Three Celtic Tales
by Moyra Caldecott
Published by Mushroom eBooks at Smashwords
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Copyright © 1999 Moyra Caldecott
Moyra Caldecott has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, to be identified as the Author of this work.
First published in 1999 by Bladud Books, United Kingdom
First ebook edition published in 2000 by Mushroom eBooks
This ePub edition published in
2012 by Mushroom eBooks,
an imprint of Mushroom Publishing, Bath,
BA1 4EB, United Kingdom
www.mushroom-ebooks.com
Also available in paperback
The three stories in this volume were originally published as seperate volumes by Bran's Head Books, Frome, UK. Bran, Branwen and Evnissyen was first published as Bran, Son of Llyr in 1985, Taliesin and Avagddu was first published in 1983 and The Twins of the Tylwyth Teg was first published in 1983.
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Contents
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Introduction
When the Celtic tribes migrated from central Europe into the British Isles about 700BC they brought with them their rich oral tradition of ancient myths and legends. In the long dark winters, when cattle herding and warfare were difficult, bards told these tales around innumerable hearth fires. Centuries later, they were written down by Christian monks in monastic scriptoriums. In the telling and retelling, changes were often made to suit the individual storyteller, but the essence of the story survived and blazes through to us even today.
The best-known collection of Welsh tales from these early days is commonly known as The Mabinogion. Some fragments of these stories were known from the White Book of Rhydderch, c.1325, but the earliest comprehensive collection was in the Red Book of Hergest, c.1400. Both these versions quote from earlier versions since lost. The Four Branches of the Mabinogion were not translated into English until Lady Charlotte Guest did so in 1849. I find her translation most valuable for its comprehensive and informative section of notes at the back.
Two of the stories in this book are based on texts in Lady Charlotte Guest’s translation of The Mabinogion published by J M Dent & Co., UK and E P Dutton, New York, 1906. These are “Taliesin and Avagddu” (pp.263-285, and notes on pp.424-432), and “Bran, Branwen and Evnissyen” (pp.33-48 and Notes pp.291-297).
“Bran, Branwen and Evnissyen” is the traditional story of the children of Llyr, and how Bran, in death, became a prophet. I have suggested a motive for Evnissyen’s destructiveness, and given my own interpretation of the three mysterious doors, as anyone encountering the tale must.
The traditional story of “Taliesin and Avagddu” tells of the transformation of a village lad into the famous bard Taliesin, but says nothing of the fate of Avagddu, the ill-favoured son of Caridwen who was denied the magic potion intended for him. My curiosity as to what happened to Avagddu after he was denied this magic brew inspired me to add suggestions from my own imagination about his fate.
It is well known that the Celts granted a particular importance to the head. Warriors proudly displayed the heads of their honoured enemies as they rode into battle – not only to show that they had conquered that person but that they now had his “power”. Sculpted oracle heads are frequently found by archaeologists in Celtic lands. The story of the magical being in human form who challenges the hero to cut off his head and then submit his own to the axe a year later appears many times in Celtic myth and has a deep esoteric meaning. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is perhaps the best known.
“The Twins of the Tylwyth Teg” is based on the story of the Mydfai herdboy mentioned several times in Celtic Folklore: Welsh and Manx by John Rhys (volumes 1 and 2, published by Wildwood House, London 1980 (pp.4-15); first published by Oxford University Press, 1901). In this story we are only given the life of the one twin, Olwen, and are told only what happened to her when she entered the world of mortal man above the surface of the lake. But whatever happened to the second twin? And what went on beneath the lake? In this retelling of the traditional tale, these questions are given an answer. The story of Haelwyn, the rejected twin, is a new addition of my own based on clues in the original story.
Bran, Branwen and Evnissyen
Over the sea came the long boats from Ireland, satin flags flying, warriors with shields upside down to show that this was a peaceful mission: their king, Matholwch, was seeking the daughter of Llyr, the beautiful Branwen, to share his throne and his bed.
The High King of Britain, Bendigeidfran, Bran the Blessed, the giant son of Llyr, brother of Branwen, greeted them graciously.
“Two such kingdoms,” he said, “should be at peace with one another. Come sister, see what you think of this man, this king of Ireland.”
Branwen, dark hair bound with river pearls, gown of sapphire blue... Llyr’s daughter, as beautiful as the sea at dawn, stood behind the broad shoulder of her brother and peeped out at the man from across the sea.
She saw that he was shorter than her brother – but then, who was not? For no man on earth could match Bran’s height. Matholwch was auburn haired. There was gold at his shoulder holding the green folds of his cloak. There were golden torcs at his throat and on his arms. His boots were laced with silk. He looked at her steadily: his eyes grey and smiling, curious, but admiring. There was a rustle among the ladies of the court... a whisper... a smile... Matholwch of Ireland was a handsome man. Old women who are wiser than young ones might say he was too handsome. “There is a prettiness to him,” one whispered to another. “A weakness... He will be easily led.” “No bad thing for the Princess then,” was the reply, “for she will be able to rule the land through him.” The first shook her head. “Not good,” she said. “Too vain. Look at the embroidery on his shirt... His hands are too white... his hair is too curled and perfumed...” “Look at those thighs,” the young women whispered, “that chest... that smile...”
Branwen was caught in the net of his smile and touched her brother shyly on the arm.
Bran looked fondly down at her. Almost imperceptibly she nodded and smiled, and then ducked behind him to hide her blushes.
“Let my sister be the seal on the peace between us,” Bran said smiling, holding out his arms to his new brother. Every man in the hall beat palm upon leather arm-guard or stamped his foot; every woman clapped and laughed. Branwen’s friends hugged her close. Not one but wished the handsome Prince was theirs.
Then began the feasting and the celebration. A mighty auroch horn of mead was passed from King to King, and then to brother, noble, kinsman and companion.
Branwen’s women took her away and decked her in jewels and flowers.
When she returned, she sat at the feet of her new lord and played upon the harp. Her voice was as clear as the silver water that falls from mountain top to secret forest pool, as joyful as a bird at dawn, as fine as the gold thread of a goldsmith...
All listened enraptured to the song of a young girl in love.
Bran watched and listened benignly, and when she was done he himself took the harp and played a stronger lay. He sang of love between peoples, not just between a man and a woman. He sang of differences between peoples that could be used for peace and not for war. He sang of life and strength and joy and there was no mention in all his song of killing or of hate. He finished with a song specially for Branwen and honoured her as a golden bridge between two great lands.
* * * *
But the mischief maker, the shadow spinner, the knave of darkness is never far away.
Bran had two half-brothers, Nissyen and Evnissyen: light and dark, the peace-maker and the strife-maker. In Bran’s heart these two each had a place.
Evnissyen, returning from a hunting expedition, found that the Princess, his half sister, was wed, and without his consent.
Since childhood Evnissyen had brooded: bitter that Bran, his half-brother, was loved by all. When Bran walked into a room the faces of all those present lit up. When he spoke everyone listened, nodded and smiled. When Evnissyen entered a room a shadow fell, people turned shoulders to him, and murmured among themselves. He was a warrior, but Bran always outran him, threw spear further, flashed sword faster. Nissyen, his twin, did not bother him as much as Bran did. For Nissyen offered no competition. He was a gentle poet, a weaver of garlands for ladies, a singer of songs. But Bran was everything Evnissyen wanted to be – powerful and mighty – much honoured and loved.
Bran, seeing how Evnissyen resented him, tried to allay the boy’s antagonism, spoke fait to him, assured him that he was valued in every way within the family of Llyr. As Evnissyen grew to manhood he was included in family consultations, family decisions, though more often than not his wishes were overridden by the rest. But this time he was not even consulted. Branwen, his beautiful half-sister, the light of his life, who always smiled at him when others frowned, who rocked him in her arms when he was ill, and played fidchell with him when he was well, was being sent away across the sea, married to a stranger without even a word to him.
A black storm gathered in his heart. He would put a stop to this! No stranger would violate his sister. No man would take her away from him without his agreement. He would show them who was the real power in the family!
He said nothing to his kinsmen, but, white with rage, stormed out of the great hall, through the noisy yard where the carts that had brought food for the feasting were being reloaded with the chests and boxes and baskets that the new Queen wanted to take with her, and out onto the hillside where the Irish King’s horses were peacefully grazing.
For no more than a few moments he stared at them before he hatched his cruel vengeance.
“Insult for insult,” he murmured and drew the dagger at his side.
The horses screamed as he maimed them and his arms were running blood when, tight-lipped and head held high, he strode back through the yard and disappeared into the castle.
No time was lost in bringing the news to Matholwch, his companions crowding him with gory details and clamouring for vengeance.
Bewildered by the savage insult of one brother and the fair treatment of the other, Matholwch withdrew in haste to his ships, waiting in readiness on the shore. Branwen, weeping, was given no time to bid farewell to her family and friends, but was taken roughly, more hostage than bride.
Then came the horror of those at Bran’s court who saw what Evnissyen had done. No pride would have been felt had the deed been done against an enemy, and against a friend... the shame was unbearable.
Bran at once sent his brother Manawyddan and his best men to offer atonement. Each horse was to be replaced and the Irish King was to be given a staff of silver as tall as himself and a plate of gold as wide as his face.
Matholwch hesitated. Matholwch considered. Branwen waited at his side anxiously. The companions murmured in his ear that the compensation was not enough.
“You insult me further with your silver and gold,” he said haughtily. “Give me the Prince Evnissyen’s head to carry back to Ireland and I might forgive the House of Llyr.”
“That is not possible my lord,” Manawyddan said quietly. “The Prince Evnissyen is my brother’s brother and the shedding of his blood cannot be undertaken honourably. But what say you to a cauldron into which the bodies of men who have been slain in battle on one day may be thrown to emerge, on the next, ready to fight again?”
Manawyddan had been instructed not to offer this unless there was no hope of peace between the two nations without it. To give it to another man was the greatest act of trust anyone could contemplate.
Matholwch and his companions were silent and then withdrew to consult. When they returned, the Irish king agreed to return to Bran’s court to negotiate the matter of compensation.
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Then was a feast prepared that outdid even the wedding feast, and Bran, the High King of the Island of the Mighty, spoke to Matholwch, the High King of Ireland, about the cauldron he would give.
“Note,” he said, “that I give it to you to be held in trust but never to be used. The warriors that emerge from the cauldron may kill, but they will not know why they kill. They may walk, but they may not know where they walk. They are capable of neither thought, nor talk, and he who unleashes them on the world will rue the day. I give it to you only to prove my trust in you and to prove that you may trust me.”
“But they do kill?” asked the companions of Matholwch eagerly.
“Yes,” said Bran. He was thinking that in all the years he had had the cauldron he had not made use of it – and now he was letting it out of his hands. It was the measure of the value he put on peace between the two nations that he was prepared to let it go: and it was the measure of his trust that he felt so little fear as he did so.
* * * *
“This cauldron,” said Matholwch thoughtfully during the second night of feasting. “How did you come by it?”
“I received it from a couple who came from Ireland. They told me how they had escaped from an Iron House which had been made white hot around them.”
“I know this couple,” the King of Ireland said. “They caused me great harm. I invited them to my court because they claimed that the wife could bear a son in six weeks, who, at the end of another six weeks, could be a warrior fully armed. I thought to strengthen my kingdom with such warriors: but instead they caused me nothing but trouble. They grew so strong and dangerous I was at my wits end to know how to be free of them. At length I trapped them in an Iron House and tried to destroy them with fire.”
Bran then told him how he had received them hospitably and given them a place in his kingdom, and they, in gratitude, had given him the cauldron.
“Who holds this cauldron,” the companions whispered to Matholwch, “has complete power. No one will ever attack us while we hold it.”
“But...” said Matholwch, remembering the mindless warriors who had all but destroyed his kingdom from within once before.
“Take it!” the companions urged. “If Bran has it we will always be at his mercy.”
Matholwch listened to their counsel and accepted the cauldron. “I swear,” he said sincerely to Bran, “I will hold it, but I will never use it.”
* * * *
In thirteen ships the King of Ireland sailed back to his country with his fair Queen at his side, and for a year there was peace and happiness as the people honoured the daughter of Llyr. There was not one who came to her court that left without a gift.
At the end of the year she gave birth to a young prince, and they called him Gwern, son of Matholwch. Branwen held him close in her arms and knew that he was more precious than all the jewels in the world. But it was the custom in those times to give the infants of the royal family out to fosterage and she was parted from her son.
This was the beginning of her sorrows.
By the second year of their marriage the King’s closest companions began to murmur among themselves that the young Queen was beginning to have too great an influence, not only on the King but on the ruling of the land. The people loved her and there were times when petitioners came to her rather than to the King, and sometimes decisions were made by her while he was away hunting. Her brother Bran had always treated her with as much respect as he did her brothers, and many a time in council it had been her voice that was heard above the others. Now, lonely without her son, she devoted herself to the people of her adopted land. This did not please the nobles around the King, and they soon pointed out to him with sly and persistent whispering that the country was being ruled by the House of Llyr through Branwen, and not by Matholwch the King. Then they reminded him that, no matter how much compensation had been paid, he had still been insulted by the royal house of Llyr in the matter of the maimed horses.
“Insult for insult,” they whispered. “Her family mock you even now for your weakness in forgiving when you should have sought vengeance, and in allowing a woman, one of their women, to rule your kingdom.”
So at last, on their advice, but against the prompting of his own heart, he took his wife and forbade her rightful place in his bed and at his court. She was sent to work in the kitchens of the castle, the recipient of constant blows and insults.
“That way,” said the King’s companions, “she will learn humility and you will show the country that it is ruled by the house of Matholwch and not of Bran.”
* * * *
For three years Branwen suffered and for three years all communications were broken off with mainland Britain.
She looked at the wide, wide sky that covered both her husband’s land and the land of her father and sang this song:
“Ah, sun that shines
on
the one and the many
hear my lament!
He who listens to
whispering
has turned against me.
He who loves me
has
turned from me.
He who is king
has left me.
The one is
swayed by the many
and the many has no heart.”
As she scrubbed iron pots in the dark and airless kitchen she thought of the mountains of her homeland, the mist whirling away before the winds, the sound of water falling from rock to rock... magical rowan trees scarlet with berries, and forests of birch and oak, lush with fern and moss... She thought of the lakes, silver mirrors reflecting the sky one moment and the next, turned to dark slate-grey as a breeze sprang up. She longed to hear the soft whispering and singing of the reeds at the water’s edge. She longed to hear the deep but gentle voice of her brother Bran.
Her only friend during this long wearisome time was a starling who came to her for kitchen scraps. Patiently she taught it to speak her name, and at the end of three years she sent it to her brothers with a message bound to its ankle.