“Tewdrig! A strange ship has appeared in the estuary,” cried Wron.
Tewdrig glanced up from his wine in agitated surprise. “What guards do I have, that I am not warned of the sight of a sail, until a ship sails into the estuary?” he demanded vehemently. “I should be informed as soon as a sail appears on the distant horizon.”
Wron made a dismissive gesture. “Better to learn late than learn never, my king.”
“Does it come in war or does it come in peace?” demanded Tewdrig, buckling on his great sword and taking up his rounded buckler.
“Perhaps it does not matter,” said Wron slyly, “for the last strange ship that came here was supposed to come in peace and its honey-tongued crew have sewn dissension through the land.”
They climbed to the battlements and Tewdrig’s eyes narrowed. Indeed, there was a ship sailing in the broad estuary before Treheyl, a ship with its sails filled before the wind.
Tewdrig gasped and pointed. “See, Wron, look at its sail. It carries the same design as the ship of Germoe.” And, indeed, he was right, for the sail carried two curving lines which crossed each other, forming the outline of a great fish.
Wron drew in a deep breath. “Then this ship is of the same nation as Germoe and his tribe. We would do well to slaughter them before they come ashore.”
Even so, Tewdrig hesitated and, by the time he had made up his mind, his brother Dinan had gone down to the quay to welcome the strangers to Treheyl.
So Tewdrig hurried to the hall of his palace and slumped upon his throne while Wron stood moodily at his side.
Five strangers entered with Dinan.
“These, my brother, are travellers from Ywerdhon,” he said.
Tewdrig was filled with apprehension for, though this time there were three men and two women, like the five that had come before them, they each carried a silver cross hung around their necks, and while the clothes they wore were simple, they all carried themselves with noble bearing.
“The Blessing of the Living God on you, Tewdrig of Treheyl,” greeted their leader. He was a tall, handsome man.
“The prosperity of the gods of my ancestors greet you,” replied Tewdrig, frowning.
“I am called Gwinear; I was a prince in my own land, but I have given up all temporal pomp to serve the true God.”
“All the gods are true,” snapped Wron irritably.
“There is but one God,” replied the woman at Gwinear’s side.
Tewdrig’s eyes bulged a little as he beheld her, for never had he seen a maiden so comely as this.
Gwinear smiled, not noticing the look in the king’s eyes. “This is my sister, Piala.”
“My name is Ia,” the second maiden said. She was as fair as Piala was dark but as beautiful, or so Dinan thought, for he had not taken his eyes from the girl since she had set foot on the quay of Treheyl.
“I am called Erth, and I am brother to Ia,” announced one of the young men.
“While I am Uny,” added the third man, “brother of Ia and Erth.”
“And I suppose you want to stay in my kingdom and live in peace?” queried Tewdrig, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. But the derision was taken from his voice when his eyes dwelt on the beauty of Piala.
“That is our earnest request,” Gwinear responded.
“But, in doing so, you would want freedom to preach your religion?” Wron prompted.
“That is what we desire.” Piala smiled sweetly in innocence at Tewdrig.
The heart of the king gave a lurch and a passion began to throb within him.
“My king, we cannot grant this,” Wron leant forward and whispered into the ear of the king of Treheyl.
Tewdrig glanced up, startled. “Why so?”
Wron closed his eyes in anguish. “Have you forgotten so soon how Germoe and his followers are disrupting the kingdom in the south?”
Tewdrig bit his lip and then stared across at Piala. “Then we will allow these good people to stay with us, but provided they stay within sight of Treheyl, that we may know what they are doing.”
Now this idea had occurred to Tewdrig, not because of the reason he implied to his Druid, but because he wanted to be near the beautiful Piala. Further, he rose and went down to Piala, smiling, and said: “And in good faith, and to keep you safe, I will grant you land at the gate of my fortress, and there you may preach to those of Treheyl who would hear you.”
Thus did the spot where Piala set up her dwelling become known as Phillack, in her honour, yet it was under the shadow of the king’s gloomy fortress at Treheyl.
Piala’s brother, Gwinear, wandered a mile or so further to the east and established himself at a spot which is still named after him. And Erth also stayed within a short distance from Treheyl and the spot where he taught also took the name of St Erth. And Uny crossed the estuary opposite to Tewdrig’s fortress and the place he taught was called the enclosure of the church – Lelant.
Now Ia tarried a while with Dinan, for in those days the sons and daughters of the church could marry and did so. Love and marriage between men and women, even though they be of the church, was not then forbidden as it was in later centuries. Ia was as attracted to Dinan as he was to her. Dinan promised her that he would hand over to her a tiny island at the end of a small bay to the west, on which he had a fortress. That fortress was called Pendinas. Ia established her church on this island and there lived with Dinan.
Wron the Druid was angered by these happenings and began to wonder whether the land of Kernow was in need of a new king to govern. The preachers of the new religion were gaining converts from the old and, in teaching love and forgiveness, were allowing their enemies to rage and pillage unchecked along the eastern border of the kingdom, where ran the mighty River Tamar. Within the kingdom, there were also rumblings and dissent, and many came to call Tewdrig a tyrant and godless king.
To the south-east, Geraint, chieftain of Gerrans, was openly preaching insurrection, for he had been converted to the new religion. In spite of Wron’s pleas, Tewdrig would not stir against him.
“Plenty of time to teach him a lesson,” Tewdrig assured Wron. “Let him have his say. The howling of a dog at the moon will not change its course.”
Tewdrig was too infatuated with Piala to notice the danger. In fact, desire still burned deep within him. Piala was polite and greeted him in friendship, not being of the world to read the depth of the craving in his eyes. Indeed, there was a fearful emotion which smouldered restlessly there. Like a dog, Tewdrig followed her about, pretending interest in her teachings in order to sit in her company for hours on end.
Wron realised that the veil of desire must be lifted from his king’s eyes or else Kernow would be doomed. It would be wracked by internal dissension and then it would be attacked from without. So Wron sat and pondered the problem, and a crafty plan began to form in his mind. He would create bloodshed between Tewdrig and the Ywerdhon. If the Ywerdhon died, then well and good; if Tewdrig died, then he would be able to rouse all Kernow against all the Ywerdhon preachers there. Then Wron arose with a great smile on his thin features and, saddling his horse, he rode for the church of Gwinear.
“Greetings, Ywerdhon,” he said.
“Blessings of God on you, Wron of Treheyl.”
“I will come straight to the point,” Wron said, as he dismounted and sat before Gwinear’s fire.
“A good place to start,” acknowledged Gwinear.
“My king is besotted with your sister Piala.”
Gwinear at once looked troubled, for he had seen the carnal fire in the eyes of the tyrant of Treheyl. “My sister has sworn to celibacy, for she will serve no other than the Son of God.”
Wron hid his contempt and simply nodded. “Very laudable,” he exclaimed. “But Tewdrig has sworn to have no other woman seated by his throne.”
“This is grave news. Perhaps I should speak to the king and explain our ways?”
“An excellent idea. I know that this evening, Tewdrig goes to plight his troth to
Piala. Be there at the ninth hour. Tewdrig is a reasonable man and will listen to argument.”
So saying, Wron mounted his horse and rode back to Treheyl. There he sought out the sulking Tewdrig.
“What ails you, my king?” Wron asked.
“I am as restive and fretful as a young man in the first vapours of love. I send Piala tokens and she dispenses them as charity to the poor. What am I to do?”
Wron’s thin lips twitched, but he controlled his cunning smile. “If that is all that ails you, fret no more.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Tewdrig.
“I have just come from the lady. She does return your love. This she has told me. But she says she must act with decorum before her brother, for these Ywerdhon have strange beliefs and ways. Though under that faint cloak, they are as passionate as we. However, it is clearly fear of her brother’s anger which bids her hold you at arm’s length. He is the problem here.”
“Speak further,” Tewdrig invited, much intrigued.
“She tells me that she shares your passions. Her cloak of indifference shall be discarded if you come to her just before the ninth hour and, because of her customs, you must not heed her protest but take her like the great man and mighty king she knows you to be.”
A smile of lascivious joy spread over Tewdrig’s face.
Wron went off to his meal, well pleased with his day’s work.
So it happened, as dusk was falling before the ninth hour, Tewdrig went to the place where Piala had set up her church, which is called Phillack. Those the beautiful maiden was instructing in the ways of the new religion had departed to their houses, and Piala was kneeling, praying before the image of a young man hanging on a cross. Two candles were lit before it.
Tewdrig entered the church, his body tingling with desire as his lustful eyes fell on the maiden.
Piala started at the noise of his entry and turned round, her eyes widening as she beheld the tyrant of Treheyl.
“Why, King Tewdrig,” she said, scrambling from her knees, “what brings you here at this hour of the night?”
“That you know well,” smiled Tewdrig confidently.
Piala bit her lip in agitation, for she now recognized the meaning of the many presents Tewdrig had bestowed on her during the last months.
“I must tell you the ways of those who follow the Son of God, Tewdrig!”
Tewdrig let forth an oath. “You may tell me later, for my body aches for our union.”
Piala went pale as she discerned his purpose. “This must not be!” she gasped. “I am sworn to celibacy in the service of . . .”
But Tewdrig moved forward and seized her, delighting in her struggles because he believed it to be, as Wron had told him, her way of greeting his love-making.
An angry exclamation halted Tewdrig. He turned in annoyance as a figure burst into the church.
It was Gwinear, his face working in anger. “Lecherous dog! You dare the sacrilege of this place by attacking a daughter of the church?”
Tewdrig pushed Piala to one side and drew his sword. “Begone, little man! Preach not to me, for I am not of your faith.”
Now it has been said that Gwinear was a king in his own land before he followed the path of the Son of God. The blood of champions still flowed in his veins and a battle-rage came upon him. He moved forward with only his wooden staff for courage. Tewdrig, whatever else he was, was a great warrior but he lacked the warrior’s will to self-control. He saw Gwinear’s approach and made only three strokes of his sword. The first stroke cut the staff into two useless pieces; the second stroke pierced Gwinear’s heart while the third stroke decapitated his head.
Piala let forth a tremendous shriek. She rushed to her brother’s side and picked up his head and kissed it fervently. The eyes of Gwinear flicked open, for the ancients rightly believed that the soul resided in the head, and his voice spoke. “I have sinned. Do not you do likewise, my sister. Unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek, offer also the other. Remember.”
With that, Gwinear’s soul departed.
Piala, too, was born of the blood of champions and it burnt with a fierce fire. It is one thing to hear a philosophy with the mind, but blood is strong.
In blind vengeance, she seized the dagger which Gwinear wore in his belt, for each man must carry a means to cut his meat. She seized it and lunged forward.
It can be said for Tewdrig that he acted only out of instinct. The point of his sword met Piala’s onward rush at breast level and entered it. The blood spurted from her heart and she fell to the ground.
Tewdrig stood in a daze at the swiftness of what had happened.
Then Wron entered, for the sly Druid had been watching all the time, and while he was pleased at what had befallen, he pretended horror at the scene.
“Now the remaining Ywerdhon will preach rebellion against you, Tewdrig, and join with Geraint of Gerrans. You must act to stop this rebellion, before it has time to flower and bear fruit.”
Tewdrig moved in a stupor and Wron had to shout to snap him out of it.
“Take the head of Gwinear and wash it in the well, then place it on a spike and have it carried before you, so all Kernow may know your serious intent to rid the land of the Ywerdhon.”
Now the reason for this was not so much to put fear in people but because of the religious symbolism of the head, wherein the Druids believed the soul dwelt. To carry the head of your enemy endowed you with the strength and valour and intellect of that enemy.
Soon, Tewdrig came to his old self and realised that Wron was right. Before the next dawn, Tewdrig and his men had ridden to the churches of Erth and Uny and the brothers were slain before they had time to raise an alarm.
“Where is Ia, the last of this breed?” Tewdrig commanded as he stood by the bloody remains of Uny.
His warriors looked uncomfortably at each other.
“Why, she is with your brother Dinan, at Pendinas,” they said.
Anger was on Tewdrig’s face now. “Then we will go to Pendinas and finish this job. And woe to any, brother or no, who tries to defend this Ywerdhon from my wrath!”
His army arrived at Pendinas the next day and was surprised when they found Geraint of Gerrans with an army there before them. Geraint had gathered the rebellious men of Kernow from the four corners of the kingdom. Before this great hosting stood Breage, Crowan and Elwyn as well as Ia. By Ia’s side, on his warhorse, sat Tewdrig’s own brother Dinan. And before all of them was Geraint, a handsome young man of princely countenance. At his side was the venerable Germoe and Germoe carried a great cross of silver to act as their standard.
Tewdrig rode forward and by his side rode Wron, who carried the pole on which the head of Gwinear was set. And Geraint came forward with Germoe riding by his side, bearing the silver cross.
“You are in rebellion against your just king,” cried Tewdrig in anger.
Geraint smiled gently. “Is it not written in our ancient law – what makes a king weaker than a servant on the poorest farm? It is because the people ordain the king, the king does not ordain the people. While you sat in justice, promoting our commonweal, Tewdrig, we followed you. But a bad deed you have done and we will now have done with you.”
“Then, by the gods, I challenge you to the right of single combat!” cried Tewdrig.
Both men drew their swords.
Now, as Tewdrig was about to spur forward, the head of Gwinear, set atop the great pole held by Wron, suddenly fell. It fell straight and true and struck Tewdrig on the head with such impact that his iron helm was shattered and he was knocked to the ground.
Wron dismounted and examined his king and, when he looked up, there was fear in his eyes.
“His skull has been crushed by the head of Gwinear,” he whispered.
“The true God has spoken,” cried Germoe. “Vengeance is mine, says the Lord. Geraint is king.”
And they departed, each to his own place. The head of Gwinear was buried at the town named after him. Ia continued t
o preach at Pendinas with support of the prince Dinan, rejecting all worldly treasures, and eventually the spot was named after her and is known today as St Ives. Geraint became a good and just king, whose name is still spoken of today and Gerrans, named after him, still exists. He it was who encouraged many saints to come to Kernow, and soon all the land was following the faith of the Son of God.
As for Wron, he departed the field unseen and was never punished. They say he went to hide in a cold, dark granite cave, within the sound of the blustery billows of the sea, and is there waiting for his time – for he was sure that time, which was, must be and will come again.
27 The Lord of Pengersick
Halfway between Helston and Marazion is the village of Germoe and about half a mile south of this, near Praa Sands on the coast, stands the ruins of Pengersick Castle. Only the towers remain now and it is a dark and evil place. Many gruesome legends are told of the castle and its inhabitants. One legend has it that a murderer hid from justice there, but was himself murdered and his soul carried off screaming by devils to the Land Beyond. Pengersick Castle once stood at the head of a dark moor, a marshy bog, which few would dare to wander into in case they did not return. In the Cornish language, pen means “head” while gersick, which comes from corsic, means a marshy place.
The castle did not always stand in ruins. Once it was a mighty fortress dominating the countryside, and here the lords of Pengersick dwelt. The lords of Pengersick were all warriors: champions who preferred fighting in wars than tending their flocks and herds, or tilling the soil, or even digging for tin.
It is said that the last lord of Pengersick was named Gwavas, because he had a wintery countenance and lived a lonely life. One day Gwavas Pengersick, tired of the fact that there were no wars in the land, nor had been for some time, betook himself beyond the seas to find a war. He fought such a war in a far eastern land called Paganyeth, where the people worshipped a strange god called Termagaunt. The land was rich and this was the cause of the war, because some people had more gold than others and each fought to rob their neighbours of what they had. It was ruled by an old king called the Gwelhevyn.
The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends Page 43
