The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends

by Peter Berresford Ellis

  That evening, a strange apparition appeared at the gates of the castle at Doolish: a bent figure of a man, with coarse grey skin and a protruding nose like the beak of a bird. His eyes were crossed, his hair matted and he had a permanent dribble on his chin.

  The warriors on guard frowned and looked at one another, for they did not recognize him, but they saw that he rode Prince Eshyn’s favourite horse.

  “Who are you who rides that horse?” demanded one of the warriors. “Where is our handsome prince who owns the steed?”

  The stranger stared at the warrior and called him by name.

  “Do you jest?” the ugly one demanded, in a strange grating voice, which the man did not recognize. “I am Prince Eshyn.”

  The guard burst out laughing.

  “You are mad to think you can trick us. We know our prince too well.”

  Then one of the warriors, more reflective than the other, said: “If this ugly horror rides Eshyn’s horse, it can only mean that he must have stolen it. If he has stolen it, it means that he has worsted Eshyn in a fight. The only way he could do that would be to murder him, for Eshyn is so great a warrior he would not allow his horse to be stolen while he was alive.”

  And so they raised an alarm.

  Eshyn began to cry out for his father, the king, as he struggled with the palace guards.

  “Father! Father! They are attacking your eldest son!”

  But the old king came to the battlements and looked down. “I recognise you not, stranger!” He turned back into the castle.

  Still Eshyn struggled. “Mother! Mother! They are attacking your eldest son!” cried Eshyn.

  The queen came and gazed on him in disgust. “Drive this evil one away and find out what has happened to my dear son, Eshyn!” she ordered.

  More guards began to converge on him and so the young prince, in the hideous guise, tugged at the reins of his steed and went galloping away.

  He reached a stream and stopped for water to refresh himself after the strange experience at the gates of his own castle and, as he did so, he saw his reflection in the water.

  He screamed at what he saw.

  Now he knew why he had not been recognized at the castle.

  His heart was heavy and he sent his horse, with a slap on the rump, back in the direction of the castle. It was not fitting for someone looking like he did to ride the horse of a prince. He turned his laggardly footsteps towards the valley that lies through Beinn-y-Phott and Snaefell and, after wandering a day and a night, he came to the deep black lake which lies in Druidale, under the shadow of the black mountain, Slieau Dhoo.

  Here he sat down on a great granite stone and placed his head in his hands. He did not know what had caused his shape to change, nor did he know what he should do.

  He heard a sound nearby and looked up.

  Along the pathway by the grim dark lake, an old woman was coming along, staggering a little under the weight of a great heavy bundle of sticks which she carried on her crooked back. Every so often, she paused to gather a handful of sticks which had fallen from the bundle, but each time she did this, more sticks fell out. But she slowly managed to build up the great bundle, which was apparently so heavy that she was bent double beneath it.

  “Moghrey mie, venainstyr,” called Eshyn for, although he had troubles, he had always been a polite and sympathetic young man. These words meant: “Good morning, madam. Do you journey far with that bundle?”

  The old woman stopped and pointed up Slieau Dhoo. “My cabin is up there, near the summit of the black mountain.”

  It was quite a climb, but Eshyn did not even consider the difficulty. “I will carry the bundle up there for you,” he said and, without another word, he took the great bundle of sticks from the old woman and slung it on his own back. They started to climb up the steep path and as they did so, Eshyn sighed deeply.

  “Vel shiu ching? Are you ill?” asked the old woman in concern. “Is it too heavy for you, my son?”

  “Not too heavy; the heaviness is in my heart,” replied Eshyn sadly.

  “What is it that ails your heart, my son?”

  As they climbed, Eshyn told her his story: or, at least, that part of it which he knew. By the time he had finished it, they had reached the little white stone cottage, with its face towards the sun and its back to the summit of the hill.

  “Put down the sticks and come into my cottage. Rest awhile while I kindle a fire to warm us.”

  Eshyn shook his head. “I am a young man, old woman. It is you who should rest, while I kindle the fire.”

  He insisted that the old woman sit down while he prepared the fire and she told him, once it was alight, to place a small kettle on the flames and put some mackerel in to cook.

  As he did this, she went to the window and gazed at the sky, for it was now cloudless night and the stars were out. She considered the patterns made by the stars carefully. Then she returned inside and took the fish from the kettle and placed them on the table with bread and newly churned butter.

  “Eat and grow strong, young Eshyn,” she told him. “You shall be as comely as you once were and as happy. You will, however, need all your strength. So eat and rest here until morning, and then I shall tell you how you may accomplish that.”

  So Eshyn ate and rested, drowsing fitfully in a corner by the fire.

  In the morning the old woman came to him.

  “Vel shiu er chadley dy-mie? Have you slept well?” she asked him.

  “Cha nee feer vie. Not very well,” he replied, for he was always a truthful youth.

  “Have some tea; it will refresh you. Then you must be gone. You must walk across the hills to South Barrule. At the top of the mountain is a fairy fortress. At the entrance to the fortress, you will come across a wizened old man, with one eye blue and the other eye green. They are able to look east and west and south but cannot look at the north. He will greet you with these words: ‘Bannaghtyn, Eshyn! What ails you? I am a friend to all who are in trouble and who seek joy in this life.’ You can tell him what ails you. But on no account accept his advice. Whatever he tells you to do, do the exact opposite. Do you understand?”

  Eshyn shook his head. “I have no understanding of it but I will do exactly what you have told me to.”

  So Eshyn set off towards the bald peak of South Barrule. He came to the castle and at the gate he saw the wizened old man with his one eye blue and his other one green.

  “Bannaghtyn, Eshyn! What ails you? I am a friend to all who are in trouble and who seek joy in this life.”

  Eshyn told the old man what troubled him.

  “A sorrowful tale, indeed. Let me go into the castle to think on this matter. In the meantime, when I am gone, if the Benrein na Shee, the Queen of the Fairies, happens to pass, go and hide yourself. Do not try to stop her nor speak to her.”

  The wizened old man disappeared into his castle.

  As the hour was now late, the stars now shone down on the mountain top and the moon came sneaking up over a distant hill. But the night-sky was full of clouds, dark ominous storm clouds and the light of the moon was hidden behind them. The night was very dark.

  Standing there in the darkness, Eshyn suddenly saw a curious sight. There was a bright white pinprick of light bobbing up and down across the mountain. It came nearer and nearer. As it grew near, Eshyn saw a group of tiny sprites, fairy people, and in their middle was a beautiful young woman, dressed in a green cloak with her golden hair held in place by a silver circlet. On her left arm was a basket, out of which the bright light shone, so that everyone in her company was illuminated.

  Now Eshyn remembered what the old woman had told him and so he decided to do exactly the opposite of the instruction given to him by the old man, for he now correctly presumed that this was the Benrein na Shee, the Queen of the Fairies and her entourage.

  He stepped forward into the path of the fairies.

  “Greetings, Queen of the Fairies,” he called.

  “Why do you stop me, Eshyn?�
�� she demanded.

  It was no surprise to him that the Queen of the Fairies would know his name. So Eshyn told his sorrowful tale.

  “Can you tell me what I must do?” he asked when the tale was finished.

  The Queen of the Fairies went forward and examined Eshyn’s appearance.

  “It is the nieu-ny-aarnieu,” she observed. “It is a serpent’s venom that has wrought this evil change in you. You can be returned to what you were, but to achieve that you must come along with me.”

  She led him from the slopes of South Barrule towards the western sea, and it seemed to Eshyn that they had journeyed only a short distance before they were crossing the sea. Eshyn was full of wonder, for the fairy host, and he in their midst, simply continued walking over the waves, as if they were solid ground. Then they came to a sea shore which Eshyn had never seen before, so alien and curious was it.

  Along this sea shore were anchored an armada of ships: ships bearing many strange devices on their sails.

  The fairy queen halted the group and placed a finger on her lips.

  “Cum dty hengey!” she instructed in the language of Eshyn’s people. “Keep quiet!”

  Then she pointed to a ship approaching the shore. Her voice was no more than a mere whisper. “These are the people of Yn Shelgeyr Mooar, Orion the great hunter, light of the Otherworld.”

  “But . . . ?”

  “Bee dty host!” she snapped again. “Keep quiet! Listen to me carefully. In that approaching ship is Y Chadee, the Everlasting Pearl, daughter of Yn Shelgeyr Mooar, the most beautiful princess beneath the skies of this world and the Otherworld. She is the only one able to restore you to your former self.”

  “How can that be . . . ?” began Eshyn.

  “Hysht!” hissed the Fairy Queen for a third time. “Keep quiet! Y Chadee, the Everlasting Pearl, shall be your wife if you are strong and do not fear. The blood of the great Ocean God, Manannan Mac-y-Leirr, whose name has been given to your island and your kingdom, flows in your veins as well as the blood of the great kings of Ellan Vannin. You must follow your destiny.”

  She paused and, satisfied that he no longer raised any queries, she instructed him in what he must do.

  “Firstly, you must enter the cave of heroes and seize the Slatt yn Ree, the Sword of Orion, which you will know by the name Cliwe-ny-Sollys, the Sword of Light. Take it and hold fast to it, no matter what happens, and by that means you will win what you must win.”

  She paused a moment and when he made no comment she continued: “Secondly, you will find a pearl of great beauty; this is the symbol of Y Chadee, the Everlasting Pearl. You must seize it and never give it up.

  “Thirdly, you will find a woman of surpassing beauty, who will offer herself to you in return for the treasures you will possess. Remember this; you must never be distracted and lured from your quest by any subtle device as may distract a man. Remember the proverb of your land – Eshyn s’moo hayrys s’moo vee echey. He who catches most will have most.”

  Having said that, she pointed down a cliff path to the sea shore. “That is your path and do not let any obstacle stand in your way.”

  Then she bent forward and blew into her basket and the light went out and she and all her fairy host vanished.

  Eshyn hesitated but a moment and then proceeded along the path, descending the cliff, as the Fairy Queen had told him to. However, he found the path blocked by a gateway which was sealed by tall iron bars. Well, if he was not to let anything obstruct his path, there was only one thing to do. He seized the bars and pulled and tugged with all his might until he twisted them right and left and made an opening large enough to squeeze through.

  As soon as he found himself through the bars, he was in a great cave filled with warriors drinking and gaming with dice. Music filled the air. He noticed that the drink was taken from a central large cauldron of silver. Then, at the far end of the cave, there hung a great sword of blazing gold and silver. It shone with an ethereal light.

  “That must be the Sword of Light, Orion’s Sword,” he muttered.

  Indeed, the Cliwe-ny-Sollys or Sword of Light, was the symbol of the sum of all knowledge and put to flight every ignorance.

  He sighed. It looked so high up, hanging there, that he doubted that he could reach it.

  He entered the cave boldly, ignoring the warriors. But they saw him and started to shout.

  “Come and drink, come and play dice with us.”

  Eshyn shook his head.

  “That I cannot. I have come only for the Cliwe-ny-Sollys!”

  At that, they all started laughing.

  “It is beyond your reach, as it is beyond our reach. A brave man you must be, if you risk the wrath of the Shelgeyr Mooar by attempting to steal his sword.”

  Another one of the merrymakers tapped Eshyn on the arm.

  “We are here to see no one takes it. But it is such an easy task to defend the sword, so we are bored and spend our time in gambling and drinking, for there is nothing else to do.”

  Another said: “Today we enjoy life, for who knows the cares of tomorrow? Drink to the hour that is with us now, not to the hour that may never come.”

  They helped themselves liberally from the brew from the cauldron and they drank and played dice and drank yet again, until they drank themselves from merriment to stupor and from stupor into a deep, snoring, drunken sleep.

  Now Eshyn had waited patiently all this time, for he could not see how he could act while these warriors were capable of harming him. But now that they were all in a drunken sleep, he saw how he could act.

  He pushed the tables, at which the warriors had been gambling, and the chairs to the wall on which the sword hung. He thereby built himself a means of reaching the sword. Balancing carefully, he reached upwards and carefully took the great sword by the hilt.

  At that moment, a large raven swooped through the cavern and started to sound an alarm.

  At once the warriors were on their feet, with weapons drawn, and gone was their drunkenness.

  They saw Eshyn standing with the great Cliwe-ny-Sollys – the Sword of Light – which made him invincible. They cursed him, but none would come near him, for whoever the blade touched was despatched to the Land Beyond, whether they were mortal or immortal.

  Holding the weapon in both hands, ready to defend himself, Eshyn walked slowly from the cave, keeping an eye on the angry warriors.

  From the cave he passed along a narrow tunnel and then he found himself in total darkness. He blinked and, when he opened his eyes, he found a light in the passage ahead of him. He moved to it and found himself peering down at a feasting hall below. This hall had no windows; neither was there entrance nor exit. The light in this strange room was supplied by some strange source which he could not discern. From where he stood, peering down into the hall, a rope provided the only means down and, apparently, the only means up again.

  There was a great table in this hall, at which many warriors sat feasting. They were all obese and indolent, in spite of their warriors’ garb. Along the sides of the hall were the discarded debris and bones of many a feast. Kegs of wine, bottles and other refuse from the table were piled there. But in the middle of the table, around which the warriors were seated, was an intricate candle-holder of gold and silver and, in the spot where the candle should be, Eshyn saw a pearl of great beauty. It was the pearl itself that was emanating the light.

  “That must be the pearl that I am to obtain,” Eshyn said to himself. “I will seize it, but there is only one way to get down to it.”

  So he sheathed the Sword of Light, took the rope in both hands, and slid down into the hall. He was greeted with laughter and good humour by the warriors, who offered him the hero’s seat of honour at the head of the table and said: “Eat and enjoy yourself, for we must eat today in case we cannot eat tomorrow.”

  Eshyn shook his head. “I have come for the pearl,” he said simply.

  They roared with laughter.

  “That cannot be. We si
t here guarding it and serve no other purpose. But we are bored and the only thing to do is to feast. No one can escape with it anyway, for they have to climb up the rope down which it is so easy to slide but impossible to climb up.”

  “Why is that?” demanded Eshyn.

  “No harm to tell you. Once you take the pearl, this room is plunged into darkness and you will never be able to find the rope’s end.”

  So Eshyn decided to sit down and wait. The men crammed their mouths with meat and cakes to the point of repletion. Gradually, one by one, they fell asleep in their seats, their heads on the table top, snoring away.

  Then it was that Eshyn rose and reached forward and picked up the pearl, whose light immediately went out. Eshyn, however, had kept one hand on the rope and he quickly thrust the pearl into his tunic pocket and swung upwards.

  At that moment, a great raven flapped through the darkness, crying out a warning.

  Then the warriors were on their feet, swords out, peering into the darkness. But as it was so dark, several of them injured themselves, attacking each other. Those who realized that Eshyn had escaped up the rope were too fat to follow him and stood at the bottom, staring up into the darkness, cursing him.

  Eshyn climbed back into the passageway and moved on.

  He exited the passage almost immediately and came upon a great palace on the sea shore which was blazing with light. The path led into this sumptuous building and so he went in. There was a great hall hung with tapestries and lit with magnificent candelabra, with musicians playing gentle tunes. Fountains splashed lazily. Bowls of fruit stood on tables and by these there were couches on the mosaic floors. There were seven young maidens lying on the couches who greeted him with shouts of joy.

  “Stay, stay with us. We have much to offer you, young prince. Make love with us.”

  Eshyn shook his head.

  “Come, exchange that heavy sword and that dull grey pearl for our warmth and generosity,” they insisted. “We can make you happier than all the women you have ever known.”