North Wales Folk Tales for Children

by Fiona Collins

  ‘Boys,’ said King Arthur, ‘the King of the Giants is having a tournament to celebrate the birth of his giant baby daughter. Go to the competition and do your best, for the honour of the Knights of the Round Table.’

  Sir Bedwyr, Sir Bors, Sir Cai, Sir Gawain and Sir Lancelot bowed to their king. Their hearts were full of excitement. They rushed away to pack what they needed – that didn’t take long – and to polish their armour until it shone – that took quite a lot longer.

  The next day they set out, and all the knights and ladies of King Arthur’s court were there to cheer and wish them luck.

  When they got near the Giant King’s court, they saw flags waving in the wind and heard the excited chatter of hundreds of giants, queuing up for good seats to watch the jousts.

  At last the competition began: knights in shining armour, war horses with long tails, trumpeters and judges and squires in the Giant King’s colourful livery, giant ladies and lords in their bright clothes watching from covered seats and ordinary giants in their best outfits cheering from the stands.

  Arthur’s knights were ready to do their best. And they did! Time after time, the herald announced, ‘Victory to the knight of King Arthur!’

  At the end of the day they were the champion team. That evening, they sat at the high table, beside the Giant King and Queen. They were served before everyone else, and the Giant Bard sang of their triumph. It was a wonderful night! And a long one …

  They meant to get up early and set off home before the roads got too crowded. But they had stayed up very late. So they got up very late. By the time they had packed everything, saddled their horses, stuffed the prize bags of gold safely into their saddlebags and then said goodbye to all their new friends, it was nearly lunchtime.

  Lancelot said, ‘We might as well have lunch before we go. We don’t want to get hungry on the way.’

  They took off the horses’ saddles and bridles and fed and watered them. They had a giant lunch and then a little rest.

  By the time they saddled the horses again and set out at last, it was halfway through the afternoon. They enjoyed the ride along the bank of the river and across the valley, chatting and laughing as their horses ambled slowly along.

  They made good time over the flat land of the Marches, the place where Wales meets England. But when evening came, they were still on the road. Now the path was not very clear, and because they were chatting, they were not careful about making sure they were going the right way.

  Soon they were lost in the bog of Whixall Moss. It was getting dark, and the ground was soft and wet under the horses’ hooves. They sank in with every step. The knights did not dare to stop to think about the way, in case they got completely stuck.

  ‘We should dismount and lead our horses,’ said Sir Lancelot. ‘The gold in the saddlebags is heavy enough. We need to move as lightly as possible in this marsh, and find solid ground as soon as we can.’

  The other knights did as Lancelot said, but they did not like the feeling of their feet sinking into the bog.

  ‘Keep moving, friends,’ said Lancelot. ‘We don’t want to be stuck here all night, do we?’

  This only made everyone feel worse. If they were still there in the morning, would they be alive or dead?

  They needed to keep going, but they didn’t know which way to go. They were horribly lost, with mist all around them and the long night still ahead.

  They stumbled on, cold, frightened and wet, leading their poor horses through the boggy ground.

  Suddenly, an enormous red mouth opened in front of them! It was full of pointed teeth and from it came a terrible roar. The knights and their horses were terrified.

  Then they saw more: it was not a mouth without a body, as it had first seemed to be. It was a huge white lion. Its eyes were red and so were its ears.

  It was a huge white lion.

  Back then, everyone knew that a white animal with red eyes and red ears was a fairy creature. The knights thought that a magical beast was even more frightening than a wild animal.

  But the lion did not attack them. Instead, it walked away for a few steps, then turned its shaggy head to look at them over its shoulder with its red eyes.

  ‘It … it wants us to follow it,’ said Sir Cai. ‘Will it lead us to doom?’

  ‘Or out of this terrible place?’ said Lancelot.

  The knights turned to look at him. ‘Perhaps the Giant King has sent this lion to help us,’ he said. ‘Don’t you remember that there is a white lion on his shield?’

  This was true, and the knights looked again at the lion standing in the dark. It was swishing its tail from side to side, waiting for them to follow.

  ‘Very well,’ decided Lancelot, ‘let us trust the lion. In truth, we have no choice. We are well and truly lost, and without help we will never find our way home. Here is help. Let’s take it.’

  He began to plod after the lion, which seemed to float easily over the bog.

  The other knights followed nervously. But they did not need to worry. The white lion moved ahead, stopping now and again to look over its shoulder, to check that they were all still there. The wind of the marsh was cold behind them, but they only looked in front, at the shining lion.

  At last they felt dry ground under their feet. They looked around. For the first time in a long time, they knew where they were. They recognised a familiar track, which led towards Camelot.

  The lion took a few more steps, and then turned to look at them. Once more it opened its red mouth and roared. But now they were not afraid of it. They cheered in thanks, and the horses neighed gratefully too. In all that noise, the lion’s voice was the loudest. Then suddenly, it was gone! The knights’ voices died away too, in surprise: the lion had vanished. There were not even any paw prints in the mud to show that it had been there.

  ‘A magical creature,’ said Sir Cai, ‘and now we have seen the full power of the King of the Giants.’

  ‘Yes, he knew we needed help, even though he is far away,’ agreed Lancelot. ‘He really is a great king …’

  The others nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘When we reach Camelot, the storytellers will tell everyone about our victory in the tournament,’ said Lancelot. ‘But we must make sure that the King of the Giants and his lion are remembered in the stories. Without them, we would never have come safely home.’

  And they began to gallop towards Arthur’s court.

  16

  KING MARCH

  Once upon a time, there was a king called King March. His castle was at Castellmarch on the Llyˆn.

  King March made fair laws and he looked after his kingdom well. Everyone was happy. Everyone, except the king …

  King March had a secret. It made him feel unhappy. It made him feel different. His ears were the secret.

  They weren’t like your ears, or mine. They were like horse’s ears: long and straight and covered with short, smooth, brown hair. They were very nice ears, really, but they were in the wrong place. They belonged on a horse’s head, not a man’s. They made King March feel different.

  Some people love to feel different. But some hate it. King March hated his ears. He didn’t want anyone to know he had horse’s ears. He bought a special crown to cover them, and grew his hair very long.

  His hair got too long.

  It got so long that he couldn’t see where he was going.

  It got so long that it went in his mouth when he had his dinner.

  He knew he had to have a haircut.

  King March told Tomos the barber to cut his hair. This was the first time Tomos had ever been asked to cut the king’s hair, even though he had been the King’s Barber for years.

  But before Tomos could even pick up his scissors, King March said, ‘Tomos, I have a secret. When you cut my hair you will know my secret too. No one else must know! You must promise never, ever to tell anyone. If you break your promise, you will be in terrible trouble. Do you understand?’

  Tomos was scared. But he nodd
ed. ‘I promise, Your Majesty,’ he said.

  ‘Very good,’ said King March, and he took off his special crown.

  Tomos began to cut the king’s hair, and soon he saw his ears. But he didn’t say a word, and just carried on cutting.

  When Tomos finished, King March put back his special crown and looked in the mirror. He smiled and said, ‘Well done, Tomos. Thank you. Now, don’t forget your promise. You must never, ever tell anyone my secret.’

  ‘I won’t, Your Majesty,’ said Tomos. He packed his things and went home.

  But sometimes it is hard to keep a secret. Tomos couldn’t stop thinking about King March’s ears. He really wanted to tell someone about them. But he didn’t dare. The secret began to make him feel ill. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. His friends got worried about him.

  ‘What’s wrong, Tomos?’ they asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Tomos.

  But it wasn’t true.

  King March has horse’s ears!

  ‘Can’t you tell me what’s wrong?’ asked his friend Bronwen one day.

  ‘No,’ said Tomos miserably. ‘It’s a secret. I promised I wouldn’t tell.’

  ‘Well, you mustn’t break your promise,’ said Bronwen.

  ‘I know,’ said Tomos, ‘but I think I will burst if I don’t tell someone. What can I do?’

  Bronwen thought for a bit, and then she said, ‘Why don’t you go down to the river and whisper the secret to the reeds that grow there? Then you can say the secret out loud without breaking your promise. It might help.’

  It sounded like a good idea, so Tomos went down to the river and knelt in the long reeds.

  He whispered, ‘King March has horse’s ears! King March has horse’s ears!’

  He felt so much better that he said it again.

  ‘King March has horse’s ears!’

  He jumped up. He felt great! That night he slept well for the first time in ages.

  Then King March decided to have a big feast to celebrate his birthday. Everyone was invited: there would be good food and music for dancing.

  On the day of the feast, musicians from all over Llyˆn set out for Castellmarch. The flute player was called Beth. She was the best flute player of them all.

  On her way she walked along the riverbank. When she saw the reeds, she thought, ‘Those reeds would make lovely flutes. Maybe I should make a new flute to play for the king.’

  So she chose a long strong reed and cut it to be her new flute. She was very pleased with it.

  At King March’s palace, the party began.

  ‘Let’s have some music,’ said King March. ‘Please give us a tune, Beth.’

  Beth put her new flute to her lips and blew.

  But the flute didn’t play a tune. Instead, it whispered, ‘King March has horse’s ears! King March has horse’s ears!’

  Everyone looked at King March. King March looked at Beth.

  ‘What’s that?’ he asked in an angry voice.

  Beth’s hands trembled as she lifted her flute and tried again.

  ‘King March has horse’s ears!’ sang the flute. ‘King March has horse’s ears!’

  King March’s face was red. But before he could say any more, Tomos came to stand by Beth.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t keep your secret, so I told the reeds. It isn’t Beth’s fault. It’s mine.’

  ‘No it isn’t,’ said Bronwen, coming to stand next to him. ‘Your Majesty, keeping your secret was making Tomos ill. I told him to whisper it to the reeds. It isn’t his fault. It’s mine.’

  King March looked at Beth, Tomos and Bronwen. Then he sighed.

  ‘It’s true,’ he said. ‘I have got horse’s ears. I’ve kept them a secret for too long. Look!’

  He took off his special crown and pushed back his hair.

  Everyone shouted: ‘Our king has horse’s ears! King March has horse’s ears! He is special!’

  ‘Special?’ asked King March. ‘Not different? Not strange?’

  ‘No!’ they shouted. ‘You’re special.’

  And they all cheered.

  ‘Oh,’ said King March, looking pleased. ‘Well, yes, I suppose I am. Hurray! Let’s have some music!’

  So Beth and the other musicians played, while Tomos and Bronwen and everyone else danced.

  And from that day on, King March decided not to be ashamed of being different, but to be proud of being special.

  17

  THE CLOAK OF

  KINGS’ BEARDS

  Once upon a time, this land wasn’t the way it is today: one united kingdom with one queen. Instead, there were lots of small kingdoms, and each small kingdom had a small king.

  But there was one king who wasn’t small at all … because he was a giant! His name was Rhita Fawr, which means Rhita the Big. It was a good name for a giant.

  He was a greedy giant. He wanted lots of money, lots of power … and, especially, lots of land. So, every time he met one of the little kings, he would say, ‘Look at my field. What a huge field it is!’

  Well, the little king looked one way, he looked the other way … there are a lot of fields in Wales, as you know if you live here.

  ‘Which one?’ asked the little king. ‘Which one is your huge field?’

  ‘It’s up there!’ shouted the giant. ‘The sky is my huge field!’

  ‘Oh, that’s nice,’ said the little king politely, because it is never a good idea to argue with a giant.

  ‘And look at your sheep,’ yelled the giant, ‘eating the grass in my field. And look at my shepherd, taking care of them for you!’

  ‘Where are my sheep?’ asked the puzzled little king.

  Because there aren’t any sheep in the sky, are there?

  But there is something in the sky that looks a bit like sheep: the same colour, the same texture.

  Can you guess what it is?

  ‘The clouds are your sheep,’ roared the giant, ‘eating the grass in my field. And the sun is my shepherd, taking care of them for you.’

  ‘Oh. Right,’ said the little king.

  ‘And you’ve got to pay me,’ said the giant. ‘You’ve got to pay the rent for the field, and you’ve got to pay the shepherd’s wages.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said the little king. ‘How much is it?’

  ‘Hmmm,’ said the giant. ‘Your kingdom will just about pay for using the field. And for the shepherd’s wages … I’ll take your beard!’

  And he grabbed hold of the little king’s beard and sliced it right off with his big sharp sword.

  ‘The clouds are your sheep!’

  You see, the giant had a cloak. It was a giant cloak, of course, because he was a giant, but it was very plain. It didn’t have any buttons or bows, any ribbons or roses, any stripes or spots. So the giant had decided to decorate his cloak with a lovely beardy fringe. And because he was a king, and the cloak was a king’s cloak, he only wanted kings’ beards to decorate it.

  It wasn’t long before the whole land was full of small kings with no beards and no kingdoms. It wasn’t long before the giant’s kingdom was enormous! And it wasn’t long before the giant’s cloak had a lovely beardy fringe all around the edge.

  There was just one little gap down at the bottom.

  ‘Hmmm,’ said the giant to himself one day, ‘where can I find a king with a small beard to fit that gap?’ He knew he needed a young king, with a beard that hadn’t grown very big.

  And then he heard about a new king in the land. A new king who was a young king – so a king with a small beard. A young king who had become king, by pulling a sword out of a stone.

  Do you know that young king’s name?

  King Arthur. They call him The Once and Future King.

  As soon as the giant had thought of King Arthur, he knew that Arthur’s beard would be the perfect one to finish his cloak.

  He wrote a note to King Arthur, ‘Bring me your beard straight away!’ He didn’t even say please! He gave the note to his messenger and sent him to
find King Arthur.

  The giant’s messenger arrived at King Arthur’s court and gave him the message. Arthur read it and thought it was very rude. But he didn’t blame the messenger. He knew the messenger had only carried the message. He hadn’t written it.

  Arthur replied politely, the way a king should, ‘Please, go back to King Rhita, up there in North Wales, and tell him I will bring my beard to him, to save him the trouble of travelling.’

  As soon as the messenger had left the court, Arthur spoke to his knights. They were, of course, all sitting at the Round Table.

  ‘Get your swords,’ he said quietly. ‘Get your shields. Get your spears. Mount your horses. We are riding to the kingdom of that rude giant!’

  While Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table were riding to North Wales, the giant was relaxing in his castle garden. The sun was shining, the air was warm, the birds were singing, the bees were buzzing. It was so peaceful that the giant was falling asleep.

  Suddenly there was a flash of lightning. Next came a roll of thunder. And then, the giant smelled a sweet smell. A sweet, sweet smell carried on the wind.

  He was puzzled. He called to his lookout to come down from the top of the tallest tower.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked the giant. ‘Lightning on a sunny day? Thunder from a clear sky? A sweet, sweet smell carried on the wind? What’s going on?’

  ‘Your Majesty,’ said the lookout. ‘That flash you saw wasn’t lightning. It was the sun shining on the swords of the knights of King Arthur, coming here to attack you!’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said the giant.

  ‘And the sound you heard wasn’t thunder,’ said the lookout. ‘That sound was the war cry of the knights of King Arthur, coming here to attack you!’

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ said the giant.

  ‘And the sweet smell is the smell of the magic potion that the knights of King Arthur drink before they fight. The magic potion that means they can never be beaten in battle.’

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,’ said the giant.