21 Math fab Mathonwy
Back in the time when the children of Dôn, the gods and goddesses, ruled the five kingdoms of Cymru, the god of increasing wealth was Math son of Mathonwy. His palace lay in Gwynedd. He was regarded as wise and powerful, but he could not exist in the human world unless his feet were held in the lap of a virgin. Only when his prowess in war or hunting were needed could he leave the virgin’s embrace.
The virgin to whom Math had given the honour of being his footholder was Goewin ferch Pebin, daughter of Pebin of Dol Pebin of Arfon. She was very beautiful, chaste and entirely devoted to her lord.
Among those who dwelt at Gwynedd’s great palace were the children of Math’s equally powerful sister, Dôn, who had married Beli, god of death. And of these children there were two sons, Gilvaethwy and Gwydyon. They were both handsome young men.
It was not long after Goewin came to live at the palace as Math’s footholder that Gwydyon noticed that his brother seemed listless and without appetite. He no longer seemed to enjoy the hunt, nor occupy his time in games of gwyddbwyll, the ancient board game known as “wooden wisdom”. Finally, while the two brothers were out hunting, and Gilvaethwy had missed a shot at a deer that not even a child could have failed with, Gwydyon turned and demanded to know what the matter was.
“I cannot say,” replied his brother.
“Nonsense!” snapped Gwydyon. “It seems obvious to me. You’ve been like this since Goewin came to the palace. You have fallen in love with her.”
Gilvaethwy turned around nervously and put a finger to his lips. “Don’t you know that Math can hear the most intimate of whispers anywhere in Gwynedd?”
Gwydyon shook his head dismissively. “I have the power over science and light. Math may be powerful but I can distract his hearing.”
“Whether you can or not matters little. What can I do? Math is powerful and I cannot best him in combat.”
“You can elope with Goewin,” Gwydyon suggested.
His brother looked at him as if he were stupid. “Bring down the power of Math? He is the supreme leader among our people. Is he not the brother of Dôn, the divine waters who has given us all life?”
“And are we not the children of Dôn? We have no need to be scared of Math. But we shall go about abducting Goewin for you in a more subtle manner.”
Gwydyon was a sharp-minded young man.
One day, seated before Math, he remarked: “Have you heard that the people of Dyfed are talking about some curious beasts which have arrived in their kingdom?”
Math frowned. “Curious beasts? What do you mean?”
“They are unlike anything anyone has seen, smaller than cattle, fat with lots of flesh and a sweet-tasting meat.”
“And what are they called?”
“Mochyn.” That is to say, pigs.
“Who owns these creatures?”
“Pryderi, son of Pwyll and Rhiannon, lord of Dyfed.”
“I would like to own some of these creatures.”
Gwydyon grimaced negatively. “Pryderi guards them with his most élite warriors. He will not part even with one. I have heard that many have offered him fortunes for them.” Then Gwydyon, knowing how covetousness plays with the soul, held his head to one side and said softly: “Yet I believe that I could get them for you.”
Math leaned forward eagerly. “How so?”
“I will go, disguised as one of a company of bards. We will sing Pryderi’s praises and demand the pigs as our repayment.”
Everyone knew that even a great king could not refuse a bard’s fee, for fear that the poet might satirise the king and thereby destroy his power.
So Gwydyon, with his brother Gilvaethwy, and seven others – for nine is the powerful number – rode forth to the kingdom of Dyfed, pretending to be a company of travelling bards. Pryderi was always delighted to welcome poets and song-makers to his court and a lavish feast was prepared. Afterwards, Pryderi invited Gwydyon and his company to tell their stories and sing their songs. They did so; all through the night they held the court of Pryderi spellbound with stories and songs, and reduced them to laughter or weeping or fear, so powerful was their entertainment.
As dawn came up, Pryderi realised that the entertainment must be drawn to a close and he asked Gwydyon what his fee was. When Gwydyon asked for the pigs, Pryderi was very serious.
“I would have no hesitation in meeting your fee, bard of the north, but I have taken an oath to my people of Dyfed that I will not part with one of the pigs until they have bred twice, so that there will always be pigs in the kingdom of Dyfed. Ask what else you want and it shall be given. Of the pigs, I cannot give you one neither by gift nor by sale.”
Gwydyon said that as they were all tired, he and his fellow bards would retire and sleep on the matter and let Pryderi know later that day. Now Gwydyon seized on the words of Pryderi that he would not part with the pigs by gift or sale. So being, as most gods are, a master of illusion, he created nine black stallions, saddled with silver and gold, and had them tethered in the palace courtyard.
“If you will part with your pigs neither by gift nor sale,” he told Pryderi after they had rested, “exchange is a fair way of dealing with the matter, so that you do not break your oath to your people. Here are nine beautiful night-black stallions and in return I will accept the pigs.”
Pryderi sought the advice of his counsellors and was told that an exchange would not break his oath.
So the pigs went to Gwydyon and the magic horses to Pryderi’s stable.
Gwydyon and Gilvaethwy, with their pseudo-bardic company and the pigs, set off back to Gwynedd. Of course, as Gwydyon knew, his illusion did not last long. They had barely reached Gwynedd when the night-black stallions disappeared. An enraged Pryderi, realizing he had been tricked, mustered an army and set off after the “bards”.
Math heard that Pryderi was marching on his kingdom. Gwydyon had told him only part of the story, saying that Pryderi had agreed to make a deal about the pigs but now seemed determined to break it and seize the pigs back by force. Math’s great war-horn sounded, summoning all the men of Gwynedd. Because it was war, Math had to leave the side of Goewin the virgin, and lead his men out to face the men of Dyfed.
Now all the men had left the palace of Math and only the women remained behind. Knowing this, Gwydyon and Gilvaethwy left the camp of Math and slunk back to his palace at night.
“Go to, brother,” grinned Gwydyon. “I shall stand here on guard while you press your suit on your lady.”
So Gilvaethwy went to Goewin’s chamber.
“What are you doing here?” the virgin demanded. “All the men are with my lord, Math fab Mathonwy, preparing to do battle with Pryderi of Dyfed.”
“I am here because I am in love with you,” replied Gilvaethwy.
Goewin was shocked. “That cannot be. I am the servant of my lord. That is my destiny.”
But Gilvaethwy pressed his suit upon her. The more she refused to countenance his protestations, the more ardent he became. The more she refused his love, the more his passion grew. Finally, like a kettle boiling, he burst the constraints of manhood and leapt on her, tearing off her clothes and took away her virginity.
Next morning, before dawn, Gilvaethwy, sheepish and regretting his passion, joined his brother, who grinned lewdly and winked at him. Together they rode back to Math’s army and it seemed that they had not been missed during the night. They were just in time to take their positions at the side of Math when Pryderi’s war-horns sounded and the army of Dyfed moved forward. Most of the day the terrible battle raged; first Dyfed were moving forward then it was Gwynedd’s turn.
Finally, Pryderi sent word to Math.
“Good women are becoming widows, mothers losing sons, wives their husbands and sweethearts their lovers. There is little good in this. Let Gwydyon the conjurer come forward and settle this dispute man to man.”
So a truce was held and a single combat between Pryderi and Gwydyon was agreed on.
N
ow had Gwydyon been a man and not a son of the Ever-Living Ones who was steeped in magic, Pryderi might have overcome all odds, for he was a mighty warrior. But only guile and cunning won the day against him. Gwydyon set to with his magic so that Pryderi never knew where his opponent was and which was reality and which was a shadow, or from where the sword edge would fall.
Guile and magic alone killed Pryderi, lord of Dyfed, and not a warrior’s skill.
Yet a great cheer went up from the men of Gwynedd and Gwydyon and his brother Gilvaethwy, who had acted as his shield-bearer in the combat, were carried shoulder-high around the army. Math himself went forward to praise his nephews. He showered them with gifts and the two triumphant young men set out to tour the lands of Cymru, to receive the honour and praise from all the kingdoms. So flushed with success were they that they forgot all about Goewin the maid.
When Math returned to his own palace he sent for Goewin, his footholder.
She came, pale and red-eyed to him.
“Lord, you may no longer rest your feet with me for I am no longer a virgin.”
Math’s brows gathered together. “How can this be?” he demanded sternly.
He stared into her eyes and there he saw the vision of how Gwydyon and Gilvaethwy had concocted the plan and how Gilvaethwy had raped her. Then it was that Math knew that Gilvaethwy’s passion had caused many good men, Pryderi among them, to die in a carnage of bloodshed.
Math’s rage knew no bounds. He sent out orders that no one should shelter his nephews, nor give them food nor drink, until they returned to his palace. When they came in fear and trembling before him, he berated them and called them animals for the deed they had done.
“As you are animals, so you shall now have the appearance of animals.”
He turned Gwydyon into a stag and Gilvaethwy into a hind.
“You will go into the forest and mate with one another and return here in a year and a day,” he said. Then he ordered his servants to drive them both with blows and curses into the forests.
A year and a day later, the stag and hind returned and with them came a fawn.
Then Math changed the stag into a wild boar and the hind into a wild sow. The fawn he turned into a human boy. He called him Hyddwn, meaning “deer”, and kept the boy with him.
“You will go into the forest and mate with one another and return here in a year and a day,” he told Gwydyon and Gilvaethwy. He ordered his servants to drive them forth with blows and curses into the forest.
A year and a day later, they came back with a young wild boar.
Then Math changed the boar and the pig into wolves and the young boar into a human boy. He called him Baedd Gwyllt, meaning “wild boar”, and kept the boy with him.
“You will go into the forest and mate with one another and return here in a year and a day,” he told Gwydyon and Gilvaethwy. He ordered his servants to drive them both with blows and curses into the forest.
A year and a day later, they returned with a young wolf cub.
This time Math restored Gwydyon and Gilvaethwy to human form and the wolf cub to a human boy. He called him Bleiddwn, meaning “young wolf”, and kept the boy with him.
Math glowered angrily at his nephews. “You are disgraced enough for the rape of Goewin. You have been forced as animals to go into the forests and breed children off each other – your names will be forever known for that. Now you may return to dwell in my palace, but if ever you transgress the moral code again, you shall answer to me once more and I will not be so lenient in your punishment.”
Time passed and Math fab Mathonwy once more found himself without a virgin in whose lap to rest his feet.
So one day Gwydyon summoned courage to speak to his mighty uncle.
“If I may, uncle, I would make a suggestion as to where you might find a suitable virgin in whose lap to rest your feet.”
Math glanced at him with interest. “Whom did you have in mind?” he asked.
“None other than my sister, the daughter of your own sister, Dôn. None other than the beautiful Arianrhod, silver goddess of the dawn.”
So the beautiful Arianrhod was sent for and she came to the palace, demure and virgin-like.
Now Math was always suspicious about anything his nephews suggested, so he asked Arianrhod to come before him and asked her if it were true – was she a virgin?
“So far as my mind tells me,” replied Arianrhod unsatisfactorily.
Math then put his magic rowan stick on the floor and said to her: “Step over it.”
This was a test of her virginity and, as she stepped across it, two boy children with golden-yellow hair dropped from her womb.
Now Gwydyon, so quickly that no human eye could have seen him, scooped up the first child and hid it within his clothes. But he was not quick enough to catch the second yellow-haired child. The boy ran immediately to the window of the palace which overlooked the great sea and leapt for it, immediately receiving the sea’s nature and being able to swim as well as any fish.
“Let his name be Dylan Eil Ton,” announced Math. That name means “Sea, Son of the Wave”.
And sad was his story, for he was doomed to be slain by his very own uncle, Govannon, the smith-god, brother of Arianrhod and son of Dôn. But that is another tale.
Rejected by Math, Arianrhod, the goddess of the dawn, returned to her own palace at Caer Arianrhod.
As for the child left behind, Gwydyon took on the responsibility of raising the child. The two children had shown that Arianrhod was no virgin. Moreover, no one was the father of the children but Gwydyon himself, who had slept with his own sister under the guise of a magic cloak. Gwydyon, however, proved a good father and he nursed and trained the child and soon he was a fine, strapping lad.
Now Arianrhod, filled with shame of this child of incest, swore he would never be named. Now this upset Gwydyon for it fell to a mother to name her child, otherwise ill-luck would follow.
So Gwydyon, who still had his powers of illusion, altered his appearance and that of his son, appearing in the guise of shoe-makers. They presented themselves at Caer Arianrhod and asked if they could show their shoes to the ladies of the court. Arianrhod came and did not recognise them. While the cobbler and his boy were making shoes for her, a wren alighted on a branch. The young boy threw a dart at it and hit it on the leg. The wren was a bird of augury and to capture a wren was a great portent.
“Why, bright one,” laughed Arianrhod, “you have a skilful hand. What name are you known by?”
“I have no name, lady.”
“Then Bright One of the Skilful Hand you shall be known as from this day on.” That is, Lleu Llaw Gyffes.
Then Gwydyon and Lleu turned back into their normal form and Arianrhod saw that she had been tricked into naming her son.
“You may have deceived me this time, Gwydyon, but this boy will never carry a weapon unless I arm him. That I shall not do.”
Now, unless a mother give her son his first weapon, he may never be a warrior.
The years passed by and Lleu grew to be a fine youth. He was an excellent horseman and well skilled. But he could not bear arms. One day, when Math was away with most of his retinue, Gwydyon turned himself and Lleu into the guise of youthful bards and then came to the Caer Arianrhod and asked to see her. She supplied a feast and there was much good conversation and storytelling. Well satisfied, everyone retired for the night.
At dawn next morning, Gwydyon was up early and he conjured the illusion of a great enemy fleet in the harbour just below the palace. War horns were sounded and the few men in the palace were called to arms.
Arianrhod turned to the two bards.
“I know you are bards and without arms, but we need every man and boy we can to defend our palace from this strange warlike horde outside.”
“My son has no arms, lady,” said Gwydyon. “But he is a fine young man and, if he had arms, he would be better use to you than he is now.”
Arianrhod immediately called for a sword, shield a
nd spear to be brought forward and gave these to young Lleu.
“Have these with my blessing,” she said.
It was then that Gwydyon turned himself and Lleu back into their normal form and the enemy ships vanished.
Rage was on the face of Arianrhod when she realized that she had been tricked into giving Lleu arms.
“You have deceived me this time, Gwydyon, but now I take oath that this boy will never have a human wife, nor wife of any race that dwells in the far corners of this world.”
Gwydyon was angered by this. So far he had felt it merely a game, but now his sister was taking a real vengeance on their son because he, Gwydyon, had tricked her. He swore an oath that he would secure a wife for Lleu, in spite of his sister.
Gwydyon went to Math fab Mathonwy and told him the whole story, because he realized that his uncle had grown to like the handsome young boy, who was a youth of beauty and strength and skilled in many things.
“I will help you, Gwydyon, and share my power with your magic.”
Together they went into the forests and took the flowers of an oak, broom and meadowsweet. Having performed the correct incantations, they conjured a beautiful young girl. They called her Blodeuwedd, which is “flower aspect”. Lleu and Blodeuwedd seemed destined for each other, in spite of Arianrhod’s curse. A great wedding feast was held and there was much celebration throughout all Gwynedd. And Math, who was fond of Lleu, gave him one of his own palaces, which was Mur Castell in Cantref Dunoding, in the uplands of Ardudwy.
Time passed. And Blodeuwedd began to grow tired of Lleu Llaw Gyffes, for she was of a gentle nature and bored with the martial life of her husband.
One day, when Lleu was off on some martial expedition, a hunting party arrived at the castle.
“Who is it?” she asked her servant, seeing a handsome young man at their head.
“That is Goronwy Pebr, lord of Penllyn,” the servant replied.
The party was invited in and Blodeuwedd could not take her eyes off the handsome lord, nor could he take his eyes from her. Through the feasting that night, they had eyes for no one but each other, and at the end of the feast they rose, leaving the other guests, and went straight to Blodeuwedd’s bed chamber and made love all through the night. For three nights and three days they made love with one another, until Blodeuwedd realized that her husband must soon return.
The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends Page 35
