KNIGHTLY LEGENDS
                              _of Wales_

                                  OR

                         THE BOY'S MABINOGION

             BEING THE EARLIEST WELSH TALES OF KING ARTHUR
                   IN THE FAMOUS RED BOOK OF HERGEST

                _EDITED FOR BOYS WITH AN INTRODUCTION_

                                  BY
                             SIDNEY LANIER

      EDITOR OF "THE BOY'S FROISSART" AND "THE BOY'S KING ARTHUR"

                   _Illustrated by Alfred Frederick_

                               NEW YORK
                        CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
                                 1932

                       COPYRIGHT, 1881, 1884, BY
                        CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

                       COPYRIGHT, 1909, 1912, BY
                            MARY D. LANIER

                Printed in the United States of America

              _All rights reserved. No part of this book
                 may be reproduced in any form without
              the permission of Charles Scribner's Sons_


[Illustration: Kai and His Companions at the Castle of the Giant Gwrnach]




                             INTRODUCTION.


In the library of Jesus College, Oxford, is an ancient Welsh MS. called
_Llyfr[1] Coch[2] O Hergest_;[3] that is, _The Red Book of Hergest_.
This MS. was written in the fourteenth century, though some of the
compositions which it has collected are of a much earlier date. It
contains a number of poems, together with a body of prose romances
called _Mabinogion_.[4]

[Footnote 1: "Llyfr" means _book_ (compare French _livre_, Latin
_liber_). Perhaps I can partially indicate the impression which
the word makes upon an English ear when pronounced in Welsh, thus:
consider it composed of two syllables, _Lly_ and _fr_; for the first
syllable reproduce the sound of _yie_ in the English word _yield_ with
a strongly lisped or aspirated _l_ before it, and mingled with it, as
_lhyie_, for the second, give the sound of _vre_ in the French word
_livre_; making _lhyie-vre_, accent on the first syllable.]

[Footnote 2: _Red._ Pronounced _Koch_, with the _ch_ very guttural as
in the Scotch _loch_ or the German _ach_, and the _o_ long.]

[Footnote 3: _Hergest_ has the _g_ hard, as in English _begin_.]

[Footnote 4: Pronounced with accent on _o_, which is long and somewhat
drawled; the _a_, as in _man_; the _i_'s short; and the _g_ hard, as in
_give_; about _Mab-bin-o´-gi-on_. "Mabinogion" is the plural form: the
singular is "Mabinogi."]

In the year 1838 Lady Charlotte Guest published a translation of
these Mabinogion, accompanied by the text of their Welsh originals
and a mass of useful and scholarly notes. Her work bore this gracious
dedication:--

    TO IVOR AND MERTHYR.

    MY DEAR CHILDREN,--Infants as you yet are, I feel that I
    cannot dedicate more fitly than to you these venerable relics of
    ancient lore, and I do so in the hope of inciting you to cultivate
    the Literature of "Gwyllt Walia," in whose beautiful language you
    are being initiated, and amongst whose free mountains you were born.

    May you become early imbued with the chivalric and exalted sense of
    honor, and the fervent patriotism for which its sons have ever been
    celebrated.

    May you learn to emulate the noble qualities of Ivor Hael, and the
    firm attachment to your native country which distinguished that
    Ivor Bach, after whom the elder of you was named.

                                         I am your affectionate mother,
                                                           C. E. GUEST.

                                                DOWLAIS, Aug. 29, 1838.

Several considerations made me strongly desire to re-edit, upon the
same plan with _The Boy's Froissart_ and _The Boy's King Arthur_,
the curious old products of Welsh fancy thus rendered available to
scholars. The intrinsic charm of the stories themselves in the first
place would easily have secured them a position in this series. Though
not so rich as the _Arabian Nights_, they are more vigorous, and
their fascination is of a more manful quality. Moreover, they are in
comparison open-air tales, and do not move in that close, and, if one
could think such a thing, gas-poisoned, temperature which often renders
the atmosphere of the Eastern tales extremely unwholesome.

But in the second place the Mabinogion all centre, in one way or
another, about the court of King Arthur, and present us with views of
the domestic life going on in King Arthur's palace, as well as of the
wild adventures of his warriors, which were conceived at a very much
earlier and ruder period than that of Sir Thomas Malory's book; so that
this collection of the earliest Arthurian legends seemed to make a
peculiarly happy companion-book to _The Boy's King Arthur_, which was
last published in this series. Indeed, it is probable that in these
Mabinogion here following we have the original germs of that great
growth of Arthurian romances which overspread Europe after Geoffrey of
Monmouth published his _History of the Britons_, and of which I gave
some account in the Introduction to _The Boy's King Arthur_. Readers
of that Introduction will remember the statement there given, in which
Geoffrey of Monmouth himself declares that his main material consisted
of a Welsh book given him by a certain person since supposed to be
Walter Map (or Mapes). Although several of the following Mabinogion
have probably received additions from foreign sources in the course
of time--an original Welsh story, for example, would be carried by
some traveller into other parts of Europe, would there be retold with
additions and variations, would find its way back in the new form to
Wales, and thus re-appear after a while in Welsh collections; yet
others are in a nearly pure state. In order to bring these two classes
into striking contrast, and to show how much a foreign admixture of
this kind might smooth down the grotesque ruggedness of its Welsh
original, I have changed the order of the Mabinogion as given in Lady
Guest's arrangement, and have placed the story of _Kilhwch and Olwen_,
which is almost hideous in many of its huge fancies and distortions
and is pure Welsh, immediately next to the story of _The Lady of the
Fountain_, whose daintiness, luxury, black savages, and the like,
seem here and there to indicate foreign touches. The general tone and
essential spirit, however, of the whole, are distinctly Welsh, and
old Welsh. I think it curious indeed to note _how_ curious those old
romances, or Mabinogion, seem to us in spite of the long intimacy and
nearness between Welsh and English. They impress most readers with a
greater sense of foreignness, of a wholly different cultus, than even
Chinese or other antipodal tales; and over and above this there is a
glamour and sleep-walking mystery which often incline a man to rub his
eyes in the midst of a Mabinogi, and to think of previous states of
existence.

It is another feature of this same difference between Welsh and English
modes of thought which forms a third, and to me the most weighty,
reason for bringing these Mabinogion before my young countrymen at
this particular time. I can illustrate this difference most vividly
by asking you to consider the following group of Welsh conceits and
notions which I have assembled from various sources, upon the single
thread of their likeness in extravagance, in wildness beyond all
tolerance of reason, in lawlessness. Of course they are not to be
taken as ordinary representative specimens; and I shall presently
counterbalance them with some very beautiful, moderate, and wise
examples of Welsh art. But they unquestionably show a tendency so
characteristic as to be easily traceable.

Take, for instance, the following story concerning the famous mantle
of King Ryence. Readers of _King Arthur_ will remember the young
sovereign's manful defiance, when, soon after his elevation to the
throne, a messenger came from King Ryence demanding King Arthur's
beard (though, indeed, he must have been too young to have one) to
complete a mantle which King Ryence was purfling (_bordering_) with
kings' beards,--a demand which Arthur pronounced "the most villainous
and lewdest message that ever man heard sent to a king." The following
version shows what prodigiously different forms the same narrative may
assume.

Once upon a time two kings of Old Britain were walking together at
night. Their names were Nynniaw and Peibiaw.

"See," said Nynniaw, "what a beautiful and large field I own!"

"Where is it?" said Peibiaw.

"The whole firmament," said Nynniaw.

"And do thou see," said Peibiaw, "what countless herds of cattle and
sheep _I_ have, feeding in thy field!"

"Where are they?" said Nynniaw.

"Why, all the stars which thou seest," replied Peibiaw, "with the moon
for their shepherdess."

"They shall not graze in my pasture," said Nynniaw.

"They _shall_," said Peibiaw.

"They shall _not_," cried Nynniaw.

And then words arose between these two kings so bitter that they
summoned their soldiers and fell to war wherein they continued until
the armies of both were nearly destroyed. Seeing that such was the
fact, Rhitta the giant, King of Wales (who is Sir Thomas Malory's
King Ryens of North Wales), levied war against both, as being madmen
dangerous to all their neighbors; and, having defeated their forces, he
cut off the beards of kings Nynniaw and Peibiaw. But at this time there
were twenty-eight kings in the Island of Britain, and when the others
heard of these things, they marched all together against King Rhitta to
avenge the insult of the beard. In the battle which followed, however,
Rhitta was again victor. "This field is mine," said he, and cut off the
beards of _those_ kings. These matters being told abroad, the kings of
all the surrounding countries made common cause against Rhitta, and
presently waged a great battle with him. Still, Rhitta conquered all
these. "The great field is mine," he said again; "and," cutting off all
their beards, "these are the herds that fed in my field; but I have
driven them out." Then he made a mantle for himself out of all those
beards, and although he was a giant twice as large as the largest man
ever known, that mantle reached from his head to his heels.

Or take the exactions of a certain messenger called "The Little
Peacock" (_Y Paun Bach_), who was sent by a certain David, Prince of
North Wales, to fetch Gwgan (_Googan_, nearly) the bard to court. After
a long journey, towards the close of the evening the Little Peacock
heard sounds of the tuning of a harp from a house in a wooded valley
where he had arrived. "The style of playing and the modulation" led
him to suspect that this was Gwgan's house; and in order to be sure
he advances and pours forth a high-flown speech to Gwgan, who replies
in the like lofty vein, finally inquiring what he would have. "I want
lodging," quoth Y Paun Bach, "for to-night ... and that not better than
I know how to ask for.... A lightsome hall, floored with tile, and
swept, in which there has been neither flood nor raindrop for the last
hundred years, dressed with fresh green rushes, laid so evenly that one
rush be not higher than the other the height of a gnat's eye, so that
my foot should not slip either backward or forward the space of a mote
in the sunshine of June;" together with similar superb requirements as
to the cushion beneath him, the pillow under each elbow, the fire, the
supper, the servants' livery, and the quantity of his ale.

Or this itemized account of a monster, which, though not Welsh, is
Gælic, and shows the general Keltic proclivity. "... they saw a couple
approaching them,--a woman and a man; larger than the summit of ... a
mountain was each ... of their members; sharper than a shaving-knife
the edge of their shins; their heels and hams [were] in front of them;
should a sackful of apples be thrown on their heads not one of them
would fall to the ground, but would stick on the points of the strong,
bristly hair which grew out of their heads; ... whiter than snow their
eyes; a lock of the lower beard was carried round the back of the head,
and a lock of the upper beard descended so as to cover the knees; the
woman had whiskers, but the man was without whiskers."

Or the King Yspaddaden Penkawr, in the following story of _Kilhwch and
Olwen_, whose eyebrows hung over his eyes to such a degree that they
had to be propped up with forks; as well as the amazing qualifications
of King Arthur's warriors, detailed in the same story,--such as of him
whose dagger was so broad that King Arthur's army was accustomed to use
it for a bridge in passing rivers; or him who could hear the touch of
a gnat's foot on the ground at a great distance, or of him who could
see a mote in a sunbeam at either of the four corners of the earth,
or him whose red beard lay completely along the twenty-eight rafters
of the king's hall, or of him whose lips were so large that he was
accustomed to draw the lower down for an apron and to lift up the other
for a hood; and others still more marvellously absurd. If we compare
these with the wildest flights in Malory's _King Arthur_, nothing
can be clearer than the constant presence in the latter of a certain
reasonable restraint, a sober proportion, a sense of the supreme value
of law, even in the most apparently lawless excursions. It would be
going far beyond proper bounds to discuss here how this subtle feeling
for the beauty of restraint, this underlying perception of the artistic
necessity of law and order, has quietly reigned, not only over the
advance of English literature, but has been also the moving spirit, the
perpetual King Alfred, of the whole of English development in general.
And, as hinted, I have thought this consideration particularly forcible
at the present moment in our own country, where the making of statutes
increases in exact proportion to the decrease in the popular esteem for
them. Daily and endlessly our Legislatures multiply laws and murder
Law. But--may I not add, if only as one of those utterances which a boy
sometimes profitably remembers, though at first dimly understood--the
love of Law beyond all laws would seem to be particularly vital in a
republic; being a principle so comprehensive, that at one extreme,
in contact with certain tendencies, it flowers into that sense of
proportion, of the due relation of all parts of the universe to the
whole, which is the artist's largest perception of beauty, and is the
main outfit of genius in constructing Mabinogion, in literature, in all
art; while at the other extreme, working with certain other tendencies
of character, the same love of Law is at once the root of decorous
behavior on the part of the private citizen, and of large statesmanship
on the part of the public official.

But while this danger of extravagance certainly exists in the products
of Welsh fancy, they possess many qualities which have wrought with
fine influence upon general English life and literature. Among the
oldest remains of Welsh poetic wisdom that have come down to us are
what were called _The Triads_, in which wise aphorisms and sayings are
effectively grouped together by threes. The four following examples of
this form of composition show an insight and breadth which render them
instructive to the wisest readers of our own time.

                                  I.
    The three qualifications of poetry: Endowment of genius, judgment
    from experience, and happiness of mind.

                                  II.
    The three primary requisites of genius: An eye that can see nature,
    a heart that can feel nature, and boldness that dares follow nature.

                                 III.
    The three foundations of judgment: Bold design, constant practice,
    and frequent mistakes.

                                  IV.

    The three foundations of learning: Seeing much, suffering much, and
    studying much.

It would be difficult to find more wisdom in fewer words, or loftier
thought in simpler terms; and any young reader of _The Mabinogion_ will
have done a good day's work if he will commit these words so thoroughly
that they will say themselves over to him, day by day, as a noble and
fruitful formula, alike stimulating in every line of life, from the
ploughman's to the president's. Among the Welsh, indeed, as far back
as history can pierce, we find an almost adoring reverence for the
poet. To assume the function of a bard is to assume the function of the
wisest man and best teacher in society; and therefore the utmost pains
are taken with the young bard's education, and he is held bound to know
all that can be known. One supreme name stands out among ancient Welsh
bards, which I will ask you to remember in this connection. This is
TALIESIN, whose name signifies "Shining Brow." He is the hero
of one of the following Mabinogion which bears his name for a title.
Some specimens of his poetry will there be found; and a few facts as
to his life are added in a footnote. The poet of next rank to him is
perhaps Llywarch Hen, who, as well as Taliesin, belongs to the sixth
century. The word "Hen" means _old_; and "Old Llywarch" seems a sort of
expression of endearment. This is a specimen of his more pathetic song.
His youngest son, Gwenn, had been slain in battle.

    "Let the wave break noisily: let it cover the shore when the joined
    lances are in battle.... Let the wave break noisily: let it cover
    the plain when the lances join with a shock.... Gwenn has been
    slain at the ford of Morlas.... Here is the tomb of Gwenn, the son
    of the old Llywarch. Sweetly a bird sang on a pear-tree above the
    head of Gwenn, before they covered him with turf: that broke the
    heart of the old Llywarch."

I wish there were time to speak of Aneurin, the battle-singer; or to
give the curious triad published among the Iolo Manuscripts, describing
"The Nine Impulsive Stocks of the Baptismal Bards of Britain"; or to
cite some brief beauties of still less-known poets,--such as the wild
Hebrew outcry of the King Gwyddno Garanhir, which swept over the waste
floods covering his plains and cities after the total destruction of
his kingdom by the sea through the drunkenness of Seithenin, who had
been left to watch the embankment on a night of revelry,--

    "Stand forth, Seithenin, and behold the dwelling of heroes,--the
       plain of Gwyddno the ocean covers!
    Accursed be the sea guard, who after his carousal let loose the
       destroying fountain of the raging deep.
    Accursed be the watcher, who after his drunken revelry loosed the
       fountain of the desolating sea.
    A cry from the sea arises above the ramparts; even to heaven does
       its ascend,--after the fierce excess comes the long cessation!
    A cry from the sea ascends above the ramparts; even to heaven does
       the supplication come!--after the excess there ensues restraint!
    A cry from the sea awakens me this night!--
    A cry from the sea arises above the winds!
    A cry from the sea impels me from my place of rest this night!
    After excess comes the far extending death!"

--or as the saying of Heinin Vardd, preserved in the fragment,--

    "Hast thou heard the saying of Heinin,
    The Bard of the college of Llanveithan?
    _The brave is never cruel._"

In this connection I will ask you to notice also the intense feeling
for color, which, in some of the following Mabinogion, spreads an
almost Oriental luxuriance of tint over the scenes. _The Lady of
the Fountain_ (the first Mabinogi of the following collection), for
example, shows us King Arthur reclining upon green rushes, with a
cushion of red satin under his elbow, Guenever and her ladies grouped
at the other end of the hall, mantles of flame-colored satin, gilded
bows, gold-headed arrows winged with peacocks' feathers, gold-banded
garments, shoes of variegated leather, twenty-four youths with golden
hair, rooms with all the panels painted in gorgeous colors, the
coal-black savage, white whalebone (ivory of the narwhal's tooth,
probably), and the like. Or we have a quaint extravagant scene like
that in the Mabinogi of _Peredur_ (the modern Percival of the Arthur
series): where, upon a certain occasion, Peredur was observed with his
eyes fixed upon a certain spot, sunken in deep meditation. All attempts
to get his attention failed; he was cuffed, boxed, even overthrown;
until, after a final catastrophe (for which see the story), Peredur
explains that he is studying certain effects of color produced by the
following circumstances; after spending the night in a hermit's cell,
"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 snow, and to
the two red spots upon her cheeks, which were redder than the blood
upon the snow appeared to be."

The glowing picture of the young knight starting for Arthur's court in
_Kilhwch and Olwen_; the dainty composition of the maiden Blodeuwedd,
who was constructed by magic out of certain flowers in order to be a
bride for Gwyddion, who was cursed by Arianrod with the curse that he
should never have a wife of the present human race,--these and many
similar bright-colored passages in the Mabinogion will strike the most
cursory reader in confirmation of the feeling for color alleged. While
I am scarcely prepared to attribute so much weight to any foreign
element as to agree with Mr. Henry Morley in believing that but for the
Keltic influence England would not have produced a Shakespere; or with
Mr. Matthew Arnold, that English poetry got nearly all its turn for
catching and rendering the charm of nature in a wonderfully near and
vivid way, beside possibly other qualities, from a Keltic source: yet
I think we can safely say that our literature has certainly enriched
itself with Bard's wisdom, has certainly warmed itself with the fire
and color of Keltic fancy, and has perhaps spiritualized its feeling
for nature with that subtle wood-loneliness which Mr. Arnold calls "the
natural magic" of the Kelt.

The Welsh proper names are apt to make such an uncouth impression
upon those unacquainted with their true sounds, that perhaps the most
helpful matter to which I can devote the brief remainder of this
Introduction is the pronunciation of Welsh. The following rules,
in which of course all attempt at minute accuracy is sacrificed to
brevity, and only approximate sounds are aimed at, will at least result
in showing such names to be often musical and pleasing, even to the
English ear. The letters which cause most perplexity are _w_, _ll_,
_y_, and _ch_. _W_ is usually sounded like _oo_ in _pool_, as already
explained under the name "Kilhwch," pronounced _Kilhooch_; though where
it precedes a vowel this sound (_oo_) of course practically becomes
the English consonantal _w_; for example, _oo-et_, rapidly pronounced,
would merge into _wet_; and so in "Llywarch" or "Gwyddion," the _w_
before the _a_ or _y_ may be considered as having simply the force
of the English _w_. Y, if long, is like German _ü_, or French _u_ in
_une_; nearly English _ee_ in _seen_. _Y_ short, much like our short
_u_, except in the last syllable of words, where it is more like our
short _i_. Ll is like Spanish _ll_ in _llanos_, but with an aspirated
sound made by forcing the breath through the back teeth so vigorously
as to impress the English ear with the sound of a strongly-lisped _s_.
If the organs be arranged so as to pronounce the _y_ in _yield_, and
the sound _lh_ vigorously forced upon that position, something like
Welsh _ll_ results. _Ch_ is guttural, as in Scotch _loch_, German
_ach_. The vowels _a_, _e_, _i_, mostly occur in the following names
as short English _a_, _e_, _i_; _o_, as long _o_; and _u_, as a rapidly
pronounced French _u_. The often occurring _aw_ is like _ou_ in English
_our_, or German _au_ in _haus_. _Dd_ is nearly _th_ in _then_, only
with more of _d_ than _t_ blended with the _h_ sound. _C_ is always
_k_, _Cynon_ equals _Kynon_; there is no soft _c_ in Welsh. _F_ is
always _v_; it is only _ff_ which sounds like our _f_ in _fan_. _G_
always hard, as in _get_. _Th_ as in English _thanks_; never as in
_then_.

All other letters may be sounded as in English. It is possible, I
should add, that even Welshmen may find theoretical fault with some of
these directions; but they are given here as very nearly reproducing
the practical impression made upon English ears by actual Welsh current
talk. No one need go outside of his own experience to discover how
greatly the sounds of current discourse differ from theoretical methods
of pronunciation.

Such is the general sound of the Welsh tongue. It will be helpful
if I add--in view of many books which are now appearing as results
of the fresh interest lately aroused in old Gælic language and
literature--that the sounds here given belong to the tongue of that
special division of the Kelts known as the Cymric (pronounced Kymric)
Kelts, in distinction from their neighbors of ancient Ireland and
Scotland, known as the Gædhilic, or Gælic. The derivation of the
names "Wales" and "Welsh" is much disputed, and may be regarded as
unsettled. They are, at any rate, much later than "Cambria" and
"Cymric," which all Welshmen claim to be the true names for their
country and nation, building upon that ancient tradition perpetuated
by Geoffrey of Monmouth, that after the death of Brutus, the original
founder of Britain, his three sons divided the kingdom between them;
the eldest, Locrinus, taking the part now known as England, but called
after him "Locria" (or, variously, "Locgria," "Locris," &c.) in all old
chronicles; the next son, Albanach (Albany), taking the parts north
of the Humber; and the third son, Camber, taking the part between the
Irish seas and the rivers Severn and Dee, whence it was called after
him, "Cambria," now known as Wales.

Hence the Welsh now call themselves "Cymru," usually reproduced in
English by "Cymry," and their language "Cymraec," or "Cymraeg," usually
reproduced in English by "Cymric."

       *       *       *       *       *

The present work contains nearly all the Mabinogion originally given;
and, as in the other works of this series, the original text is
scrupulously preserved, except occasionally to hasten the long-lagging
action of a story,--in which case the interpolation is always placed
in brackets,--and except where the demands of modern reserve required
excision. An Italicized word in brackets is always the meaning of the
word immediately before it, as in the _Froissart_ and the _King Arthur_.

In now leaving this beautiful book with my young countrymen, I find
myself so sure of its charm as to feel no hesitation in taking
authority to unite the earnest expression of their gratitude with
that of my own to Lady Charlotte Guest, whose talents and scholarship
have made these delights possible; and I can wish my young readers
few pleasures of finer quality than that surprised sense of a whole
new world of possession which came with my first reading of these
Mabinogion, and made me remember Keats's

        "... watcher of the skies
    When a new planet swims into his ken."

                                                          SIDNEY LANIER

                                          CAMP ROBIN, N.C., June, 1881.




                               CONTENTS.

                   THE LADY OF THE FOUNTAIN

                   KILHWCH AND OLWEN; OR, THE TWRCH TRWYTH

                   PEREDUR THE SON OF EVRAWC

                   THE DREAM OF RHONABWY

                   PWYLL, PRINCE OF DYVED

                   THE STORY OF LLUDD AND LLEVELYS

                   THE ORIGIN OF THE OWL

                   BRANWEN THE DAUGHTER OF LLYR

                   MANAWYDDAN AND THE MICE

                   GERAINT THE SON OF ERBIN

                   THE DREAM OF MAXEN WLEDIG

                   TALIESIN




                        LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


             KAI AND HIS COMPANIONS AT THE CASTLE OF THE GIANT GWRNACH

             THE RECOVERY OF OWAIN

             KILHWCH RIDING INTO ARTHUR'S HALL

             PEREDUR AND THE MAIDEN

             PEREDUR AND THE CHESSMEN

             THE ARMY OF RAVENS

             THE BATTLE OF THE DRAGONS

             THE FLIGHT OF BLODEUWEDD AND HER MAIDENS

             PRYDERI HELD FAST BY THE ENCHANTED BOWL

             THE TOURNAMENT OF THE SPARROW-HAWK

             GERAINT AND THE MAIDEN AT THE EDGE OF THE WOOD

             ELPHIN SINGING BEFORE TALIESIN




                         THE BOY'S MABINOGION.




                       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[5] the son of Urien,[5] and Kynon
the son of Clydno, and Kai the son of Kyner, and Gwenhwyvar and her
handmaidens at needle-work 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 honor, 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.

[Footnote 5: This "Owain" is _Owen_, and his father "Urien" is the
"King Uriens of Gore" (Gore is probably _Gower_, in Glamorganshire,
Wales), familiar to all the young readers of "The Boy's King Arthur."]

In the centre of the chamber King Arthur sat upon a seat of green
rushes, over which was spread a covering of flame-colored 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. So Kai[6] 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.

[Footnote 6: This is "Sir Kay the seneschal," who nicknames Beaumains,
and figures everywhere in Malory's _King Arthur_ as a cheerful but
somewhat hasty-witted knight.]

"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 art 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 armor. 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 wouldst 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-favored; 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 every thing 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 could 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, 'O 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 armor 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 endeavor 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 a while."

"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 armor, 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 arose 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, headpiece, 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 succor 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 colors; 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 clamor in the castle. And
Owain asked the maiden what that outcry was.

"They are administering extreme unction,"[7] said she, "to the nobleman
who owns the castle."

[Footnote 7: The last rite of the church to a dying person.]

And Owain went to sleep.

And a little after daybreak they heard an exceeding loud clamor 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 clamor 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. 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[8] 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?"

[Footnote 8: This Gwalchmai--a name which in Old British means _Hawk of
Battle_--is our old friend "Sir Gawaine" of _The Boy's King Arthur_.
The French romancers appear to have transformed his name from the old
legendary "Gwalchmai" to "Gawaine." He was noted in Welsh poetry as one
of the three golden-tongued knights of Arthur's court whose persuasions
none could resist; and this may account for the strange subjection of
Arthur to his influence in leading the king, against the king's will
and desire, to war upon Sir Launcelot during those last days described
in Sir Thomas Malory's book.]

"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 headpiece, 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 honor 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 honor 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,
[beseeching] 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, [yet] 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.

[Illustration: THE RECOVERY OF OWAIN.]

"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 [only] this one dwelling that has not been wrested from her by a
young earl who is her neighbor, 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 sevenscore 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 forever--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 armor 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 gray 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 staid 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' 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 honorably received.
And his horse was well cared for, and plenty of fodder was placed
before him. Then the lion went and laid 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 any thing 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 staid there that night.

The next morning they heard an exceeding great clamor, 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 armor, 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.

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 honor 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[9] 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.

[Footnote 9: This strange army of ravens figures in a tale given
presently--"The Dream of Rhonabay."]




             KILHWCH[10] AND OLWEN; OR, THE TWRCH TRWYTH.


[Footnote 10: [Pronounced in two syllables "Kil-hooch," the _oo_ sound
prolonged or drawled and the _ch_ very guttural as in the vigorous
utterance of Scotch lo_ch_, German _ach_, etc. So "Twrch Trwyth" like
_Toorch Trooweth_.]]

[Kilhwch, having grown to be a youth in the palace of his father, was
one day sent for by his stepmother, who said to 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-gray, 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.[11] 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.

[Footnote 11: A wonderful bracing air seems to blow through this
description. The superb details make up really a typic picture of youth
in all times and countries.]

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, 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."

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."

"What clamor 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 show 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 would'st follow my
counsel, thou would'st not break through the laws of the court because
of him."

"Not so, blessed Kai. It is an honor to us to be resorted to; and the
greater our courtesy the greater will be our renown, and our fame, and
our glory."

And Glewlwyd came to the gate, and opened the gate before 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."

[Illustration: Kilhwch Riding into Arthur's Hall.]

"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."

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. 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."

"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 Geraint the son of Erbin, and
Osla Gylleillvawr (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); 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); 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); Brys, the son of Bryssethach
(from the Hill of the Black Fernbrake in North Britain); 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); 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 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); and Hueil, the son of Kaw (he never
yet made a request at the hand of any lord); and Taliesin, the chief
of the bards; and Manawyddan, the son of Llyr; Bwlch and Kyfwlch and
Sefwlch, the sons of Cleddyf Kyfwlch (their three shields were three
gleaming glitterers; their three spears were three pointed piercers;
their three swords were three griding 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 handmaids, Eheubryd the daughter of Kyfwlch, Gorascwrn
the daughter of Nerth, Ewaedan the daughter of Kynvelyn Keudawd Pwyll
the half-man); 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 Glwyddyn Saer (who constructed Ehangwen, Arthur's hall); 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;
Morvudd, the daughter of Urien Rheged; Gwenllian Deg, the majestic
maiden; Creiddylad,[12] 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)."

[Footnote 12: "Creiddylad" is the old Welsh name out of which the
English tongue has made "Cordelia;" and this lady is no other than
the loving daughter of King Lear. Lear's name in the Welsh originals
lying far back beyond Shakspere's play is sometimes "Llyr" (as
in "Manawyddan, the son of Llyr," who gives name to one of the
Mabinogion), and sometimes, as here, "Lludd Llaw Ereint."]

And all these[13] did Kilhwch, son of Kilydd, adjure to obtain his boon.

[Footnote 13: It would be the grossest injustice to the tongue and
the memory of our astounding Kilhwch not to mention carefully at this
point that the names of Arthur's warriors and attendants which I have
here given form but a small portion of the truly surprising list which
he actually pours forth in the original story, as he stands before
the king. These amount to more than two hundred; and there is no risk
whatever in saying that the resources of the English alphabet have
never met with a like strain as in the reproduction of them presented
by Lady Guest. "Uchtryd Ardywad Kad," and "Gwrhyr Gwarthegvras," and
"Esgeir Gulhwch Govynkawn," and "Drustwrn Hayarn," and "Glewlwyd
Gavaelvawr," and "Lloch Llawwynnyawc," may serve as examples. Kihwch
recites most of these without comment. I have selected those, but not
all, to which he adds some parenthetic description. I have given them,
too, in a different order from that of the original.]

Then said Arthur, "O chieftain! I have never heard of the maiden
of whom thou speakest, nor of her kindred; but I will gladly send
messengers in search of her. Give me time to seek her."

And the youth said, "I will willingly grant from this night to that at
the end of the year to do so."

Then Arthur sent messengers to every land within his dominions to seek
for the maiden; and at the end of the year Arthur's messengers returned
without having gained any knowledge or intelligence concerning Olwen,
more than on the first day. Then said Kilhwch, "Every one has received
his boon, and I yet lack mine. I will depart, and bear away thy honor
with me."

Then said Kai, "Rash chieftain! dost thou reproach Arthur? Go with us,
and we will not part until thou dost 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 farther 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, "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."

"O men! the mercy of Heaven be upon you! Do not that for all the world.
None who ever came hither on this quest has returned alive."

And the herdsman rose up. And, as he 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."

"O 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.

"O 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-colored silk; and about her
neck was a collar of ruddy gold, on which were precious emeralds and
rubies. More yellow was her head than the flower of the broom; 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 any
thing, 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 in 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,--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 Peibiaw,[14] whom God turned into oxen on account of their
sins."

[Footnote 14: See the story of Nynniaw and Peibiaw in the Introduction.]

"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
caldron 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 Benbaedd 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
Gwyddolwyn 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 Dissull 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 Annwn, 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 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 Oli.
Their three handmaids [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?"

"O 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 Gwalstawd 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, "O man! is it true
that is reported of thee,--that thou knowest how to burnish swords?"

"I know full well how to do so," answered 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 would'st 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."

"O noble sir! I have a companion, albeit he is not skilled in this art."

"Who may he be?"

"Let the porter go forth, and I will tell him whereby he may know him.
The head of 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 Gwalstawd 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 Gwalstawd 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 Lludd 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 flaxseed which Yspaddaden Penkawr
had required of Kilhwch, and they brought the full measure without
lacking any, except one flaxseed, and that the lame pismire brought in
before night.

       *       *       *       *       *

As Kai and Bedwyr sat on a beacon cairn 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 forever 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.

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 Greidawl.
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 Griedawl, 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 Severi; 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 Benbaedd. 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 Benbaedd 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 caldron of Diwrnach Wyddel, his purveyor.
And Odgar commanded him to give it. But Diwrnach said, "Heaven is my
witness, if it would avail him any thing 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 caldron. 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 caldron, 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 caldron, 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 caldron 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 caldron.

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 endeavor 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
Cleddyf, 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 Drutwyn, the whelp of Greid, the
son of Eri; and Gwarthegyd, the son of Kaw, in another quarter, with
the two dogs of Glythmyr Ledewig; 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 Clwydd, 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 Liwvdawg
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 valor 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 Severn. And Mabon, the son of Modron, came up with him at the
Severn, upon Gwynn Mygddon, 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 Gelliwic 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 Owen of Penn 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 therefor needest thou not thank me,
but Arthur who hath accomplished this for thee. By my free will thou
should'st 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 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.




                    PEREDUR[15] THE SON OF EVRAWC.


[Footnote 15: This "Peredur" is the Welsh original of "Sir Percival"
who figures so finely in the search for the Sangreal along with Sir
Galahad and the rest.]

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 anxious 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 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 showed 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 honorable 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 demeanor." 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 honor 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
harborage 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, "show 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 valor 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
armor 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
honorable 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 armor and his clothes. "Here, my good soul,"
said he, "is a horse and armor 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 show 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 honor 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 honor 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 honor 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."

[Then] 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 re-unite 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 re-united. 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 clamor 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 honor and reverence in thy
power, seeing thou hast, without cause, slain her wedded husband;
and that thou go to Arthur's court, and show him that it was I that
overthrew thee, to do him honor 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."

[Illustration: Peredur and the Maiden.]

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. [Then, having eaten, Peredur retired and
slept. And in the night] with the noise of the door opening, Peredur
awoke; and the maiden was [there] 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
valor 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 succor 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 headpiece 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 armor 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 honorable 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 has
changed from his thought; and, if he has, I will ask him courteously to
come and visit thee."

Then Kai was wrath, and he spoke angry and spiteful words. "Gwalchmai,"
said he, "I know that thou wilt bring him because he is fatigued.
Little praise and honor, 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 armor 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 behooves 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 armor 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 was 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
armor. 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 valor 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 honor 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 gray 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 seahorse. And one of the pages had
red hair, and the other auburn. And they went before him to the place
where the gray man was, and Peredur saluted him. And the gray man said,
"Disgrace to the beard of my porter!" Then Peredur understood that
the porter was the lion. And the gray 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 gray 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 gray 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 gray 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 gray 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 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 forever."

Then they went in; and the gray man and the tall woman saluted Peredur.
And the gray 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
gray 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 gray man
told Arthur that it was Peredur that had vanquished them. And Arthur
gave the valley to the gray man and his company, to hold it of him as
Peredur had besought. And with Arthur's permission the gray 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 color 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 valor 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 neighbors, 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 a while, 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 armor, 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 armor, 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 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 armor upon him. And the man rode up by
his side, and saluted him, and wished him the favor of Heaven and of
man. And Peredur greeted the youth kindly.

"Lord, I come to make a request unto thee."

"What would'st thou?"

"That thou should'st 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 should'st 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 forward 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 all together 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 forward, 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 colors. And he marvelled still more at the number of
water-mills and of windmills that he saw. And there rode up with him a
tall auburn-haired man in a 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 armor. 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-dike. 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 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 gray, 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 back was in the shape of a
crook. And her figure was very thin and spare, except her feet, 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 favor. 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 honor, I know where he
may find it. There is a castle on a lofty mountain, and a maiden [is]
therein, and she is a prisoner; 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 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 armor 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 armor, 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 did'st think that it was right for
thee to entertain and to sit by yonder man, thou would'st 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 was 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
after many days, and great deeds of arms and perilous adventures, at
last Peredur met with a certain maiden, and asked her the way to the
Castle of Wonders.] 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 favored
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."

[Illustration: Peredur and the Chessmen.]

"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 armor. 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 gray-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 forbade 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-armor 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.




                        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 honor 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 despatch 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 honor,
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 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 fagots 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, 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-colored 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 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 gray 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."

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
clamor 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 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 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.

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-favored 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 sumter 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 color 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 party-colored 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-colored 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."

"Pray," 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-colored 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 armor. 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-colored 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.

[Illustration: The Army of Ravens.]

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 a while, 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-gray 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 armor. And a robe
of honor 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 deerskin, having upon it many
golden slides, and a buckle of the bone of the seahorse, 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-colored 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 forever?"

"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 clamor of
armed men, and a croaking of ravens, and a flapping of wings in the
air, as they flung down the armor 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 honor
upon him and upon his horse, divided in two parts, white and black; and
the borders of the robe of honor 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 seahorse, 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, colored
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 arose 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,
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 many more
beside].

"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, wayworn 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 colors that were upon the horses, and
the many wondrous colors 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 Narberth 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 color 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-gray steed, with a hunting-horn round his neck, and
clad in garments of gray woollen, in the fashion of a hunting-garb. And
the horseman drew near, and spake 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 dishonor 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," 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 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 armor 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 any thing, 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 valor
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 farther 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 farther 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 farther 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 head-dress 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 will I 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 herein.'"

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 liege-men
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 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."

Said Pwyll, "We will go hence together."

"Willest thou this, lord?" said Heveydd.

"Yes," 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 fourth year a son was born to them, and women were brought
to watch the babe at night.] And the women slept, as did also Rhiannon.
And when they awoke they looked where they had put the boy, and behold
he was not there. [And the women were frightened; and, having plotted
together, they accused Rhiannon of having murdered her child before
their eyes.]

"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.

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 armed himself, and began to watch that night. Teirnyon
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.

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 farther 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 Pwyll 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, 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
Annwyvn desired to take a wife. And the wife he chose was Kicva, the
daughter of Gwynn Gohoyw, the son of Gloyw Wlallt Lydan, the son of
Prince Casnar, one of the nobles of this island.




                   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 Lludd, 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 honor 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.

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 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 caldron 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 caldron. And then in thine own person do
thou remain there watching, and thou wilt see the dragons 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 caldron. 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.

[Illustration: The Battle of the Dragons.]

"The cause of the third plague," said he, "is a mighty man of
magic, who takes 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
caldron of cold water by thy side, and when thou art oppressed with
sleep, plunge into the caldron."

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, 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 caldron 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 caldron. 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 armor, 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.




                        THE ORIGIN OF THE OWL.

        [ENTITLED IN THE ORIGINAL, "MATH THE SON OF MATHONWY."]


Once upon a time Gwydion found a yellow-haired child in his chamber,
which had been placed there by magic art. And Gwydion straightway flung
a velvet scarf over the child and hid 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 Govannion. 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.

"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,[16] how displeasing soever it may be
unto thee." And thereupon he went forth in wrath, and returned to Caer
Dathyl, and there he tarried that night.

[Footnote 16: And the plot now becomes the artful contrivance by which
Gwydion brings about that Arianrod names the boy in spite of herself,
with other similar achievements.]

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 colored 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 coloring 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 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 armor 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 seacoast, 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 color 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 armor for two men, with her.

"Lady," said he, "do thou 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 Penllynn," 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."

[Now Blodeuwedd, in spite of her descent from the flowers, was at heart
a wicked woman, and so she began to plot with Gronw Pebyr how they
might slay the valiant Llew Llaw Gyffes, and enjoy his possessions.
Then Gronw said to her,] "Converse with him fully, 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 caldron, and thatching it well
and tightly, and bringing a buck, and putting it beside the caldron.
Then if I place one foot on the buck's back, and the other on the edge
of the caldron, 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
caldron 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 hill which is called Bryn Cyvergyr,
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.

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 staid there that night. The man of
the house and his household 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
under a tree. And Gwydion came under the tree, and looked, and as he
looked he beheld on the top of the tree an eagle. 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 ninescore 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 Llaw 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."

[Illustration: The Flight of Blodeuwedd and her Maidens.]

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 despatched 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
threw 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.




                     BRANWEN THE DAUGHTER OF LLYR.


Bendigeid Vran, the son of Llyr, was the crowned king of this island,
and he was exalted from the crown of London. And one afternoon he
was at Harlech in Ardudwy, at his court, and he sat upon the rock
of Harlech, looking over the sea. And with him were his brother
Manawyddan the son of Llyr, and his brothers by the mother's side,
Nissyen and Evnissyen, and many nobles likewise, as was fitting to
see around a king. His two brothers by the mother's side were the
sons of 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 dishonor is
greater unto Bendigeid Vran than unto thee."

"Verily," said he, "I think so. Nevertheless he cannot recall the
insult."

These men returned with that answer to the place where Bendigeid Vran
was, and they told him what reply 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 caldron, the property of which is, that if one of thy
men be slain to-day, and be cast therein, to-morrow he will be as well
as ever he was at the best, except that he will not regain his speech."

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

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 caldron 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 Caldron. And I
beheld a huge yellow-haired man coming from the lake, with a caldron
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. 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 caldron."

"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 honorable to be seen departing
with. And in these things she spent that year in much renown, and she
passed her time pleasantly, enjoying honor and friendship.

And 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 t'was thus
for no less than three years.

And Branwen reared a starling in the cover of the kneading-trough, and
she taught it to speak, and she taught the bird what manner of man her
brother was. And she wrote a letter of her woes, and the despite with
which she was treated; and she bound the letter to the root of the
bird's wing, and sent it 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 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 but 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 good-will he had merited 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 honor 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 killed the man].

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 caldron of renovation, and they
cast the dead bodies into the caldron until it was full, and the next
day they came forth fighting-men as good as before, except that they
were not able to speak. Then when Evnissyen saw the dead bodies of the
men of the Island of the Mighty nowhere resuscitated, he said in his
heart, "Alas! woe is me, that I should have been the cause of bringing
the men of the Island of the Mighty into so great a strait. Evil betide
me if I find not a deliverance therefrom." And he cast himself among
the dead bodies of the Irish, and two unshod Irishmen came to him, and,
taking him to be one of the Irish, flung him into the caldron. And he
stretched himself out in the caldron, so that he rent the caldron into
four pieces, and burst his own heart also.

In consequence of 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.




                       MANAWYDDAN AND THE MICE.

       [ENTITLED IN THE ORIGINAL "MANAWYDDAN THE SON OF LLYR."]


When the seven men of whom we spoke [in the foregoing tale] had buried
the head of Bendigeid Vran, in the White Mount in 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 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."

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 honorable was his reception there, and highly
was he praised for offering his homage.

And after his return, Pryderi and Manawyddan feasted, and took their
ease and pleasure. And they began a feast at Narberth; for it was the
chief palace, and there originated all honor. 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. 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.

"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 colored 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 any thing 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 them, as they 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."

"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 learned the method. And therefore he was 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 color rose up from the bush. Then
the dogs, being set on by the men, rushed towards him; but he left the
bush, and fell back a little way from the men, and made a stand against
the dogs, without retreating from them, until the men had come near.
And when the men came up, he fell back a second time, and betook him to
flight. Then they pursued the boar until they beheld a vast and lofty
castle, all newly built, in a place where they had never before seen
either stone or building. And the boar ran swiftly into the castle, and
the dogs after him. Now, when the boar and the dogs had gone into the
castle, they began to wonder at finding a castle in a place where they
had never before then seen any building whatsoever. And from the top of
the Gorsedd they looked and listened for the dogs. But so long as they
were there they heard not one of the dogs, nor aught concerning them.

"Lord," said Pryderi, "I will go into the castle to get tidings of the
dogs."

"Truly," he replied, "thou wouldst be unwise to go into this castle
which thou hast never seen till now. If thou wouldst follow my counsel,
thou wouldst not enter therein. Whosoever has cast a spell over this
land has caused this castle to be here."

"Of a truth," answered Pryderi, "I cannot thus give up my dogs." And
for all the counsel that Manawyddan gave him, yet to the castle he went.

When he came within the castle, neither man nor beast, nor boar nor
dogs, nor house nor dwelling, saw he within it. But in the centre of
the castle-floor he beheld a fountain with marble work around it, and
on the margin of the fountain a golden bowl upon a marble slab, and
chains hanging from the air, to which he saw no end.

And he was greatly pleased with the beauty of the gold, and with the
rich workmanship of the bowl, and he went up to the bowl and laid hold
of it. And when he had taken hold of it, his hands stuck to the bowl,
and his feet to the slab on which the bowl was placed, and all his
joyousness forsook him, so that he could not utter a word. And thus he
stood.

And Manawyddan waited for him till near the close of the day. And late
in the evening, being certain that he should have no tidings of Pryderi
or 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. "O my lord," said she, "what
dost 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.

[Illustration: Pryderi Held Fast by the Enchanted Bowl.]

When Kicva, the daughter of Gwynn Gloew, saw that there was no one in
the palace but herself and Manawyddan, she sorrowed so that she cared
not whether she lived or died. And Manawyddan saw this. "Thou art in
the wrong," said he, "if through fear of me thou grievest thus. I call
Heaven to witness that thou hast never seen friendship more pure than
that which I will bear thee as long as Heaven will that thou shouldst
be thus."

"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. [But again the cordwainers drove them from their craft. And
Kicva would have fought them; but]

"Nay," said he, "we will go back unto Dyved." So towards Dyved they set
forth.

Now Madawyddan, 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 then he began to prepare some ground, and he sowed a croft, and a
second, and a third. And no wheat in the world ever sprung up better.
And the three crofts prospered with perfect growth, and no man ever saw
fairer wheat than it.

And thus passed the seasons of the year until the harvest came. And
he went to look at one of his crofts, and behold it was ripe. "I will
reap this to-morrow," said he. And that night he went back to Narberth.
And on the morrow in the gray dawn he went to reap the croft, and when
he came there he found nothing but the bare straw. Every one of the
ears of the wheat was cut 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 straw
there that had not a mouse to it. And they all took their way, carrying
the ears with them.

In wrath and anger did he rush upon the mice; but he could no more come
up with them than if they had been gnats, or birds 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 succor 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 succor 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 it. 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."

"Ay," said he, "since I have come at the doom of this reptile, I will
ransom it of thee. I will give thee seven pounds for it, and that
rather than see a man of rank equal to thine destroying so vile a
reptile as this. Let it loose, and thou shalt have the money."

"I declare to Heaven that I will not 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 Annwn 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. But since [my
wife] 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 Llywyd 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.




                     GERAINT THE SON OF ERBIN.[17]


[Footnote 17: It is from this tale that Tennyson drew the incidents of
his poem upon Geraint and Enid.]

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 Gwalchmai;[18] for he, from the eminence of his warlike fame, and
from the nobleness of his birth, was the most exalted of the nine.

[Footnote 18: "Gwalchmai," as before stated, is the "Sir Gawaine" of
Malory's _King Arthur_.]

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.
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 Madawe, 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 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. 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 war-horse of large size, with heavy and bright armor both upon
himself and upon his horse. And truly they never before saw a knight,
or a horse, or armor, 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 armor 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 honor 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
honorable 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 colored 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 armor, 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 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. 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 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 armor 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. "O 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 honor 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.

[Illustration: The Tournament for the Sparrow-hawk.]

"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
armor, 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, "O 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-armor, 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 honorable 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 they were 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 honor. 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 favorite dog of
Arthur. Cavall[19] 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.

[Footnote 19: We have already become acquainted with Cavall at the
hunting of the great boar in "Kilhwch and Olwen."]

Then came Kadyriaith 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 armor.

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
armor that he wears; and the hue of blood is more conspicuous upon it
than its own color."

"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 honorable 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 insupportable." Then he told Arthur all his adventure.

"Well," said Arthur, "from what I hear, it behooves 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."

"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 wouldest
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 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 neighboring
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 honor 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 vigor 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 any thing 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 honor 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 uttermost 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 he took no delight in any thing 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, 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 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 armor, 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
armor, 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 armor 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 armor, 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 armor. 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, "dost 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 armor 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 armor
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 labor, 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 every thing that I forbade thee; but it may be that thou
wilt 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 armor 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 armor; 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 armor 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.
"O 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 honorable 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 honor. 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 her. 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 armor 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 [that the earl was coming
with a troop of followers on the morrow to take her away by force].

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 armor."

"Heaven reward thee, lord!" said he. "But I spent not the value of one
suit of armor 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 armor around the house, with the Earl Dwrm 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 armor 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 war-horse 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 color. 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 armor, 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 a while; 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 armor 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.

[Illustration: Geraint and the Maiden at the Edge of 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. "O 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 armor; 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 armor," 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 behooves 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 armor, and a young damsel in a riding-dress standing over him,
lamenting. "Ah, lady!" said Geraint, "what hath befallen thee?"

"Behold," she answered, "I journeyed here with my beloved husband,
when, lo! three giants came upon us, and without any cause in the world
they slew him."

"Which way went they hence?" said Geraint.

"Yonder by the high road," she replied.

So he returned to Enid. "Go," said he, "to the lady that is below
yonder, and await me there till I come."

She was sad when he ordered her to do thus; but nevertheless she went
to the damsel, whom it was ruth to hear, and she felt certain that
Geraint would never return. Meanwhile Geraint followed the giants, and
overtook them. And each of them was greater 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 her self 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 in the ear. Thereupon
she raised a loud and piercing shriek; and her lamentations were much
greater than they had been before, for she considered in her mind,
that, had Geraint been alive, he durst not have struck her thus.

But behold, at the sound of her cry, Geraint revived from his swoon,
and he sat 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 color and her wonted aspect; and the other, to know that
she was in the right. "Lady," said he, "knowest thou where our horses
are?"

"I know, lord, where thy horse is," she replied; "but I know not where
is the other. Thy horse is in the house yonder."

So he went to the house, and brought forth his horse, and mounted him,
and took up Enid 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, "O chieftain! whoever thou
art, what renown wilt thou gain by slaying a dead man?"

"O Heaven!" said he, "is it Geraint?"

"Yes, in truth," said she. "And who art thou?"

"I am 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 armor 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 armor, 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 war-horse, proudly snorting,
high-mettled, and large of bone; and a robe of honor in two parts was
upon him and upon his horse, and beneath it was plenty of armor.

"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 armor, 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 splendor lasted with renown and honor both to him and to Enid
from that time forth.




                      THE DREAM OF MAXEN WLEDIG.


Maxen Wledig was emperor[20] 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.

[Footnote 20: "Maxen Wledig" is the Emperor Maximus, A.D. 383, who
was in Britain with his army when he obtained the throne. Many Welsh
stories are told about him.]

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 colors 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 the 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 farthest 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 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 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 any thing 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-colored high towers in the castle. They saw the largest fleet
in the world in the harbor 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 honorable 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 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 in 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 Burgundy, 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
themselves 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
gray-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 this dream is called the Dream of Maxen Wledig, Emperor of Rome.
And here it ends.




                             TALIESIN.[21]


[Footnote 21: Taliesin is the greatest of Welsh poets, and is called
by his countrymen "the Prince of Song." He became bard at the court of
King Arthur, and was one of the brightest in that glorious assemblage.
The actual man Taliesin appears to have lived in the sixth century,
and poems remain which are believed to be his genuine works. A
curious story of his life appears among the publications of the Welsh
Manuscript Society, which I give here as quoted by Lady Guest:--

"Taliesin, Chief of the Bards, the son of Saint Henwg of
Caerlleon-upon-Usk, was invited to the court of Urien Rheged, at
Aberllychwr. He, with Elffin the son of Urien, being once fishing
at sea in a skin coracle, an Irish pirate-ship seized him and his
coracle, and bore him away towards Ireland; but while the pirates were
at the height of their drunken mirth, Taliesin pushed his coracle to
the sea, and got into it himself, with a shield in his hand which he
found in the ship, and with which he rowed the coracle until it verged
the land; but, the waves breaking then in wild foam, he lost his hold
on the shield, so that he had no alternative but to be driven at the
mercy of the sea, in which state he continued for a short time, when
the coracle stuck to the point of a pole in the weir of Gwyddno, Lord
of Ceredigion, in Aberdyvi; and in that position he was found, at the
ebb, by Gwyddno's fishermen, by whom he was interrogated. And when
it was ascertained that he was a bard, and the tutor of Elffin the
son of Urien Rheged, the son of Cynvarch, 'I, too, have a son named
Elffin,' said Gwyddno, 'be thou a bard and teacher to him also, and
I will give thee lands in free tenure.' The terms were accepted, and
for several successive years he spent his time between the courts of
Urien Rheged and Gwyddno, called Gwyddno Garanhir, Lord of the Lowland
Cantred. But after the territory of Gwyddno had become overwhelmed
by the sea, Taliesin was invited by the Emperor Arthur to his court
at Caerlleon-upon-Usk, where he became highly celebrated for poetic
genius, and useful, meritorious sciences. After Arthur's death he
retired to the estate given to him by Gwyddno, taking Elffin, the son
of that prince, under his protection. It was from this account that
Thomas the son of Einion Offeiriad, descended from Gruffydd Gwyr,
formed his romance of Taliesin the son of Cariadwen, Elffin the son of
Goddnou, Rhun the son of Maelgwn Gwynedd, and the operations of the
Caldron of Ceridwen."

I think it interesting to add in this connection that the old Welsh
bard was not a mere versifier, but was a true, wise man, and knew all
human learning. Hereby hangs a little Welsh story, which has always
seemed to me of great significance. A certain Einigan Gawr saw three
rays of light, on which were inscribed all knowledge and science. And
he took three rods of mountain-ash, and inscribed all the sciences upon
them, as it should seem in imitation of the three rays of light. And
those who saw them deified the rods, which so grieved Einigan, that he
broke the rods, and died.

It may seem, by the way, absurd to speak of inscribing sciences upon
rods of ash, until one knows that the Bardic alphabet, which I believe
is now generally regarded genuine, would seem to have originated in the
three rays of light seen by Einigan Gawr,--as /|\ for example; being
formed entirely of such lines, which, as easily seen, are easily cut on
wood, since they involve no curves, and are capable of being made with
a single stroke of the knife.]


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-favored 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 caldron of Inspiration and Science for her son, that his
reception might be honorable because of his knowledge of the mysteries
of the future state of the world.

Then she began to boil the caldron, 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 caldron, 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 caldron 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
every thing 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 caldron 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
caldron 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, 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. 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!"[22]

[Footnote 22: "Taliesin" means "radiant brow."]

"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 honor 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 forebode 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.

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."

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 favor with the king. And there
abode Taliesin until he was thirteen years old, when Elphin, son of
Gwyddno, went by a Christmas invitation to his uncle, 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 hosts 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 favor 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 full of virtues 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 demeanor of Elphin's wife. Now, Rhun was the most
graceless man in the world, and there was neither wife nor maiden with
whom he 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 mean time 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 [in a song whereof the last
verses are these]:--

    "I Taliesin, chief of bards,
    With a wise 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 during 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, honorable 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 caldron of Ceridwyn;
    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.
    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:[23]--

    "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."

[Footnote 23: This song, as well as several others, I have taken the
liberty of omitting, save enough to give a fair idea of it.]

[And then Taliesin sang a song of the Yellow Plague,[24] which was
afterwards to come up out of the marsh]:--

    "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 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."

[Footnote 24: Known as the "Yellow Plague of Rhos," of which Maelgwn
is said to have died in the sixth century. The pestilence originated,
according to Welsh tradition, in the unburied bodies of the slain of
Maelgwn's wars.]

[And then Taliesin sang a wonderful song of the great wind]:--

    "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 coeval
    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 honor,
    A succession of numberless ages, in the retreat of tranquillity.
    Elphin, knight of mead, late be thy dissolution!"

[Illustration: Elphin Singing before Taliesin.]

And afterwards he sang the ode which is called "The Excellence of the
Bards," which ended with the following verses:--

    "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."

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;
    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
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.

       *       *       *       *       *

                          _BY SIDNEY LANIER_

                          POEMS
                          SELECT POEMS OF SIDNEY LANIER
                          BOB
                          LETTERS OF SIDNEY LANIER
                          RETROSPECTS AND PROSPECTS
                          MUSIC AND POETRY
                          THE ENGLISH NOVEL
                          THE SCIENCE OF ENGLISH VERSE
                          THE LANIER BOOK
                          SELECTIONS FROM SIDNEY LANIER


                _BOY'S LIBRARY OF LEGEND AND CHIVALRY_

                          THE BOY'S FROISSART
                          THE BOY'S KING ARTHUR
                          KNIGHTLY LEGENDS OF WALES
                          THE BOY'S PERCY


                       _CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS_