THE MABINOGION

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

C. E. G.

DOWLAIS, August 29th,
1848.

THE LADY OF THE FOUNTAIN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it time for us to go to meat?”

“It is, Lord,” said Owain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PEREDUR THE SON OF EVRAWC

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

GERAINT THE SON OF ERBIN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Arthur and his hosts remained there nearly a month, whilst
Geraint was being healed. And when he was fully recovered,
Geraint came to Arthur, and asked his permission to depart.
“I know not if thou art quite well.” “In
truth I am, Lord,” said Geraint. “I shall not
believe thee concerning that, but the physicians that were with
thee.” So Arthur caused the physicians to be summoned
to him, and asked them if it were true. “It is true,
Lord,” said Morgan Tud. So the next day Arthur
permitted him to go forth, and he pursued his journey. And
on the same day Arthur removed thence. And Geraint desired
Enid to go on, and to keep before him, as she had formerly
done. And she went forward along the high road. And
as they journeyed thus, they heard an exceeding loud wailing near
to them. “Stay thou here,” said he, “and
I will go and see what is the cause of this wailing.”
“I will,” said she. Then he went forward unto
an open glade that was near the road. And in the glade he
saw two horses, one having a man’s saddle, and the other a
woman’s saddle upon it. And, behold, there was a
knight lying dead in his armour, and a young damsel in a
riding-dress standing over him, lamenting. “Ah!
Lady,” said Geraint, “what hath befallen
thee?” “Behold,” she answered, “I
journeyed here with my beloved husband, when, lo! three giants
came upon us, and without any cause in the world, they slew
him.” “Which way went they hence?” said
Geraint. “Yonder by the high road,” she
replied. So he returned to Enid. “Go,”
said he, “to the lady that is below yonder, and await me
there till I come.” She was sad when he ordered her
to do thus, but nevertheless she went to the damsel, whom it was
ruth to hear, and she felt certain that Geraint would never
return. Meanwhile Geraint followed the giants, and overtook
them. And each of them was greater of stature than three
other men, and a huge club was on the shoulder of each.
Then he rushed upon one of them, and thrust his lance through his
body. And having drawn it forth again, he pierced another
of them through likewise. But the third turned upon him,
and struck him with his club, so that he split his shield, and
crushed his shoulder, and opened his wounds anew, and all his
blood began to flow from him. But Geraint drew his sword,
and attacked the giant, and gave him a blow on the crown of his
head so severe, and fierce, and violent, that his head and his
neck were split down to his shoulders, and he fell dead. So
Geraint left him thus, and returned to Enid. And when he
saw her, he fell down lifeless from his horse. Piercing,
and loud, and thrilling was the cry that Enid uttered. And
she came and stood over him where he had fallen. And at the
sound of her cries came the Earl of Limours, and the host that
journeyed with him, whom her lamentations brought out of their
road. And the Earl said to Enid, “Alas, Lady, what
hath befallen thee?” “Ah! good Sir,” said
she, “the only man I have loved, or ever shall love, is
slain.” Then he said to the other, “And what is
the cause of thy grief?” “They have slain my
beloved husband also,” said she. “And who was
it that slew them?” “Some giants,” she
answered, “slew my best-beloved, and the other knight went
in pursuit of them, and came back in the state thou seest, his
blood flowing excessively; but it appears to me that he did not
leave the giants without killing some of them, if not
all.” The Earl caused the knight that was dead to be
buried, but he thought that there still remained some life in
Geraint; and to see if he yet would live, he had him carried with
him in the hollow of his shield, and upon a bier. And the
two damsels went to the Court; and when they arrived there,
Geraint was placed upon a litter-couch in front of the table that
was in the hall. Then they all took off their travelling
gear, and the Earl besought Enid to do the same, and to clothe
herself in other garments. “I will not, by
Heaven,” said she. “Ah! Lady,” said he,
“be not so sorrowful for this matter.”
“It were hard to persuade me to be otherwise,” said
she. “I will act towards thee in such wise, that thou
needest not be sorrowful, whether yonder knight live or
die. Behold, a good Earldom, together with myself, will I
bestow on thee; be, therefore, happy and joyful.”
“I declare to Heaven,” said she, “that
henceforth I shall never be joyful while I live.”
“Come, then,” said he, “and eat.”
“No, by Heaven, I will not,” she answered.
“But, by Heaven, thou shalt,” said he. So he
took her with him to the table against her will, and many times
desired her to eat. “I call Heaven to witness,”
said she, “that I will not eat until the man that is upon
yonder bier shall eat likewise.” “Thou canst
not fulfil that,” said the Earl, “yonder man is dead
already.” “I will prove that I can,” said
she. Then he offered her a goblet of liquor.
“Drink this goblet,” he said, “and it will
cause thee to change thy mind.” “Evil betide
me,” she answered, “if I drink aught until he drink
also.” “Truly,” said the Earl, “it
is of no more avail for me to be gentle with thee than
ungentle.” And he gave her a box on the ear.
Thereupon she raised a loud and piercing shriek, and her
lamentations were much greater than they had been before, for she
considered in her mind that had Geraint been alive, he durst not
have struck her thus. But, behold, at the sound of her cry,
Geraint revived from his swoon, and he sat up on the bier, and
finding his sword in the hollow of his shield, he rushed to the
place where the Earl was, and struck him a fiercely-wounding,
severely-venomous, and sternly-smiting blow upon the crown of his
head, so that he clove him in twain, until his sword was stayed
by the table. Then all left the board, and fled away.
And this was not so much through fear of the living as through
the dread they felt at seeing the dead man rise up to slay
them. And Geraint looked upon Enid, and he was grieved for
two causes; one was, to see that Enid had lost her colour and her
wonted aspect, and the other, to know that she was in the
right. “Lady,” said he, “knowest thou
where our horses are?” “I know, Lord, where thy
horse is,” she replied, “but I know not where is the
other. Thy horse is in the house yonder.” So he
went to the house, and brought forth his horse, and mounted him,
and took up Enid from the ground, and placed her upon the horse
with him. And he rode forward. And their road lay
between two hedges. And the night was gaining on the
day. And lo! they saw behind them the shafts of spears
betwixt them and the sky, and they heard the trampling of horses,
and the noise of a host approaching. “I hear
something following us,” said he, “and I will put
thee on the other side of the hedge.” And thus he
did. And thereupon, behold, a knight pricked towards him,
and couched his lance. When Enid saw this, she cried out,
saying, “Oh! chieftain, whoever thou art, what renown wilt
thou gain by slaying a dead man?” “Oh!
Heaven,” said he, “is it Geraint?”
“Yes, in truth,” said she. “And who art
thou?” “I am the Little King,” he
answered, “coming to thy assistance, for I heard that thou
wast in trouble. And if thou hadst followed my advice, none
of these hardships would have befallen thee.”
“Nothing can happen,” said Geraint, “without
the will of Heaven, though much good results from
counsel.” “Yes,” said the Little King,
“and I know good counsel for thee now. Come with me
to the court of a son-in-law of my sister, which is near here,
and thou shalt have the best medical assistance in the
kingdom.” “I will do so gladly,” said
Geraint. And Enid was placed upon the horse of one of the
Little King’s squires, and they went forward to the
Baron’s palace. And they were received there with
gladness, and they met with hospitality and attention. And
the next morning they went to seek physicians; and it was not
long before they came, and they attended Geraint until he was
perfectly well. And while Geraint was under medical care,
the Little King caused his armour to be repaired, until it was as
good as it had ever been. And they remained there a
fortnight and a month.

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

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

KILHWCH AND OLWEN

OR THE

TWRCH TRWYTH

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

After this the boy’s mother, Goleuddydd, the daughter of
Prince Anlawdd, fell sick. Then she called her husband unto
her, and said to him, “Of this sickness I shall die, and
thou wilt take another wife. Now wives are the gift of the
Lord, but it would be wrong for thee to harm thy son.
Therefore I charge thee that thou take not a wife until thou see
a briar with two blossoms upon my grave.” And this he
promised her. Then she besought him to dress her grave
every year, that nothing might grow thereon. So the queen
died. Now the king sent an attendant every morning to see
if anything were growing upon the grave. And at the end of
the seventh year the master neglected that which he had promised
to the queen.

One day the king went to hunt, and he rode to the place of
burial to see the grave, and to know if it were time that he
should take a wife; and the king saw the briar. And when he
saw it, the king took counsel where he should find a wife.
Said one of his counsellors, “I know a wife that will suit
thee well, and she is the wife of King Doged.” And
they resolved to go to seek her; and they slew the king, and
brought away his wife and one daughter that she had along with
her. And they conquered the king’s lands.

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

The lady returned home with joy; and she asked her consort,
“Wherefore hast thou concealed thy children from
me?” The king said, “I will do so no
longer.” And he sent messengers for his son, and he
was brought to the Court. His stepmother said unto him,
“It were well for thee to have a wife, and I have a
daughter who is sought of every man of renown in the
world.” “I am not yet of an age to wed,”
answered the youth. Then said she unto him, “I
declare to thee, that it is thy destiny not to be suited with a
wife until thou obtain Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden
Penkawr.” And the youth blushed, and the love of the
maiden diffused itself through all his frame, although he had
never seen her. And his father inquired of him, “What
has come over thee, my son, and what aileth thee?”
“My stepmother has declared to me that I shall never have a
wife until I obtain Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden
Penkawr.” “That will be easy for thee,”
answered his father. “Arthur is thy cousin. Go,
therefore, unto Arthur, to cut thy hair, and ask this of him as a
boon.”

And the youth pricked forth upon a steed with head dappled
grey, of four winters old, firm of limb, with shell-formed hoofs,
having a bridle of linked gold on his head, and upon him a saddle
of costly gold. And in the youth’s hand were two
spears of silver, sharp, well-tempered, headed with steel, three
ells in length, of an edge to wound the wind, and cause blood to
flow, and swifter than the fall of the dewdrop from the blade of
reed-grass upon the earth when the dew of June is at the
heaviest. A gold-hilted sword was upon his thigh, the blade
of which was of gold, bearing a cross of inlaid gold of the hue
of the lightning of heaven: his war-horn was of ivory.
Before him were two brindled white-breasted greyhounds, having
strong collars of rubies about their necks, reaching from the
shoulder to the ear. And the one that was on the left side
bounded across to the right side, and the one on the right to the
left, and like two sea-swallows sported around him. And his
courser cast up four sods with his four hoofs, like four swallows
in the air, about his head, now above, now below. About him
was a four-cornered cloth of purple, and an apple of gold was at
each corner, and every one of the apples was of the value of an
hundred kine. And there was precious gold of the value of
three hundred kine upon his shoes, and upon his stirrups, from
his knee to the tip of his toe. And the blade of grass bent
not beneath him, so light was his courser’s tread as he
journeyed towards the gate of Arthur’s Palace.

Spoke the youth, “Is there a porter?”
“There is; and if thou holdest not thy peace, small will be
thy welcome. I am Arthur’s porter every first day of
January. And during every other part of the year but this,
the office is filled by Huandaw, and Gogigwc, and Llaeskenym, and
Pennpingyon, who goes upon his head to save his feet, neither
towards the sky nor towards the earth, but like a rolling stone
upon the floor of the court.” “Open the
portal.” “I will not open it.”
“Wherefore not?” “The knife is in the
meat, and the drink is in the horn, and there is revelry in
Arthur’s Hall, and none may enter therein but the son of a
king of a privileged country, or a craftsman bringing his
craft. But there will be refreshment for thy dogs, and for
thy horses; and for thee there will be collops cooked and
peppered, and luscious wine and mirthful songs, and food for
fifty men shall be brought unto thee in the guest chamber, where
the stranger and the sons of other countries eat, who come not
unto the precincts of the Palace of Arthur. Thou wilt fare
no worse there than thou wouldest with Arthur in the Court.
A lady shall smooth thy couch, and shall lull thee with songs;
and early to-morrow morning, when the gate is open for the
multitude that come hither to-day, for thee shall it be opened
first, and thou mayest sit in the place that thou shalt choose in
Arthur’s Hall, from the upper end to the
lower.” Said the youth, “That will I not
do. If thou openest the gate, it is well. If thou
dost not open it, I will bring disgrace upon thy Lord, and evil
report upon thee. And I will set up three shouts at this
very gate, than which none were ever more deadly, from the top of
Pengwaed in Cornwall to the bottom of Dinsol, in the North, and
to Esgair Oervel, in Ireland. And all the women in this
Palace that are pregnant shall lose their offspring; and such as
are not pregnant, their hearts shall be turned by illness, so
that they shall never bear children from this day
forward.” “What clamour soever thou mayest
make,” said Glewlwyd Gavaelvawr, “against the laws of
Arthur’s Palace shalt thou not enter therein, until I first
go and speak with Arthur.”

Then Glewlwyd went into the Hall. And Arthur said to
him, “Hast thou news from the
gate?”—“Half of my life is past, and half of
thine. I was heretofore in Kaer Se and Asse, in Sach and
Salach, in Lotor and Fotor; and I have been heretofore in India
the Great and India the Lesser; and I was in the battle of Dau
Ynyr, when the twelve hostages were brought from Llychlyn.
And I have also been in Europe, and in Africa, and in the islands
of Corsica, and in Caer Brythwch, and Brythach, and Verthach; and
I was present when formerly thou didst slay the family of Clis
the son of Merin, and when thou didst slay Mil Du the son of
Ducum, and when thou didst conquer Greece in the East. And
I have been in Caer Oeth and Annoeth, and in Caer Nevenhyr; nine
supreme sovereigns, handsome men, saw we there, but never did I
behold a man of equal dignity with him who is now at the door of
the portal.” Then said Arthur, “If walking thou
didst enter in here, return thou running. And every one
that beholds the light, and every one that opens and shuts the
eye, let them shew him respect, and serve him, some with
gold-mounted drinking-horns, others with collops cooked and
peppered, until food and drink can be prepared for him. It
is unbecoming to keep such a man as thou sayest he is, in the
wind and the rain.” Said Kai, “By the hand of
my friend, if thou wouldest follow my counsel, thou wouldest not
break through the laws of the Court because of him.”
“Not so, blessed Kai. It is an honour to us to be
resorted to, and the greater our courtesy the greater will be our
renown, and our fame, and our glory.”

And Glewlwyd came to the gate, and opened the gate before him;
and although all dismounted upon the horseblock at the gate, yet
did he not dismount, but rode in upon his charger. Then
said Kilhwch, “Greeting be unto thee, Sovereign Ruler of
this Island; and be this greeting no less unto the lowest than
unto the highest, and be it equally unto thy guests, and thy
warriors, and thy chieftains—let all partake of it as
completely as thyself. And complete be thy favour, and thy
fame, and thy glory, throughout all this Island.”
“Greeting unto thee also,” said Arthur; “sit
thou between two of my warriors, and thou shalt have minstrels
before thee, and thou shalt enjoy the privileges of a king born
to a throne, as long as thou remainest here. And when I
dispense my presents to the visitors and strangers in this Court,
they shall be in thy hand at my commencing.” Said the
youth, “I came not here to consume meat and drink; but if I
obtain the boon that I seek, I will requite it thee, and extol
thee; and if I have it not, I will bear forth thy dispraise to
the four quarters of the world, as far as thy renown has
extended.” Then said Arthur, “Since thou wilt
not remain here, chieftain, thou shalt receive the boon
whatsoever thy tongue may name, as far as the wind dries, and the
rain moistens, and the sun revolves, and the sea encircles, and
the earth extends; save only my ship; and my mantle; and
Caledvwlch, my sword; and Rhongomyant, my lance; and
Wynebgwrthucher, my shield; and Carnwenhau, my dagger; and
Gwenhwyvar, my wife. By the truth of Heaven, thou shalt
have it cheerfully, name what thou wilt.” “I
would that thou bless my hair.” “That shall be
granted thee.”

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

Then said Arthur, “Oh! chieftain, I have never heard of
the maiden of whom thou speakest, nor of her kindred, but I will
gladly send messengers in search of her. Give me time to
seek her.” And the youth said, “I will
willingly grant from this night to that at the end of the year to
do so.” Then Arthur sent messengers to every land
within his dominions to seek for the maiden; and at the end of
the year Arthur’s messengers returned without having gained
any knowledge or intelligence concerning Olwen more than on the
first day. Then said Kilhwch, “Every one has received
his boon, and I yet lack mine. I will depart and bear away
thy honour with me.” Then said Kai, “Rash
chieftain! dost thou reproach Arthur? Go with us, and we
will not part until thou dost either confess that the maiden
exists not in the world, or until we obtain her.”
Thereupon Kai rose up. Kai had this peculiarity, that his
breath lasted nine nights and nine days under water, and he could
exist nine nights and nine days without sleep. A wound from
Kai’s sword no physician could heal. Very subtle was
Kai. When it pleased him he could render himself as tall as
the highest tree in the forest. And he had another
peculiarity,—so great was the heat of his nature, that,
when it rained hardest, whatever he carried remained dry for a
handbreadth above and a handbreadth below his hand; and when his
companions were coldest, it was to them as fuel with which to
light their fire.

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

And Arthur called to Kynddelig the Guide, “Go thou upon
this expedition with the chieftain.” For as good a
guide was he in a land which he had never seen as he was in his
own.

He called Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd, because he knew all
tongues.

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

And Arthur called Menw the son of Teirgwaedd, in order that if
they went into a savage country, he might cast a charm and an
illusion over them, so that none might see them whilst they could
see every one.

They journeyed until they came to a vast open plain, wherein
they saw a great castle, which was the fairest of the castles of
the world. And they journeyed that day until the evening,
and when they thought they were nigh to the castle, they were no
nearer to it than they had been in the morning. And the
second and the third day they journeyed, and even then scarcely
could they reach so far. And when they came before the
castle, they beheld a vast flock of sheep, which was boundless
and without an end. And upon the top of a mound there was a
herdsman, keeping the sheep. And a rug made of skins was
upon him; and by his side was a shaggy mastiff, larger than a
steed nine winters old. Never had he lost even a lamb from
his flock, much less a large sheep. He let no occasion ever
pass without doing some hurt and harm. All the dead trees
and bushes in the plain he burnt with his breath down to the very
ground.

Then said Kai, “Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd, go thou and
salute yonder man.” “Kai,” said he,
“I engaged not to go further than thou
thyself.” “Let us go then together,”
answered Kai. Said Menw the son of Teirgwaedd, “Fear
not to go thither, for I will cast a spell upon the dog, so that
he shall injure no one.” And they went up to the
mound whereon the herdsman was, and they said to him, “How
dost thou fare, O herdsman?” “No less fair be
it to you than to me.” “Truly, art thou the
chief?” “There is no hurt to injure me but my
own.” [5] “Whose are the sheep that
thou dost keep, and to whom does yonder castle
belong?” “Stupid are ye, truly! Through
the whole world is it known that this is the castle of Yspaddaden
Penkawr.” “And who art thou?”
“I am called Custennin the son of Dyfnedig, and my brother
Yspaddaden Penkawr oppressed me because of my possessions.
And ye also, who are ye?” “We are an embassy
from Arthur, come to seek Olwen the daughter of Yspaddaden
Penkawr.” “Oh men! the mercy of Heaven be upon
you, do not that for all the world. None who ever came
hither on this quest has returned alive.” And the
herdsman rose up. And as he arose, Kilhwch gave unto him a
ring of gold. And he sought to put on the ring, but it was
too small for him, so he placed it in the finger of his
glove. And he went home, and gave the glove to his spouse
to keep. And she took the ring from the glove when it was
given her, and she said, “Whence came this ring, for thou
art not wont to have good fortune?” “I
went,” said he, “to the sea to seek for fish, and lo,
I saw a corpse borne by the waves. And a fairer corpse than
it did I never behold. And from its finger did I take this
ring.” “O man! does the sea permit its dead to
wear jewels? Show me then this body.” “Oh
wife, him to whom this ring belonged thou shalt see here in the
evening.” “And who is he?” asked the
woman, “Kilhwch the son of Kilydd, the son of Prince
Kelyddon, by Goleuddydd the daughter of Prince Anlawdd, his
mother, who is come to seek Olwen as his wife.” And
when she heard that, her feelings were divided between the joy
that she had that her nephew, the son of her sister, was coming
to her, and sorrow because she had never known any one depart
alive who had come on that quest.

And they went forward to the gate of Custennin the
herdsman’s dwelling. And when she heard their
footsteps approaching, she ran out with joy to meet them.
And Kai snatched a billet out of the pile. And when she met
them she sought to throw her arms about their necks. And
Kai placed the log between her two hands, and she squeezed it so
that it became a twisted coil. “Oh woman,” said
Kai, “if thou hadst squeezed me thus, none could ever again
have set their affections on me. Evil love were
this.” They entered into the house, and were served;
and soon after they all went forth to amuse themselves.
Then the woman opened a stone chest that was before the
chimney-corner, and out of it arose a youth with yellow curling
hair. Said Gwrhyr, “It is a pity to hide this
youth. I know that it is not his own crime that is thus
visited upon him.” “This is but a
remnant,” said the woman. “Three-and-twenty of
my sons has Yspaddaden Penkawr slain, and I have no more hope of
this one than of the others.” Then said Kai,
“Let him come and be a companion with me, and he shall not
be slain unless I also am slain with him.” And they
ate. And the woman asked them, “Upon what errand come
you here?” “We come to seek Olwen for this
youth.” Then said the woman, “In the name of
Heaven, since no one from the castle hath yet seen you, return
again whence you came.” “Heaven is our witness,
that we will not return until we have seen the
maiden.” Said Kai, “Does she ever come hither,
so that she may be seen?” “She comes here every
Saturday to wash her head, and in the vessel where she washes,
she leaves all her rings, and she never either comes herself or
sends any messengers to fetch them.”

“Will she come here if she is sent to?”
“Heaven knows that I will not destroy my soul, nor will I
betray those that trust me; unless you will pledge me your faith
that you will not harm her, I will not send to her.”
“We pledge it,” said they. So a message was
sent, and she came.

The maiden was clothed in a robe of flame-coloured silk, and
about her neck was a collar of ruddy gold, on which were precious
emeralds and rubies. More yellow was her head than the
flower of the broom, and her skin was whiter than the foam of the
wave, and fairer were her hands and her fingers than the blossoms
of the wood anemone amidst the spray of the meadow
fountain. The eye of the trained hawk, the glance of the
three-mewed falcon was not brighter than hers. Her bosom
was more snowy than the breast of the white swan, her cheek was
redder than the reddest roses. Whoso beheld her was filled
with her love. Four white trefoils sprung up wherever she
trod. And therefore was she called Olwen.

She entered the house, and sat beside Kilhwch upon the
foremost bench; and as soon as he saw her he knew her. And
Kilhwch said unto her, “Ah! maiden, thou art she whom I
have loved; come away with me, lest they speak evil of thee and
of me. Many a day have I loved thee.” “I
cannot do this, for I have pledged my faith to my father not to
go without his counsel, for his life will last only until the
time of my espousals. Whatever is, must be. But I
will give thee advice if thou wilt take it. Go, ask me of
my father, and that which he shall require of thee, grant it, and
thou wilt obtain me; but if thou deny him anything, thou wilt not
obtain me, and it will be well for thee if thou escape with thy
life.” “I promise all this, if occasion
offer,” said he.

She returned to her chamber, and they all rose up and followed
her to the castle. And they slew the nine porters that were
at the nine gates in silence. And they slew the nine
watch-dogs without one of them barking. And they went
forward to the hall.

“The greeting of Heaven and of man be unto thee,
Yspaddaden Penkawr,” said they. “And you,
wherefore come you?” “We come to ask thy
daughter Olwen, for Kilhwch the son of Kilydd, the son of Prince
Kelyddon.” “Where are my pages and my
servants? Raise up the forks beneath my two eyebrows which
have fallen over my eyes, that I may see the fashion of my
son-in-law.” And they did so. “Come
hither to-morrow, and you shall have an answer.”

They rose to go forth, and Yspaddaden Penkawr seized one of
the three poisoned darts that lay beside him, and threw it after
them. And Bedwyr caught it, and flung it, and pierced
Yspaddaden Penkawr grievously with it through the knee.
Then he said, “A cursed ungentle son-in-law, truly. I
shall ever walk the worse for his rudeness, and shall ever be
without a cure. This poisoned iron pains me like the bite
of a gadfly. Cursed be the smith who forged it, and the
anvil whereon it was wrought! So sharp is it!”

That night also they took up their abode in the house of
Custennin the herdsman. The next day with the dawn they
arrayed themselves in haste and proceeded to the castle, and
entered the hall, and they said, “Yspaddaden Penkawr, give
us thy daughter in consideration of her dower and her maiden fee,
which we will pay to thee and to her two kinswomen
likewise. And unless thou wilt do so, thou shalt meet with
thy death on her account.” Then he said, “Her
four great-grandmothers, and her four great-grandsires are yet
alive, it is needful that I take counsel of them.”
“Be it so,” answered they, “we will go to
meat.” As they rose up, he took the second dart that
was beside him, and cast it after them. And Menw the son of
Gwaedd caught it, and flung it back at him, and wounded him in
the centre of the breast, so that it came out at the small of his
back. “A cursed ungentle son-in-law, truly,”
said he, “the hard iron pains me like the bite of a
horse-leech. Cursed be the hearth whereon it was heated,
and the smith who formed it! So sharp is it!
Henceforth, whenever I go up a hill, I shall have a scant in my
breath, and a pain in my chest, and I shall often loathe my
food.” And they went to meat.

And the third day they returned to the palace. And
Yspaddaden Penkawr said to them, “Shoot not at me again
unless you desire death. Where are my attendants?
Lift up the forks of my eyebrows which have fallen over my
eyeballs, that I may see the fashion of my
son-in-law.” Then they arose, and, as they did so,
Yspaddaden Penkawr took the third poisoned dart and cast it at
them. And Kilhwch caught it and threw it vigorously, and
wounded him through the eyeball, so that the dart came out at the
back of his head. “A cursed ungentle son-in-law,
truly! As long as I remain alive, my eyesight will be the
worse. Whenever I go against the wind, my eyes will water;
and peradventure my head will burn, and I shall have a giddiness
every new moon. Cursed be the fire in which it was
forged. Like the bite of a mad dog is the stroke of this
poisoned iron.” And they went to meat.

And the next day they came again to the palace, and they said,
“Shoot not at us any more, unless thou desirest such hurt,
and harm, and torture as thou now hast, and even
more.” “Give me thy daughter, and if thou wilt
not give her, thou shalt receive thy death because of
her.” “Where is he that seeks my
daughter? Come hither where I may see thee.”
And they placed him a chair face to face with him.

Said Yspaddaden Penkawr, “Is it thou that seekest my
daughter?” “It is I,” answered
Kilhwch. “I must have thy pledge that thou wilt not
do towards me otherwise than is just, and when I have gotten that
which I shall name, my daughter thou shalt have.”
“I promise thee that willingly,” said Kilhwch,
“name what thou wilt.” “I will do
so,” said he.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt
not get. Seest thou yonder red tilled ground?”

“I see it.”

“When first I met the mother of this maiden, nine
bushels of flax were sown therein, and none has yet sprung up,
neither white nor black; and I have the measure by me
still. I require to have the flax to sow in the new land
yonder, that when it grows up it may make a white wimple for my
daughter’s head, on the day of thy wedding.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt
not get. The horn of Gwlgawd Gododin to serve us with
liquor that night. He will not give it of his own free
will, and thou wilt not be able to compel him.”

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

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt
not get. The harp of Teirtu to play to us that night.
When a man desires that it should play, it does so of itself, and
when he desires that it should cease, it ceases. And this
he will not give of his own free will, and thou wilt not be able
to compel him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt
not get. Throughout the world there is not a huntsman who
can hunt with this dog, except Mabon the son of Modron. He
was taken from his mother when three nights old, and it is not
known where he now is, nor whether he is living or
dead.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt
not get. Difficulties shalt thou meet with, and nights
without sleep, in seeking this, and if thou obtain it not,
neither shalt thou obtain my daughter.”

“Horses shall I have, and chivalry; and my lord and
kinsman Arthur will obtain for me all these things. And I
shall gain thy daughter, and thou shalt lose thy life.”

“Go forward. And thou shalt not be chargeable for
food or raiment for my daughter while thou art seeking these
things; and when thou hast compassed all these marvels, thou
shalt have my daughter for thy wife.”

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

Then they proceeded towards the gate. Said Gwrhyr
Gwalstawt Ieithoedd, “Is there a porter?”
“There is. And thou, if thy tongue be not mute in thy
head, wherefore dost thou call?” “Open the
gate.” “I will not open it.”
“Wherefore wilt thou not?” “The knife is
in the meat, and the drink is in the horn, and there is revelry
in the hall of Gwrnach the Giant, and except for a craftsman who
brings his craft, the gate will not be opened
to-night.” “Verily, porter,” then said
Kai, “my craft bring I with me.” “What is
thy craft?” “The best burnisher of swords am I
in the world.” “I will go and tell this unto
Gwrnach the Giant, and I will bring thee an answer.”

So the porter went in, and Gwrnach said to him, “Hast
thou any news from the gate?” “I have.
There is a party at the door of the gate who desire to come
in.” “Didst thou inquire of them if they
possessed any art?” “I did inquire,” said
he, “and one told me that he was well skilled in the
burnishing of swords.” “We have need of him
then. For some time have I sought for some one to polish my
sword, and could find no one. Let this man enter, since he
brings with him his craft.” The porter thereupon
returned and opened the gate. And Kai went in by himself,
and he saluted Gwrnach the Giant. And a chair was placed
for him opposite to Gwrnach. And Gwrnach said to him,
“Oh man! is it true that is reported of thee, that thou
knowest how to burnish swords?” “I know full
well how to do so,” answered Kai. Then was the sword
of Gwrnach brought to him. And Kai took a blue whetstone
from under his arm, and asked him whether he would have it
burnished white or blue. “Do with it as it seems good
to thee, and as thou wouldest if it were thine own.”
Then Kai polished one half of the blade and put it in his
hand. “Will this please thee?” asked he.
“I would rather than all that is in my dominions that the
whole of it were like unto this. It is a marvel to me that
such a man as thou should be without a companion.”
“Oh! noble sir, I have a companion, albeit he is not
skilled in this art.” “Who may he
be?” “Let the porter go forth, and I will tell
him whereby he may know him. The head of his lance will
leave its shaft, and draw blood from the wind, and will descend
upon its shaft again.” Then the gate was opened, and
Bedwyr entered. And Kai said, “Bedwyr is very
skilful, although he knows not this art.”

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

The sword was now polished, and Kai gave it unto the hand of
Gwrnach the Giant, to see if he were pleased with his work.
And the Giant said, “The work is good, I am content
therewith.” Said Kai, “It is thy scabbard that
hath rusted thy sword, give it to me that I may take out the
wooden sides of it and put in new ones.” And he took
the scabbard from him, and the sword in the other hand. And
he came and stood over against the Giant, as if he would have put
the sword into the scabbard; and with it he struck at the head of
the Giant, and cut off his head at one blow. Then they
despoiled the castle, and took from it what goods and jewels they
would. And again on the same day, at the beginning of the
year, they came to Arthur’s Court, bearing with them the
sword of Gwrnach the Giant.

Now, when they told Arthur how they had sped, Arthur said,
“Which of these marvels will it be best for us to seek
first?” “It will be best,” said they,
“to seek Mabon the son of Modron; and he will not be found
unless we first find Eidoel the son of Aer, his
kinsman.” Then Arthur rose up, and the warriors of
the Islands of Britain with him, to seek for Eidoel; and they
proceeded until they came before the Castle of Glivi, where
Eidoel was imprisoned. Glivi stood on the summit of his
castle, and he said, “Arthur, what requirest thou of me,
since nothing remains to me in this fortress, and I have neither
joy nor pleasure in it; neither wheat nor oats? Seek not
therefore to do me harm.” Said Arthur, “Not to
injure thee came I hither, but to seek for the prisoner that is
with thee.” “I will give thee my prisoner,
though I had not thought to give him up to any one; and therewith
shalt thou have my support and my aid.”

His followers said unto Arthur, “Lord, go thou home,
thou canst not proceed with thy host in quest of such small
adventures as these.” Then said Arthur, “It
were well for thee, Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd, to go upon this
quest, for thou knowest all languages, and art familiar with
those of the birds and the beasts. Thou, Eidoel, oughtest
likewise to go with my men in search of thy cousin. And as
for you, Kai and Bedwyr, I have hope of whatever adventure ye are
in quest of, that ye will achieve it. Achieve ye this
adventure for me.”

They went forward until they came to the Ousel of
Cilgwri. And Gwrhyr adjured her for the sake of Heaven,
saying, “Tell me if thou knowest aught of Mabon the son of
Modron, who was taken when three nights old from between his
mother and the wall.” And the Ousel answered,
“When I first came here, there was a smith’s anvil in
this place, and I was then a young bird; and from that time no
work has been done upon it, save the pecking of my beak every
evening, and now there is not so much as the size of a nut
remaining thereof; yet the vengeance of Heaven be upon me, if
during all that time I have ever heard of the man for whom you
inquire. Nevertheless I will do that which is right, and
that which it is fitting that I should do for an embassy from
Arthur. There is a race of animals who were formed before
me, and I will be your guide to them.”

So they proceeded to the place where was the Stag of
Redynvre. “Stag of Redynvre, behold we are come to
thee, an embassy from Arthur, for we have not heard of any animal
older than thou. Say, knowest thou aught of Mabon the son
of Modron, who was taken from his mother when three nights
old?” The Stag said, “When first I came hither,
there was a plain all around me, without any trees save one oak
sapling, which grew up to be an oak with an hundred
branches. And that oak has since perished, so that now
nothing remains of it but the withered stump; and from that day
to this I have been here, yet have I never heard of the man for
whom you inquire. Nevertheless, being an embassy from
Arthur, I will be your guide to the place where there is an
animal which was formed before I was.”

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

Gwrhyr said, “Eagle of Gwern Abwy, we have come to thee
an embassy from Arthur, to ask thee if thou knowest aught of
Mabon the son of Modron, who was taken from his mother when he
was three nights old.” The Eagle said, “I have
been here for a great space of time, and when I first came hither
there was a rock here, from the top of which I pecked at the
stars every evening; and now it is not so much as a span
high. From that day to this I have been here, and I have
never heard of the man for whom you inquire, except once when I
went in search of food as far as Llyn Llyw. And when I came
there, I struck my talons into a salmon, thinking he would serve
me as food for a long time. But he drew me into the deep,
and I was scarcely able to escape from him. After that I
went with my whole kindred to attack him, and to try to destroy
him, but he sent messengers, and made peace with me; and came and
besought me to take fifty fish spears out of his back.
Unless he know something of him whom you seek, I cannot tell who
may. However, I will guide you to the place where he
is.”

So they went thither; and the Eagle said, “Salmon of
Llyn Llyw, I have come to thee with an embassy from Arthur, to
ask thee if thou knowest aught concerning Mabon the son of
Modron, who was taken away at three nights old from his
mother.” “As much as I know I will tell
thee. With every tide I go along the river upwards, until I
come near to the walls of Gloucester, and there have I found such
wrong as I never found elsewhere; and to the end that ye may give
credence thereto, let one of you go thither upon each of my two
shoulders.” So Kai and Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd
went upon the two shoulders of the salmon, and they proceeded
until they came unto the wall of the prison, and they heard a
great wailing and lamenting from the dungeon. Said Gwrhyr,
“Who is it that laments in this house of
stone?” “Alas, there is reason enough for
whoever is here to lament. It is Mabon the son of Modron
who is here imprisoned; and no imprisonment was ever so grievous
as mine, neither that of 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
flax-seed which Yspaddaden Penkawr had required of Kilhwch, and
they brought the full measure without lacking any, except one
flax-seed, and that the lame pismire brought in before night.

As Kai and Bedwyr sat on a beacon carn on the summit of
Plinlimmon, in the highest wind that ever was in the world, they
looked around them, and saw a great smoke towards the south, afar
off, which did not bend with the wind. Then said Kai,
“By the hand of my friend, behold, yonder is the fire of a
robber!” Then they hastened towards the smoke, and
they came so near to it, that they could see Dillus Varvawc
scorching a wild boar. “Behold, yonder is the
greatest robber that ever fled from Arthur,” said Bedwyr
unto Kai. “Dost thou know him?” “I
do know him,” answered Kai, “he is Dillus Varvawc,
and no leash in the world will be able to hold Drudwyn, the cub
of Greid the son of Eri, save a leash made from the beard of him
thou seest yonder. And even that will be useless, unless
his beard be plucked alive with wooden tweezers; for if dead, it
will be brittle.” “What thinkest thou that we
should do concerning this?” said Bedwyr. “Let
us suffer him,” said Kai, “to eat as much as he will
of the meat, and after that he will fall asleep.” And
during that time they employed themselves in making the wooden
tweezers. And when Kai knew certainly that he was asleep,
he made a pit under his feet, the largest in the world, and he
struck him a violent blow, and squeezed him into the pit.
And there they twitched out his beard completely with the wooden
tweezers; and after that they slew him altogether.

And from thence they both went to Gelli Wic, in Cornwall, and
took the leash made of Dillus Varvawc’s beard with them,
and they gave it into Arthur’s hand. Then Arthur
composed this Englyn—

Kai made a leash

Of Dillus son of Eurei’s beard.

Were he alive, thy death he’d be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then Kilhwch set forward, and Goreu the son of Custennin with
him, and as many as wished ill to Yspaddaden Penkawr. And
they took the marvels with them to his court. And Kaw of
North Britain came and shaved his beard, skin, and flesh clean
off to the very bone from ear to ear. “Art thou
shaved, man?” said Kilhwch. “I am
shaved,” answered he. “Is thy daughter mine
now?” “She is thine,” said he, “but
therefore needest thou not thank me, but Arthur who hath
accomplished this for thee. By my free will thou shouldest
never have had her, for with her I lose my life.”
Then Goreu the son of Custennin seized him by the hair of his
head, and dragged him after him to the keep, and cut off his head
and placed it on a stake on the citadel. Then they took
possession of his castle, and of his treasures.

And that night Olwen became Kilhwch’s bride, and she
continued to be his wife as long as she lived. And the
hosts of Arthur dispersed themselves, each man to his own
country. And thus did Kilhwch obtain Olwen, the daughter of
Yspaddaden Penkawr.

THE DREAM OF RHONABWY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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