After that Puil went back to Dyved, as Gwaul went forth to his possessions. And they both spent that year until it was time for the feast at the palace of Heveid. Then Gwaul set out to the feast that was prepared for him, and he came up to the palace, and was received there with rejoicing. Puil, also, came. He went to the orchard with his hundred knights, as Rhiannon had commanded him, having the bag with him. And Puil was clad in coarse and ragged garments, and wore large, clumsy old shoes on his feet. And when they were at the height of the feast, he went towards the hall, and when he entered the feasting-hall, he went up and saluted Gwaul, the son of Clud, and his company, both men and women. “Heaven prosper thee,” said Gwaul, “and the greeting of Heaven be unto thee.” “Lord,” said Puil, “may Heaven reward thee. I have an errand unto thee.” “Welcome be thine errand, and if thou ask of me that which is just, thou shalt have it gladly.” “It is fitting,” answered Puil. “I crave but from want, and the boon that I ask is to have this small bag filled with food.” “A request within reason is this,” said Gwaul, “and gladly shalt thou have it. Bring him food,” he said then to the attendants. A great number arose and began to fill the bag, but for all that they put into it, the bag was no fuller than at first. “My soul,” said Gwaul, “will thy bag be ever full?” “It will not, I declare to Heaven,” said Puil, “for all that may be put into it, unless one possessed of lands, and domains, and treasure, shall arise and tread down with both his feet the food that is within the bag.” Then Rhiannon said unto Gwaul: “Arise up quickly and go and press down the food.” “I will do so willingly,” said he. So he rose up, and he put his two feet into the bag.
Then did Puil turn up the sides of the bag, so that Gwaul was over his head in it. Then did Puil shut up the bag and slip a knot on it. Then did he take the bugle horn that was around his neck, and blow a blast on it. The hundred knights who were in the orchard heard the bugle horn; they came quickly into the palace and the feasting-hall; they seized upon all who had come with Gwaul, and they put them in the dungeons of the palace.
Then Puil threw off his rags, and his old shoes, and his tattered array. And his knights, as each one came in, struck a blow upon the bag. “What is here?” one would say to the other. “A badger,” the other would say. And so they went on striking on the bag in which Gwaul was held. And every one as he came in would ask: “What game are you playing in this way?” “The Game of Badger in the Bag,” he would be told. And this was how Badger in the Bag was first played.
“Lord,” said the man in the bag, “if thou wouldst hear me, I deserve not to be killed in a bag in this way.” “Lord,” said Heveid to Puil, “he speaks truth. It were fitting that thou listen to him, for he deserves not to die in this way.” “Verily,” said Puil, “I will do thy counsel concerning him.” Then Rhiannon said: “Take a pledge from him that he will never seek to revenge himself for what has been done to him. And further: thou wilt have to satisfy minstrels and suitors with gifts. Let him give unto them in your stead out of his treasures. And that will be punishment enough for Gwaul.” “Gladly will I do all that,” said the man in the bag.
And upon that Puil, taking the counsel of Heveid and Rhiannon, let Gwaul out of the bag, and liberated his henchmen also. “Verily, Lord,” said Gwaul, “I am greatly hurt, and have many bruises; I have need to be anointed; with thy leave I will go forth.” “Willingly,” said Puil, “mayest thou do so.” And so Gwaul and his henchmen left the palace, and Gwaul went towards his own possessions.
And then the hall was set in order for Puil and his knights, and Heveid and his people, and they went to the tables, and they sat down, and the feasting began all over again. And now Puil sat with Rhiannon, and they feasted, and had song, and spent the night in mirth and tranquillity. And when the time came that they should sleep, Puil and Rhiannon went into their own chamber.
Then did he take the bugle horn and blow a blast on it.
The next morning, at the break of day, Rhiannon said to her husband: “My Lord, arise, and begin to give gifts to the minstrels who attended the feast, and to the suitors who have come seeking something for themselves. Refuse no one to-day that may claim thy bounty.” “That I will gladly do,” said Puil. And he arose and went into the hall, and he caused silence to be proclaimed, and he desired the minstrels and all the suitors to show and to point out what gifts were to their wish and desire. And this being done, the feast went on, and Puil denied no one anything while the feast lasted. And when the feast had ended Puil said to Heveid, “My Lord, with thy permission I will set out for Dyved, for with Rhiannon I would go hence.” “Certainly,” said Heveid. “And may Heaven prosper you.”
So Puil and Rhiannon set out for Dyved the next day. They came to the palace of Narberth and there they abode. And there came to them the chief men and the most noble ladies of the land of Dyved, and of these there were none to whom Rhiannon did not give some rich gift, either a bracelet, or a ring, or a precious stone. And Puil and Rhiannon ruled the land prosperously both that year and the next.
It is told that there came a time when the nobles of the land came to Puil with words that troubled him greatly. Rhiannon, they said, had no children; they asked that Puil take another wife so that a son born to him might rule over them and over Dyved. “Thou canst not always continue with us,” they said to him.
Then said Puil, greatly troubled: “Come to me in a year from this, and I will talk this matter over with you.” The nobles agreed to this, and they went away. And then, greatly to the joy of Puil, before the end of the year, a child was born to Rhiannon.
Great was Rhiannon’s joy when the boy was born, but it was not long until her joy was changed into sorrow. Six women were sent into her chamber to tend the child and to mind Rhiannon. At midnight the mother slept. And the women who were there to watch over her and over the child slept also. The women wakened up before it was day; they looked towards where they had laid the child, and behold! the child was not there. “Oh,” said one of the women, “the boy born to our Lord Puil is lost. It will be little punishment for our neglect in watching over him if we are all burned for this.” Said one of the women then: “Is there any plan by which we could save ourselves?” “There is,” said another woman. “Listen to me, and I will tell you a way by which we can save ourselves.”
Then this woman said: “There is a stag-hound with a litter of whelps outside. Let us kill one of the whelps, and rub the blood of the whelp near Rhiannon, and then declare to all that she killed her son in a madness that came on her—killed him and then threw his body to wolves that were outside.”
The women agreed to this dreadful counsel. They killed one of the stag-hound’s litter, and they spread its blood near Rhiannon. Towards morning she awoke, and the first words that she said were: “Women, where is my son?” “Lady,” said they all, “ask us not concerning thy son; we have naught but the blows and bruises got by struggling with thee, and of a truth we never saw any woman so violent as thou, for it was of no avail to contend with thee. Hast thou not thyself slain and flung away thy child? Claim him not therefore of us.” “For pity’s sake,” said Rhiannon, “charge me not falsely. Heaven knows all, and if you say this thing from fear, I declare, before Heaven, that I will defend you.” “Truly,” said they, “we would not bring evil on ourselves for anyone in the world.” “For pity’s sake,” said Rhiannon, “you will receive no evil by telling the truth.” “The truth is that we strove to save the child from being slain by thee, and that we could not save him.” And for all her words, whether fair or harsh, Rhiannon received but the same answer from the women.
And when Puil arose, the story that the women told came to his ears, and he was made very sorrowful. The story went through all the land. Then his nobles came once more to Puil, and they besought him to put away his wife, because of the great crime she had done. Puil answered, telling them that he would not put Rhiannon away. “If she has done wrong,” he said, “let her do penance for it.”
Her husband’s words s
eemed wise to Rhiannon. She preferred to do penance rather than contend any more with the six women. And the penance that she took upon herself was this: that she should sit every day for seven years near the horse-block that was without the gate of the palace, and that she should relate her story to all who came that way and who did not know it, and that she should offer the guests and strangers, if they would permit her, to carry them upon her back into the palace. And so it was with Puil’s wife, Rhiannon.
In another part of Dyved there lived a lord whose name was Teirnon, and this lord was one of the best and the kindest of men. And unto his house there belonged a mare than which neither mare nor horse in all the land was more beautiful. On the first day of May every year this mare had a foal, but no one after knew what became of the foal; it was gone before anyone saw it.
One night, when it was coming near May Day, Teirnon was talking with his wife, and he said, “How simple we are, wife! Our mare foals every year, and we have none of her colts. Why should we not watch and mind her when she comes near to foaling? The vengeance of Heaven be upon me, if I learn not what it is that takes away her foals.” So Teirnon said, and he caused the mare to be brought into the house. And on May Day he armed himself, and he watched the mare through that night.
The mare had a large and beautiful foal. Teirnon saw it standing up beside the mare. And while he was wondering at its size he heard a great tumult, and after the tumult, behold! a great claw came through the window and into the house, and it seized the foal by the mane. Then Teirnon drew his sword, and he struck off the arm that had the claw at the elbow, so that portion of the arm together with the foal, was left in the house with him. And then he heard a tumult and a wailing outside.
Teirnon opened the door of his house and he rushed out towards where he heard the noise, but he could not see the cause of the tumult because of the darkness of the night. Still he rushed in the direction of it. Then he remembered that he had left the door of his house open, and he went back to it. And when he came to his door, behold! there was a child laid, an infant boy in swaddling clothes, wrapped in a mantle of satin. He took the boy, and he saw that he was very strong for the age he seemed to be.
Then Teirnon drew his sword.
Then Teirnon closed the door of his house and he went into the chamber where his wife was. “Lady,” said he, “art thou sleeping?” “I was asleep,” his lady said, “but as soon as thou camest in I awakened.” “Here is a child,” he said, “a boy for thee, if thou wilt, since thou hast never had one.” “My Lord,” said Teirnon’s wife, “what adventure is this?” Then Teirnon told her all that had befallen. “Verily, Lord,” said she, “what sort of garments are on the boy?” “A mantle of satin,” he told her. “He is then a boy of noble lineage,” she replied. And then she said: “My Lord, I will rear this boy as my own.”
They had the child baptized, and they gave him a name, and they reared him in their court until he was a year old. Before that year was over he could walk stoutly, and he was larger than a boy of three years old, even one of good growth and size. He was nursed a second year, and then he was as large as a child of six years old. At the end of the fourth year he would get the grooms to allow him to take the horses to water. Marvellously indeed did the boy grow.
One day his wife said to Teirnon: “Where is the colt that thou didst save on the night that thou didst find the boy?” “I commanded the grooms to take charge of it,” said Teirnon. “Would it not be well, Lord,” said she, “to have the colt broken in and given to the boy, seeing that on the same night thou didst find the boy the colt was foaled?” “I will allow thee,” said Teirnon, “to give the boy the colt.” “Lord,” said she, “may Heaven reward thee; I will give it to him.” So the horse was given to the boy, and the grooms broke the horse in so that he was able to ride it.
About this time tidings of Rhiannon and her punishment came to Teirnon and his wife. And Teirnon, because of his friendship for Puil and because of the pity he felt for Rhiannon, inquired closely concerning for all who came to his court. Often he lamented the sad history he had heard, and often he pondered within himself, and often he would look steadfastly upon the boy.
Everything in Puil’s appearance was known to Teirnon, for of yore he had been one of his followers. And as he looked upon the boy he had reared, it seemed to him that he had never seen so great a likeness between father and son as there was between this boy and Puil, Chief of Annuvin. Then a time came when he told his wife all that was in his mind, and he told her that they, perhaps, did wrong in keeping the boy with them while so noble a lady as Rhiannon was undergoing a penance that had to do, perhaps, with the loss of him.
Then his wife agreed with him that the boy should be taken to Puil’s palace to find out if it might be that he was Puil’s son. So Teirnon equipped himself, and no later than the next day he set out for Puil’s palace at Narberth, and the boy went with him, mounted on the horse that Teirnon’s lady had given him.
As they drew near to the palace they beheld Rhiannon sitting beside the horse-block. And when they came opposite to her, she said: “Chieftain, do not go any further thus; I will bear thee and those who are with thee on my back into the palace, and this is my penance for having slain my own son.” “Oh, fair lady,” said Teirnon, “think not that I will be one to be carried on thy back.” “Neither will I,” said the boy. “Truly, my soul,” said Teirnon to her, “we will not have it so.”
They went forward to the palace, and there was joy at their coming, for Teirnon was liked well by Puil. And when they had washed, Teirnon and the boy sat down to a feast that had been prepared for them, and Teirnon sat between Puil and Rhiannon, and the boy sat at the other side of Puil. And after they had eaten, discourse began.
Teirnon’s discourse was all about the adventure of the mare and the boy, and how he and his wife had reared the boy as their own. And all who were in the hall looked on the boy. Then Teirnon said: “I believe there is none of this host who will not perceive that the boy is the son of Puil.” “There is none,” all of them said, “there is none who is not certain thereof.” “I declare to Heaven,” said Rhiannon, “if this be true, there is indeed an end to all my troubles.” “Teirnon,” said Puil, “Heaven reward thee that thou hast reared the boy up to this time, and being of gentle lineage, it were fitting that he repay thee for it.” “My Lord,” said Teirnon, “it was my wife who nursed him, and there is no one in the world so afflicted as she at parting with him. It were well that he should bear in mind what I and my wife have done for him.” “I call Heaven to witness,” said Puil, “that while I live I will support thee and thy possessions, as long as I am able to preserve my own. And when he has power, he will more fitly maintain them than I.”
After Teirnon had put the boy into Puil’s charge, they had counsel together and they agreed to give him over to one of the great men of the land, to Pendaran Dyved, to be brought up by him. “And you both shall be my companions,” said Puil to Teirnon, “and both shall be foster-fathers unto him.” “This is good counsel,” said all who were present.
After that Teirnon set out for his own country and his own possessions. And he went not without being offered the fairest jewels, and the finest horses, and the choicest dogs; but he would take none of them.
The boy was named Prideri by his mother. He was brought up carefully as was fit, so that he became the fairest youth, and the most comely, and the best skilled in all good games, of any in the kingdom. And thus passed years and years away, until the end of Puil’s, the Chief of Annuvin’s, life came and he died. Then Prideri ruled over the seven Cantrevs of Dyved prosperously, and added three other Cantrevs to his possessions, and he was beloved by his people, and by all around him.
II
HOW THEY SOUGHT THE MAID OLWEN
And now Kilhuch’s hair was cut by the hand of Arthur. Then all the champions and warriors in the hall gathered around them to hear what boon the youth would ask of the King. “Whatsoever boon thou mayest ask, thou shalt
receive it, be it what it may that thy tongue shall name,” said King Arthur. “Pledge the truth of Heaven and the faith of thy kingdom thereof,” said Kilhuch. “I pledge it thee, gladly.” “I crave of thee then, that thou obtain for me Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden, and this boon I seek likewise at the hands of thy warriors. I seek it from Kai and Bedour, and the hundred others who are here.”
Then said Arthur, “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 for thee.” The youth then said, “I willingly grant from this night to that at the end of the year.”
King Arthur thereupon sent messengers to every land to seek for the maiden who was named Olwen. At the end of the year the messengers returned without having gained any more knowledge or intelligence concerning her than on the day they went forth.
And when the year had come to its end Kilhuch said: “Everyone has received his boon, and yet I lack mine. I will depart from this place, and the blame for my going will be upon King Arthur.” Then said Kai: “Rash youth! Dost thou lay blame on Arthur? Go with us, and we will not part from each other until thou dost confess that the maiden exists not in the world, or until we obtain her for thee.” Kai rose up, and thereupon King Arthur called upon Bedour, who never shrank from any enterprise upon which Kai was bound. None was equal to him in swiftness throughout the Island. And although he was one-handed, three warriors could not shed blood faster than he on the field of battle. Another quality he had: his lance could produce a wound equal to those of nine opposing lances. And Arthur called upon Gwalchmai, 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 upon his guide to go with them; as good a guide was he in a land which he had never seen as he was in his own. And he called upon one who knew all tongues to go with them also, and he called upon another, who, if they were in a savage country, could cast a charm and an illusion over them, so that none might see them whilst they could see everyone. And so, with Kai, and Bedour, and Gwalchmai, with the guide, and the one who knew all tongues, and the one who could cast a charm and an illusion, the youth Kilhuch went forth from Arthur’s Court in quest of Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden.
The Story of King Arthur and Other Celtic Heroes Page 4