
of the little men that were with him.  “That which is fitting for me to
grant I will grant, and thou shalt be a companion to them as I have
been.”  And the horseman went away.  “Iddawc,” inquired Rhonabwy, “who
was that horseman?”  “Rhuvawn Pebyr the son of Prince Deorthach.”

And they journeyed over the plain of Argyngroeg as far as the ford of
Rhyd y Groes on the Severn.  And for a mile around the ford on both sides
of the road, they saw tents and encampments, and there was the clamour of
a mighty host.  And they came to the edge of the ford, and there they
beheld Arthur sitting on a flat island below the ford, having Bedwini the
Bishop on one side of him, and Gwarthegyd the son of Kaw on the other.
And a tall, auburn-haired youth stood before him, with his sheathed sword
in his hand, and clad in a coat and cap of jet-black satin.  And his face
was white as ivory, and his eyebrows black as jet, and such part of his
wrist as could be seen between his glove and his sleeve, was whiter than
the lily, and thicker than a warrior’s ankle.

Then came Iddawc and they that were with him, and stood before Arthur and
saluted him.  “Heaven grant thee good,” said Arthur.  “And where, Iddawc,
didst thou find these little men?”  “I found them, lord, up yonder on the
road.”  Then the Emperor smiled.  “Lord,” said Iddawc, “wherefore dost
thou laugh?”  “Iddawc,” replied Arthur, “I laugh not; but it pitieth me
that men of such stature as these should have this island in their
keeping, after the men that guarded it of yore.”  Then said Iddawc,
“Rhonabwy, dost thou see the ring with a stone set in it, that is upon
the Emperor’s hand?”  “I see it,” he answered.  “It is one of the
properties of that stone to enable thee to remember that thou seest here
to-night, and hadst thou not seen the stone, thou wouldest never have
been able to remember aught thereof.”

After this they saw a troop coming towards the ford.  “Iddawc,” inquired
Rhonabwy, “to whom does yonder troop belong?”  “They are the fellows of
Rhuvawn Pebyr the son of Prince Deorthach.  And these men are honourably
served with mead and bragget, and are freely beloved by the daughters of
the kings of the Island of Britain.  And this they merit, for they were
ever in the front and the rear in every peril.”  And he saw but one hue
upon the men and the horses of this troop, for they were all as red as
blood.  And when one of the knights rode forth from the troop, he looked
like a pillar of fire glancing athwart the sky.  And this troop encamped
above the ford.

Then they beheld another troop coming towards the ford, and these from
their horses’ chests upwards were whiter than the lily, and below blacker
than jet.  And they saw one of these knights go before the rest, and spur
his horse into the ford in such a manner that the water dashed over
Arthur and the Bishop, and those holding counsel with them, so that they
were as wet as if they had been drenched in the river.  And as he turned
the head of his horse, the youth who stood before Arthur struck the horse
over the nostrils with his sheathed sword, so that, had it been with the
bare blade, it would have been a marvel if the bone had not been wounded
as well as the flesh.  And the knight drew his sword half out of the
scabbard, and asked of him, “Wherefore didst thou strike my horse?
Whether was it in insult or in counsel unto me?”  “Thou dost indeed lack
counsel.  What madness caused thee to ride so furiously as to dash the
water of the ford over Arthur, and the consecrated Bishop, and their
counsellors, so that they were as wet as if they had been dragged out of
the river?”  “As counsel then will I take it.”  So he turned his horse’s
head round towards his army.

“Iddawc,” said Rhonabwy, “who was yonder knight?”  “The most eloquent and
the wisest youth that is in this island; Adaon, the son of Taliesin.”
“Who was the man that struck his horse?”  “A youth of froward nature;
Elphin, the son of Gwyddno.”

Then spake a tall and stately man, of noble and flowing speech, saying
that it was a marvel that so vast a host should be assembled in so narrow
a space, and that it was a still greater marvel that those should be
there at that time who had promised to be by mid-day in the battle of
Badon, fighting with Osla Gyllellvawr.  “Whether thou mayest choose to
proceed or not, I will proceed.”  “Thou sayest well,” said Arthur, “and
we will go altogether.”  “Iddawc,” said Rhonabwy, “who was the man who
spoke so marvellously unto Arthur erewhile?”  “A man who may speak as
boldly as he listeth, Caradawc Vreichvras, the son of Llyr Marini, his
chief counsellor and his cousin.”

Then Iddawc took Rhonabwy behind him on his horse, and that mighty host
moved forward, each troop in its order, towards Cevndigoll.  And when
they came to the middle of the ford of the Severn, Iddawc turned his
horse’s head, and Rhonabwy looked along the valley of the Severn.  And he
beheld two fair troops coming towards the ford.  One troop there came of
brilliant white, whereof every one of the men had a scarf of white satin
with jet-black borders.  And the knees and the tops of the shoulders of
their horses were jet-black, though they were of a pure white in every
other part.  And their banners were pure white, with black points to them
all.

“Iddawc,” said Rhonabwy, “who are yonder pure white troop?”  “They are
the men of Norway, and March the son of Meirchion is their prince.  And
he is cousin unto Arthur.”  And further on he saw a troop, whereof each
man wore garments of jet-black, with borders of pure white to every
scarf; and the tops of the shoulders and the knees of their horses were
pure white.  And their banners were jet-black with pure white at the
point of each.

“Iddawc,” said Rhonabwy, “who are the jet-black troop yonder?”  “They are
the men of Denmark, and Edeyrn the son of Nudd is their prince.”

And when they had overtaken the host, Arthur and his army of mighty ones
dismounted below Caer Badou, and he perceived that he and Iddawc
journeyed the same road as Arthur.  And after they had dismounted he
heard a great tumult and confusion amongst the host, and such as were
then at the flanks turned to the centre, and such as had been in the
centre moved to the flanks.  And then, behold, he saw a knight coming,
clad, both he and his horse, in mail, of which the rings were whiter than
the whitest lily, and the rivets redder than the ruddiest blood.  And he
rode amongst the host.

“Iddawc,” said Rhonabwy, “will yonder host flee?”  “King Arthur never
fled, and if this discourse of thine were heard, thou wert a lost man.
But as to the knight whom thou seest yonder, it is Kai.  The fairest
horseman is Kai in all Arthur’s Court; and the men who are at the front
of the army hasten to the rear to see Kai ride, and the men who are in
the centre flee to the side, from the shock of his horse.  And this is
the cause of the confusion of the host.”

Thereupon they heard a call made for Kadwr, Earl of Cornwall, and behold
he arose with the sword of Arthur in his hand.  And the similitude of two
serpents was upon the sword in gold.  And when the sword was drawn from
its scabbard, it seemed as if two flames of fire burst forth from the
jaws of the serpents, and then, so wonderful was the sword, that it was
hard for any one to look upon it.  And the host became still, and the
tumult ceased, and the Earl returned to the tent.

“Iddawc,” said Rhonabwy, “who is the man who bore the sword of Arthur?”
“Kadwr, the Earl of Cornwall, whose duty it is to arm the King on the
days of battle and warfare.”

And they heard a call made for Eirynwych Amheibyn, Arthur’s servant, a
red, rough, ill-favoured man, having red whiskers with bristly hairs.
And behold he came upon a tall red horse with the mane parted on each
side, and he brought with him a large and beautiful sumpter pack.  And
the huge red youth dismounted before Arthur, and he drew a golden chair
out of the pack, and a carpet of diapered satin.  And he spread the
carpet before Arthur, and there was an apple of ruddy gold at each corner
thereof, and he placed the chair upon the carpet.  And so large was the
chair that three armed warriors might have sat therein.  Gwenn was the
name of the carpet, and it was one of its properties that whoever was
upon it no one could see him, and he could see every one.  And it would
retain no colour but its own.

And Arthur sat within the carpet, and Owain the son of Urien was standing
before him.  “Owain,” said Arthur, “wilt thou play chess?”  “I will,
Lord,” said Owain.  And the red youth brought the chess for Arthur and
Owain; golden pieces and a board of silver.  And they began to play.

And while they were thus, and when they were best amused with their game,
behold they saw a white tent with a red canopy, and the figure of a
jet-black serpent on the top of the tent, and red glaring venomous eyes
in the head of the serpent, and a red flaming tongue.  And there came a
young page with yellow curling hair, and blue eyes, and a newly-springing
beard, wearing a coat and a surcoat of yellow satin, and hose of thin
greenish-yellow cloth upon his feet, and over his hose shoes of
parti-coloured leather, fastened at the insteps with golden clasps.  And
he bore a heavy three-edged sword with a golden hilt, in a scabbard of
black leather tipped with fine gold.  And he came to the place where the
Emperor and Owain were playing at chess.

And the youth saluted Owain.  And Owain marvelled that the youth should
salute him and should not have saluted the Emperor Arthur.  And Arthur
knew what was in Owain’s thought.  And he said to Owain, “Marvel not that
the youth salutes thee now, for he saluted me erewhile; and it is unto
thee that his errand is.”  Then said the youth unto Owain, “Lord, is it
with thy leave that the young pages and attendants of the Emperor harass
and torment and worry thy Ravens?  And if it be not with thy leave, cause
the Emperor to forbid them.”  “Lord,” said Owain, “thou hearest what the
youth says; if it seem good to thee, forbid them from my Ravens.”  “Play
thy game,” said he.  Then the youth returned to the tent.

That game did they finish, and another they began, and when they were in
the midst of the game, behold, a ruddy young man with auburn curling hair
and large eyes, well-grown, and having his beard new-shorn, came forth
from a bright yellow tent, upon the summit of which was the figure of a
bright red lion.  And he was clad in a coat of yellow satin, falling as
low as the small of his leg, and embroidered with threads of red silk.
And on his feet were hose of fine white buckram, and buskins of black
leather were over his hose, whereon were golden clasps.  And in his hand
a huge, heavy, three-edged sword, with a scabbard of red deer-hide,
tipped with gold.  And he came to the place where Arthur and Owain were
playing at chess.  And he saluted him.  And Owain was troubled at his
salutation, but Arthur minded it no more than before.  And the youth said
unto Owain, “Is it not against thy will that the attendants of the
Emperor harass thy Ravens, killing some and worrying others?  If against
thy will it be, beseech him to forbid them.”  “Lord,” said Owain, “forbid
thy men, if it seem good to thee.”  “Play thy game,” said the Emperor.
And the youth returned to the tent.

And that game was ended and another begun.  And as they were beginning
the first move of the game, they beheld at a small distance from them a
tent speckled yellow, the largest ever seen, and the figure of an eagle
of gold upon it, and a precious stone on the eagle’s head.  And coming
out of the tent, they saw a youth with thick yellow hair upon his head,
fair and comely, and a scarf of blue satin upon him, and a brooch of gold
in the scarf upon his right shoulder as large as a warrior’s middle
finger.  And upon his feet were hose of fine Totness, and shoes of
parti-coloured leather, clasped with gold, and the youth was of noble
bearing, fair of face, with ruddy cheeks and large hawk’s eyes.  In the
hand of the youth was a mighty lance, speckled yellow, with a
newly-sharpened head; and upon the lance a banner displayed.

Fiercely angry, and with rapid pace, came the youth to the place where
Arthur was playing at chess with Owain.  And they perceived that he was
wroth.  And thereupon he saluted Owain, and told him that his Ravens had
been killed, the chief part of them, and that such of them as were not
slain were so wounded and bruised that not one of them could raise its
wings a single fathom above the earth.  “Lord,” said Owain, “forbid thy
men.”  “Play,” said he, “if it please thee.”  Then said Owain to the
youth, “Go back, and wherever thou findest the strife at the thickest,
there lift up the banner, and let come what pleases Heaven.”

So the youth returned back to the place where the strife bore hardest
upon the Ravens, and he lifted up the banner; and as he did so they all
rose up in the air, wrathful and fierce and high of spirit, clapping
their wings in the wind, and shaking off the weariness that was upon
them.  And recovering their energy and courage, furiously and with
exultation did they, with one sweep, descend upon the heads of the men,
who had erewhile caused them anger and pain and damage, and they seized
some by the heads and others by the eyes, and some by the ears, and
others by the arms, and carried them up into the air; and in the air
there was a mighty tumult with the flapping of the wings of the
triumphant Ravens, and with their croaking; and there was another mighty
tumult with the groaning of the men, that were being torn and wounded,
and some of whom were slain.

And Arthur and Owain marvelled at the tumult as they played at chess;
and, looking, they perceived a knight upon a dun-coloured horse coming
towards them.  And marvellous was the hue of the dun horse.  Bright red
was his right shoulder, and from the top of his legs to the centre of his
hoof was bright yellow.  Both the knight and his horse were fully
equipped with heavy foreign armour.  The clothing of the horse from the
front opening upwards was of bright red sendal, and from thence opening
downwards was of bright yellow sendal.  A large gold-hilted one-edged
sword had the youth upon his thigh, in a scabbard of light blue, and
tipped with Spanish laton.  The belt of the sword was of dark green
leather with golden slides and a clasp of ivory upon it, and a buckle of
jet-black upon the clasp.  A helmet of gold was on the head of the
knight, set with precious stones of great virtue, and at the top of the
helmet was the image of a flame-coloured leopard with two ruby-red stones
in its head, so that it was astounding for a warrior, however stout his
heart, to look at the face of the leopard, much more at the face of the
knight.  He had in his hand a blue-shafted lance, but from the haft to
the point it was stained crimson-red with the blood of the Ravens and
their plumage.

The knight came to the place where Arthur and Owain were seated at chess.
And they perceived that he was harassed and vexed and weary as he came
towards them.  And the youth saluted Arthur, and told him that the Ravens
of Owain were slaying his young men and attendants.  And Arthur looked at
Owain and said, “Forbid thy Ravens.”  “Lord,” answered Owain, “play thy
game.”  And they played.  And the knight returned back towards the
strife, and the Ravens were not forbidden any more than before.

And when they had played awhile, they heard a mighty tumult, and a
wailing of men, and a croaking of Ravens, as they carried the men in
their strength into the air, and, tearing them betwixt them, let them
fall piecemeal to the earth.  And during the tumult they saw a knight
coming towards them, on a light grey horse, and the left foreleg of the
horse was jet-black to the centre of his hoof.  And the knight and the
horse were fully accoutred with huge heavy blue armour.  And a robe of
honour of yellow diapered satin was upon the knight, and the borders of
the robe were blue.  And the housings of the horse were jet-black, with
borders of bright yellow.  And on the thigh of the youth was a sword,
long, and three-edged, and heavy.  And the scabbard was of red cut
leather, and the belt of new red deer-skin, having upon it many golden
slides and a buckle of the bone of the sea-horse, the tongue of which was
jet-black.  A golden helmet was upon the head of the knight, wherein were
set sapphire-stones of great virtue.  And at the top of the helmet was
the figure of a flame-coloured lion, with a fiery-red tongue, issuing
above a foot from his mouth, and with venomous eyes, crimson-red, in his
head.  And the knight came, bearing in his hand a thick ashen lance, the
head whereof, which had been newly steeped in blood, was overlaid with
silver.

And the youth saluted the Emperor: “Lord,” said he, “carest thou not for
the slaying of thy pages, and thy young men, and the sons of the nobles
of the Island of Britain, whereby it will be difficult to defend this
island from henceforward for ever?”  “Owain,” said Arthur, “forbid thy
Ravens.”  “Play this game, Lord,” said Owain.

So they finished the game and began another; and as they were finishing
that game, lo, they heard a great tumult and a clamour of armed men, and
a croaking of Ravens, and a flapping of wings in the air, as they flung
down the armour entire to the ground, and the men and the horses
piecemeal.  Then they saw coming a knight on a lofty-headed piebald
horse.  And the left shoulder of the horse was of bright red, and its
right leg from the chest to the hollow of the hoof was pure white.  And
the knight and horse were equipped with arms of speckled yellow,
variegated with Spanish laton.  And there was a robe of honour upon him,
and upon his horse, divided in two parts, white and black, and the
borders of the robe of honour were of golden purple.  And above the robe
he wore a sword three-edged and bright, with a golden hilt.  And the belt
of the sword was of yellow goldwork, having a clasp upon it of the eyelid
of a black sea-horse, and a tongue of yellow gold to the clasp.  Upon the
head of the knight was a bright helmet of yellow laton, with sparkling
stones of crystal in it, and at the crest of the helmet was the figure of
a griffin, with a stone of many virtues in its head.  And he had an ashen
spear in his hand, with a round shaft, coloured with azure blue.  And the
head of the spear was newly stained with blood, and was overlaid with
fine silver.

Wrathfully came the knight to the place where Arthur was, and he told him
that the Ravens had slain his household and the sons of the chief men of
this island, and he besought him to cause Owain to forbid his Ravens.
And Arthur besought Owain to forbid them.  Then Arthur took the golden
chessmen that were upon the board, and crushed them until they became as
dust.  Then Owain ordered Gwres the son of Rheged to lower his banner.
So it was lowered, and all was peace.

Then Rhonabwy inquired of Iddawc who were the first three men that came
to Owain, to tell him his Ravens were being slain.  Said Iddawc, “They
were men who grieved that Owain should suffer loss, his fellow-chieftains
and companions, Selyv the son of Kynan Garwyn of Powys, and Gwgawn
Gleddyvrudd, and Gwres the son of Rheged, he who bears the banner in the
day of battle and strife.”  “Who,” said Rhonabwy, “were the last three
men who came to Arthur, and told him that the Ravens were slaughtering
his men?”  “The best of men,” said Iddawc, “and the bravest, and who
would grieve exceedingly that Arthur should have damage in aught;
Blathaon the son of Mawrheth, and Rhuvawn Pebyr the son of Prince
Deorthach, and Hyveidd Unllenn.”

And with that behold four-and-twenty knights came from Osla Gyllellvawr,
to crave a truce of Arthur for a fortnight and a month.  And Arthur rose
and went to take counsel.  And he came to where a tall, auburn,
curly-headed man was a little way off, and there he assembled his
counsellors.  Bedwini, the Bishop, and Gwarthegyd the son of Kaw, and
March the son of Meirchawn, and Caradawc Vreichvras, and Gwalchmai the
son of Gwyar, and Edeyrn the son of Nudd, and Rhuvawn Pebyr the son of
Prince Deorthach, and Rhiogan the son of the King of Ireland, and
Gwenwynwyn the son of Nav, Howel the son of Emyr Llydaw, Gwilym the son
of Rhwyf Freinc, and Daned the son of Ath, and Goreu Custennin, and Mabon
the son of Modron, and Peredur Paladyr Hir, and Hyveidd Unllenn, and
Twrch the son of Perif, and Nerth the son of Kadarn, and Gobrwy the son
of Echel Vorddwyttwll, Gwair the son of Gwestyl, and Gadwy the son of
Geraint, Trystan the son of Tallwch, Moryen Manawc, Granwen the son of
Llyr, and Llacheu the son of Arthur, and Llawvrodedd Varvawc, and Kadwr
Earl of Cornwall, Morvran the son of Tegid, and Rhyawd the son of
Morgant, and Dyvyr the son of Alun Dyved, Gwrhyr Gwalstawd Ieithoedd,
Adaon the son of Taliesin, Llary the son of Kasnar Wledig, and Fflewddur
Fflam, and Greidawl Galldovydd, Gilbert the son of Kadgyffro, Menw the
son of Teirgwaedd, Gwrthmwl Wledig, Cawrdav the son of Caradawc
Vreichvras, Gildas the son of Kaw, Kadyriaith the son of Saidi, and many
of the men of Norway and Denmark, and many of the men of Greece, and a
crowd of the men of the host came to that council.

“Iddawc,” said Rhonabwy, “who was the auburn haired man to whom they came
just now?”  “Rhun the son of Maelgwn Gwynedd, a man whose prerogative it
is, that he may join in counsel with all.”  “And wherefore did they admit
into counsel with men of such dignity as are yonder a stripling so young
as Kadyriaith the son of Saidi?”  “Because there is not throughout
Britain a man better skilled in counsel than he.”

Thereupon, behold, bards came and recited verses before Arthur, and no
man understood those verses but Kadyriaith only, save that they were in
Arthur’s praise.

And lo, there came four-and-twenty asses with their burdens of gold and
of silver, and a tired way-worn man with each of them, bringing tribute
to Arthur from the Islands of Greece.  Then Kadyriaith the son of Saidi
besought that a truce might be granted to Osla Gyllellvawr for the space
of a fortnight and a month, and that the asses and the burdens they
carried might be given to the bards, to be to them as the reward for
their stay and that their verse might be recompensed during the time of
the truce.  And thus it was settled.

“Rhonabwy,” said Iddawc, “would it not be wrong to forbid a youth who can
give counsel so liberal as this from coming to the councils of his Lord?”

Then Kai arose, and he said, “Whosoever will follow Arthur, let him be
with him to-night in Cornwall, and whosoever will not, let him be opposed
to Arthur even during the truce.”  And through the greatness of the
tumult that ensued, Rhonabwy awoke.  And when he awoke he was upon the
yellow calf-skin, having slept three nights and three days.

And this tale is called the Dream of Rhonabwy.  And this is the reason
that no one knows the dream without a book, neither bard nor gifted seer;
because of the various colours that were upon the horses, and the many
wondrous colours of the arms and of the panoply, and of the precious
scarfs, and of the virtue-bearing stones.



PWYLL PRINCE OF DYVED


PWYLL PRINCE OF DYVED was lord of the seven Cantrevs of Dyved; and once
upon a time he was at Narberth his chief palace, and he was minded to go
and hunt, and the part of his dominions in which it pleased him to hunt
was Glyn Cuch.  So he set forth from Narbeth that night, and went as far
as Llwyn Diarwyd.  And that night he tarried there, and early on the
morrow he rose and came to Glyn Cuch, when he let loose the dogs in the
wood, and sounded the horn, and began the chase.  And as he followed the
dogs, he lost his companions; and whilst he listened to the hounds, he
heard the cry of other hounds, a cry different from his own, and coming
in the opposite direction.

And he beheld a glade in the wood forming a level plain, and as his dogs
came to the edge of the glade, he saw a stag before the other dogs.  And
lo, as it reached the middle of the glade, the dogs that followed the
stag overtook it and brought it down.  Then looked he at the colour of
the dogs, staying not to look at the stag, and of all the hounds that he
had seen in the world, he had never seen any that were like unto these.
For their hair was of a brilliant shining white, and their ears were red;
and as the whiteness of their bodies shone, so did the redness of their
ears glisten.  And he came towards the dogs, and drove away those that
had brought down the stag, and set his own dogs upon it.

And as he was setting on his dogs he saw a horseman coming towards him
upon a large light-grey steed, with a hunting horn round his neck, and
clad in garments of grey woollen in the fashion of a hunting garb.  And
the horseman drew near and spoke unto him thus.  “Chieftain,” said he, “I
know who thou art, and I greet thee not.”  “Peradventure,” said Pwyll,
“thou art of such dignity that thou shouldest not do so.”  “Verily,”
answered he, “it is not my dignity that prevents me.”  “What is it then,
O Chieftain?” asked he.  “By Heaven, it is by reason of thine own
ignorance and want of courtesy.”  “What discourtesy, Chieftain, hast thou
seen in me?”  “Greater discourtesy saw I never in man,” said he, “than to
drive away the dogs that were killing the stag and to set upon it thine
own.  This was discourteous, and though I may not be revenged upon thee,
yet I declare to Heaven that I will do thee more dishonour than the value
of an hundred stags.”  “O Chieftain,” he replied, “if I have done ill I
will redeem thy friendship.”  “How wilt thou redeem it?”  “According as
thy dignity may be, but I know not who thou art?”  “A crowned king am I
in the land whence I come.”  “Lord,” said he, “may the day prosper with
thee, and from what land comest thou?”  “From Annwvyn,” {2} answered he;
“Arawn, a King of Annwvyn, am I.”  “Lord,” said he, “how may I gain thy
friendship?”  “After this manner mayest thou,” he said.  “There is a man
whose dominions are opposite to mine, who is ever warring against me, and
he is Havgan, a King of Annwvyn, and by ridding me of this oppression,
which thou canst easily do, shalt thou gain my friendship.”  “Gladly will
I do this,” said he.  “Show me how I may.”  “I will show thee.  Behold
thus it is thou mayest.  I will make firm friendship with thee; and this
will I do.  I will send thee to Annwvyn in my stead, and I will give thee
the fairest lady thou didst ever behold to be thy companion, and I will
put my form and semblance upon thee, so that not a page of the chamber,
nor an officer, nor any other man that has always followed me shall know
that it is not I.  And this shall be for the space of a year from
to-morrow, and then we will meet in this place.”  “Yes,” said he; “but
when I shall have been there for the space of a year, by what means shall
I discover him of whom thou speakest?”  “One year from this night,” he
answered, “is the time fixed between him and me that we should meet at
the Ford; be thou there in my likeness, and with one stroke that thou
givest him, he shall no longer live.  And if he ask thee to give him
another, give it not, how much soever he may entreat thee, for when I did
so, he fought with me next day as well as ever before.”  “Verily,” said
Pwyll, “what shall I do concerning my kingdom?”  Said Arawn, “I will
cause that no one in all thy dominions, neither man nor woman, shall know
that I am not thou, and I will go there in thy stead.”  “Gladly then,”
said Pwyll, “will I set forward.”  “Clear shall be thy path, and nothing
shall detain thee, until thou come into my dominions, and I myself will
be thy guide!”

So he conducted him until he came in sight of the palace and its
dwellings.  “Behold,” said he, “the Court and the kingdom in thy power.
Enter the Court, there is no one there who will know thee, and when thou
seest what service is done there, thou wilt know the customs of the
Court.”

So he went forward to the Court, and when he came there, he beheld
sleeping-rooms, and halls, and chambers, and the most beautiful buildings
ever seen.  And he went into the hall to disarray, and there came youths
and pages and disarrayed him, and all as they entered saluted him.  And
two knights came and drew his hunting-dress from about him, and clothed
him in a vesture of silk and gold.  And the hall was prepared, and behold
he saw the household and the host enter in, and the host was the most
comely and the best equipped that he had ever seen.  And with them came
in likewise the Queen, who was the fairest woman that he had ever yet
beheld.  And she had on a yellow robe of shining satin; and they washed
and went to the table, and sat, the Queen upon one side of him, and one
who seemed to be an Earl on the other side.

And he began to speak with the Queen, and he thought, from her speech,
that she was the seemliest and most noble lady of converse and of cheer
that ever was.  And they partook of meat, and drink, with songs and with
feasting; and of all the Courts upon the earth, behold this was the best
supplied with food and drink, and vessels of gold and royal jewels.

                                * * * * *

And the year he spent in hunting, and minstrelsy, and feasting, and
diversions, and discourse with his companions until the night that was
fixed for the conflict.  And when that night came, it was remembered even
by those who lived in the furthest part of his dominions, and he went to
the meeting, and the nobles of the kingdom with him.  And when he came to
the Ford, a knight arose and spake thus.  “Lords,” said he, “listen well.
It is between two kings that this meeting is, and between them only.
Each claimeth of the other his land and territory, and do all of you
stand aside and leave the fight to be between them.”

Thereupon the two kings approached each other in the middle of the Ford,
and encountered, and at the first thrust, the man who was in the stead of
Arawn struck Havgan on the centre of the boss of his shield, so that it
was cloven in twain, and his armour was broken, and Havgan himself was
borne to the ground an arm’s and a spear’s length over the crupper of his
horse, and he received a deadly blow.  “O Chieftain,” said Havgan, “what
right hast thou to cause my death?  I was not injuring thee in anything,
and I know not wherefore thou wouldest slay me.  But, for the love of
Heaven, since thou hast begun to slay me, complete thy work.”  “Ah,
Chieftain,” he replied, “I may yet repent doing that unto thee, slay thee
who may, I will not do so.”  “My trusty Lords,” said Havgan, “bear me
hence.  My death has come.  I shall be no more able to uphold you.”  “My
Nobles,” also said he who was in the semblance of Arawn, “take counsel
and know who ought to be my subjects.”  “Lord,” said the Nobles, “all
should be, for there is no king over the whole of Annwvyn but thee.”
“Yes,” he replied, “it is right that he who comes humbly should be
received graciously, but he that doth not come with obedience, shall be
compelled by the force of swords.”  And thereupon he received the homage
of the men, and he began to conquer the country; and the next day by noon
the two kingdoms were in his power.  And thereupon he went to keep his
tryst, and came to Glyn Cuch.

And when he came there, the King of Annwvyn was there to meet him, and
each of them was rejoiced to see the other.  “Verily,” said Arawn, “may
Heaven reward thee for thy friendship towards me.  I have heard of it.
When thou comest thyself to thy dominions,” said he, “thou wilt see that
which I have done for thee.”  “Whatever thou hast done for me, may Heaven
repay it thee.”

Then Arawn gave to Pwyll Prince of Dyved his proper form and semblance,
and he himself took his own; and Arawn set forth towards the Court of
Annwvyn; and he was rejoiced when he beheld his hosts, and his household,
whom he had not seen so long; but they had not known of his absence, and
wondered no more at his coming than usual.  And that day was spent in joy
and merriment; and he sat and conversed with his wife and his nobles.
And when it was time for them rather to sleep than to carouse, they went
to rest.

                                * * * * *

Pwyll Prince of Dyved came likewise to his country and dominions, and
began to inquire of the nobles of the land, how his rule had been during
the past year, compared with what it had been before.  “Lord,” said they,
“thy wisdom was never so great, and thou wast never so kind or so free in
bestowing thy gifts, and thy justice was never more worthily seen than in
this year.”  “By Heaven,” said he, “for all the good you have enjoyed,
you should thank him who hath been with you; for behold, thus hath this
matter been.”  And thereupon Pwyll related the whole unto them.  “Verily,
Lord,” said they, “render thanks unto Heaven that thou hast such a
fellowship, and withhold not from us the rule which we have enjoyed for
this year past.”  “I take Heaven to witness that I will not withhold it,”
answered Pwyll.

And thenceforth they made strong the friendship that was between them,
and each sent unto the other horses, and greyhounds, and hawks, and all
such jewels as they thought would be pleasing to each other.  And by
reason of his having dwelt that year in Annwvyn, and having ruled there
so prosperously, and united the two kingdoms in one day by his valour and
prowess, he lost the name of Pwyll Prince of Dyved, and was called Pwyll
Chief of Annwvyn from that time forward.

                                * * * * *

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 and blows in the
midst of such a host as this, but as to the wonder, gladly would I see
it.  I will go therefore 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; and the horse
seemed to move at a slow and even pace, and to be coming up towards 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.  Yet she held the same pace as at first.  And
his horse began to fail; and when his horse’s feet failed him, he
returned to the place where Pwyll was.  “Lord,” said he, “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 they spent that day.  And
the next day they arose, and that also they spent until it was time to go
to meat.  And after the first meal, “Verily,” said Pwyll, “we will go the
same party as yesterday to the top of the mound.  And do thou,” said he
to one of his young men, “take the swiftest horse that thou knowest in
the field.”  And thus did the young man.  And they went towards the
mound, taking the horse with them.  And as they were sitting down they
beheld the lady on the same horse, and in the same apparel, coming along
the same road.  “Behold,” said Pwyll, “here is the lady of yesterday.
Make ready, youth, to learn who she is.”  “My lord,” said he, “that will
I gladly do.”  And thereupon the lady came opposite to them.  So the
youth mounted his horse; and before he had settled himself in his saddle,
she passed by, and there was a clear space between them.  But her speed
was no greater than it had been the day before.  Then he put his horse
into an amble, and thought that notwithstanding the gentle pace at which
his horse went, he should soon overtake her.  But this availed him not;
so he gave his horse the reins.  And still he came no nearer to her than
when he went at a foot’s pace.  And the more he urged his horse, the
further was she from him.  Yet she rode not faster than before.  When he
saw that it availed not to follow her, he returned to the place where
Pwyll was.  “Lord,” said he, “the horse can no more than thou hast seen.”
“I see indeed that it avails not that any one should follow her.  And by
Heaven,” said he, “she must needs have an errand to some one in this
plain, if her haste would allow her to declare it.  Let us go back to the
palace.”  And to the palace they went, and they spent that night in songs
and feasting, as it pleased them.

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 and the day before to the top of the mound?”  “Behold, Lord, we
are here,” said they.  “Let us go,” said he, “to the mound, to 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 no
sooner had he mounted his horse than she passed him.  And he turned after
her and followed her.  And he let his horse go bounding playfully, and
thought that at the second step or the third he should 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 nothing to follow her.
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 headdress which covered her face.  And
she fixed her eyes upon him, and began to talk with him.  “Lady,” asked
he, “whence comest thou, and whereunto dost thou journey?”  “I journey on
mine own errand,” said she, “and right glad am I to see thee.”  “My
greeting be unto thee,” said he.  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 seek thee.”  “Behold,” 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 Hên, and they sought to give me to 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 unto 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.  And I will cause a feast to be
prepared, so that it be ready against thou come.”  “Gladly,” said he,
“will I keep this tryst.”  “Lord,” said she, “remain in health, and be
mindful that thou keep thy promise; and now I will go hence.”  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 Hên.  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 Hên 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, my soul,” said
Pwyll, “come thou and sit down.”  “Nay,” said he, “a suitor am I, and I
will do mine 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, as 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 answer 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 Gwawl 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 thine 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.  “In thy hand will I give thee a small bag,” said she.  “See that
thou keep it well, and he will ask of thee the banquet, and the feast,
and the preparations which are not in thy power.  Unto the hosts and the
household will I give the feast.  And such will be thy answer respecting
this.  And as concerns myself, I will engage to become his bride this
night twelvemonth.  And at the end of the year be thou here,” said she,
“and bring this bag with thee, and let thy hundred knights be in the
orchard up yonder.  And when he is in the midst of joy and feasting, come
thou in by thyself, clad in ragged garments, and holding thy bag in thy
hand, and ask nothing but a bagful of food, and I will cause that if all
the meat and liquor that are in these seven Cantrevs were put into it, it
would be no fuller than before.  And after a great deal has been put
therein, he will ask thee whether thy bag will ever be full.  Say thou
then that it never will, until a man of noble birth and of great wealth
arise and press the food in the bag with both his feet, saying, ‘Enough
has been put therein;’ and I will cause him to go and tread down the food
in the bag, and when he does so, turn thou the bag, so that he shall be
up over his head in it, and then slip a knot upon the thongs of the bag.
Let there be also a good bugle horn about thy neck, and as soon as thou
hast bound him in the bag, wind thy horn, and let it be a signal between
thee and thy knights.  And when they hear the sound of the horn, let them
come down upon the palace.”  “Lord,” said Gwawl, “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 him, “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 Gwawl 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 Hên.  Then Gwawl 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 Annwvyn, came
to the orchard with his hundred knights, as Rhiannon had commanded him,
having the bag with 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 towards the
hall, and when he came into the hall, he saluted Gwawl the son of Clud,
and his company, both men and women.  “Heaven prosper thee,” said Gwawl,
“and the greeting of Heaven 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 just, thou shalt have it gladly.”  “It is
fitting,” answered he.  “I crave but from want, and the boon that 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 that they put into it, it was no fuller than at first.  “My
soul,” said Gwawl, “will thy bag be ever 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 Gwawl 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 Gwawl 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 household came down upon the palace.  And they
seized all the host that had come with Gwawl, 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.  Every
one as he came in asked, “What game are you playing at thus?”  “The game
of Badger in the Bag,” said they.  And then was the game of Badger in the
Bag first played.

“Lord,” said the man in the bag, “if thou wouldest but hear me, I merit
not to be slain in a bag.”  Said Heveydd Hên, “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 behoves 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.”  “Such then is our counsel,” answered they.  “I accept it,”
said Pwyll.  “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.  “Demand now of
Gwawl his sureties,” said Heveydd, “we know which should be taken for
him.”  And Heveydd numbered the sureties.  Said Gwawl, “Do thou thyself
draw up the covenant.”  “It will suffice me that it be as Rhiannon said,”
answered Pwyll.  So unto that covenant were the sureties pledged.
“Verily, Lord,” said Gwawl, “I am greatly hurt, and I have many bruises.
I have need to be anointed; 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 thus.”  So Gwawl went towards
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 tranquillity.  And the
time came that they should sleep, and Pwyll and Rhiannon went to their
chamber.

And next morning at the 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 the
minstrels to show and to point out what gifts were to their wish and
desire.  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 may follow thee.”  “By Heaven,” said Pwyll, “we will go
hence together.”  “Willest thou this, Lord?” said Heveydd.  “Yes, by
Heaven,” 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 was 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 both that year and the next.

And in the third year the nobles of the land began to be sorrowful at
seeing a man whom they loved so much, and who was moreover their lord and
their foster-brother, without an heir.  And they came to him.  And the
place where they met was Preseleu, in Dyved.  “Lord,” said they, “we know
that thou art not so young as some of the men of this country, and we
fear that thou mayest not have an heir of the wife whom thou hast taken.
Take therefore another wife of whom thou mayest have heirs.  Thou canst
not always continue with us, and though thou desire to remain as thou
art, we will not suffer thee.”  “Truly,” said Pwyll, “we have not long
been joined together, and many things may yet befall.  Grant me a year
from this time, and for the space of a year we will abide together, and
after that I will do according to your wishes.”  So they granted it.  And
before the end of a year a son was born unto him.  And in Narberth was he
born; and on the night that he was born, women were brought to watch the
mother and the boy.  And the women slept, as did also Rhiannon, the
mother of the boy.  And the number of the women that were brought into
the chamber was six.  And they watched for a good portion of the night,
and before midnight every one of them fell asleep, and towards break of
day they awoke; and when they awoke, they looked where they had put the
boy, and behold he was not there.  “Oh,” said one of the women, “the boy
is lost?”  “Yes,” said another, “and it will be small vengeance if we are
burnt or put to death because of the child.”  Said one of the women, “Is
there any counsel for us in the world in this matter?”  “There is,”
answered another, “I offer you good counsel.”  “What is that?” asked
they.  “There is here a stag-hound bitch, and she has a litter of whelps.
Let us kill some of the cubs, and rub the blood on the face and hands of
Rhiannon, and lay the bones before her, and assert that she herself hath
devoured her son, and she alone will not be able to gainsay us six.”  And
according to this counsel it was settled.  And towards morning Rhiannon
awoke, and she said, “Women, where is my son?”  “Lady,” said they, “ask
us not concerning thy son, we have nought but the blows and the bruises
we got by struggling with thee, and of a truth we never saw any woman so
violent as thou, for it was of no avail to contend with thee.  Hast thou
not thyself devoured thy son?  Claim him not therefore of us.”  “For
pity’s sake,” said Rhiannon; “the Lord God knows all things.  Charge me
not falsely.  If you tell me this from fear, I assert before Heaven that
I will defend you.”  “Truly,” said they, “we would not bring evil on
ourselves for any one in the world.”  “For pity’s sake,” said Rhiannon,
“you will receive no evil by telling the truth.”  But for all her words,
whether fair or harsh, she received but the same answer from the women.

And Pwyll the chief of Annwvyn arose, and his household, and his hosts.
And this occurrence could not be concealed, but the story went forth
throughout the land, and all the nobles heard it.  Then the nobles came
to Pwyll, and besought him to put away his wife, because of the great
crime which she had done.  But Pwyll answered them, that they had no
cause wherefore they might ask him to put away his wife, save for her
having no children.  “But children has she now had, therefore will I not
put her away; if she has done wrong, let her do penance for it.”

So Rhiannon sent for the teachers and the wise men, and as she preferred
doing penance to contending with the women, she took upon her a penance.
And the penance that was imposed upon her was, that she should remain in
that palace of Narberth until the end of seven years, and that she should
sit every day near unto a horseblock that was without the gate.  And that
she should relate the story to all who should come there, whom she might
suppose not to know it already; and that she should offer the guests and
strangers, if they would permit her, to carry them upon her back into the
palace.  But it rarely happened that any would permit.  And thus did she
spend part of the year.

Now at that time Teirnyon Twryv Vliant was Lord of Gwent Is Coed, and he
was the best man in the world.  And unto his house there belonged a mare,
than which neither mare nor horse in the kingdom was more beautiful.  And
on the night of every first of May she foaled, and no one ever knew what
became of the colt.  And one night Teirnyon talked with his wife: “Wife,”
said he, “it is very simple of us that our mare should foal every year,
and that we should have none of her colts.”  “What can be done in the
matter?” said she.  “This is the night of the first of May,” said he.
“The vengeance of Heaven be upon me, if I learn not what it is that takes
away the colts.”  So he caused the mare to be brought into a house, and
he armed himself, and began to watch that night.  And in the beginning of
the night, the mare foaled a large and beautiful colt.  And it was
standing up in the place.  And Teirnyon rose up and looked at the size of
the colt, and as he did so he heard a great tumult, and after the tumult
behold a claw came through the window into the house, and it seized the
colt by the mane.  Then Teirnyon drew his sword, and struck off the arm
at the elbow, so that portion of the arm together with the colt was in
the house with him.  And then did he hear a tumult and wailing, both at
once.  And he opened the door, and rushed out in the direction of the
noise, and he could not see the cause of the tumult because of the
darkness of the night, but he rushed after it and followed it.  Then he
remembered that he had left the door open, and he returned.  And at the
door behold there was an infant boy in swaddling-clothes, wrapped around
in a mantle of satin.  And he took up the boy, and behold he was very
strong for the age that he was of.

Then he shut the door, and went into the chamber where his wife was.
“Lady,” said he, “art thou sleeping?”  “No, lord,” said she, “I was
asleep, but as thou camest in I did awake.”  “Behold, here is a boy for
thee if thou wilt,” said he, “since thou hast never had one.”  “My lord,”
said she, “what adventure is this?”  “It was thus,” said Teirnyon; and he
told her how it all befell.  “Verily, lord,” said she, “what sort of
garments are there upon the boy?”  “A mantle of satin,” said he.  “He is
then a boy of gentle lineage,” she replied.  “My lord,” she said, “if
thou wilt, I shall have great diversion and mirth.  I will call my women
unto me, and tell them that I have been pregnant.”  “I will readily grant
thee to do this,” he answered.  And thus did they, and they caused the
boy to be baptized, and the ceremony was performed there; and the name
which they gave unto him was Gwri Wallt Euryn, because what hair was upon
his head was as yellow as gold.  And they had the boy nursed in the Court
until he was a year old.  And before the year was over he could walk
stoutly.  And he was larger than a boy of three years old, even one of
great growth and size.  And the boy was nursed the second year, and then
he was as large as a child six years old.  And before the end of the
fourth year, he would bribe the grooms to allow him to take the horses to
water.  “My lord,” said his wife unto Teirnyon, “where is the colt which
thou didst save on the night that thou didst find the boy?”  “I have
commanded the grooms of the horses,” said he, “that they take care of
him.”  “Would it not be well, lord,” said she, “if thou wert to cause him
to be broken in, and given to the boy, seeing that on the same night that
thou didst find the boy, the colt was foaled and thou didst save him?”
“I will not oppose thee in this matter,” said Teirnyon.  “I will allow
thee to give him the colt.”  “Lord,” said she, “may Heaven reward thee; I
will give it him.”  So the horse was given to the boy.  Then she went to
the grooms and those who tended the horses, and commanded them to be
careful of the horse, so that he might be broken in by the time that the
boy could ride him.

And while these things were going forward, they heard tidings of Rhiannon
and her punishment.  And Teirnyon Twryv Vliant, by reason of the pity
that he felt on hearing this story of Rhiannon and her punishment,
inquired closely concerning it, until he had heard from many of those who
came to his court.  Then did Teirnyon, often lamenting the sad history,
ponder within himself, and he looked steadfastly on the boy, and as he
looked upon him, it seemed to him that he had never beheld so great a
likeness between father and son, as between the boy and Pwyll the Chief
of Annwvyn.  Now the semblance of Pwyll was well known to him, for he had
of yore been one of his followers.  And thereupon he became grieved for
the wrong that he did, in keeping with him a boy whom he knew to be the
son of another man.  And the first time that he was alone with his wife,
he told her that it was not right that they should keep the boy with
them, and suffer so excellent a lady as Rhiannon to be punished so
greatly on his account, whereas the boy was the son of Pwyll the Chief of
Annwvyn.  And Teirnyon’s wife agreed with him, that they should send the
boy to Pwyll.  “And three things, lord,” said she, “shall we gain
thereby.  Thanks and gifts for releasing Rhiannon from her punishment;
and thanks from Pwyll for nursing his son and restoring him unto him; and
thirdly, if the boy is of gentle nature, he will be our foster-son, and
he will do for us all the good in his power.”  So it was settled
according to this counsel.

And no later than the next day was Teirnyon equipped, and two other
knights with him.  And the boy, as a fourth in their company, went with
them upon the horse which Teirnyon had given him.  And they journeyed
towards Narberth, and it was not long before they reached that place.
And as they drew near to the palace, they beheld Rhiannon sitting beside
the horseblock.  And when they were opposite to her, “Chieftain,” said
she, “go not further thus, I will bear every one of you into the palace,
and this is my penance for slaying my own son and devouring him.”  “Oh,
fair lady,” said Teirnyon, “think not that I will be one to be carried
upon thy back.”  “Neither will I,” said the boy.  “Truly, my soul,” said
Teirnyon, “we will not go.”  So they went forward to the palace, and
there was great joy at their coming.  And at the palace a feast was
prepared, because Pywll was come back from the confines of Dyved.  And
they went into the hall and washed, and Pwyll rejoiced to see Teirnyon.
And in this order they sat.  Teirnyon between Pwyll and Rhiannon, and
Teirnyon’s two companions on the other side of Pwyll, with the boy
between them.  And after meat they began to carouse and to discourse.
And Teirnyon’s discourse was concerning the adventure of the mare and the
boy, and how he and his wife had nursed and reared the child as their
own.  “And behold here is thy son, lady,” said Teirnyon.  “And whosoever
told that lie concerning thee, has done wrong.  And when I heard of thy
sorrow, I was troubled and grieved.  And I believe that there is none of
this host who will not perceive that the boy is the son of Pwyll,” said
Teirnyon.  “There is none,” said they all, “who is not certain thereof.”
“I declare to Heaven,” said Rhiannon, “that if this be true, there is
indeed an end to my trouble.”  “Lady,” said Pendaran Dyved, “well hast
thou named thy son Pryderi, {3} and well becomes him the name of Pryderi
son of Pwyll Chief of Annwvyn.”  “Look you,” said Rhiannon, “will not his
own name become him better?”  “What name has he?” asked Pendaran Dyved.
“Gwri Wallt Euryn is the name that we gave him.”  “Pryderi,” said
Pendaran, “shall his name be.”  “It were more proper,” said Pwyll, “that
the boy should take his name from the word his mother spoke when she
received the joyful tidings of him.”  And thus was it arranged.

“Teirnyon,” said Pwyll, “Heaven reward thee that thou hast reared the boy
up to this time, and, being of gentle lineage, it were fitting that he
repay thee for it.”  “My lord,” said Teirnyon, “it was my wife who nursed
him, and there is no one in the world so afflicted as she at parting with
him.  It were well that he should bear in mind what I and my wife have
done for him.”  “I call Heaven to witness,” said Pwyll, “that while I
live I will support thee and thy possessions, as long as I am able to
preserve my own.  And when he shall have power, he will more fitly
maintain them than I.  And if this counsel be pleasing unto thee, and to
my nobles, it shall be that, as thou hast reared him up to the present
time, I will give him to be brought up by Pendaran Dyved, from
henceforth.  And you shall be companions, and shall both be
foster-fathers unto him.”  “This is good counsel,” said they all.  So the
boy was given to Pendaran Dyved, and the nobles of the land were sent
with him.  And Teirnyon Twryv Vliant, and his companions, set out for his
country, and his possessions, with love and gladness.  And he went not
without being offered the fairest jewels and the fairest horses, and the
choicest dogs; but he would take none of them.

Thereupon they all remained in their own dominions.  And Pryderi, the son
of Pwyll the Chief of Annwvyn, was brought up carefully as was fit, so
that he became the fairest youth, and the most comely, and the best
skilled in all good games, of any in the kingdom.  And thus passed years
and years, until the end of Pwyll the Chief of Annwvyn’s life came, and
he died.

And Pryderi ruled the seven Cantrevs of Dyved prosperously, and he was
beloved by his people, and by all around him.  And at length he added
unto them the three Cantrevs of Ystrad Tywi, and the four Cantrevs of
Cardigan; and these were called the Seven Cantrevs of Seissyllwch.  And
when he made this addition, Pryderi the son of Pwyll the Chief of Annwvyn
desired to take a wife.  And the wife he chose was Kicva, the daughter of
Gwynn Gohoyw, the son of Gloyw Wallt Lydan, the son of Prince Casnar, one
of the nobles of this Island.

And thus ends this portion of the Mabinogion.



BRANWEN THE DAUGHTER OF LLYR
HERE IS THE SECOND PORTION OF THE MABINOGI


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 Eurosswydd, by his mother,
Penardun, the daughter of Beli son of Manogan.  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 towards 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, “Matholwch, 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 with thee, lord,” said they, “and he
comes to ask Branwen the daughter of Llyr, that, if it seem well to thee,
the Island of the Mighty 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 Matholwch.  “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 Matholwch.  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 Aberffraw as the place where she should become his
bride.  And they went thence, and towards Aberffraw the hosts proceeded;
Matholwch and his host in their ships; Bendigeid Vran and his host by
land, until they came to Aberffraw.  And at Aberffraw 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 Matholwch 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 that night Branwen became Matholwch’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 Matholwch were,
and asked whose horses they might be.  “They are the horses of Matholwch
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
wherever he could clutch their eyelids, he cut them to the very bone, and
he disfigured the horses and rendered them useless.

And they came with these tidings unto Matholwch, 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 Matholwch 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 Heveydd 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.  But one thing
surprises me above all.”  “What is that?” asked they.  “That Branwen the
daughter of Llyr, one of the three chief ladies of this island, and the
daughter of the King of the Island of the Mighty, should have been given
me as my bride, and that after that I should have been insulted; and I
marvel that the insult was not done me before they had bestowed upon me a
maiden so exalted as she.”  “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 shouldest have received this insult; and as thou hast been insulted,
the dishonour 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 Matholwch 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 Heveydd Hir, and Unic Glew Ysgwyd, 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,
by the mother’s side, 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 Matholwch, 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 Matholwch and Bendigeid Vran began to
discourse; and behold it seemed to Bendigeid Vran, while they talked,
that Matholwch 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.  “Oh, 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 the horses.”  “Lord,” said he, “Heaven reward thee.”  “And
I will enhance the atonement,” said Bendigeid Vran, “for I will give unto
thee a cauldron, 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.

And the next morning they paid Matholwch the horses as long as the
trained horses lasted.  And then they journeyed into another commot,
where they paid him with colts until the whole had been paid, and from
thenceforth that commot was called Talebolion.

And a second night sat they together.  “My lord,” said Matholwch, “whence
hadst thou the cauldron which thou hast given me?”  “I had it of a man
who had been in thy land,” said he, “and I would not give it except to
one from there.”  “Who was it?” asked he.  “Llassar Llaesgyvnewid; he
came here from Ireland with Kymideu Kymeinvoll, his wife, who escaped
from the Iron House in Ireland, when it was made red hot around them, and
fled hither.  And it is a marvel to me that thou shouldst know nothing
concerning the matter.”  “Something I do know,” said he, “and as much as
I know I will tell thee.  One day I was hunting in Ireland, and I came to
the mound at the head of the lake, which is called the Lake of the
Cauldron.  And I beheld a huge yellow-haired man coming from the lake
with a cauldron upon his back.  And he was a man of vast size, and of
horrid aspect, and a woman followed after him.  And if the man was tall,
twice as large as he was the woman, and they came towards me and greeted
me.  ‘Verily,’ asked I, ‘wherefore are you journeying?’  ‘Behold, this,’
said he to me, ‘is the cause that we journey.  At the end of a month and
a fortnight this woman will have a son; and the child that will be born
at the end of the month and the fortnight will be a warrior fully armed.’
So I took them with me and maintained them.  And they were with me for a
year.  And that year I had them with me not grudgingly.  But thenceforth
was there murmuring, because that they were with me.  For, from the
beginning of the fourth month they had begun to make themselves hated and
to be disorderly in the land; committing outrages, and molesting and
harassing the nobles and ladies; and thenceforward my people rose up and
besought me to part with them, and they bade me to choose between them
and my dominions.  And I applied to the council of my country to know
what should be done concerning them; for of their own free will they
would not go, neither could they be compelled against their will, through
fighting.  And [the people of the country] being in this strait, they
caused a chamber to be made all of iron.  Now when the chamber was ready,
there came there every smith that was in Ireland, and every one who owned
tongs and hammer.  And they caused coals to be piled up as high as the
top of the chamber.  And they had the man, and the woman, and the
children, served with plenty of meat and drink; but when it was known
that they were drunk, they began to put fire to the coals about the
chamber, and they blew it with bellows until the house was red hot all
around them.  Then was there a council held in the centre of the floor of
the chamber.  And the man tarried until the plates of iron were all of a
white heat; and then, by reason of the great heat, the man dashed against
the plates with his shoulder and struck them out, and his wife followed
him; but except him and his wife none escaped thence.  And then I
suppose, lord,” said Matholwch unto Bendigeid Vran, “that he came over
unto thee.”  “Doubtless he came here,” said he, “and gave unto me the
cauldron.”  “In what manner didst thou receive them?”  “I dispersed them
through every part of my dominions, and they have become numerous and are
prospering everywhere, and they fortify the places where they are with
men and arms, of the best that were ever seen.”

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, Matholwch 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 or 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 honourable to be seen departing with.  And
in these things she spent that year in much renown, and she passed her
time pleasantly, enjoying honour and friendship.  And in the meanwhile it
chanced that she became pregnant, and in due time a son was born unto
her, and the name that they gave him was Gwern the son of Matholwch, and
they put the boy out to be foster-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 Matholwch had received in Cambria, and the payment made
him for his horses.  And his foster-brothers, and such as were nearest
unto 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 Matholwch, “forbid now the ships and the
ferry boats and the coracles, that they go not into Cambria, and such as
come over from Cambria hither, imprison them that they go not back for
this thing to be known there.”  And he did so; and it was thus for not
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 towards Britain.  And the bird came to this 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 sevenscore and four countries to come unto him,
and he complained to them himself of the grief that his sister endured.
So they took counsel.  And in the council they resolved to go to Ireland,
and to leave seven men as princes here, and Caradawc, the son of Bran, as
the chief of them, and their seven knights.  In Edeyrnion were these men
left.  And for this reason were the seven knights placed in the town.
Now the names of these seven men were, Caradawc the son of Bran, and
Heveydd Hir, and Unic Glew Ysgwyd, and Iddic the son of Anarawc
Gwalltgrwn, and Fodor the son of Ervyll, and Gwlch Minascwrn, and Llassar
the son of Llaesar Llaesgygwyd, and Pendaran Dyved as a young page with
them.  And these abode as seven ministers to take charge of this island;
and Caradawc the son of Bran was the chief amongst 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.  It was
caused by two rivers; the Lli and the Archan were they called; and the
nations covered the sea.  Then he proceeded with what provisions he had
on his own back, and approached the shore of Ireland.

Now the swineherds of Matholwch were upon the seashore, and they came to
Matholwch.  “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 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; there is no ship that can contain him in
it.”  “What is the lofty ridge with the lake on each side thereof?”  “On
looking towards this island he is wroth, and his two eyes, one on each
side of his nose, are the two lakes beside the ridge.”

The warriors and the chief men of Ireland were brought together in haste,
and they took counsel.  “Lord,” said the nobles unto Matholwch, “there is
no other counsel than to retreat over the Linon (a river which is in
Ireland), and to keep the river between thee and him, and to break down
the bridge that is across the river, for there is a loadstone at the
bottom of the river that neither ship nor vessel can pass over.”  So they
retreated across the river, and broke down the bridge.

Bendigeid Vran came to land, and the fleet with him by the bank of the
river.  “Lord,” said his chieftains, “knowest thou the nature of this
river, that nothing can go across it, and there is no bridge over it?”
“What,” said they, “is thy counsel concerning a bridge?”  “There is
none,” said he, “except that he who will be chief, let him be a bridge.
I will be so,” said he.  And then was that saying first uttered, and it
is still used as a proverb.  And when he had lain down across the river,
hurdles were placed upon him, and the host passed over thereby.

And as he rose up, behold the messengers of Matholwch came to him, and
saluted him, and gave him greeting in the name of Matholwch, his kinsman,
and showed how that of his goodwill he had merited of him nothing but
good.  “For Matholwch has given the kingdom of Ireland to Gwern the son
of Matholwch, thy nephew and thy sister’s son.  And this he places before
thee, as a compensation for the wrong and despite that has been done unto
Branwen.  And Matholwch shall be maintained wheresoever thou wilt, either
here or in the Island of the Mighty.”  Said Bendigeid Vran, “Shall not I
myself have the kingdom?  Then peradventure I may take counsel concerning
your message.  From this time until then no other answer will you get
from me.”  “Verily,” said they, “the best message that we receive for
thee, we will convey it unto thee, and do thou await our message unto
him.”  “I will wait,” answered he, “and do you return quickly.”

The messengers set forth and came to Matholwch.  “Lord,” said they,
“prepare a better message for Bendigeid Vran.  He would not listen at all
to the message that we bore him.”  “My friends,” said Matholwch, “what
may be your counsel?”  “Lord,” said they, “there is no other counsel than
this alone.  He was never known to be within a house, make therefore a
house that will contain him and the men of the Island of the Mighty on
the one side, and thyself and thy host on the other; and give over thy
kingdom to his will, and do him homage.  So by reason of the honour thou
doest him in making him a house, whereas he never before had a house to
contain him, he will make peace with thee.”  So the messengers went back
to Bendigeid Vran, bearing him this message.

And he took counsel, and in the council it was resolved that he should
accept this, and this was all done by the advice of Branwen, and lest the
country should be destroyed.  And this peace was made, and the house was
built both vast and strong.  But the Irish planned a crafty device, and
the craft was that they should put brackets on each side of the hundred
pillars that were in the house, and should place a leathern bag on each
bracket, and an armed man in every one of them.  Then Evnissyen came in
before the host of the Island of the Mighty, and scanned the house with
fierce and savage looks, and descried the leathern bags which were around
the pillars.  “What is in this bag?” asked he of one of the Irish.
“Meal, good soul,” said he.  And Evnissyen felt about it until he came to
the man’s head, and he squeezed the head until he felt his fingers meet
together in the brain through the bone.  And he left that one and put his
hand upon another, and asked what was therein.  “Meal,” said the
Irishman.  So he did the like unto every one of them, until he had not
left alive, of all the two hundred men, save one only; and when he came
to him, he asked what was there.  “Meal, good soul,” said the Irishman.
And he felt about until he felt the head, and he squeezed that head as he
had done the others.  And, albeit he found that the head of this one was
armed, he left him not until he had killed him.  And then he sang an
Englyn:—

   “There is in this bag a different sort of meal,
   The ready combatant, when the assault is made
   By his fellow-warriors, prepared for battle.”

Thereupon came the hosts unto 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 Eurosswydd, 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 by the household is the slaughter that I will
this instant commit.”

Then he arose and took up the boy by the feet, 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.  Then said Morddwydtyllyon, “The
gadflies of Morddwydtyllyon’s Cow!”  And while they all sought their
arms, Bendigeid Vran supported Branwen between his shield and his
shoulder.

Then the Irish kindled a fire under the cauldron of renovation, and they
cast the dead bodies into the cauldron 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 cauldron.  And he stretched
himself out in the cauldron, so that he rent the cauldron into four
pieces, and burst his own heart also.

In consequence of that 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 seven men that escaped were Pryderi,
Manawyddan, Gluneu Eil Taran, Taliesin, Ynawc, Grudyen the son of Muryel,
and Heilyn the son of Gwynn Hen.

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 a long
time will you be upon the road.  In Harlech you will be feasting seven
years, the birds of Rhiannon singing unto you the while.  And all that
time the head will be to you as pleasant company as it ever was when on
my body.  And at Gwales in Penvro you will be fourscore years, and you
may remain there, and the head with you uncorrupted, until you open the
door that looks towards Aber Henvelen, and towards Cornwall.  And after
you have opened that door, there you may no longer tarry, set forth then
to London to bury the head, and go straight forward.”

So they cut off his head, and these seven went forward therewith.  And
Branwen was the eighth with them, and they came to land at Aber Alaw, in
Talebolyon, 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 loud 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 towards Harlech, bearing the head
with them; and as they went, behold there met them a multitude of men and
of women.  “Have you any tidings?” asked Manawyddan.  “We have none,”
said they, “save that Caswallawn the son of Beli has conquered the Island
of the Mighty, and is crowned king in London.”  “What has become,” said
they, “of Caradawc 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 Caradawc’s heart broke for grief thereof; for he could see the
sword that slew the men, but knew not who it was that wielded it.
Caswallawn had flung upon him the Veil of Illusion, so that no one could
see him slay the men, but the sword only could they see.  And it liked
him not to slay Caradawc, because he was his nephew, the son of his
cousin.  And now he was the third whose heart had broke through grief.
Pendaran Dyved, who had remained as a young page with these men, escaped
into the wood,” said they.

Then they went on to Harlech, and there stopped to rest, and they
provided meat and liquor, and sat down to eat and to drink.  And there
came three birds, and began singing unto them a certain song, and all the
songs they had ever heard were unpleasant compared thereto; and the birds
seemed to them to be at a great distance from them over the sea, yet they
appeared as distinct as if they were close by, and at this repast they
continued seven years.

And at the close of the seventh year they went forth to Gwales in Penvro.
And there they found a fair and regal spot overlooking the ocean; and a
spacious hall was therein.  And they went into the hall, and two of its
doors were open, but the third door was closed, that which looked towards
Cornwall.  “See, yonder,” said Manawyddan, “is the door that we may not
open.”  And that night they regaled themselves and were joyful.  And of
all they had seen of food laid before them, and of all they had heard of,
they remembered nothing; neither of that, nor of any sorrow whatsoever.
And there they remained fourscore years, unconscious of having ever spent
a time more joyous and mirthful.  And they were not more weary than when
first they came, neither did they, any of them, know the time they had
been there.  And it was not more irksome to them having the head with
them, than if Bendigeid Vran had been with them himself.  And because of
these fourscore years, it was called “the Entertaining of the noble
Head.”  The entertaining of Branwen and Matholwch was in the time that
they went to Ireland.

One day said Heilyn the son of Gwynn, “Evil betide me, if I do not open
the door to know if that is true which is said concerning it.”  So he
opened the door and looked towards Cornwall and Aber Henvelen.  And when
they had looked, they were as conscious of all the evils they had ever
sustained, and of all the friends and companions they had lost, and of
all the misery that had befallen them, as if all had happened in that
very spot; and especially of the fate of their lord.  And because of
their perturbation they could not rest, but journeyed forth with the head
towards London.  And they buried the head in the White Mount, and when it
was buried, this was the third goodly concealment; and it was the third
ill-fated disclosure when it was disinterred, inasmuch as no invasion
from across the sea came to this island while the head was in that
concealment.

And thus is the story related of those who journeyed over from Ireland.

In Ireland none were left alive, except five pregnant women in a cave in
the Irish wilderness; and to these five women in the same night were born
five sons, whom they nursed until they became grown-up youths.  And they
thought about wives, and they at the same time desired to possess them,
and each took a wife of the mothers of their companions, and they
governed the country and peopled it.

And these five divided it amongst them, and because of this partition are
the five divisions of Ireland still so termed.  And they examined the
land where the battles had taken place, and they found gold and silver
until they became wealthy.

And thus ends this portion of the Mabinogi, concerning the blow given to
Branwen, which was the third unhappy blow of this island; and concerning
the entertainment of Bran, when the hosts of sevenscore countries and ten
went over to Ireland to revenge the blow given to Branwen; and concerning
the seven years’ banquet in Harlech, and the singing of the birds of
Rhiannon, and the sojourning of the head for the space of fourscore
years.



MANAWYDDAN THE SON OF LLYR
HERE IS THE THIRD PORTION OF THE MABINOGI


WHEN the seven men of whom we spoke above had buried the head of
Bendigeid Vran, in the White Mount an London, with its face towards
France; Manawyddan gazed upon the town of London, and upon his
companions, and heaved a great sigh; and much grief and heaviness came
upon him.  “Alas, Almighty Heaven, woe is me,” he exclaimed, “there is
none save myself without a resting-place this night.”  “Lord,” said
Pryderi, “be not so sorrowful.  Thy cousin is king of the Island of the
Mighty, and though he should do thee wrong, thou hast never been a
claimant of land or possessions.  Thou art the third disinherited
prince.”  “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 remain 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 seven Cantrevs
fairer than they.  Kicva, the daughter of Gwynn Gloyw, is my wife, and
since the inheritance of the Cantrevs belongs to me, do thou and Rhiannon
enjoy them, and if thou ever desire any possessions thou wilt take
these.”  “I do not, Chieftain,” said he; “Heaven reward thee for thy
friendship.”  “I would show thee the best friendship in the world if thou
wouldst let me.”  “I will, my friend,” said he, “and Heaven reward thee.
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 length to
Dyved, and a feast was prepared for them against their coming to
Narberth, which Rhiannon and Kicva had provided.  Then began Manawyddan
and Rhiannon to sit and to talk together, and from their discourse 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 Lloegyr 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 those 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 honourable 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 there originated all honour.  And when they had ended the
first meal that night, while those who served them ate, they arose and
went forth, and proceeded all four to the Gorsedd of Narberth, and their
retinue with them.  And as they sat thus, behold, a peal of thunder, and
with the violence of the thunderstorm, 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 cattle, and herds, and dwellings, they saw nothing
now, neither house, nor beast, nor smoke, nor fire, nor man, nor
dwelling; but the houses 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,” cried Manawyddan, “where are they of the Court,
and all my host beside these?  Let us go and see.”  So they came into the
hall, and there was no man; and they went on to the castle and to the
sleeping-place, and they saw none; and in the mead-cellar and in the
kitchen there was nought but desolation.  So they four feasted, and
hunted, and took their pleasure.  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 swarms.  And thus they passed the
first year pleasantly, and the second; but at the last they began to be
weary.

“Verily,” said Manawyddan, “we must not bide thus.  Let us go into
Lloegyr, and seek some craft whereby we may gain our support.”  So they
went into Lloegyr, and came as far as Hereford.  And they betook
themselves to making saddles.  And Manawyddan began to make housings, and
he gilded and coloured them with blue enamel, in the manner that he had
seen it done by Llasar Llaesgywydd.  And he made the blue enamel as it
was made by the other man.  And therefore is it still called Calch Lasar
[blue enamel], because Llasar Llaesgywydd had wrought it.

And as long as that workmanship could be had of Manawyddan, neither
saddle nor housing was bought of a saddler throughout all Hereford; till
at length every one of the saddlers perceived that they were losing much
of their gain, and that no man bought of them, but him who could not get
what he sought from Manawyddan.  Then they assembled together, and agreed
to slay him and his companions.

Now they received warning of this, and took counsel whether they should
leave the city.  “By Heaven,” said Pryderi, “it is not my counsel that we
should quit the town, but that we should slay these boors.”  “Not so,”
said Manawyddan, “for if we fight with them, we shall have evil fame, and
shall be put in prison.  It were better for us to go to another town to
maintain ourselves.”  So they four went to another city.

“What craft shall we take?” said Pryderi.  “We will make shields,” said
Manawyddan.  “Do we know anything about that craft?” said Pryderi.  “We
will try,” answered he.  There they began to make shields, and fashioned
them after the shape of the good shields they had seen; and they
enamelled they, as them had done the saddles.  And they prospered in that
place, so that not a shield was asked for in the whole town, but such as
was had of them.  Rapid therefore was their work, and numberless were the
shields they made.  But at last they were marked by the craftsmen, who
came together in haste, and their fellow-townsmen with them, and agreed
that they should seek to slay them.  But they received warning, and heard
how the men had resolved on their destruction.  “Pryderi,” said
Manawyddan, “these men desire to slay us.”  “Let us not endure this from
these boors, but let us rather fall upon them and slay them.”  “Not so,”
he answered; “Caswallawn and his men will hear of it, and we shall be
undone.  Let us go to another town.”  So to another town they went.

“What craft shall we take?” said Manawyddan.  “Whatsoever thou wilt that
we know,” said Pryderi.  “Not so,” he replied, “but let us take to making
shoes, for there is not courage enough among cordwainers either to fight
with us or to molest us.”  “I know nothing thereof,” said Pryderi.  “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 he began by buying the best cordwal that could be had in the town, and
none other would he buy except the leather for the soles; 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 learnt the method.  And therefore was 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 Pryderi stitched it), they came together
and took counsel, and agreed that they would slay them.

“Pryderi,” said Manawyddan, “these men are minded to slay us.”
“Wherefore should we bear this from the boorish thieves?” said Pryderi.
“Rather let us slay them all.”  “Not so,” said Manawyddan, “we will not
slay them, neither will we remain in Lloegyr any longer.  Let us set
forth to Dyved and go to see it.”

So they journeyed along until they came to Dyved, and they went forward
to Narberth.  And there they kindled fire and supported themselves by
hunting.  And thus they spent a month.  And they gathered their dogs
around them, and tarried there one year.

And one morning Pryderi and Manawyddan rose up to hunt, and they ranged
their dogs and went forth from the palace.  And some of the dogs ran
before them and came to a small 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 colour 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, they 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 howl 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 of 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.  “Oh, my
lord,” said she, “what dust thou do here?”  And she took hold of the bowl
with him; and as she did so her hands 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 Gloyw 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 mere 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,” said he, “for Heaven is my witness that thou shalt
meet with all the friendship thou canst wish, and that it is in my power
to show thee, as long as it shall please Heaven to continue us in this
grief and woe.”  “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 we cannot get food.  Let us go into Lloegyr;
it is easiest for us to find support there.”  “Gladly, lord,” said she,
“we will do so.”  And they set forth together to Lloegyr.

“Lord,” said she, “what craft wilt thou follow?  Take up one that is
seemly.”  “None other will I take,” answered he, “save that of making
shoes, as I did formerly.”  “Lord,” said she, “such a craft becomes not a
man so nobly born as thou.”  “By that however will I abide,” said he.

So he began his craft, and he made all his work of the finest leather he
could get in the town, and, as he had done at the other place, he caused
gilded clasps to be made for the shoes.  And except himself all the
cordwainers in the town were idle, and without work.  For as long as they
could be had from him, neither shoes nor hose were bought elsewhere.  And
thus they tarried there a year, until the cordwainers became envious, and
took counsel concerning him.  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 grey 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 from off 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.  “Oh, 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.”  So he took his arms, and began to watch the croft.  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, lo, there arose the
loudest tumult in the world.  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 stalk 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 in 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 thief may it
be, lord, that thou couldst put into thy glove?” said she.  “Behold I
will tell thee,” he answered.  Then he showed her how his fields had been
wasted and destroyed, and 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, and before Heaven, if I had them, I
would hang them all.”  “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.  And if thou doest right, thou wilt not meddle with the
creature, but wilt let it go.”  “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 succour this
reptile, except to prevent discredit unto thee.  Do therefore, lord, as
thou wilt.”  “If I knew of any cause in the world wherefore thou shouldst
succour it, I would take thy counsel concerning it,” said Manawyddan,
“but as I know of none, lady, I am minded to destroy it.”  “Do so
willingly then,” said she.

And then he went to the Gorsedd of Narberth, taking the mouse with him.
And he set up two forks on the highest part of the Gorsedd.  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 Lloegyr; 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, “by Heaven, neither will I sell it.”  “As thou wilt, lord,” he
answered; “except that I would not see a man of rank equal to thine
touching such a reptile, I care nought.”  And the scholar went his way.

And as he was placing the crossbeam 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 at.  As it ought, so shall it be
hanged.”  “Willingly, lord, do thy good pleasure.”  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.”  “Aye,”
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 set 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, do so at what price soever thou wilt.”  “I will do so,”
said he.  “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.  “I will know who the mouse may be.”  “She is my wife.”  “Even though
she be, I will not set her free.  Wherefore came she to me?”  “To despoil
thee,” he answered.  “I am Llwyd the son of Kilcoed, and I cast the charm
over the seven Cantrevs of Dyved.  And it was to avenge Gwawl the son of
Clud, from the friendship I had towards him, that I cast the charm.  And
upon Pryderi did I revenge Gwawl the son of Clud, for the game of Badger
in the Bag, that Pwyll Pen Annwvyn played upon him, which he did
unadvisedly in the Court of Heveydd Hên.  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 it was
my own household that went the first night.  And the second night also
they went, and they destroyed thy two crofts.  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 pregnant.  And had she not
been pregnant thou wouldst not have been able to overtake her; but since
this has taken place, and she has been caught, I will restore thee
Pryderi and Rhiannon; and I will take the charm and illusion from off
Dyved.  I have now told thee who she is.  Set her therefore free.”  “I
will not set her free, by Heaven,” said he.  “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.”  “This thou shalt
have,” said he.  “Now set her free.”  “I will not, by my faith,” he
answered.  “What wilt thou furthermore?” asked he.  “Behold,” said he,
“this will I have; 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 lighted
all this trouble.”  “Yea,” said he, “for fear thereof was it, that I
required this.”  “Set now my wife at liberty.”  “I will not, by Heaven,”
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 Llwyd struck her with a magic wand, and she was changed back into a
young woman, the fairest ever seen.

“Look around upon thy land,” said he, “and then thou wilt see it all
tilled and peopled, as it was in its best state.”  And he rose up and
looked forth.  And when he looked he saw all the lands tilled, and full
of herds and dwellings.  “What bondage,” he inquired, “has there been
upon Pryderi and Rhiannon?”  “Pryderi has had the knockers of the gate of
my palace about his neck, and Rhiannon has had the collars of the asses,
after they have been carrying hay, about her neck.”

And such had been their bondage.

And by reason of this bondage is this story called the Mabinogi of
Mynnweir and Mynord.

And thus ends this portion of the Mabinogi.



MATH THE SON OF MATHONWY
THIS IS THE FOURTH PORTION OF THE MABINOGI


MATH the son of Mathonwy was lord over Gwynedd, and Pryderi the son of
Pwyll was lord over the one-and-twenty Cantrevs of the South; and these
were the seven Cantrevs of Dyved, and the seven Cantrevs of Morganwc, the
four Cantrevs of Ceredigiawn, and the three of Ystrad Tywi.

At that time, Math the son of Mathonwy could not exist unless his feet
were in the lap of a maiden, except only when he was prevented by the
tumult of war.  Now the maiden who was with him was Goewin, the daughter
of Pebin of Dôl Pebin, in Arvon, and she was the fairest maiden of her
time who was known there.

And Math dwelt always at Caer Dathyl, in Arvon, and was not able to go
the circuit of the land, but Gilvaethwy the son of Don, and Eneyd the son
of Don, his nephews, the sons of his sisters, with his household, went
the circuit of the land in his stead.

Now the maiden was with Math continually, and Gilvaethwy the son of Don
set his affections upon her, and loved her so that he knew not what he
should do because of her, and therefrom behold his hue, and his aspect,
and his spirits changed for love of her, so that it was not easy to know
him.

One day his brother Gwydion gazed steadfastly upon him.  “Youth,” said
he, “what aileth thee?”  “Why,” replied he, “what seest thou in me?”  “I
see,” said he, “that thou hast lost thy aspect and thy hue; what,
therefore, aileth thee?”  “My lord brother,” he answered, “that which
aileth me, it will not profit me that I should own to any.”  “What may it
be, my soul?” said he.  “Thou knowest,” he said, “that Math the son of
Mathonwy has this property, that if men whisper together, in a tone how
low soever, if the wind meet it, it becomes known unto him.”  “Yes,” said
Gwydion, “hold now thy peace, I know thy intent, thou lovest Goewin.”

When he found that his brother knew his intent, he gave the heaviest sigh
in the world.  “Be silent, my soul, and sigh not,” he said.  “It is not
thereby that thou wilt succeed.  I will cause,” said he, “if it cannot be
otherwise, the rising of Gwynedd, and Powys, and Deheubarth, to seek the
maiden.  Be thou of glad cheer therefore, and I will compass it.”

So they went unto Math the son of Mathonwy.  “Lord,” said Gwydion, “I
have heard that there have come to the South some beasts, such as were
never known in this island before.”  “What are they called?” he asked.
“Pigs, lord.”  “And what kind of animals are they?”  “They are small
animals, and their flesh is better than the flesh of oxen.”  “They are
small, then?”  “And they change their names.  Swine are they now called.”
“Who owneth them?”  “Pryderi the son of Pwyll; they were sent him from
Annwvyn, by Arawn the king of Annwvyn, and still they keep that name,
half hog, half pig.”  “Verily,” asked he, “and by what means may they be
obtained from him?”  “I will go, lord, as one of twelve, in the guise of
bards, to seek the swine.”  “But it may be that he will refuse you,” said
he.  “My journey will not be evil, lord,” said he; “I will not come back
without the swine.”  “Gladly,” said he, “go thou forward.”

So he and Gilvaethwy went, and ten other men with them.  And they came
into Ceredigiawn, to the place that is now called Rhuddlan Teivi, where
the palace of Pryderi was.  In the guise of bards they came in, and they
were received joyfully, and Gwydion was placed beside Pryderi that night.

“Of a truth,” said Pryderi, “gladly would I have a tale from some of your
men yonder.”  “Lord,” said Gwydion, “we have a custom that the first
night that we come to the Court of a great man, the chief of song
recites.  Gladly will I relate a tale.”  Now Gwydion was the best teller
of tales in the world, and he diverted all the Court that night with
pleasant discourse and with tales, so that he charmed every one in the
Court, and it pleased Pryderi to talk with him.

And after this, “Lord,” said he unto Pryderi, “were it more pleasing to
thee, that another should discharge my errand unto thee, than that I
should tell thee myself what it is?”  “No,” he answered, “ample speech
hast thou.”  “Behold then, lord,” said he, “my errand.  It is to crave
from thee the animals that were sent thee from Annwvyn.”  “Verily,” he
replied, “that were the easiest thing in the world to grant, were there
not a covenant between me and my land concerning them.  And the covenant
is that they shall not go from me, until they have produced double their
number in the land.”  “Lord,” said he, “I can set thee free from those
words, and this is the way I can do so; give me not the swine to-night,
neither refuse them unto me, and to-morrow I will show thee an exchange
for them.”

And that night he and his fellows went unto their lodging, and they took
counsel.  “Ah, my men,” said he, “we shall not have the swine for the
asking.”  “Well,” said they, “how may they be obtained?”  “I will cause
them to be obtained,” said Gwydion.

Then he betook himself to his arts, and began to work a charm.  And he
caused twelve chargers to appear, and twelve black greyhounds, each of
them white-breasted, and having upon them twelve collars and twelve
leashes, such as no one that saw them could know to be other than gold.
And upon the horses twelve saddles, and every part which should have been
of iron was entirely of gold, and the bridles were of the same
workmanship.  And with the horses and the dogs he came to Pryderi.

“Good day unto thee, lord,” said he.  “Heaven prosper thee,” said the
other, “and greetings be unto thee.”  “Lord,” said he, “behold here is a
release for thee from the word which thou spakest last evening concerning
the swine; that thou wouldst neither give nor sell them.  Thou mayest
exchange them for that which is better.  And I will give these twelve
horses, all caparisoned as they are, with their saddles and their
bridles, and these twelve greyhounds, with their collars and their
leashes as thou seest, and the twelve gilded shields that thou beholdest
yonder.”  Now these he had formed of fungus.  “Well,” said he, “we will
take counsel.”  And they consulted together, and determined to give the
swine to Gwydion, and to take his horses and his dogs and his shields.

Then Gwydion and his men took their leave, and began to journey forth
with the pigs.  “Ah, my comrades,” said Gwydion, “it is needful that we
journey with speed.  The illusion will not last but from the one hour to
the same to-morrow.”

And that night they journeyed as far as the upper part of Ceredigiawn, to
the place which, from that cause, is called Mochdrev still.  And the next
day they took their course through Melenydd, and came that night to the
town which is likewise for that reason called Mochdrev between Keri and
Arwystli.  And thence they journeyed forward; and that night they came as
far as that Commot in Powys, which also upon account thereof is called
Mochnant, and there tarried they that night.  And they journeyed thence
to the Cantrev of Rhos, and the place where they were that night is still
called Mochdrev.

“My men,” said Gwydion, “we must push forward to the fastnesses of
Gwynedd with these animals, for there is a gathering of hosts in pursuit
of us.”  So they journeyed on to the highest town of Arllechwedd, and
there they made a sty for the swine, and therefore was the name of
Creuwyryon given to that town.  And after they had made the sty for the
swine, they proceeded to Math the son of Mathonwy, at Caer Dathyl.  And
when they came there, the country was rising.  “What news is there here?”
asked Gwydion.  “Pryderi is assembling one-and-twenty Cantrevs to pursue
after you,” answered they.  “It is marvellous that you should have
journeyed so slowly.”  “Where are the animals whereof you went in quest?”
said Math.  “They have had a sty made for them in the other Cantrev
below,” said Gwydion.

Thereupon, lo, they heard the trumpets and the host in the land, and they
arrayed themselves and set forward and came to Penardd in Arvon.

And at night Gwydion the son of Don, and Gilvaethwy his brother, returned
to Caer Dathyl; and Gilvaethwy took Math the son of Mathonwy’s couch.
And while he turned out the other damsels from the room discourteously,
he made Goewin unwillingly remain.

And when they saw the day on the morrow, they went back unto the place
where Math the son of Mathonwy was with his host; and when they came
there, the warriors were taking counsel in what district they should
await the coming of Pryderi, and the men of the South.  So they went in
to the council.  And it was resolved to wait in the strongholds of
Gwynedd, in Arvon.  So within the two Maenors they took their stand,
Maenor Penardd and Maenor Coed Alun.  And there Pryderi attacked them,
and there the combat took place.  And great was the slaughter on both
sides; but the men of the South were forced to flee.  And they fled unto
the place which is still called Nantcall.  And thither did they follow
them, and they made a vast slaughter of them there, so that they fled
again as far as the place called Dol Pen Maen, and there they halted and
sought to make peace.

And that he might have peace, Pryderi gave hostages, Gwrgi Gwastra gave
he and three-and-twenty others, sons of nobles.  And after this they
journeyed in peace even unto Traeth Mawr; but as they went on together
towards Melenryd, the men on foot could not be restrained from shooting.
Pryderi dispatched unto Math an embassy to pray him to forbid his people,
and to leave it between him and Gwydion the son of Don, for that he had
caused all this.  And the messengers came to Math.  “Of a truth,” said
Math, “I call Heaven to witness, if it be pleasing unto Gwydion the son
of Don, I will so leave it gladly.  Never will I compel any to go to
fight, but that we ourselves should do our utmost.”

“Verily,” said the messengers, “Pryderi saith that it were more fair that
the man who did him this wrong should oppose his own body to his, and let
his people remain unscathed.”  “I declare to Heaven, I will not ask the
men of Gwynedd to fight because of me.  If I am allowed to fight Pryderi
myself, gladly will I oppose my body to his.”  And this answer they took
back to Pryderi.  “Truly,” said Pryderi, “I shall require no one to
demand my rights but myself.”

Then these two came forth and armed themselves, and they fought.  And by
force of strength, and fierceness, and by the magic and charms of
Gwydion, Pryderi was slain.  And at Maen Tyriawc, above Melenryd, was he
buried, and there is his grave.

And the men of the South set forth in sorrow towards their own land; nor
is it a marvel that they should grieve, seeing that they had lost their
lord, and many of their best warriors, and for the most part their horses
and their arms.

The men of Gwynedd went back joyful and in triumph.  “Lord,” said Gwydion
unto Math, “would it not be right for us to release the hostages of the
men of the South, which they pledged unto us for peace? for we ought not
to put them in prison.”  “Let them then be set free,” saith Math.  So
that youth, and the other hostages that were with him, were set free to
follow the men of the South.

Math himself went forward to Caer Dathyl.  Gilvaethwy the son of Don, and
they of the household that were with him, went to make the circuit of
Gwynedd as they were wont, without coming to the Court.  Math went into
his chamber, and caused a place to be prepared for him whereon to
recline, so that he might put his feet in the maiden’s lap.  “Lord,” said
Goewin, “seek now another to hold thy feet, for I am now a wife.”  “What
meaneth this?” said he.  “An attack, lord, was made unawares upon me; but
I held not my peace, and there was no one in the Court who knew not of
it.  Now the attack was made by thy nephews, lord, the sons of thy
sister, Gwydion the son of Don, and Gilvaethwy the son of Don; unto me
they did wrong, and unto thee dishonour.”  “Verily,” he exclaimed, “I
will do to the utmost of my power concerning this matter.  But first I
will cause thee to have compensation, and then will I have amends made
unto myself.  As for thee, I will take thee to be my wife, and the
possession of my dominions will I give unto thy hands.”

And Gwydion and Gilvaethwy came not near the Court, but stayed in the
confines of the land until it was forbidden to give them meat and drink.
At first they came not near unto Math, but at the last they came.
“Lord,” said they, “good day to thee.”  “Well,” said he, “is it to make
me compensation that ye are come?”  “Lord,” they said, “we are at thy
will.”  “By my will I would not have lost my warriors, and so many arms
as I have done.  You cannot compensate me my shame, setting aside the
death of Pryderi.  But since ye come hither to be at my will, I shall
begin your punishment forthwith.”

Then he took his magic wand, and struck Gilvaethwy, so that he became a
deer, and he seized upon the other hastily lest he should escape from
him.  And he struck him with the same magic wand, and he became a deer
also.  “Since now ye are in bonds, I will that ye go forth together and
be companions, and possess the nature of the animals whose form ye bear.
And this day twelvemonth come hither unto me.”

At the end of a year from that day, lo there was a loud noise under the
chamber wall, and the barking of the dogs of the palace together with the
noise.  “Look,” said he, “what is without.”  “Lord,” said one, “I have
looked; there are there two deer, and a fawn with them.”  Then he arose
and went out.  And when he came he beheld the three animals.  And he
lifted up his wand.  “As ye were deer last year, be ye wild hogs each and
either of you, for the year that is to come.”  And thereupon he struck
them with the magic wand.  “The young one will I take and cause to be
baptized.”  Now the name that he gave him was Hydwn.  “Go ye and be wild
swine, each and either of you, and be ye of the nature of wild swine.
And this day twelvemonth be ye here under the wall.”

At the end of the year the barking of dogs was heard under the wall of
the chamber.  And the Court assembled, and thereupon he arose and went
forth, and when he came forth he beheld three beasts.  Now these were the
beasts that he saw; two wild hogs of the woods, and a well-grown young
one with them.  And he was very large for his age.  “Truly,” said Math,
“this one will I take and cause to be baptized.”  And he struck him with
his magic wand, and he become a fine fair auburn-haired youth, and the
name that he gave him was Hychdwn.  “Now as for you, as ye were wild hogs
last year, be ye wolves each and either of you for the year that is to
come.”  Thereupon he struck them with his magic wand, and they became
wolves.  “And be ye of like nature with the animals whose semblance ye
bear, and return here this day twelvemonth beneath this wall.”

And at the same day at the end of the year, he heard a clamour and a
barking of dogs under the wall of the chamber.  And he rose and went
forth.  And when he came, behold, he saw two wolves, and a strong cub
with them.  “This one will I take,” said Math, “and I will cause him to
be baptized; there is a name prepared for him, and that is Bleiddwn.  Now
these three, such are they:—

   The three sons of Gilvaethwy the false,
   The three faithful combatants,
   Bleiddwn, Hydwn, and Hychdwn the Tall.”

Then he struck the two with his magic wand, and they resumed their own
nature.  “Oh men,” said he, “for the wrong that ye did unto me sufficient
has been your punishment and your dishonour.  Prepare now precious
ointment for these men, and wash their heads, and equip them.”  And this
was done.

And after they were equipped, they came unto him.  “Oh men,” said he,
“you have obtained peace, and you shall likewise have friendship.  Give
your counsel unto me, what maiden I shall seek.”  “Lord,” said Gwydion
the son of Don, “it is easy to give thee counsel; seek Arianrod, the
daughter of Don, thy niece, thy sister’s daughter.”

And they brought her unto him, and the maiden came in.  “Ha, damsel,”
said he, “art thou the maiden?”  “I know not, lord, other than that I
am.”  Then he took up his magic wand, and bent it.  “Step over this,”
said he, “and I shall know if thou art the maiden.”  Then stepped she
over the magic wand, and there appeared forthwith a fine chubby
yellow-haired boy.  And at the crying out of the boy, she went towards
the door.  And thereupon some small form was seen; but before any one
could get a second glimpse of it, Gwydion had taken it, and had flung a
scarf of velvet around it and hidden it.  Now the place where he hid it
was the bottom of a chest at the foot of his bed.

“Verily,” said Math the son of Mathonwy, concerning the fine
yellow-haired boy, “I will cause this one to be baptized, and Dylan is
the name I will give him.”

So they had the boy baptized, and as they baptized him he plunged into
the sea.  And immediately when he was in the sea, he took its nature, and
swam as well as the best fish that was therein.  And for that reason was
he called Dylan, the son of the Wave.  Beneath him no wave ever broke.
And the blow whereby he came to his death, was struck by his uncle
Govannon.  The third fatal blow was it called.

As Gwydion lay one morning on his bed awake, he heard a cry in the chest
at his feet; and though it was not loud, it was such that he could hear
it.  Then he arose in haste, and opened the chest: and when he opened it,
he beheld an infant boy stretching out his arms from the folds of the
scarf, and casting it aside.  And he took up the boy in his arms, and
carried him to a place where he knew there was a woman that could nurse
him.  And he agreed with the woman that she should take charge of the
boy.  And that year he was nursed.

And at the end of the year he seemed by his size as though he were two
years old.  And the second year he was a big child, and able to go to the
Court by himself.  And when he came to the Court, Gwydion noticed him,
and the boy became familiar with him, and loved him better than any one
else.  Then was the boy reared at the Court until he was four years old,
when he was as big as though he had been eight.

And one day Gwydion walked forth, and the boy followed him, and he went
to the Castle of Arianrod, having the boy with him; and when he came into
the Court, Arianrod arose to meet him, and greeted him and bade him
welcome.  “Heaven prosper thee,” said he.  “Who is the boy that followeth
thee?” she asked.  “This youth, he is thy son,” he answered.  “Alas,”
said she, “what has come unto thee that thou shouldst shame me thus?
wherefore dost thou seek my dishonour, and retain it so long as this?”
“Unless thou suffer dishonour greater than that of my bringing up such a
boy as this, small will be thy disgrace.”  “What is the name of the boy?”
said she.  “Verily,” he replied, “he has not yet a name.”  “Well,” she
said, “I lay this destiny upon him, that he shall never have a name until
he receives one from me.”  “Heaven bears me witness,” answered he, “that
thou art a wicked woman.  But the boy shall have a name how displeasing
soever it may be unto thee.  As for thee, that which afflicts thee is
that thou art no longer called a damsel.”  And thereupon he went forth in
wrath, and returned to Caer Dathyl and there he tarried that night.

And the next day he arose and took the boy with him, and went to walk on
the seashore between that place and Aber Menei.  And there he saw some
sedges and seaweed, and he turned them into a boat.  And out of dry
sticks and sedges he made some Cordovan leather, and a great deal
thereof, and he coloured it in such a manner that no one ever saw leather
more beautiful than it.  Then he made a sail to the boat, and he and the
boy went in it to the port of the castle of Arianrod.  And he began
forming shoes and stitching them, until he was observed from the castle.
And when he knew that they of the castle were observing him, he disguised
his aspect, and put another semblance upon himself, and upon the boy, so
that they might not be known.  “What men are those in yonder boat?” said
Arianrod.  “They are cordwainers,” answered they.  “Go and see what kind
of leather they have, and what kind of work they can do.”

So they came unto them.  And when they came he was colouring some
Cordovan leather, and gilding it.  And the messengers came and told her
this.  “Well,” said she, “take the measure of my foot, and desire the
cordwainer to make shoes for me.”  So he made the shoes for her, yet not
according to the measure, but larger.  The shoes then were brought unto
her, and behold they were too large.  “These are too large,” said she,
“but he shall receive their value.  Let him also make some that are
smaller than they.”  Then he made her others that were much smaller than
her foot, and sent them unto her.  “Tell him that these will not go on my
feet,” said she.  And they told him this.  “Verily,” said he, “I will not
make her any shoes, unless I see her foot.”  And this was told unto her.
“Truly,” she answered, “I will go unto him.”

So she went down to the boat, and when she came there, he was shaping
shoes and the boy stitching them.  “Ah, lady,” said he, “good day to
thee.”  “Heaven prosper thee,” said she.  “I marvel that thou canst not
manage to make shoes according to a measure.”  “I could not,” he replied,
“but now I shall be able.”

Thereupon behold a wren stood upon the deck of the boat, and the boy shot
at it, and hit it in the leg between the sinew and the bone.  Then she
smiled.  “Verily,” said she, “with a steady hand did the lion aim at it.”
“Heaven reward thee not, but now has he got a name.  And a good enough
name it is.  Llew Llaw Gyffes be he called henceforth.”

Then the work disappeared in seaweed and sedges, and he went on with it
no further.  And for that reason was he called the third Gold-shoemaker.
“Of a truth,” said she, “thou wilt not thrive the better for doing evil
unto me.”  “I have done thee no evil yet,” said he.  Then he restored the
boy to his own form.  “Well,” said she, “I will lay a destiny upon this
boy, that he shall never have arms and armour until I invest him with
them.”  “By Heaven,” said he, “let thy malice be what it may, he shall
have arms.”

Then they went towards Dinas Dinllev, and there he brought up Llew Llaw
Gyffes, until he could manage any horse, and he was perfect in features,
and strength, and stature.  And then Gwydion saw that he languished
through the want of horses and arms.  And he called him unto him.  “Ah,
youth,” said he, “we will go to-morrow on an errand together.  Be
therefore more cheerful than thou art.”  “That I will,” said the youth.

Next morning, at the dawn of day, they arose.  And they took way along
the sea coast, up towards Bryn Aryen.  And at the top of Cevn Clydno they
equipped themselves with horses, and went towards the Castle of Arianrod.
And they changed their form, and pricked towards the gate in the
semblance of two youths, but the aspect of Gwydion was more staid than
that of the other.  “Porter,” said he, “go thou in and say that there are
here bards from Glamorgan.”  And the porter went in.  “The welcome of
Heaven be unto them, let them in,” said Arianrod.

With great joy were they greeted.  And the hall was arranged, and they
went to meat.  When meat was ended, Arianrod discoursed with Gwydion of
tales and stories.  Now Gwydion was an excellent teller of tales.  And
when it was time to leave off feasting, a chamber was prepared for them,
and they went to rest.

In the early twilight Gwydion arose, and he called unto him his magic and
his power.  And by the time that the day dawned, there resounded through
the land uproar, and trumpets and shouts.  When it was now day, they
heard a knocking at the door of the chamber, and therewith Arianrod
asking that it might be opened.  Up rose the youth and opened unto her,
and she entered and a maiden with her.  “Ah, good men,” she said, “in
evil plight are we.”  “Yes, truly,” said Gwydion, “we have heard trumpets
and shouts; what thinkest thou that they may mean?”  “Verily,” said she,
“we cannot see the colour of the ocean by reason of all the ships, side
by side.  And they are making for the land with all the speed they can.
And what can we do?” said she.  “Lady,” said Gwydion, “there is none
other counsel than to close the castle upon us, and to defend it as best
we may.”  “Truly,” said she, “may Heaven reward you.  And do you defend
it.  And here may you have plenty of arms.”

And thereupon went she forth for the arms, and behold she returned, and
two maidens, and suits of armour for two men, with her.  “Lady,” said he,
“do you accoutre this stripling, and I will arm myself with the help of
thy maidens.  Lo, I hear the tumult of the men approaching.”  “I will do
so, gladly.”  So she armed him fully, and that right cheerfully.  “Hast
thou finished arming the youth?” said he.  “I have finished,” she
answered.  “I likewise have finished,” said Gwydion.  “Let us now take
off our arms, we have no need of them.”  “Wherefore?” said she.  “Here is
the army around the house.”  “Oh, lady, there is here no army.”  “Oh,”
cried she, “whence then was this tumult?”  “The tumult was but to break
thy prophecy and to obtain arms for thy son.  And now has he got arms
without any thanks unto thee.”  “By Heaven,” said Arianrod, “thou art a
wicked man.  Many a youth might have lost his life through the uproar
thou hast caused in this Cantrev to-day.  Now will I lay a destiny upon
this youth,” she said, “that he shall never have a wife of the race that
now inhabits this earth.”  “Verily,” said he, “thou wast ever a malicious
woman, and no one ought to support thee.  A wife shall he have
notwithstanding.”

They went thereupon unto Math the son of Mathonwy, and complained unto
him most bitterly of Arianrod.  Gwydion showed him also how he had
procured arms for the youth.  “Well,” said Math, “we will seek, I and
thou, by charms and illusion, to form a wife for him out of flowers.  He
has now come to man’s stature, and he is the comeliest youth that was
ever beheld.”  So they took the blossoms of the oak, and the blossoms of
the broom, and the blossoms of the meadow-sweet, and produced from them a
maiden, the fairest and most graceful that man ever saw.  And they
baptized her, and gave her the name of Blodeuwedd.

After she had become his bride, and they had feasted, said Gwydion, “It
is not easy for a man to maintain himself without possessions.”  “Of a
truth,” said Math, “I will give the young man the best Cantrev to hold.”
“Lord,” said he, “what Cantrev is that?”  “The Cantrev of Dinodig,” he
answered.  Now it is called at this day Eivionydd and Ardudwy.  And the
place in the Cantrev where he dwelt, was a palace of his in a spot called
Mur y Castell, on the confines of Ardudwy.  There dwelt he and reigned,
and both he and his sway were beloved by all.

One day he went forth to Caer Dathyl, to visit Math the son of Mathonwy.
And on the day that he set out for Caer Dathyl, Blodeuwedd walked in the
Court.  And she heard the sound of a horn.  And after the sound of the
horn, behold a tired stag went by, with dogs and huntsmen following it.
And after the dogs and the huntsmen there came a crowd of men on foot.
“Send a youth,” said she, “to ask who yonder host may be.”  So a youth
went, and inquired who they were.  “Gronw Pebyr is this, the lord of
Penllyn,” said they.  And thus the youth told her.

Gronw Pebyr pursued the stag, and by the river Cynvael he overtook the
stag and killed it.  And what with flaying the stag and baiting his dogs,
he was there until the night began to close in upon him.  And as the day
departed and the night drew near, he came to the gate of the Court.
“Verily,” said Blodeuwedd, “the Chieftain will speak ill of us if we let
him at this hour depart to another land without inviting him in.”  “Yes,
truly, lady,” said they, “it will be most fitting to invite him.”

Then went messengers to meet him and bid him in.  And he accepted her
bidding gladly, and came to the Court, and Blodeuwedd went to meet him,
and greeted him, and bade him welcome.  “Lady,” said he, “Heaven repay
thee thy kindness.”

When they had disaccoutred themselves, they went to sit down.  And
Blodeuwedd looked upon him, and from the moment that she looked on him
she became filled with his love.  And he gazed on her, and the same
thought came unto him as unto her, so that he could not conceal from her
that he loved her, but he declared unto her that he did so.  Thereupon
she was very joyful.  And all their discourse that night was concerning
the affection and love which they felt one for the other, and which in no
longer space than one evening had arisen.  And that evening passed they
in each other’s company.

The next day he sought to depart.  But she said, “I pray thee go not from
me to-day.”  And that night he tarried also.  And that night they
consulted by what means they might always be together.  “There is none
other counsel,” said he, “but that thou strive to learn from Llew Llaw
Gyffes in what manner he will meet his death.  And this must thou do
under the semblance of solicitude concerning him.”

The next day Gronw sought to depart.  “Verily,” said she, “I will counsel
thee not to go from me to-day.”  “At thy instance will I not go,” said
he, “albeit, I must say, there is danger that the chief who owns the
palace may return home.”  “To-morrow,” answered she, “will I indeed
permit thee to go forth.”

The next day he sought to go, and she hindered him not.  “Be mindful,”
said Gronw, “of what I have said unto thee, and converse with him fully,
and that under the guise of the dalliance of love, and find out by what
means he may come to his death.”

That night Llew Llaw Gyffes returned to his home.  And the day they spent
in discourse, and minstrelsy, and feasting.  And at night they went to
rest, and he spoke to Blodeuwedd once, and he spoke to her a second time.
But, for all this, he could not get from her one word.  “What aileth
thee?” said he, “art thou well?”  “I was thinking,” said she, “of that
which thou didst never think of concerning me; for I was sorrowful as to
thy death, lest thou shouldst go sooner than I.”  “Heaven reward thy care
for me,” said he, “but until Heaven take me I shall not easily be slain.”
“For the sake of Heaven, and for mine, show me how thou mightest be
slain.  My memory in guarding is better than thine.”  “I will tell thee
gladly,” said he.  “Not easily can I be slain, except by a wound.  And
the spear wherewith I am struck must be a year in the forming.  And
nothing must be done towards it except during the sacrifice on Sundays.”
“Is this certain?” asked she.  “It is in truth,” he answered.  “And I
cannot be slain within a house, nor without.  I cannot be slain on
horseback nor on foot.”  “Verily,” said she, “in what manner then canst
thou be slain?”  “I will tell thee,” said he.  “By making a bath for me
by the side of a river, and by putting a roof over the cauldron, and
thatching it well and tightly, and bringing a buck, and putting it beside
the cauldron.  Then if I place one foot on the buck’s back, and the other
on the edge of the cauldron, whosoever strikes me thus will cause my
death.”  “Well,” said she, “I thank Heaven that it will be easy to avoid
this.”

No sooner had she held this discourse than she sent to Gronw Pebyr.
Gronw toiled at making the spear, and that day twelvemonth it was ready.
And that very day he caused her to be informed thereof.

“Lord,” said Blodeuwedd unto Llew, “I have been thinking how it is
possible that what thou didst tell me formerly can be true; wilt thou
show me in what manner thou couldst stand at once upon the edge of a
cauldron and upon a buck, if I prepare the bath for thee?”  “I will show
thee,” said he.

Then she sent unto Gronw, and bade him be in ambush on the hill which is
now called Bryn Kyvergyr, on the bank of the river Cynvael.  She caused
also to be collected all the goats that were in the Cantrev, and had them
brought to the other side of the river, opposite Bryn Kyvergyr.

And the next day she spoke thus.  “Lord,” said she, “I have caused the
roof and the bath to be prepared, and lo! they are ready.”  “Well,” said
Llew, “we will go gladly to look at them.”

The day after they came and looked at the bath.  “Wilt thou go into the
bath, lord?” said she.  “Willingly will I go in,” he answered.  So into
the bath he went, and he anointed himself.  “Lord,” said she, “behold the
animals which thou didst speak of as being called bucks.”  “Well,” said
he, “cause one of them to be caught and brought here.”  And the buck was
brought.  Then Llew rose out of the bath, and put on his trowsers, and he
placed one foot on the edge of the bath and the other on the buck’s back.

Thereupon Gronw rose up from the bill which is called Bryn Kyvergyr, and
he rested on one knee, and flung the poisoned dart and struck him on the
side, so that the shaft started out, but the head of the dart remained
in.  Then he flew up in the form of an eagle and gave a fearful scream.
And thenceforth was he no more seen.

As soon as he departed Gronw and Blodeuwedd went together unto the palace
that night.  And the next day Gronw arose and took possession of Ardudwy.
And after he had overcome the land, he ruled over it, so that Ardudwy and
Penllyn were both under his sway.

Then these tidings reached Math the son of Mathonwy.  And heaviness and
grief came upon Math, and much more upon Gwydion than upon him.  “Lord,”
said Gwydion, “I shall never rest until I have tidings of my nephew.”
“Verily,” said Math, “may Heaven be thy strength.”  Then Gwydion set
forth and began to go forward.  And he went through Gwynedd and Powys to
the confines.  And when he had done so, he went into Arvon, and came to
the house of a vassal, in Maenawr Penardd.  And he alighted at the house,
and stayed there that night.  The man of the house and his house-hold
came in, and last of all came there the swineherd.  Said the man of the
house to the swineherd, “Well, youth, hath thy sow come in to-night?”
“She hath,” said he, “and is this instant returned to the pigs.”  “Where
doth this sow go to?” said Gwydion.  “Every day, when the sty is opened,
she goeth forth and none can catch sight of her, neither is it known
whither she goeth more than if she sank into the earth.”  “Wilt thou
grant unto me,” said Gwydion, “not to open the sty until I am beside the
sty with thee?”  “This will I do, right gladly,” he answered.

That night they went to rest; and as soon as the swineherd saw the light
of day, he awoke Gwydion.  And Gwydion arose and dressed himself, and
went with the swineherd, and stood beside the sty.  Then the swineherd
opened the sty.  And as soon as he opened it, behold she leaped forth,
and set off with great speed.  And Gwydion followed her, and she went
against the course of a river, and made for a brook, which is now called
Nant y Llew.  And there she halted and began feeding.  And Gwydion came
under the tree, and looked what it might be that the sow was feeding on.
And he saw that she was eating putrid flesh and vermin.  Then looked he
up to the top of the tree, and as he looked he beheld on the top of the
tree an eagle, and when the eagle shook itself, there fell vermin and
putrid flesh from off it, and these the sow devoured.  And it seemed to
him that the eagle was Llew.  And he sang an Englyn:—

   “Oak that grows between the two banks;
   Darkened is the sky and hill!
   Shall I not tell him by his wounds,
   That this is Llew?”

Upon this the eagle came down until he reached the centre of the tree.
And Gwydion sang another Englyn:—

   “Oak that grows in upland ground,
   Is it not wetted by the rain?  Has it not been drenched
   By nine score tempests?
   It bears in its branches Llew Llaw Gyffes!”

Then the eagle came down until he was on the lowest branch of the tree,
and thereupon this Englyn did Gwydion sing:—

   “Oak that grows beneath the steep;
   Stately and majestic is its aspect!
   Shall I not speak it?
   That Llew will come to my lap?”

And the eagle came down upon Gwydion’s knee.  And Gwydion struck him with
his magic wand, so that he returned to his own form.  No one ever saw a
more piteous sight, for he was nothing but skin and bone.

Then he went unto Caer Dathyl, and there were brought unto him good
physicians that were in Gwynedd, and before the end of the year he was
quite healed.

“Lord,” said he unto Math the son of Mathonwy, “it is full time now that
I have retribution of him by whom I have suffered all this woe.”
“Truly,” said Math, “he will never be able to maintain himself in the
possession of that which is thy right.”  “Well,” said Llew, “the sooner I
have my right, the better shall I be pleased.”

Then they called together the whole of Gwynedd, and set forth to Ardudwy.
And Gwydion went on before and proceeded to Mur y Castell.  And when
Blodeuwedd heard that he was coming, she took her maidens with her, and
fled to the mountain.  And they passed through the river Cynvael, and
went towards a court that there was upon the mountain, and through fear
they could not proceed except with their faces looking backwards, so that
unawares they fell into the lake.  And they were all drowned except
Blodeuwedd herself, and her Gwydion overtook.  And he said unto her, “I
will not slay thee, but I will do unto thee worse than that.  For I will
turn thee into a bird; and because of the shame thou hast done unto Llew
Llaw Gyffes, thou shalt never show thy face in the light of day
henceforth; and that through fear of all the other birds.  For it shall
be their nature to attack thee, and to chase thee from wheresoever they
may find thee.  And thou shalt not lose thy name, but shalt be always
called Blodeuwedd.”  Now Blodeuwedd is an owl in the language of this
present time, and for this reason is the owl hateful unto all birds.  And
even now the owl is called Blodeuwedd.

Then Gronw Pebyr withdrew unto Penllyn, and he dispatched thence an
embassy.  And the messengers he sent asked Llew Llaw Gyffes if he would
take land, or domain, or gold, or silver, for the injury he had received.
“I will not, by my confession to Heaven,” said he.  “Behold this is the
least that I will accept from him; that he come to the spot where I was
when he wounded me with the dart, and that I stand where he did, and that
with a dart I take my aim at him.  And this is the very least that I will
accept.”

And this was told unto Gronw Pebyr.  “Verily,” said he, “is it needful
for me to do thus?  My faithful warriors, and my household, and my
foster-brothers, is there not one among you who will stand the blow in my
stead?”  “There is not, verily,” answered they.  And because of their
refusal to suffer one stroke for their lord, they are called the third
disloyal tribe even unto this day.  “Well,” said he, “I will meet it.”

Then they two went forth to the banks of the river Cynvael, and Gronw
stood in the place where Llew Llaw Gyffes was when he struck him, and
Llew in the place where Gronw was.  Then said Gronw Pebyr unto Llew,
“Since it was through the wiles of a woman that I did unto thee as I have
done, I adjure thee by Heaven to let me place between me and the blow,
the slab thou seest yonder on the river’s bank.”  “Verily,” said Llew, “I
will not refuse thee this.”  “Ah,” said he, “may Heaven reward thee.”  So
Gronw took the slab and placed it between him and the blow.

Then Llew flung the dart at him, and it pierced the slab and went through
Gronw likewise, so that it pierced through his back.  And thus was Gronw
Pebyr slain.  And there is still the slab on the bank of the river
Cynvael, in Ardudwy, having the hole through it.  And therefore is it
even now called Llech Gronw.

A second time did Llew Llaw Gyffes take possession of the land, and
prosperously did he govern it.  And, as the story relates, he was lord
after this over Gwynedd.  And thus ends this portion of the Mabinogi.



THE DREAM OF MAXEN WLEDIG


MAXEN WLEDIG was emperor of Rome, and he was a comelier man, and a better
and a wiser than any emperor that had been before him.  And one day he
held a council of kings, and he said to his friends, “I desire to go
to-morrow to hunt.”  And the next day in the morning he set forth with
his retinue, and came to the valley of the river that flowed towards
Rome.  And he hunted through the valley until mid-day.  And with him also
were two-and-thirty crowned kings, that were his vassals; not for the
delight of hunting went the emperor with them, but to put himself on
equal terms with those kings.

And the sun was high in the sky over their heads and the heat was great.
And sleep came upon Maxen Wledig.  And his attendants stood and set up
their shields around him upon the shafts of their spears to protect him
from the sun, and they placed a gold enamelled shield under his head; and
so Maxen slept.

And he saw a dream.  And this is the dream that he saw.  He was
journeying along the valley of the river towards its source; and he came
to the highest mountain in the world.  And he thought that the mountain
was as high as the sky; and when he came over the mountain, it seemed to
him that he went through the fairest and most level regions that man ever
yet beheld, on the other side of the mountain.  And he saw large and
mighty rivers descending from the mountain to the sea, and towards the
mouths of the rivers he proceeded.  And as he journeyed thus, he came to
the mouth of the largest river ever seen.  And he beheld a great city at
the entrance of the river, and a vast castle in the city, and he saw many
high towers of various colours in the castle.  And he saw a fleet at the
mouth of the river, the largest ever seen.  And he saw one ship among the
fleet; larger was it by far, and fairer than all the others.  Of such
part of the ship as he could see above the water, one plank was gilded
and the other silvered over.  He saw a bridge of the bone of a whale from
the ship to the land, and he thought that he went along the bridge, and
came into the ship.  And a sail was hoisted on the ship, and along the
sea and the ocean was it borne.  Then it seemed that he came to the
fairest island in the whole world, and he traversed the island from sea
to sea, even to the furthest shore of the island.  Valleys he saw, and
steeps, and rocks of wondrous height, and rugged precipices.  Never yet
saw he the like.  And thence he beheld an island in the sea, facing this
rugged land.  And between him and this island was a country of which the
plain was as large as the sea, the mountain as vast as the wood.  And
from the mountain he saw a river that flowed through the land and fell
into the sea.  And at the mouth of the river he beheld a castle, the
fairest that man ever saw, and the gate of the castle was open, and he
went into the castle.  And in the castle he saw a fair hall, of which the
roof seemed to be all gold, the walls of the hall seemed to be entirely
of glittering precious gems, the doors all seemed to be of gold.  Golden
seats he saw in the hall, and silver tables.  And on a seat opposite to
him he beheld two auburn-haired youths playing at chess.  He saw a silver
board for the chess, and golden pieces thereon.  The garments of the
youths were of jet-black satin, and chaplets of ruddy gold bound their
hair, whereon were sparkling jewels of great price, rubies, and gems,
alternately with imperial stones.  Buskins of new Cordovan leather on
their feet, fastened by slides of red gold.

And beside a pillar in the hall he saw a hoary-headed man, in a chair of
ivory, with the figures of two eagles of ruddy gold thereon.  Bracelets
of gold were upon his arms, and many rings were on his hands, and a
golden torque about his neck; and his hair was bound with a golden
diadem.  He was of powerful aspect.  A chessboard of gold was before him,
and a rod of gold, and a steel file in his hand.  And he was carving out
chessmen.

And he saw a maiden sitting before him in a chair of ruddy gold.  Not
more easy than to gaze upon the sun when brightest, was it to look upon
her by reason of her beauty.  A vest of white silk was upon the maiden,
with clasps of red gold at the breast; and a surcoat of gold tissue upon
her, and a frontlet of red gold upon her head, and rubies and gems were
in the frontlet, alternating with pearls and imperial stones.  And a
girdle of ruddy gold was around her.  She was the fairest sight that man
ever beheld.

The maiden arose from her chair before him, and he threw his arms about
the neck of the maiden, and they two sat down together in the chair of
gold: and the chair was not less roomy for them both, than for the maiden
alone.  And as he had his arms about the maiden’s neck, and his cheek by
her cheek, behold, through the chafing of the dogs at their leashing, and
the clashing of the shields as they struck against each other, and the
beating together of the shafts of the spears, and the neighing of the
horses and their prancing, the emperor awoke.

And when he awoke, nor spirit nor existence was left him, because of the
maiden whom he had seen in his sleep, for the love of the maiden pervaded
his whole frame.  Then his household spake unto him.  “Lord,” said they,
“is it not past the time for thee to take thy food?”  Thereupon the
emperor mounted his palfrey, the saddest man that mortal ever saw, and
went forth towards Rome.

And thus he was during the space of a week.  When they of the household
went to drink wine and mead out of golden vessels, he went not with any
of them.  When they went to listen to songs and tales, he went not with
them there; neither could he be persuaded to do anything but sleep.  And
as often as he slept, he beheld in his dreams the maiden he loved best;
but except when he slept he saw nothing of her, for he knew not where in
the world she was.

One day the page of the chamber spake unto him; now, although he was page
of the chamber, he was king of the Romans.  “Lord,” said he, “all the
people revile thee.”  “Wherefore do they revile me?” asked the emperor.
“Because they can get neither message nor answer from thee as men should
have from their lord.  This is the cause why thou art spoken evil of.”
“Youth,” said the emperor, “do thou bring unto me the wise men of Rome,
and I will tell them wherefore I am sorrowful.”

Then the wise men of Rome were brought to the emperor, and he spake to
them.  “Sages of Rome,” said he, “I have seen a dream.  And in the dream
I beheld a maiden, and because of the maiden is there neither life, nor
spirit, nor existence within me.”  “Lord,” they answered, “since thou
judgest us worthy to counsel thee, we will give thee counsel.  And this
is our counsel; that thou send messengers for three years to the three
parts of the world to seek for thy dream.  And as thou knowest not what
day or what night good news may come to thee, the hope thereof will
support thee.”

So the messengers journeyed for the space of a year, wandering about the
world, and seeking tidings concerning his dream.  But when they came back
at the end of the year, they knew not one word more than they did the day
they set forth.  And then was the emperor exceeding sorrowful, for he
thought that he should never have tidings of her whom best he loved.

Then spoke the king of the Romans unto the emperor.  “Lord,” said he, “go
forth to hunt by the way thou didst seem to go, whether it were to the
east, or to the west.”  So the emperor went forth to the hunt, and he
came to the bank of the river.  “Behold,” said he, “this is where I was
when I saw the dream, and I went towards the source of the river
westward.”

And thereupon thirteen messengers of the emperor’s set forth, and before
them they saw a high mountain, which seemed to them to touch the sky.
Now this was the guise in which the messengers journeyed; one sleeve was
on the cap of each of them in front, as a sign that they were messengers,
in order that through what hostile land soever they might pass no harm
might be done them.  And when they were come over this mountain, they
beheld vast plains, and large rivers flowing there through.

“Behold,” said they, “the land which our master saw.”

And they went along the mouths of the rivers, until they came to the
mighty river which they saw flowing to the sea, and the vast city, and
the many-coloured high towers in the castle.  They saw the largest fleet
in the world, in the harbour of the river, and one ship that was larger
than any of the others.  “Behold again,” said they, “the dream that our
master saw.”  And in the great ship they crossed the sea, and came to the
Island of Britain.  And they traversed the island until they came to
Snowdon.  “Behold,” said they, “the rugged land that our master saw.”
And they went forward until they saw Anglesey before them, and until they
saw Arvon likewise.  “Behold,” said they, “the land our master saw in his
sleep.”  And they saw Aber Sain, and a castle at the mouth of the river.
The portal of the castle saw they open, and into the castle they went,
and they saw a hall in the castle.  Then said they, “Behold, the hall
which he saw in his sleep.”  They went into the hall, and they beheld two
youths playing at chess on the golden bench.  And they beheld the
hoary-headed man beside the pillar, in the ivory chair, carving chessmen.
And they beheld the maiden sitting on a chair of ruddy gold.

The messengers bent down upon their knees.  “Empress of Rome, all hail!”
“Ha, gentles,” said the maiden, “ye bear the seeming of honourable men,
and the badge of envoys, what mockery is this ye do to me?”  “We mock
thee not, lady; but the Emperor of Rome hath seen thee in his sleep, and
he has neither life nor spirit left because of thee.  Thou shalt have of
us therefore the choice, lady, whether thou wilt go with us and be made
empress of Rome, or that the emperor come hither and take thee for his
wife?”  “Ha, lords,” said the maiden, “I will not deny what ye say,
neither will I believe it too well.  If the emperor love me, let him come
here to seek me.”

And by day and night the messengers hied them back.  And when their
horses failed, they bought other fresh ones.  And when they came to Rome,
they saluted the emperor, and asked their boon, which was given to them
according as they named it.  “We will be thy guides, lord,” said they,
“over sea and over land, to the place where is the woman whom best thou
lovest, for we know her name, and her kindred, and her race.”

And immediately the emperor set forth with his army.  And these men were
his guides.  Towards the Island of Britain they went over the sea and the
deep.  And he conquered the Island from Beli the son of Manogan, and his
sons, and drove them to the sea, and went forward even unto Arvon.  And
the emperor knew the land when he saw it.  And when he beheld the castle
of Aber Sain, “Look yonder,” said he, “there is the castle wherein I saw
the damsel whom I best love.”  And he went forward into the castle and
into the hall, and there he saw Kynan the son of Eudav, and Adeon the son
of Eudav, playing at chess.  And he saw Eudav the son of Caradawc,
sitting on a chair of ivory carving chessmen.  And the maiden whom he had
beheld in his sleep, he saw sitting on a chair of gold.  “Empress of
Rome,” said he, “all hail!”  And the emperor threw his arms about her
neck; and that night she became his bride.

And the next day in the morning, the damsel asked her maiden portion.
And he told her to name what she would.  And she asked to have the Island
of Britain for her father, from the Channel to the Irish Sea, together
with the three adjacent Islands, to hold under the empress of Rome; and
to have three chief castles made for her, an whatever places she might
choose in the Island of Britain.  And she chose to have the highest
castle made at Arvon.  And they brought thither earth from Rome that it
might be more healthful for the emperor to sleep, and sit, and walk upon.
After that the two other castles were made for her, which were Caerlleon
and Caermarthen.

And one day the emperor went to hunt at Caermarthen, and he came so far
as the top of Brevi Vawr, and there the emperor pitched his tent.  And
that encamping place is called Cadeir Maxen, even to this day.  And
because that he built the castle with a myriad of men, he called it
Caervyrddin.  Then Helen bethought her to make high roads from one castle
to another throughout the Island of Britain.  And the roads were made.
And for this cause are they called the roads of Helen Luyddawc, that she
was sprung from a native of this island, and the men of the Island of
Britain would not have made these great roads for any save for her.

Seven years did the emperor tarry in this Island.  Now, at that time, the
men of Rome had a custom, that whatsoever emperor should remain in other
lands more than seven years should remain to his own overthrow, and
should never return to Rome again.

So they made a new emperor.  And this one wrote a letter of threat to
Maxen.  There was nought in the letter but only this.  “If thou comest,
and if thou ever comest to Rome.”  And even unto Caerlleon came this
letter to Maxen, and these tidings.  Then sent he a letter to the man who
styled himself emperor in Rome.  There was nought in that letter also but
only this.  “If I come to Rome, and if I come.”

And thereupon Maxen set forth towards Rome with his army, and vanquished
France and Bugundy, and every land on the way, and sat down before the
city of Rome.

A year was the emperor before the city, and he was no nearer taking it
than the first day.  And after him there came the brothers of Helen
Luyddawc from the Island of Britain, and a small host with them, and
better warriors were in that small host than twice as many Romans.  And
the emperor was told that a host was seen, halting close to his army and
encamping, and no man ever saw a fairer or better appointed host for its
size, nor more handsome standards.

And Helen went to see the hosts, and she knew the standards of her
brothers.  Then came Kynan the son of Eudav, and Adeon the son of Eudav,
to meet the emperor.  And the emperor was glad because of them, and
embraced them.

Then they looked at the Romans as they attacked the city.  Said Kynan to
his brother, “We will try to attack the city more expertly than this.”
So they measured by night the height of the wall, and they sent their
carpenters to the wood, and a ladder was made for every four men of their
number.  Now when these were ready, every day at mid-day the emperors
went to meat, and they ceased to fight on both sides till all had
finished eating.  And in the morning the men of Britain took their food
and they drank until they were invigorated.  And while the two emperors
were at meat, the Britons came to the city, and placed their ladders
against it, and forthwith they came in through the city.

The new emperor had no time to arm himself when they fell upon him, and
slew him, and many others with him.  And three nights and three days were
they subduing the men that were in the city and taking the castle.  And
others of them kept the city, lest any of the host of Maxen should come
therein, until they had subjected all to their will.

Then spake Maxen to Helen Luyddawc.  “I marvel, lady,” said he, “that thy
brothers have not conquered this city for me.”  “Lord, emperor,” she
answered, “the wisest youths in the world are my brothers.  Go thou
thither and ask the city of them, and if it be in their possession thou
shalt have it gladly.”  So the emperor and Helen went and demanded the
city.  And they told the emperor that none had taken the city, and that
none could give it him, but the men of the Island of Britain.  Then the
gates of the city of Rome were opened, and the emperor sat on the throne,
and all the men of Rome submitted them selves unto him.

The emperor then said unto Kynan and Adeon, “Lords,” said he, “I have now
had possession of the whole of my empire.  This host give I unto you to
vanquish whatever region ye may desire in the world.”

So they set forth and conquered lands, and castles, and cities.  And they
slew all the men, but the women they kept alive.  And thus they continued
until the young men that had come with them were grown grey-headed, from
the length of time they were upon this conquest.

Then spoke Kynan unto Adeon his brother, “Whether wilt thou rather,” said
he, “tarry in this land, or go back into the land whence thou didst come
forth?”  Now he chose to go back to his own land, and many with him.  But
Kynan tarried there with the other part and dwelt there.

And they took counsel and cut out the tongues of the women, lest they
should corrupt their speech.  And because of the silence of the women
from their own speech, the men of Armorica are called Britons.  From that
time there came frequently, and still comes, that language from the
Island of Britain.

And this dream is called the Dream of Maxen Wledig, emperor of Rome.  And
here it ends.



HERE IS THE STORY OF LLUDD AND LLEVELYS


BELI THE GREAT, the son of Manogan, had three sons, Lludd, and
Caswallawn, and Nynyaw; and according to the story he had a fourth son
called Llevelys.  And after the death of Beli, the kingdom of the Island
of Britain fell into the hands of Llud his eldest son; and Lludd ruled
prosperously, and rebuilt the walls of London, and encompassed it about
with numberless towers.  And after that he bade the citizens build houses
therein, such as no houses in the kingdoms could equal.  And moreover he
was a mighty warrior, and generous and liberal in giving meat and drink
to all that sought them.  And though he had many castles and cities this
one loved he more than any.  And he dwelt therein most part of the year,
and therefore was it called Caer Lludd, and at last Caer London.  And
after the stranger-race came there, it was called London, or Lwndrys.

Lludd loved Llevelys best of all his brothers, because he was a wise and
discreet man.  Having heard that the king of France had died, leaving no
heir except a daughter, and that he had left all his possessions in her
hands, he came to Lludd his brother, to beseech his counsel and aid.  And
that not so much for his own welfare, as to seek to add to the glory and
honour and dignity of his kindred, if he might go to France to woo the
maiden for his wife.  And forthwith his brother conferred with him, and
this counsel was pleasing unto him.

So he prepared ships and filled them with armed knights, and set forth
towards France.  And as soon as they had landed, they sent messengers to
show the nobles of France the cause of the embassy.  And by the joint
counsel of the nobles of France and of the princes, the maiden was given
to Llevelys, and the crown of the kingdom with her.  And thenceforth he
ruled the land discreetly, and wisely, and happily, as long as his life
lasted.

After a space of time had passed, three plagues fell on the Island of
Britain, such as none in the islands had ever seen the like of.  The
first was a certain race that came, and was called the Coranians; and so
great was their knowledge, that there was no discourse upon the face of
the Island, however low it might be spoken, but what, if the wind met it,
it was known to them.  And through this they could not be injured. {4}

The second plague was a shriek which came on every May-eve, over every
hearth in the Island of Britain.  And this went through people’s hearts,
and so scared them, that the men lost their hue and their strength, and
the women their children, and the young men and the maidens lost their
senses, and all the animals and trees and the earth and the waters, were
left barren.

The third plague was, that however much of provisions and food might be
prepared in the king’s courts, were there even so much as a year’s
provision of meat and drink, none of it could ever be found, except what
was consumed in the first night.  And two of these plagues, no one ever
knew their cause, therefore was there better hope of being freed from the
first than from the second and third.

And thereupon King Lludd felt great sorrow and care, because that he knew
not how he might be freed from these plagues.  And he called to him all
the nobles of his kingdom, and asked counsel of them what they should do
against these afflictions.  And by the common counsel of the nobles,
Lludd the son of Beli went to Llevelys his brother, king of France, for
he was a man great of counsel and wisdom, to seek his advice.

And they made ready a fleet, and that in secret and in silence, lest that
race should know the cause of their errand, or any besides the king and
his counsellors.  And when they were made ready, they went into their
ships, Lludd and those whom he chose with him.  And they began to cleave
the seas towards France.

And when these tidings came to Llevelys, seeing that he knew not the
cause of his brother’s ships, he came on the other side to meet him, and
with him was a fleet vast of size.  And when Lludd saw this, he left all
the ships out upon the sea except one only; and in that one he came to
meet his brother, and he likewise with a single ship came to meet him.
And when they were come together, each put his arms about the other’s
neck, and they welcomed each other with brotherly love.

After that Lludd had shown his brother the cause of his errand, Llevelys
said that he himself knew the cause of the coming to those lands.  And
they took counsel together to discourse on the matter otherwise than
thus, in order that the wind might not catch their words, nor the
Coranians know what they might say.  Then Llevelys caused a long horn to
be made of brass, and through this horn they discoursed.  But whatsoever
words they spoke through this horn, one to the other, neither of them
could hear any other but harsh and hostile words.  And when Llevelys saw
this, and that there was a demon thwarting them and disturbing through
this horn, he caused wine to be put therein to wash it.  And through the
virtue of the wine the demon was driven out of the horn.  And when their
discourse was unobstructed, Llevelys told his brother that he would give
him some insects whereof he should keep some to breed, lest by chance the
like affliction might come a second time.  And other of these insects he
should take and bruise in water.  And he assured him that it would have
power to destroy the race of the Coranians.  That is to say, that when he
came home to his kingdom he should call together all the people both of
his own race and of the race of the Coranians for a conference, as though
with the intent of making peace between them; and that when they were all
together, he should take this charmed water, and cast it over all alike.
And he assured him that the water would poison the race of the Coranians,
but that it would not slay or harm those of his own race.

“And the second plague,” said he, “that is in thy dominion, behold it is
a dragon.  And another dragon of a foreign race is fighting with it, and
striving to overcome it.  And therefore does your dragon make a fearful
outcry.  And on this wise mayest thou come to know this.  After thou hast
returned home, cause the Island to be measured in its length and breadth,
and in the place where thou dost find the exact central point, there
cause a pit to be dug, and cause a cauldron full of the best mead that
can be made to be put in the pit, with a covering of satin over the face
of the cauldron.  And then, in thine own person do thou remain there
watching, and thou wilt see the dragon fighting in the form of terrific
animals.  And at length they will take the form of dragons in the air.
And last of all, after wearying themselves with fierce and furious
fighting, they will fall in the form of two pigs upon the covering, and
they will sink in, and the covering with them, and they will draw it down
to the very bottom of the cauldron.  And they will drink up the whole of
the mead; and after that they will sleep.  Thereupon do thou immediately
fold the covering around them, and bury them in a kistvaen, in the
strongest place thou hast in thy dominions, and hide them in the earth.
And as long as they shall bide in that strong place no plague shall come
to the Island of Britain from elsewhere.

“The cause of the third plague,” said he, “is a mighty man of magic, who
take thy meat and thy drink and thy store.  And he through illusions and
charms causes every one to sleep.  Therefore it is needful for thee in
thy own person to watch thy food and thy provisions.  And lest he should
overcome thee with sleep, be there a cauldron of cold water by thy side,
and when thou art oppressed with sleep, plunge into the cauldron.”

Then Lludd returned back unto his land.  And immediately he summoned to
him the whole of his own race and of the Coranians.  And as Llevelys had
taught him, he bruised the insects in water, the which he cast over them
all together, and forthwith it destroyed the whole tribe of the
Coranians, without hurt to any of the Britons.

And some time after this, Lludd caused the Island to be measured in its
length and in its breadth.  And in Oxford he found the central point, and
in that place he caused the earth to be dug, and in that pit a cauldron
to be set, full of the best mead that could be made, and a covering of
satin over the face of it.  And he himself watched that night.  And while
he was there, he beheld the dragons fighting.  And when they were weary
they fell, and came down upon the top of the satin, and drew it with them
to the bottom of the cauldron.  And when they had drunk the mead they
slept.  And in their sleep, Lludd folded the covering around them, and in
the securest place he had in Snowdon, he hid them in a kistvaen.  Now
after that this spot was called Dinas Emreis, but before that, Dinas
Ffaraon.  And thus the fierce outcry ceased in his dominions.

And when this was ended, King Lludd caused an exceeding great banquet to
be prepared.  And when it was ready, he placed a vessel of cold water by
his side, and he in his own proper person watched it.  And as he abode
thus clad with arms, about the third watch of the night, lo, he heard
many surpassing fascinations and various songs.  And drowsiness urged him
to sleep.  Upon this, lest he should be hindered from his purpose and be
overcome by sleep, he went often into the water.  And at last, behold, a
man of vast size, clad in strong, heavy armour, came in, bearing a
hamper.  And, as he was wont, he put all the food and provisions of meat
and drink into the hamper, and proceeded to go with it forth.  And
nothing was ever more wonderful to Lludd, than that the hamper should
hold so much.

And thereupon King Lludd went after him and spoke unto him thus.  “Stop,
stop,” said he, “though thou hast done many insults and much spoil
erewhile, thou shalt not do so any more, unless thy skill in arms and thy
prowess be greater than mine.”

Then he instantly put down the hamper on the floor, and awaited him.  And
a fierce encounter was between them, so that the glittering fire flew out
from their arms.  And at the last Lludd grappled with him, and fate
bestowed the victory on Lludd.  And he threw the plague to the earth.
And after he had overcome him by strength and might, he besought his
mercy.  “How can I grant thee mercy,” said the king, “after all the many
injuries and wrongs that thou hast done me?”  “All the losses that ever I
have caused thee,” said he, “I will make thee atonement for, equal to
what I have taken.  And I will never do the like from this time forth.
But thy faithful vassal will I be.”  And the king accepted this from him.

And thus Lludd freed the Island of Britain from the three plagues.  And
from thenceforth until the end of his life, in prosperous peace did Lludd
the son of Beli rule the Island of Britain.  And this Tale is called the
Story of Lludd and Llevelys.  And thus it ends.



TALIESIN


IN times past there lived in Penllyn a man of gentle lineage, named Tegid
Voel, and his dwelling was in the midst of the lake Tegid, and his wife
was called Caridwen.  And there was born to him of his wife a son named
Morvran ab Tegid, and also a daughter named Creirwy, the fairest maiden
in the world was she; and they had a brother, the most ill-favoured man
in the world, Avagddu.  Now Caridwen his mother thought that he was not
likely to be admitted among men of noble birth, by reason of his
ugliness, unless he had some exalted merits or knowledge.  For it was in
the beginning of Arthur’s time and of the Round Table.

So she resolved, according to the arts of the books of the Fferyllt, to
boil a cauldron of Inspiration and Science for her son, that his
reception might be honourable because of his knowledge of the mysteries
of the future state of the world.

Then she began to boil the cauldron, which from the beginning of its
boiling might not cease to boil for a year and a day, until three blessed
drops were obtained of the grace of Inspiration.

And she put Gwion Bach the son of Gwreang of Llanfair in Caereinion, in
Powys, to stir the cauldron, and a blind man named Morda to kindle the
fire beneath it, and she charged them that they should not suffer it to
cease boiling for the space of a year and a day.  And she herself,
according to the books of the astronomers, and in planetary hours,
gathered every day of all charm-bearing herbs.  And one day, towards the
end of the year, as Caridwen was culling plants and making incantations,
it chanced that three drops of the charmed liquor flew out of the
cauldron and fell upon the finger of Gwion Bach.  And by reason of their
great heat he put his finger to his mouth, and the instant he put those
marvel-working drops into his mouth, he foresaw everything that was to
come, and perceived that his chief care must be to guard against the
wiles of Caridwen, for vast was her skill.  And in very great fear he
fled towards his own land.  And the cauldron burst in two, because all
the liquor within it except the three charm-bearing drops was poisonous,
so that the horses of Gwyddno Garanhir were poisoned by the water of the
stream into which the liquor of the cauldron ran, and the confluence of
that stream was called the Poison of the Horses of Gwyddno from that time
forth.

Thereupon came in Caridwen and saw all the toil of the whole year lost.
And she seized a billet of wood and struck the blind Morda on the head
until one of his eyes fell out upon his cheek.  And he said, “Wrongfully
hast thou disfigured me, for I am innocent.  Thy loss was not because of
me.”  “Thou speakest truth,” said Caridwen, “it was Gwion Bach who robbed
me.”

And she went forth after him, running.  And he saw her, and changed
himself into a hare and fled.  But she changed herself into a greyhound
and turned him.  And he ran towards a river, and became a fish.  And she
in the form of an otter-bitch chased him under the water, until he was
fain to turn himself into a bird of the air.  She, as a hawk, followed
him and gave him no rest in the sky.  And just as she was about to stoop
upon him, and he was in fear of death, he espied a heap of winnowed wheat
on the floor of a barn, and he dropped among the wheat, and turned
himself into one of the grains.  Then she transformed herself into a
high-crested black hen, and went to the wheat and scratched it with her
feet, and found him out and swallowed him.  And, as the story says, she
bore him nine months, and when she was delivered of him, she could not
find it in her heart to kill him, by reason of his beauty.  So she
wrapped him in a leathern bag, and cast him into the sea to the mercy of
God, on the twenty-ninth day of April.

And at that time the weir of Gwyddno was on 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 in those days 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.  And 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 the next day when Elphin went to look, there was nothing in the weir.
But as he turned back he perceived the leathern bag upon a pole of the
weir.  Then said one of the weir-ward unto Elphin, “Thou wast never
unlucky until to-night, 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 an hundred pounds.”
Well, they took up the leathern bag, and he who opened it saw the
forehead of the boy, and said to Elphin, “Behold a radiant brow!” {6}
“Taliesin be he called,” said Elphin.  And he lifted the boy in his arms,
and lamenting his mischance, he placed him 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 sitting in the easiest chair in
the world.  And presently the boy made a Consolation and praise to
Elphin, and foretold honour to Elphin; and the Consolation was as you may
see:—

   “Fair Elphin, cease to lament!
   Let no one be dissatisfied with his own,
   To despair will bring no advantage.
   No man sees what supports him;
   The prayer of Cynllo will not be in vain;
   God will not violate his promise.
   Never in Gwyddno’s weir
   Was there such good luck as this night.
   Fair Elphin, dry thy cheeks!
   Being too sad will not avail.
   Although thou thinkest thou hast no gain,
   Too much grief will bring thee no good;
   Nor doubt the miracles of the Almighty:
   Although I am but little, I am highly gifted.
   From seas, and from mountains,
   And from the depths of rivers,
   God brings wealth to the fortunate man.
   Elphin of lively qualities,
   Thy resolution is unmanly;
   Thou must not be over sorrowful:
   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.
   Elphin of notable qualities,
   Be not displeased at thy misfortune;
   Although reclined thus weak in my bag,
   There lies a virtue in my tongue.
   While I continue thy protector
   Thou hast not much to fear;
   Remembering the names of the Trinity,
   None shall be able to harm thee.”

And this was the first poem that Taliesin ever sang, 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.  And then Gwyddno Garanhir {7} asked him what he was,
whether man or spirit.  Whereupon he sang this tale, and said:—

   “First, I have been formed a comely person,
   In the court of Caridwen I have done penance;
   Though little I was seen, placidly received,
   I was great on the floor of the place to where I was led;
   I have been a prized defence, the sweet muse the cause,
   And by law without speech I have been liberated
   By a smiling black old hag, when irritated
   Dreadful her claim when pursued:
   I have fled with vigour, I have fled as a frog,
   I have fled in the semblance of a crow, scarcely finding rest;
   I have fled vehemently, I have fled as a chain,
   I have fled as a roe into an entangled thicket;
   I have fled as a wolf cub, I have fled as a wolf in a wilderness,
   I have fled as a thrush of portending language;
   I have fled as a fox, used to concurrent bounds of quirks;
   I have fled as a martin, which did not avail;
   I have fled as a squirrel, that vainly hides,
   I have fled as a stag’s antler, of ruddy course,
   I have fled as iron in a glowing fire,
   I have fled as a spear-head, of woe to such as has a wish for it;
   I have fled as a fierce hull bitterly fighting,
   I have fled as a bristly boar seen in a ravine,
   I have fled as a white grain of pure wheat,
   On the skirt of a hempen sheet entangled,
   That seemed of the size of a mare’s foal,
   That is filling like a ship on the waters;
   Into a dark leathern bag I was thrown,
   And on a boundless sea I was sent adrift;
   Which was to me an omen of being tenderly nursed,
   And the Lord God then set me at liberty.”

Then came Elphin to the house or court of Gwyddno his father, and
Taliesin with him.  And 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,” answered 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:—

   “In water there is a quality endowed with a blessing;
   On God it is most just to meditate aright;
   To God it is proper to supplicate with seriousness,
   Since no obstacle can there be to obtain a reward from him.
   Three times have I been born, I know by meditation;
   It were miserable for a person not to come and obtain
   All the sciences of the world, collected together in my breast,
   For I know what has been, what in future will occur.
   I will supplicate my Lord that I get refuge in him,
   A regard I may obtain in his grace;
   The Son of Mary is my trust, great in him is my delight,
   For in him is the world continually upholden.
   God has been to instruct me and to raise my expectation,
   The true Creator of heaven, who affords me protection;
   It is rightly intended that the saints should daily pray,
   For God, the renovator, will bring them to him.”

And forthwith 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 favour 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, Maelgwn Gwynedd, who some time
after this held open court at Christmastide 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 amongst them
there arose a discourse and discussion.  And thus was it said.

“Is there in the whole world a king so great as Maelgwn, or one on whom
Heaven has bestowed so many spiritual gifts as upon him?  First, 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 comeliness, 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 amongst themselves: Who
had braver men?  Who had fairer or swifter horses or greyhounds?  Who had
more skilful or wiser bards—than Maelgwn?

Now at that time the bards were in great favour with the exalted of the
kingdom; and then none performed the office of those who are now called
heralds, unless they were learned men, not only expert in the service of
kings and princes, but studious and well versed in the lineage, and arms,
and exploits of princes and kings, and in discussions concerning foreign
kingdoms, and the ancient things of this kingdom, and chiefly in the
annals of the first nobles; and also were prepared always with their
answers in various languages, Latin, French, Welsh, and English.  And
together with this they were great chroniclers, and recorders, and
skilful in framing verses, and ready in making englyns in every one of
those languages.  Now of these there were at that feast within the palace
of Maelgwn as many as four-and-twenty, and chief of them all was one
named Heinin Vardd.

When they had all made an end of thus praising the king and his gifts, it
befell that Elphin spoke in 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 showed the king all the boastings of Elphin; and the king ordered
him to be thrown into a strong prison, until he might know 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 demeanour of Elphin’s wife.  Now Rhun was the most
graceless man in the world, and there was neither wife nor maiden with
whom he had 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 all the
servants knew him plainly; and they brought him in haste 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 the
second time, 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 from off her
hand her little finger, whereupon 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 from off 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 his prison, and he chided him because
of his boast.  And he spake unto Elphin 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
strongly 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 certain, by your grace’s
leave, that wheresoever my wife is at this present hour, whether sitting,
or standing, or lying down, this ring would never remain upon her thumb,
whereas you can plainly see that it was 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 goodness that my wife has never kneaded rye dough since my wife she
has been.”

Then 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
Maelgwn’s court to free his master.  Then she asked him in what manner he
would set him free.  And he answered her:—

   “A journey will I perform,
   And to the gate I will come;
   The hall I will enter,
   And my song I will sing;
   My speech I will pronounce
   To silence royal bards,
   In presence of their chief,
   I will greet to deride,
   Upon them I will break
   And Elphin I will free.
   Should contention arise,
   In presence of the prince,
   With summons to the bards,
   For the sweet flowing song,
   And wizards’ posing lore
   And wisdom of Druids,
   In the court of the sons of the Distributor
   Some are who did appear
   Intent on wily schemes,
   By craft and tricking means,
   In pangs of affliction
   To wrong the innocent,
   Let the fools be silent,
   As erst in Badon’s fight,—
   With Arthur of liberal ones
   The head, with long red blades;
   Through feats of testy men,
   And a chief with his foes.
   Woe be to them, the fools,
   When revenge comes on them.
   I Taliesin, chief of bards,
   With a sapient Druid’s words,
   Will set kind Elphin free
   From haughty tyrant’s bonds.
   To their fell and chilling cry,
   By the act of a surprising steed,
   From the far distant North,
   There soon shall be an end.
   Let neither grace nor health
   Be to Maelgwn Gwynedd,
   For this force and this wrong;
   And be extremes of ills
   And an avenged end
   To Rhun and all his race:
   Short be his course of life,
   Be all his lands laid waste;
   And long exile be assigned
   To Maelgwn Gwynedd!”

After this he took leave of his mistress, and came at last to the Court
of Maelgwn, 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.  And 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.  And 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 that 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
elsewhere.  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 after this
Heinin spoke on this wise.  “Oh, honourable king, be it known to your
grace, that not from the strength of drink, or of too much liquor, are we
dumb, without power of speech like drunken men, 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 original country is the region of the summer stars;
   Idno and Heinin called me Merddin,
   At length every king will call me Taliesin.

   I was with my Lord in the highest sphere,
   On the fall of Lucifer into the depth of hell
   I have borne a banner before Alexander;
   I know the names of the stars from north to south;
   I have been on the galaxy at the throne of the Distributor;
   I was in Canaan when Absalom was slain;
   I conveyed the Divine Spirit to the level of the vale of Hebron;
   I was in the court of Don before the birth of Gwdion.
   I was instructor to Eli and Enoc;
   I have been winged by the genius of the splendid crosier;
   I have been loquacious prior to being gifted with speech;
   I was at the place of the crucifixion of the merciful Son of God;
   I have been three periods in the prison of Arianrod;
   I have been the chief director of the work of the tower of Nimrod;
   I am a wonder whose origin is not known.
   I have been in Asia with Noah in the ark,
   I have seen the destruction of Sodom and Gomorra;
   I have been in India when Roma was built,
   I am now come here to the remnant of Troia.

   I have been with my Lord in the manger of the ass:
   I strengthened Moses through the water of Jordan;
   I have been in the firmament with Mary Magdalene;
   I have obtained the muse from the cauldron of Caridwen;
   I have been bard of the harp to Lleon of Lochlin.
   I have been on the White Hill, in the court of Cynvelyn,
   For a day and a year in stocks and fetters,
   I have suffered hunger for the Son of the Virgin,
   I have been fostered in the land of the Deity,
   I have been teacher to all intelligences,
   I am able to instruct the whole universe.
   I shall be until the day of doom on the face of the earth;
   And it is not known whether my body is flesh or fish.

      Then I was for nine months
      In the womb of the hag Caridwen;
      I was originally little Gwion,
      And at length I am Taliesin.”

And 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 but 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 Maelgwn asked the boy Taliesin what was his
errand, and he answered him in song.

   “Puny bards, I am trying
   To secure the prize, if I can;
   By a gentle prophetic strain
   I am endeavouring to retrieve
   The loss I may have suffered;
   Complete the attempt I hope,
   Since Elphin endures trouble
   In the fortress of Teganwy,
   On him may there not be laid
   Too many chains and fetters;
   The Chair of the fortress of Teganwy
   Will I again seek;
   Strengthened by my muse I am powerful;
   Mighty on my part is what I seek,
   For three hundred songs and more
   Are combined in the spell I sing.
   There ought not to stand where I am
   Neither stone, neither ring;
   And there ought not to be about me
   Any bard who may not know
   That Elphin the son of Gwyddno
   Is in the land of Artro,
   Secured by thirteen locks,
   For praising his instructor;
   And then I Taliesin,
   Chief of the bards of the west,
   Shall loosen Elphin
   Out of a golden fetter.”

                                  * * * * *

   “If you be primary bards
   To the master of sciences,
   Declare ye mysteries
   That relate to the inhabitants of the world;
   There is a noxious creature,
   From the rampart of Satanas,
   Which has overcome all
   Between the deep and the shallow;
   Equally wide are his jaws
   As the mountains of the Alps;
   Him death will not subdue,
   Nor hand or blades;
   There is the load of nine hundred wagons
   In the hair of his two paws;
   There is in his head an eye
   Green as the limpid sheet of icicle;
   Three springs arise
   In the nape of his neck;
   Sea-roughs thereon
   Swim through it;
   There was the dissolution of the oxen
   Of Deivrdonwy the water-gifted.
   The names of the three springs
   From the midst of the ocean;
   One generated brine
   Which is from the Corina,
   To replenish the flood
   Over seas disappearing;
   The second, without injury
   It will fall on us,
   When there is rain abroad,
   Through the whelming sky;
   The third will appear
   Through the mountain veins,
   Like a flinty banquet,
   The work of the King of kings,
   You are blundering bards,
   In too much solicitude;
   You cannot celebrate
   The kingdom of the Britons;
   And I am Taliesin,
   Chief of the bards of the west,
   Who will loosen Elphin
   Out of the golden fetter.”

                                  * * * * *

   “Be silent, then, ye unlucky rhyming bards,
   For you cannot judge between truth and falsehood.
   If you be primary bards formed by heaven,
   Tell your king what his fate will be.
   It is I who am a diviner and a leading bard,
   And know every passage in the country of your king;
   I shall liberate Elphin from the belly of the stony tower;
   And will tell your king what will befall him.
   A most strange creature will come from the sea marsh of Rhianedd
   As a punishment of iniquity on Maelgwn Gwynedd;
   His hair, his teeth, and his eyes being as gold,
   And this will bring destruction upon Maelgwn Gwynedd.”

                                  * * * * *

   “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;
   For fear of a denial,
   There are no rude wants
   With creatures.
   Great God! how the sea whitens
   When first it comes!
   Great are its gusts
   When it comes from the south;
   Great are its evaporations
   When it strikes on coasts.
   It is in the field, it is in the wood,
   Without hand, and without foot,
   Without signs of old age,
   Though it be co-æval
   With the five ages or periods
   And older still,
   Though they be numberless years.
   It is also so wide
   As the surface of the earth;
   And it was not born,
   Nor was it seen.
   It will cause consternation
   Wherever God willeth.
   On sea, and on land,
   It neither sees, nor is seen.
   Its course is devious,
   And will not come when desired;
   On land and on sea,
   It is indispensable.
   It is without an equal,
   It is four-sided;
   It is not confined,
   It is incomparable;
   It comes from four quarters;
   It will not be advised,
   It will not be without advice.
   It commences its journey
   Above the marble rock,
   It is sonorous, it is dumb,
   It is mild,
   It is strong, it is bold,
   When it glances over the land,
   It is silent, it is vocal,
   It is clamorous,
   It is the most noisy
   On the face of the earth.
   It is good, it is bad,
   It is extremely injurious.
   It is concealed,
   Because sight cannot perceive it.
   It is noxious, it is beneficial;
   It is yonder, it is here;
   It will discompose,
   But will not repair the injury;
   It will not suffer for its doings,
   Seeing it is blameless.
   It is wet, it is dry,
   It frequently comes,
   Proceeding from the heat of the sun,
   And the coldness of the moon.
   The moon is less beneficial,
   Inasmuch as her heat is less.
   One Being has prepared it,
   Out of all creatures,
   By a tremendous blast,
   To wreak vengeance
   On Maelgwn Gwynedd.”

And while he was thus singing his verse near the door, there arose a
mighty storm of wind, so that the king and all his nobles thought that
the castle would fall on 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 sang a verse, so that the chains opened from
about his feet.

   “I adore the Supreme, Lord of all animation,—
   Him that supports the heavens, Ruler of every extreme,
   Him that made the water good for all,
   Him who has bestowed each gift, and blesses it;—
   May abundance of mead be given Maelgwn of Anglesey, who supplies us,
   From his foaming meadhorns, with the choicest pure liquor.
   Since bees collect, and do not enjoy,
   We have sparkling distilled mead, which is universally praised.
   The multitude of creatures which the earth nourishes
   God made for man, with a view to enrich him;—
   Some are violent, some are mute, he enjoys them,
   Some are wild, some are tame; the Lord makes them;—
   Part of their produce becomes clothing;
   For food and beverage till doom will they continue.
   I entreat the Supreme, Sovereign of the region of peace,
   To liberate Elphin from banishment,
   The man who gave me wine, and ale, and mead,
   With large princely steeds, of beautiful appearance;
   May he yet give me; and at the end,
   May God of his good will grant me, in honour,
   A succession of numberless ages, in the retreat of tranquillity.
   Elphin, knight of mead, late be thy dissolution!”

And afterwards he sang the ode which is called “The Excellence of the
Bards.”

   “What was the first man
   Made by the God of heaven;
   What the fairest flattering speech
   That was prepared by leuav;
   What meat, what drink,
   What roof his shelter;
   What the first impression
   Of his primary thinking;
   What became his clothing;
   Who carried on a disguise,
   Owing to the wilds of the country,
   In the beginning?
   Wherefore should a stone be hard;
   Why should a thorn be sharp-pointed?
   Who is hard like a flint;
   Who is salt like brine;
   Who sweet like honey;
   Who rides on the gale;
   Why ridged should be the nose;
   Why should a wheel be round;
   Why should the tongue be gifted with speech
   Rather than another member?
   If thy bards, Heinin, be competent,
   Let them reply to me, Taliesin.”

And after that he sang the address which is called “The Reproof of the
Bards.”

   “If thou art a bard completely imbued
   With genius not to be controlled,
   Be thou not untractable
   Within the court of thy king;
   Until thy rigmarole shall be known,
   Be thou silent, Heinin,
   As to the name of thy verse,
   And the name of thy vaunting;
   And as to the name of thy grandsire
   Prior to his being baptized.
   And the name of the sphere,
   And the name of the element,
   And the name of thy language,
   And the name of thy region.
   Avaunt, ye bards above,
   Avaunt, ye bards below!
   My beloved is below,
   In the fetter of Ariansod
   It is certain you know not
   How to understand the song I utter,
   Nor clearly how to discriminate
   Between the truth and what is false;
   Puny bards, crows of the district,
   Why do you not take to flight?
   A bard that will not silence me,
   Silence may he not obtain,
   Till he goes to be covered
   Under gravel and pebbles;
   Such as shall listen to me,
   May God listen to him.”

Then sang he the piece called “The Spite of the Bards.”

   “Minstrels persevere in their false custom,
   Immoral ditties are their delight;
   Vain and tasteless praise they recite;
   Falsehood at all times do they utter;
   The innocent persons they ridicule;
   Married women they destroy,
   Innocent virgins of Mary they corrupt;
   As they pass their lives away in vanity,
   Poor innocent persons they ridicule;
   At night they get drunk, they sleep the day;
   In idleness without work they feed themselves;
   The Church they hate, and the tavern they frequent;
   With thieves and perjured fellows they associate;
   At courts they inquire after feasts;
   Every senseless word they bring forward;
   Every deadly sin they praise;
   Every vile course of life they lead;
   Through every village, town, and country they stroll;
   Concerning the gripe of death they think not;
   Neither lodging nor charity do they give;
   Indulging in victuals to excess.
   Psalms or prayers they do not use,
   Tithes or offerings to God they do not pay,
   On holidays or Sundays they do not worship;
   Vigils or festivals they do not heed.
   The birds do fly, the fish do swim,
   The bees collect honey, worms do crawl,
   Every thing travails to obtain its food,
   Except minstrels and lazy useless thieves.

   I deride neither song nor minstrelsy,
   For they are given by God to lighten thought;
   But him who abuses them,
   For blaspheming Jesus and his service.”

Taliesin having set his master free from prison, and having protected the
innocence of his wife, and silenced the Bards, so that not one of them
dared to say a word, now brought Elphin’s wife before them, and showed
that she had not one finger wanting.  Right glad was Elphin, right glad
was Taliesin.

Then he bade Elphin wager the king, that he had a horse both better and
swifter than the king’s horses.  And this Elphin did, and the day, and
the time, and the place were fixed, and the place was that which at this
day is called Morva Rhiannedd: and thither the king went with all his
people, and four-and-twenty of the swiftest horses he possessed.  And
after a long process the course was marked, and the horses were placed
for running.  Then came Taliesin with four-and-twenty twigs of holly,
which he had burnt black, and he caused the youth who was to ride his
master’s horse to place them in his belt, and he gave him orders to let
all the king’s horses get before him, and as he should overtake one horse
after the other, to take one of the twigs and strike the horse with it
over the crupper, and then let that twig fall; and after that to take
another twig, and do in like manner to every one of the horses, as he
should overtake them, enjoining the horseman strictly to watch when his
own horse should stumble, and to throw down his cap on the spot.  All
these things did the youth fulfil, giving a blow to every one of the
king’s horses, and throwing down his cap on the spot where his horse
stumbled.  And to this spot Taliesin brought his master after his horse
had won the race.  And he caused Elphin to put workmen to dig a hole
there; and when they had dug the ground deep enough, they found a large
cauldron full of gold.  And then said Taliesin, “Elphin, behold a payment
and reward unto thee, for having taken me out of the weir, and for having
reared me from that time until now.”  And on this spot stands a pool of
water, which is to this time called Pwllbair.

After all this, the king caused Taliesin to be brought before him, and he
asked him to recite concerning the creation of man from the beginning;
and thereupon he made the poem which is now called “One of the Four
Pillars of Song.”

   “The Almighty made,
   Down the Hebron vale,
   With his plastic hands,
      Adam’s fair form:

   And five hundred years,
   Void of any help,
   There he remained and lay
      Without a soul.

   He again did form,
   In calm paradise,
   From a left-side rib,
      Bliss-throbbing Eve.

   Seven hours they were
   The orchard keeping,
   Till Satan brought strife,
      With wiles from hell.

   Thence were they driven,
   Cold and shivering,
   To gain their living,
      Into this world.

   To bring forth with pain
   Their sons and daughters,
   To have possession
      Of Asia’s land.

   Twice five, ten and eight,
   She was self-bearing,
   The mixed burden
      Of man-woman.

   And once, not hidden,
   She brought forth Abel,
   And Cain the forlorn,
      The homicide.

   To him and his mate
   Was given a spade,
   To break up the soil,
      Thus to get bread.

   The wheat pure and white,
   Summer tilth to sow,
   Every man to feed,
      Till great yule feast.

   An angelic hand
   From the high Father,
   Brought seed for growing
      That Eve might sow;

   But she then did hide
   Of the gift a tenth,
   And all did not sow
      Of what was dug.

   Black rye then was found,
   And not pure wheat grain,
   To show the mischief
      Thus of thieving.

   For this thievish act,
   It is requisite,
   That all men should pay
      Tithe unto God.

   Of the ruddy wine,
   Planted on sunny days,
   And on new-moon nights;
      And the white wine.

   The wheat rich in grain
   And red flowing wine
   Christ’s pure body make,
      Son of Alpha.

   The wafer is flesh,
   The wine is spilt blood,
   The Trinity’s words
      Sanctify them.

   The concealed books
   From Emmanuel’s hand
   Were brought by Raphael
      As Adam’s gift,

   When in his old age,
   To his chin immersed
   In Jordan’s water,
      Keeping a fast,

   Moses did obtain
   In Jordan’s water,
   The aid of the three
      Most special rods.

   Solomon did obtain
   In Babel’s tower,
   All the sciences
      In Asia land.

   So did I obtain,
   In my bardic books,
   All the sciences
      Of Europe and Africa.

   Their course, their bearing,
   Their permitted way,
   And their fate I know,
      Unto the end.

   Oh! what misery,
   Through extreme of woe,
   Prophecy will show
      On Troia’s race!

   A coiling serpent
   Proud and merciless,
   On her golden wings,
      From Germany.

   She will overrun
   England and Scotland,
   From Lychlyn sea-shore
      To the Severn.

   Then will the Brython
   Be as prisoners,
   By strangers swayed,
      From Saxony.

   Their Lord they will praise,
   Their speech they will keep,
   Their land they will lose,
      Except wild Walia.

   Till some change shall come,
   After long penance,
   When equally rife
      The two crimes come.

   Britons then shall have
   Their land and their crown,
   And the stranger swarm
      Shall disappear.

   All the angel’s words,
   As to peace and war,
   Will be fulfilled
      To Britain’s race.”

He further told the king various prophecies of things that should be in
the world, in songs, as follows.

                                * * * * *



FOOTNOTES


{1}  It is also stated, that there is in the Hengwrt Library, a MS.
containing the Graal in Welsh, as early as the time of Henry I.  I had
hoped to have added this to the present collection; but the death of Col.
Vaughan, to whom I applied, and other subsequent circumstances, have
prevented me from obtaining access to it.

{2}  Hades.

{3}  The word “Pryder” or “Pryderi” means anxiety.

{4}  The version in the Greal adds, “And their coin was fairy money;”
literally, dwarf’s money: that is, money which, when received, appeared
to be good coin, but which, if kept, turned into pieces of fungus, &c.

{5}  This dialogue consists of a series of repartees with a play upon
words, which it is impossible to follow in the translation.

{6}  Taliesin.

{7}  The mention of Gwyddno Garanhir instead of Elphin ab Gwyddno in this
place is evidently an error of some transcriber of the MS.





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