The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends

by Peter Berresford Ellis

  So, eventually, Koadalan made his way back to the forest of Cranou.

  After a while, seeing that his father and mother now had a more comfortable life, even though they refused the great riches which he could have brought them, Koadalan, Keredwen and his son returned to the castle of King Bertele.

  Time passed. Old King Bertele died and Koadalan and Keredwen became king and queen in his stead. Then came news from the Forest of Cranou that old Alan and his wife had also passed on to the Otherworld. Koadalan was, however, happy with Keredwen and his son, and had possession of the three red leather-bound books, which made him the greatest magician in all the land.

  However, a day came when Koadalan was away hunting, and he learnt that Keredwen and her son had perished in a terrible plague.

  Koadalan blamed himself that he had not been there to cure them. He became a changed man and grew reclusive and bitter. He buried himself more and more in his three books of magic, seeking the ultimate spell which is the achievement of immortality, placing himself on a level with the gods and goddesses of the Otherworld.

  He finally grew old and achieved many things in his life. But the older he grew, the more he feared death, and the more he studied his books to wrest from them the secret of immortality.

  Finally, he decided that he would perform the ultimate sakrilach, for that is what Breton people call it when one tries to make oneself the equal to the gods.

  He called his servants together.

  “You must all obey me, no matter what I tell you to do, do you understand? No matter what I ask, you must carry it out. If you do, you shall be rewarded with as much gold and silver as you could wish for.”

  They all thought that this seemed a good proposition.

  He turned to a female servant who had just had her firstborn child and had plenty of mother’s milk.

  “You have a great role in this, woman,” Koadalan said.

  “I will do as you ask,” she replied.

  Then he called to his manservant.

  “You are to put me to death. Then you will chop up my body into sausage meat. You must ensure that all the pieces and the blood are placed in a large earthenware pot, which you must cover with a cloth. Take the pot into the garden and bury it under a heap of hot manure.”

  They looked at him as if he were mad, and who is to say that he was not? But he had offered them money and so it was not their concern.

  He turned back to the female servant.

  “The earthenware pot will remain under the manure for six months. During that period, you will come to the manure heap twice a day, both at midday and at three o’clock in the morning. You will sprinkle some of your milk over the manure, above the earthenware pot, for half an hour each time. Take care that while you are performing this deed, you do not fall asleep.”

  The woman also thought Koadalan was mad, but neglected to say as much. After all, he was paying her to perform this deed.

  When she agreed Koadalan went on.

  “After six months, you will see me come forth from the earthenware pot in one piece, full of life and in the best of health, stronger and more handsome than I have ever been in my life. I shall then live forever.”

  The servants made no comment.

  If the master was mad, it was no business of his servants, so long as they were paid and no blame attached to them as to what he told them.

  So it happened as Koadalan said.

  They killed him and he felt a momentary stab of discomfort before, it seemed, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Then he awoke.

  But he was not emerging from the earthenware pot. Instead, he stood on a long, low, sandy shore which stretched in both directions, with the blue sea lapping at it. Then he saw a line of people – he saw Keredwen and his son, her father Bertele, old Alan and his mother, and many other people he had known but whom he thought were dead. They were lined up along the shore staring sorrowfully at him.

  Then he saw a familiar and beautiful woman walking towards him.

  “Berc’hed!” he exclaimed. “What does this mean?”

  She, too, regarded him with sadness. “Remember what I told you many years ago? I promised you that the next time that you saw me would be at a certain time.”

  Koadalan frowned as he sought memory.

  “You said that the next time that you saw me would be when I entered the Otherworld, but . . .”

  Then the realization hit him.

  He had entered the Otherworld. If that were so, then he was surely dead!

  Berc’hed nodded, as if reading his thoughts.

  On earth, the woman servant had gone twice a day to the earthenware pot and sprinkled her milk on the manure heap. But there were three days to go before the six months were ended when she could not overcome the drowsiness she felt, and she fell asleep as she was sprinkling her milk.

  When Koadalan’s servants dug up the earthenware pot after the prescribed time, they found Koadalan’s body entire. It almost seemed as if he were about to spring forth. Perhaps he might have succeeded after three days, but the wise ones will tell you that it would have been impossible. No one who dares the final sacrilege of attempting to place themselves on a level with the gods may remain unpunished.

  How was Koadalan punished?

  Well, when he died, the three red leather-bound books vanished. They were lost to the knowledge of humankind, so that there have been no other great wizards nor magicians after Koadalan. The wise ones will tell you that it was the gods and goddesses themselves who hid the books. But, for his impiety, Koadalan is forced to return from the Otherworld, once every year. He returns on the very night that the Otherworld becomes visible to this world, when souls can travel back to wreak their vengeance on the living. Then it is that Koadalan comes back to search for his three magic books, wailing, cursing and lamenting his sacrilege.

  That night, my friends, is called the eve of Gouel an Anaon, All Souls’ Day, which is known in other parts of the world as Hallowe’en. So if you have any red leather-bound books, on that dark evening, do not be surprised to see them spin in the air and then fall to the ground, nor start at the sound of a wailing cry. It is just Koadalan, searching for his lost magic books, which he is now doomed to do for ever and a day.

  36 The King of Bro Arc’hant

  Once there was a Breton lord named Avoez, who dwelt in a large and splendid castle on the coast. He was lord of all Breizh Izel. No one could say for sure how Avoez became lord of Breizh Izel. It was remarked that his predecessors had been kind, generous and cared for the welfare of their people and the beauty of the country.

  Then Avoez had become their lord and he ruled with a harshness that made everyone dread him. He was also a man who wanted to acquire wealth, and this became an obsession to the exclusion of all else.

  The once beautiful gardens of his castle at Lanaskol were ploughed up to plant crops, to grow apple trees to make sweet cider. Where once rhododendrons and camellias grew, there grew instead lawns of artichokes and green peas and crops of grain. He would have no flowers within or without his castle.

  His whole estate was managed by his sister, Moravik, who was just as avaricious and acquisitive as her brother.

  It was a sad day when Avoez became lord of Breizh Izel and master of Lanaskol. All the people agreed on that. Yet there was nothing that could be done.

  Eventually, there was nothing which Avoez did not want for except one thing – a wife and an heir to his lands.

  Now the Penmarc’h Peninsula is a low, rocky plain quite unlike the promontories of the Raz or Pen-Hir. It is an area where one is always close to the sea and constantly hearing the hammering of the waves on the impressive rocks that line the coast, rocks which are in fact called the Rocks of Penmarc’h, south from the Phare d’Eckmühl north to the beach at Pars Carn. Even four hundred years ago, the area was still one of the richest in Brittany, where fishing for the “Lenten Meat”, the cod, made fortunes for fifteen thousand inhabitants. But the cod
deserted the shores of Penmarc’h, and a big tidal wave swept the land and now the peninsula is poor. But all this happened long after this story took place.

  In the time of Avoez, it was a rich land, ruled by Tanguy of Kertanguy. He was married and with a beautiful daughter named Litavis who was born on Gouel-Yann, midsummer’s day, when the rays of the setting sun touched the great centre stone at Carnac. Litavis’ beauty was a byword throughout all Penmarc’h and so Avoez came to hear of her. So one day he took himself to Kertanguy in disguise and watched and waited for Litavis to come along. Then he saw for himself that the stories of her comeliness were not exaggerated.

  “I will marry this girl,” he said firmly.

  When he went to see Tanguy of Kertanguy and his wife to arrange the marriage, they simply laughed. For Avoez had the physique to match his parsimonious and niggardly attitude. He went away in a rage and he called his sister, Moravik.

  “Tell my tax-gatherers that I want them to seek out all the debts of Tanguy of Kertanguy. I want to buy up all the unpaid debts, all the mortgages on his lands. I want to reduce the fortune of Tanguy of Kertanguy to nothing. I want this done within the year.”

  So it came to pass that, within a year, he owned all the lands and wealth that Tanguy had, for Tanguy, although he was not an evil man, was an impecunious man and incurred debts. One midsummer’s day, when Litavis was just seventeen years old, Avoez presented himself at the house of Tanguy of Kertanguy and told him that he was ruined.

  “I own you and all you once possessed.”

  Faced with this ruin, poor Tanguy and his wife did not know what to do.

  “There is a solution,” Avoez said. “I am willing to give you back half of your wealth in return for your daughter Litavis.”

  Now Tanguy’s wife would have none of this but Tanguy, who could not bear to be poor and turned out on the roadside, agreed to the shameful bargain. It is said that Tanguy’s wife then left his house and refused to return there any more.

  Tanguy had his daughter brought forth and she, pale and horrified at what her father had done, could do nothing. Avoez took her back to his castle at Lanaskol and his sister Moravik prepared the feasting and the wedding. Now, because of his penny-pinching attitudes, the feasting was paid for by the people who were ordered to attend, for Avoez and his sister arranged for a fair to be held at the same time at which they sold their goods for profit, and were thus amply repaid for their feasting and wrestling matches.

  Litavis remained as one in shock throughout all the ceremony. She did not smile, did not dance, and refused to take any food nor drink. She did not even pluck a flower and place it in her own hair as a symbol of the joy of betrothal.

  As soon as the marriage ceremony was over, Avoez decided not to press himself upon the pure, sweet girl. He had a male pride and wanted his wife to come to the bridal bed willingly. He was prepared to wait. But he was not prepared to give her freedom to wait. He viewed everyone with jealous eyes.

  Moravik, his sister, offered her advice and told her brother to lock Litavis in one of the high towers of Lanaskol, one which stood on the point overlooking the brooding Atlantic seas.

  “There you may keep her, brother, and none but you will be able to visit her.”

  “This is an excellent idea,” Avoez agreed. “We will have her well-guarded. You, my sister, will watch her by day, and at night she will be locked in. We will have Gof the Smith forge us four good locks to which only I will have the key.”

  “You are wise, my brother,” said Moravik. “And Gof makes locks that even Merlin the Enchanter cannot undo.”

  What Avoez said came to pass. Litavis was locked in a high tower on the point overlooking the brooding sea. It was a small room in the tower, where she saw no one except Moravik, who watched her from dawn until dusk and then each night Avoez came to her and asked: “Are you ready to be a bride?” But each night she did not answer but stood by the window, staring out to the dark whispering seas.

  Seven long years passed in this fashion. No maidservants came to help her, and she was alone. She grew ill in her despair. Her long gold braids became tangled and matted, her clothes became worn and dirty and she paced the floor in her anguish.

  Now Avoez grew enraged that she would not come to the bridal bed nor conceive his child and finally his passion was dampened. Yet he saw her as a piece of his property and he was not willing to let her go.

  One day, and it was the feast of Meurlarjez or Shrove Tuesday, Avoez decided to set out on a tour of inspection of his estates all over Breizh Izel. So he said to his sister, Moravik: “While I am gone, sister, you must take care that nothing happens to Litavis.” He gave her the four keys with which Litavis was locked in each night. These were the keys made by Gof the Smith. “Be sure to lock her chamber each night when you leave her.”

  “I will do so, brother. You may trust in me.”

  So Avoez climbed onto his horse and started off on his journey.

  In the tower, Litavis stood at the window, watching him ride away. There was no feeling in her as she watched him leaving. She did not feel the soft rays of spring sun on her skin nor the gentle singing of the birds announcing the change of season. Then one of the birds alighted on her window sill and began to sing insistently and, even in her still and silent mind, she suddenly realized that words were beginning to form.

  “If you believe in life, Litavis, you must believe that all evil passes. If you believe hard enough, then what you most desire will come to be.”

  For the first time in seven years, she spoke.

  “Who are you, bird?”

  “I am the messenger of Bro Arc’hant, the Land of Silver; I am the voice of the korrigan who dwell under the stones of Carnac; I am the voice of the mari-morgan, the daughters of the sea, who frolic around the Rocks of Penmarc’h. I am the voice of those beings who have not abandoned you. Believe in us.”

  “This is a strange song that you sing to me, little bird,” she observed.

  “Believe and what you most desire shall come to be,” repeated the little bird.

  Then it flew off across the seas.

  Litavis thought hard and long. She did want to believe. She did desire one thing above all others in the world, but she was ashamed to say it aloud. Yet even as she thought, a great hawk came flapping in her window. She was very scared indeed. It flew into her chamber and alighted in the middle of the room.

  Even as she looked, the hawk turned into a tall handsome warrior, richly dressed, with bright glinting armour and weapons. His hair was fair and his eyes cool, like the grey of the sea.

  Litavis gave a little cry and stumbled back.

  “Flower of the Rocks of Penmarc’h, do not be afraid of me,” he said gently. So gentle and sweet was his tone that she found herself losing her fear. “Litavis, you have summoned me with your heart. You called me and I have been waiting in Bro Arc’hant many long years, waiting for that call. I have loved you since I saw you playing around the Rocks of Penmarc’h.”

  “How can this be? Who are you?” she demanded.

  “I am Eudemarec of Bro Arc’hant.”

  “How do you know me?”

  “I have long dwelt in and around Penmarc’h. That is how I know you. Do you deny that you called for me to come to you?”

  The girl knew what her secret heart desired and she had, indeed, called for a fair champion who loved her and whom she could love. She knew without further question that this was such a man.

  “What if Avoez knows of this?” She was still nervous.

  “Our love will be more secret than the secret words of the song of the korrigan,” he vowed. He held out his hand to her. “Do you fear me?”

  “No.”

  And she came to him willingly and their love was almost painful in its joy and rapture.

  He stayed with her until the first glimmer of dawn, when they heard Moravik undoing the locks.

  “When will you come again?” cried Litavis, as her champion turned once more into a great
hawk.

  “Whenever your desire calls to me, Litavis,” he replied.

  Litavis felt a great joy.

  Just before the hawk turned to fly off, it said: “Beware of Moravik, for she is steeped in the laws of magic. Say nothing, for if I am discovered, she might encompass my death.”

  So each night, after dusk, Litavis’ desire brought forth Eudemarec out of the Land of Silver, fluttering in the form of a hawk into her bedchamber. They lay as lovers through the starry night until dawn, when Eudemarec had to return home. Litavis grew in strength and happiness and turned once more into a radiant picture of beauty.

  Then it was that Avoez, the lord of Lanaskol returned. He gazed upon his bride in name and, frowning, went in search of his sister.

  “What does this mean, Moravik?” he demanded. “Why is there this change in her?”

  “I do not know, brother. I swear she has been locked in her tower ever since you left.”

  “It cannot be,” declaimed Avoez. “You must have betrayed me. She must have been outside the room.”

  “I have not betrayed your trust,” insisted his sister.

  So insistent was she, that Avoez finally believed her.

  “We must discover what has happened to Litavis. I swear she must be in love and I know her love is not directed at me.”

  So that night, after dusk, Avoez and his sister Moravik sat up and waited and watched, and they saw a hawk fly in at Litavis’ high tower window. They continued to watch and wait and saw, at dawn, that the hawk flew out again.

  Brother and sister then knew what was happening for, indeed, Moravik had been a follower of the old arts of wizardry from her childhood. And a plan was hatched between them.

  Avoez, curbing his anger, went to speak with Litavis the next morning, and told her that the lord of Breizh-Uhel wanted to see him and that he would be away for a while.

  Moravik stood beneath the tower, calling her farewells loudly enough for her voice to climb to the high room in which Litavis was imprisoned. And Litavis herself saw Avoez riding off to the eastern hills.