When they had played a while, they heard a mighty tumult, and a wailing of men, and a croaking of Ravens, as they carried the men in their strength into the air, and, tearing them betwixt them, let them fall piecemeal to the earth. And during the tumult they saw a knight coming towards them, on a light grey horse, and the left foreleg of the horse was jet-black to the centre of his hoof. The knight and the horse were fully accoutred with huge, heavy blue armour. A robe of honour of yellow diapered satin was upon the knight, and the borders of the robe were blue. On the thigh of the knight was a sword, long, and three-edged, and heavy. 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. At the top of the helmet was the figure of a flame-coloured lion, with a fiery-red tongue, issuing about 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.
The knight saluted King Arthur. “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?” “Owen,” said Arthur, “forbid thy Ravens.” “Play this game, Lord,” said Owen.
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. 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. The knight and horse were equipped with arms of speckled yellow. 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 purple. 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. 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.
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 the Island of Britain, and he besought him to cause Owen to forbid his Ravens. And Arthur besought Owen to forbid them. Then Arthur took the golden chess-men that were upon the board, and crushed them until they became as dust. But he spoke no more to Owen. Then Owen ordered the one he had sent to lower the banner. So it was lowered, and all was peace.
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 when they had promised to be by mid-day in the battle. Thereupon they heard a call made for Arthur’s sword-bearer, and behold he arose with the sword of Arthur in his hand. 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 serpent, and then, so wonderful was the sword, that it was hard for anyone to look upon it. And the host became still, and the tumult ceased, and the sword-bearer returned to the tent.
“Iddog,” said Ronabbway, “who is the man who bore the sword of Arthur?” “Kaddar, the Earl of Cornwall, whose duty it is to arm the King on the days of battle and warfare.”
Then Iddog took Ronabbway behind him on his horse, and that mighty host moved forward, each troop in its order. And when they came to the middle of the ford of the Severn, Iddog turned his horse’s head, and Ronabbway looked along the valley of the Severn. And he beheld two fair armies coming towards the ford. 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 this knight rode amongst the host.
“Iddog,” said Ronabbway, “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.”
Then Kai said: “Whoever will follow Arthur, let him be with him to-night in Cornwall, and whosoever will not, let him be opposed to Arthur. For now the battle comes on.”
Then Ronabbway turned to Iddog and said: “Wilt thou tell me what thy nickname is?” “I will tell thee,” his companion said, “it is Iddog, the Stirrer-up of Britain.” “Ha, Chieftain,” said Ronabbway, “why art thou called thus?” “I will tell thee,” said his companion. “I was at the battle the opening of which has been shown to thee. I was one of the messengers between Arthur and Medraud, 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 to reason with Medraud, and to show him that Arthur was his foster-father and his uncle, and to seek for peace, lest the sons of the nobles of the Island of Britain should be slain. And whereas Arthur charged me with the fairest sayings he could think of, I uttered unto Medraud the harshest I could devise. And from this did the battle of Camlan ensue. And the nobles of the Island of Britain and the great companions of Arthur were slain in that battle, and an end was made to the Court of Arthur. And a magic sleep fell upon Arthur, and he stays within a hill. But he will come forth again when the Island of Britain is in danger and he will deliver his people.”
Then again Ronabbway heard the voice of Kai saying, “Whosoever will follow Arthur, let him be with him to-night in Cornwall, and whosoever will not, let him be opposed to Arthur.” And through the greatness of the tumult that ensued, Ronabbway awoke. And when he awoke he was upon the yellow calf-skin, having slept three days and three nights.
NOTES
HOW THE YOUTH KILHUCH CAME TO KING ARTHUR’S COURT
The story that begins with Kilhuch has in the Mabinogion the title “Kilhwch and Owen or the Twrch Trwyth.” The maker of this story was evidently a man of brilliant invention and supreme literary equipment. Alfred Nutt places the date of its composition as about 1175, and he considers that it was shaped under Irish literary influences. He notes that a great patron of Welsh literature, Gruffydd ab Cynan, had passed his youth in Ireland and had drawn his forces for the conquest of North Wales from that country. “We must then, I think,” he says of the makers of this and another story, “regard these Welsh story-tellers to whom we owe ‘Kilhwch and Olwen,’ and ‘The Dream of Rhonabwy’ as men fascinated by the spirit and style of Irish romance and introducing the same into Welsh literature.” And he goes on to say with reference to this particular story, “Around this theme of immemorial antiquity the story-teller grouped numerous fairy-tale traits and incidents drawn undoubtedly from the rich store of popular tradition.”
The elements that make up this story will be familiar to every student of folk-lore. There is, first of all, the widely spread folk-tale about the youth who comes to the enchanter-king as a suitor for his daughter, and who is given a number of difficult tasks. This story is told all the way from Ireland to the M
alay Peninsula, and it has been given its greatest literary form in Greece in the story of Jason and Medea. The author of the story of Kilhuch and Olwen has tied this folk-tale up with another folk-tale—the tale of the hunting of a destructive boar. As in other Celtic variants of the suitor for the enchanter’s daughter, it is the youth’s jealous step-mother who starts him upon the dangerous quest.
In all other stories of this type the maiden helps her wooer to carry out the tasks. Olwen gives no help. But the story as we have it now is very fragmentary, and we do not know but that in some of the tasks Olwen helped. In the days when it was current there were probably many subsidiary episodes that were filled out by story-tellers—everything that was quite usual in the story would be left to the story-teller to develop. And amongst such usual incidents would be the fulfilling of certain tasks. Yspaddaden sets Kilhuch forty tasks. There is record of only eight tasks being accomplished. In retelling the story I have made Yspaddaden set only such tasks as were actually carried out.
When the maker of this story tied up the wooing with the hunting of the boar, he shifted the interest from Yspaddaden’s castle and he left Kilhuch, as far as we can know, with hardly anything to do. Usually, in the folk-tales of this type, the suitor travels alone. But the shaper of this story gives Kilhuch the Skilful Companions that are out of another type of story: there is Kai who, when it pleased him, “could render himself as tall as the highest tree in the forest”; there is Bedour, who, 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”; there is Gwrhyr Gwalstawt Ieithoedd who knew all tongues, and there is Menw, 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 there is Gwalchmai who never returned home without achieving the adventure of which he went in quest. A surprising transformation makes three of these Skilful Companions—Kai, Bedour, and Gwalchmai—the Sir Kaye, the Sir Bedevere, and the Sir Gawaine of Malory’s “Morte d’Arthur.”
The Arthur of this story is the Celtic king to whom noble youths are sent for fosterage. His wife is Gwenhwyvar in the Mabinogion and Guenevere in the “Morte d’Arthur.” Her name means “Fair Phantom,” and it equates the name of another Celtic heroine, the Findabair of the Irish stories.
THE STORY OF PUIL, PRINCE OF DYVED
The first part of “Puil, Prince of Dyved” (in the Mabinogion he is Pwyll) is on a theme that is peculiarly Celtic—the theme of the mortal hero going into the Realm of Faerie to aid one of the Chiefs of Faerie against another. The part that deals with the wooing of Rhiannon is not so obviously mythological; no doubt the theme of the second story—for it is a distinct story—is the winning of the Faery Bride, but Rhiannon herself, her father Heveid and her suitor Gwaul, have lost all their mythological traits. The story of the taking of Rhiannon’s infant and the child’s recovery is a folk-tale that is very widely spread. Often the tragic loss is due to an intrigue of jealous sisters or sisters-in-law.
Puil, Prince of Dyved, and The Story of Branwen and two other stories that are not given in this volume are the four stories that are definitely “mabinogion”; the other stories are not given this title in the Welsh manuscript. These four stories are all based on the mythology of the British Celts, but, as Alfred Nutt observes, “the crudity of the myth has disappeared in a dissolving mist of romance.” Bran, with all his vastness, is obviously a divinity. Matholluch, the King of Ireland (in the Mabinogion he is Matholwch) may also be a figure out of some mythology; Mr. Roger Loomis of Columbia University has made the suggestion that, just as for the Irish story-tellers Spain was the other world, the world of the dead, so, for the British story-tellers, Ireland was the other world. In this case Matholluch might be a god of the dead; it may be that he is the same as that stern ruler of Ireland who comes into the Tristan story, Morhaut. Branwen (her name means “white bosom”) comes into another cycle of romance as Brangwaine, the confidante of Iseult. “The Story of Branwen,” Alfred Nutt considers, has been influenced by “The Woe of Gudrun,” a story that the Welsh might have heard from their Norse allies. “The Story of Lud and Levellis” (in the Mabinogion “The Contention of Lludd and Llevelys”) like “The Dream of Maxen the Emperor (in the Mabinogion “The Dream of Maxen Wledig”) is based on British tradition history; both stories, scholars think, were given their present shape in the middle of the twelfth century.
THE KNIGHT OWEN AND THE LADY OF THE FOUNTAIN
In the Mabinogion his name appears as Owain, and he is the Yvain of the French romance. It is evident that the story of his stay in the castle of the Lady of the Fountain is the reminiscence of a story of a Celtic hero’s going into the Land of Youth. When, in the Irish story, Oisin returns to his native land, old age comes upon him; he loses his heroic form and becomes decrepit. Something of the same kind happens to Owen after he returns to Arthur’s court; he wanders to distant parts of the earth and to uncultivated mountains; his apparel becomes worn out; his body becomes wasted; his hair grows long, and he becomes familiar with wild beasts. Owen, it would seem, finds his way back to the Realm of Faerie.
The Arthur who appears in the three stories that make the second part of this book is a different Arthur from the King with whom Kilhuch claimed relationship. The Arthur of “Kilhuch and Olwen” was developed out of native Welsh tradition; the Arthur of the other stories has been shown to the Welsh by the Breton story-tellers who came into Britain with the Norman conquerors of England. At the end of the twelfth and the beginning of the thirteenth century, when the Welsh were making up new stories about Arthur, they were reading the lays and romances of the Anglo-Norman writers and they were influenced by them.
PEREDUR AND THE CASTLE OF WONDERS
Peredur is the Sir Perceval of Malory, and the Parsifal of the Wagnerian opera. In the Mabinogion the story of his adventures is repetitious and rather incoherent, and in retelling it I have condensed it a good deal. The mediæval story-tellers had many adventures to relate of Peredur’s or of other heroes of the same type—the type is that of the Heroic Fool; the nights were long and neither they nor their audiences were very critical about like adventures succeeding like adventures. Peredur’s great distinction came from the fact that he looked upon the dripping lance and the salver that had in it the man’s head surrounded by a profusion of blood. The Anglo-Norman writers had it that the salver was the Cup of the Last Supper and that the lance was the Spear of the Passion. It is evident that the maker of the story in the Mabinogion had in his mind a reminiscence of some ritual that he did not understand. The elucidation that he gives at the end of the story is prosaic; the lance and the salver were undoubtedly symbols, but the teller of Peredur’s adventures makes them literally a dripping lance and a salver with a head in it.
THE STORY OF GERAINT AND THE MAIDEN ENID
With this story the literature of knightly prowess and objective action seems about to pass into the literature of psychology and inner action. “Geraint and Enid” is undoubtedly the masterpiece of mediæval storytelling.
THE DREAM OF RONABBWAY
In the Mabinogion this story is “The Dream of Ronabbway.” According to Alfred Nutt, “The Dream of Ronabbway” with “Kilhwch and Olwen” have been shaped under the influence of Irish romance. “With the instinctive rightness of genius,” the men who had been so influenced “chose very archaic elements from out the great treasure house of Arthurian material which was undoubtedly open to them.” The marvellous achievement of the writer of “The Dream of Ronabbway” is that he has been able to combine the utmost precision of detail with a wholly visionary quality. Certain lines have been added by the present reteller of the tale. They are the lines about the magic sleep falling upon Arthur, about his staying within a hill, and about his coming forth to deliver the Island of Britain from danger. These lines are not in the story in the Mabinogion. But they belong to the legend of
Arthur. A writer of about 1200 declared that in his time resentment would have been aroused in Brittany by the denial of Arthur’s expected return. And Henry the Second, according to Mr. Roger Loomis (Introduction to The Romance of Tristram and Ysolt) instigated the exhuming of the bodies of Arthur and Guinevere . . . “with the deliberate purpose of destroying the hope of the Welsh and the Cornish that Arthur would come again to deliver them from the invader.”
The battle that looms through “The Dream of Ronabbway” is the battle of Camlan. According to the legend, Arthur gained the victory, but he received a mortal wound at the hand of Medraud, his nephew. He was conveyed to Avalon, and the crown of Britain descended to the son of Kadwr, his kinsman. A mystery hung over the final fate of Arthur.
1 Annuvin, the Realm of Faerie.
The Story of King Arthur and Other Celtic Heroes Page 19