N’oun Doaré found that he was now holding a beautiful burnished sword which would not be out of place at the hip of a great prince.
He paused again, but there was no sound from within the castle.
He banged against the lintel once more with his sword hilt.
Moments later, a beautiful young woman appeared. She had golden hair and features which caused him to swallow in nervousness. However, when he looked closely, he realized there was something hard and speculative about this girl’s features: something that made him shiver slightly with apprehension.
“Who are you?” she asked, pleasantly enough.
“N’oun Doaré and I am come on a mission from Gwion, King of Vannes. If you be Aour, Princess of the Golden-Ram, then Gwion wishes to make you his wife.”
“Ouah!” snapped the girl, which is the Breton for “fiddlesticks”. Then she smiled and laid a hand on his arm. “I am Aour and invite you into my castle. I have many wonders that you will wish to see. I collect fabulous creatures.”
“Such as the Griffescornu?” mused the young man, not able to hold back the jibe.
She sniffed in arrogant dismissal. “He bored me with his shrieking. I am glad that you released him. He gave me a headache.”
She smiled invitingly and tried to draw him into the castle. “Come.”
N’oun Doaré shook his head. “I have a fabulous creature which you might be interested in,” he said airily.
“And what might that be?”
“I have an old mare. It can do all the dances of the five kingdoms of Armorica. But it will only perform when I tell it to. If you like fabulous creatures, you will be amazed at this one.”
“And where is this miraculous steed?” asked the girl suspiciously.
Noun Doaré pointed to the woods. “At pasture, in a field by those woods. Not far away at all.”
The princess looked at the woods and, realizing they were so close, nodded her agreement.
The princess shut the gate of the castle behind her. N’oun Doaré saw her take a golden key out of her purse, which hung on a belt around her waist, and carefully lock the gate of the castle. Then she followed him. They found the old mare in a field by the woods, contentedly grazing.
“I have brought the Princess of the Golden-Ram to see you dance, horse,” said the young man. “Perform the dances for her.”
And the old mare began to perform the most varied and intricate dances for the princess, who clapped her hands with delight.
“I have collected many marvels but this is truly wondrous,” she said approvingly.
Then the old mare deliberately winked at N’oun Doaré. He knew in an instant what he must do.
“There is a loose knot on the halter,” he said, moving forward and untying it. Then he added: “Climb on her back now, princess, and she will happily dance with you.”
The princess hesitated a moment or two.
“This will surely be a great marvel, better than any you have seen,” persuaded the young man. Finally, the princess mounted the mare and, no sooner had she done so, than N’oun Doaré leapt up behind her and cried, “Vannes!”
In a trice, the horse seemed to rise into the air and mountains, forests, rivers, islands and the sea, flashed below. N’oun Doaré, as stunned as he was by the journey, saw that the princess seemed to be more in control of her faculties, for he saw her take the golden key from her purse and throw it into the sea, above which they sped, sending it down into its deep black depths. Then, as if in an instant, they were in the great square of Vannes.
“You have tricked me!” exclaimed the princess as N’oun Doaré dismounted and King Gwion and his retinue came running forward to greet them.
“I have brought you the Princess of the Golden-Ram, sir,” exclaimed the young man. “Just as you ordered.”
The princess looked angrily at N’oun Doaré. “You are not at the end of your trials yet, adopted son of Bras. You will weep more than once before I wed the King of Vannes.” She made the threat in a sibilant voice, so low that King Gwion and his men would not hear her.
Gwion moved forward to greet her. He was overcome with her beauty and his heart was full of happiness. He feasted her that night with N’oun Doaré as a special guest of honour. The princess was charming and did not once show anything but a sweet attitude towards Gwion and the man who had abducted her.
At the end of the evening, Gwion proposed marriage to her.
“I would do so, sir,” replied the princess, “but I cannot marry without first wearing the ancient ring of my race. No princess of my family has ever married without it. It is a prohibition on my family not to do so, for it means bad luck will surely follow.”
“It is a reasonable request,” Gwion agreed. “Where is the ring?”
“It is in my bedchamber in my castle. By the bed there is a locked cabinet, to which I have lost the key.”
“Fear not. N’oun Doaré will go back and fetch it and he knows the penalty for failure.”
Dismayed, N’oun Doaré went to the stables and told his mare of the latest task that he was ordered to perform.
“Why are you worried?” demanded the mare. “Don’t you remember that you saved the life of the King of Birds and that he promised to help you when an occasion arose?”
“I remember,” cried N’oun Doaré.
“What are you waiting for, then? Call him.”
The young man went to the stable door and called up into the sky, asking for the King of Birds to come to him.
There was a flapping of wings and the voice said from the lintel of the stable: “What is it, N’oun Doaré? How can I help?” The great kestrel stood perched on the beam.
The young man told him the problem.
“Don’t worry. The ring will be brought to you.”
Straightaway the kestrel called every known bird to go to the castle, but there was only one bird that was small enough to pass through the keyhole into the bedchamber of the castle, and only one small enough to squeeze itself into the cabinet and regain the ring. That was the wren. With much difficulty and the loss of most of his feathers, the wren managed to get into the cabinet and take the ring and bring it to Vannes.
At breakfast the next morning, N’oun Doaré presented it to the delighted Gwion and the angry princess.
“There you are,” Gwion said, handing her the ring. “Now we can name the day.”
“I only need one thing more before I can satisfy you by naming the day of our marriage. Without it, there can be no marriage.”
N’oun Doaré kept his temper in check, knowing that she would ask something more difficult.
“What is it?” asked Gwion.
“I want my castle to be brought here and erected on that hill overlooking Vannes.”
Even Gwion was amazed. “You want what . . . ?”
“My castle brought here intact.”
“How can you expect such a thing?” demanded the King of Vannes.
“I shall have it, or you shall have no wife.”
Gwion turned to N’oun Doaré. “You must find a way, or . . .” He did not have to finish the sentence.
Sadly, N’oun Doaré went to the stable.
“Well, that is no problem,” the mare answered, surprising him.
“How so?”
“Did you not save Griffescornu, the king of demons, releasing him from his chains, when the princess had made him part of her collection of fabulous creatures?”
“I did.”
“Very well. Summon him, and he will help you now.”
So N’oun Doaré shrieked the name of the king of the demons into the howling night wind and, sure enough, in a cloud of deepest black smoke, the Griffescornu arrived, in all his awesome and hideous visage.
“How can I help you, N’oun Doaré?” hissed the apparition.
The young man told him.
“That is no problem. My demons and I will do it in an instant.”
When the sun rose above Vannes the next morning,
the Castle of the Golden-Ram was standing in all its grim splendour, on the very hill where the princess had indicated she had wanted it. A whole army of demons had uprooted the castle from the rock on which it had stood and whisked it through the air to stand where it now dominated the hill. The people of Vannes were in fear and trembling. But the King Gwion was delighted.
Not so the princess.
“Now, lady,” Gwion said, “it only remains for you to fix the wedding day.”
The Princess of the Golden-Ram thought furiously. “I need only one more thing, and then I will name the day of our wedding, lord.”
Gwion was cynical. But the princess took a sacred oath that this was the last thing that she would ask.
“What is it?” sighed Gwion.
“The key to my castle. There stands the castle, but I cannot get in without the key.”
“I have the best locksmiths in the five kingdoms of Armorica,” protested Gwion. “They will make you a new key.”
“No. No one in the world can make a key which can open the door of my castle. It has a magic lock. I must have the key.”
And so N’oun Doaré was sent for again. He was very angry, but when he heard that the princess had made this her last request and taken an oath to it, he was satisfied and went off to get his old mare. The princess had not realized that he had seen her throw the key into the sea.
He told the mare and the horse answered, “Well, you know what you must do. You saved the life of the King of the Fish.”
So they went to the seashore and N’oun Doaré raised his voice and cried aloud for the King of the Fish.
“What can I do for you, N’oun Doaré?” squeaked a voice. And there was the head of the sea-trout gazing at him from the waves.
“I need the key to the Castle of the Golden-Ram which the princess has thrown into the sea.”
“Never fear,” replied the fish. “You shall have it.”
At once, he called all the fish who rushed here and there. But none of them had seen the key to the castle. Finally, the King of the Fish called a lonely dolphin who came and presented him with the key, a golden key inset with a priceless diamond.
N’oun Doaré and his mare went straight back to the King of Vannes and presented it to him.
The princess could no longer play for time, and was forced to name the day of the wedding.
“Ask her now,” whispered the mare, “to open up her castle door.”
N’oun Doaré did so.
The princess seemed reluctant but even Gwion started to press her, for he also wanted to gaze on the interior of the impressive structure.
“You have had it brought all the way here, to Vannes,” he said, “so it seems a shame that you will not even allow us to see inside it.”
The princess was forced to go with Gwion, with N’oun Doaré and his mare, and other members of the King of Vannes’ court. She opened the door with the golden key.
“Now, before you step inside,” whispered the mare, “ask her to formally invite all those present to do so.”
N’oun Doaré made the request.
The princess shook her head. “You may come in if you so wish – the choice is your own.”
“No. It is not etiquette,” insisted N’oun Doaré. “This your castle, princess, and the king and his retinue cannot come in without being formally invited.”
Gwion nodded his agreement, for N’oun Doaré was only quoting the law of hospitality.
The princess sighed. “Then every one of you is formally invited to enter the castle.”
And they went inside.
To their surprise, there was a nauseating smell of decay and evil in the castle, unlike the sunny countenance of the princess. It was more like a dank dark stable in its interior than a beautiful palace. Those following her stood back, all except the old mare.
The mare trotted forward to the centre of the dark room, where a stall stood, in which there was a small bundle of oats tied in a golden ribbon.
“Stop that horse!” cried the princess in terror. “I did not mean to invite it inside.”
But the old mare bent forward and ate the oats in two large mouthfuls.
No one knew what exactly happened next. They knew that the castle had suddenly vanished. They were all standing on the sun-drenched green hillside overlooking Vannes. And in their midst there was a great chest of treasure, and each side of the treasure stood two beautiful women. One was the princess, whose features seemed to have softened and were more beautiful than before; while the other woman could only be her twin. The only difference was that the princess had golden hair while her twin had red-copper hair.
Everyone gaped in amazement at them.
“Where is my mare?” demanded N’oun Doaré, gazing around angrily. “If she has been hurt, there will be blood to pay for this. My mare is very dear to me.”
The red-haired young woman came forward and laid a slender hand on his arm. “I am here, N’oun Doaré,” she said in the husky voice, which he recognized immediately. “I am still ready to serve you, for you are also dear to me.”
Gwion of Vannes stared at his princess, so warm and attractive that she appeared a new person, and he shook his head in wonder.
“What has happened?” he asked.
“An evil Druid placed us under a spell many years ago,” replied the princess. “We are sisters, you see, and our father angered this Druid. He had betrothed my sister Ruz-glaou to a young prince instead of to the Druid’s son. And when the Druid then demanded my hand, my father said he would rather give me to a fabulous beast than allow me to marry him.
“The Druid slew my father and, ever vengeful, found the young prince, who was then five years old, and cast him into a far kingdom so that he would not know his name, his parents nor where he came from. My sister was turned into an old mare and transported to Kernev. And I was made to be a prisoner of our castle, my character was changed, and I was compelled to collect fabulous creatures in retaliation for my father’s threat to marry me to one. The castle became an evil-smelling stable, in which the fabulous beasts were housed, and over which I had no control.”
“How were you freed?” demanded N’oun Doaré.
“The Druid placed magic oats in the stall in the castle which, if my sister was ever able to get into the castle and eat them, would undo the spell. As the years passed, my sister, in the guise of a mare, was purchased by a learned Druid in Kernev. He advised her of the way in which she could remove the spell. He told her that she would be aided by the pure sword of Govan the Smith-God, cast in the days of primordial chaos.”
“This one?” demanded N’oun Doaré, reaching to the bright sword at his belt.
But the sword was gone. The scabbard was empty.
“It has served its purpose,” observed Ruz-glaou. “It has returned back to its owner, who gave it to you.”
“So the spell has been lifted?” Gwion observed. “Then all is well. We have all played our parts.”
“Will you set out to find this nameless prince that was cast away without memory?” asked N’oun Doaré sadly of the red-haired princess.
Ruz-glaou smiled. “What is your name?”
“N’oun Doaré,” replied the puzzled young man. “You know that well enough.”
“And what does it mean?”
“I don’t know.”
Ruz-glaou chuckled. “I have found my prince already,” she said solemnly. “Do you want to know who you really are and where you came from?”
N’oun Doaré thought for a moment or two and then he shook his head with a smile. “I have two good parents now who have raised me. My home is in Léon. If you are content with me as I am, I am also content.”
Both princesses, Aour and Ruz-glaou, were pleased with the men who declared their love for them, and they reciprocated that love. On the next day, a great double wedding was held in Vannes, and Gwion and his princess remained there while N’oun Doaré returned to his adopted parents, with his princess, where they lived in Coat
-Squiriou happily for many years. In time, N’oun Doaré became the king of Léon and he was contented knowing who he was, rather than who he might have been.
34 The Anaon
There were two brothers who dwelt in Botsorhel. Their names, for the sake of our story, were Maudez and Primel. They were twins and very close to each other. Even as youngsters, they had never been known to argue over their toys and they shared everything, the hardships as well as the good things of life.
They shared only one bad secret, and that was when they were youths, they found an old lame beggar on the road and thought it would be amusing to steal his stick for sport. But it was no sport at all and the poor man cursed the two boys heartily, calling down the wrath of the Ankou, the spirit of the dead, on them. They finally desisted and felt ashamed of what they had done.
Thereafter, they grew up as fine young men. They even forgot the incident. That was the one bad thing that they ever did in their lives.
When they grew into manhood, everyone who knew them remarked how inseparable they were.
“Why,” agreed their mother, “only death will separate those two.”
“If that happens,” remarked Primel to his brother, on hearing what his mother said, “let us swear an oath.”
“What oath?” demanded Maudez.
“Why, whoever is the first of us to die, we must return from the Otherworld and tell the other of what has befallen us there.”
“Very well,” agreed Maudez.
“And we will also swear that if either one of us is made to suffer, the other will share the suffering.”
So the two brothers swore this oath.
It happened sooner than expected. A malignancy struck the area and the Ankou himself, the great Death personified, walked the village of Botsorhel, choosing his victims. And it was Primel who was struck with the fever and he being scarcely twenty and five years of age. His family sent for healers but the fever gripped him and, at last, the Ankou was victorious and claimed Primel’s soul to take with him to the Otherworld.
Now, during all this time, Maudez had never left Primel’s bedside. He nursed and watched over his brother with such attentiveness that it broke everyone’s heart to see his distress when his brother was taken by the Ankou. Nor did Maudez leave the side of the body of his brother, until the bier was taken to the burial ground; nor did he leave the graveside, until the grave digger had finished levelling the earth on top of the grave; nor did he leave the burial ground, until the bier was ritually smashed to pieces against the great oak tree that grew there. This was to prevent the evil spirits from carrying the corpse away on the bier and turning it into an Un-Dead creature which would haunt the living.
The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends Page 55
