Collected Folk Tales

by Alan Garner

  But the lady gave him to understand that he must pay no attention to this trifling freak of nature. “Thou must,” she said, “follow me wheresoever I go, as long as I continue in my beauty.”

  The son of Gwalchmai thereupon asked permission to go and say goodbye to his wife, at least.

  This the lady agreed to. “But,” said she, “I shall be with thee, invisible to all but thyself.”

  So he went, and the goblin went with him; and when he saw Angharad, his wife, he saw her a hag like one grown old, but he retained the recollection of days past, and still felt extreme affection for her, but he was not able to loose himself from the bond in which he was.

  “It is necessary for me,” said he, “to part for a time, I know not how long, from thee, Angharad, and from thee, my son, Einion.” And they wept together and broke a gold ring between them; he kept one half and Angharad the other, and they took their leave of each other, and he went with the Lady of the Wood, and knew not where. A powerful illusion was upon him, and he saw not any place, or person, or object under its true and proper appearance, excepting the half of the ring alone.

  And after being a long time, he knew not how long, with the goblin, the Lady of the Wood, he looked one morning as the sun was rising upon the half of the ring, and he bethought him to place it in the most precious place he could, and he resolved to put it under his eyelid; and as he was endeavouring to do so, he could see a man in white apparel, and mounted on a snow-white horse, coming towards him, and that person asked him what he did there; and he told him that he was cherishing an afflicting remembrance of his wife Angharad.

  “Dost thou desire to see her?” said the man in white.

  “I do,” said Einion, “above all things, and all happiness of the world.”

  “If so,” said the man in white, “get upon this horse, behind me.” And that Einion did, and looking around he could not see any appearance of the Lady of the Wood, the goblin, excepting the track of hoofs of marvellous and monstrous size, as if journeying towards the north.

  “What delusion art thou under?” said the man in white.

  Then Einion answered him and told everything how it occurred ’twixt him and the goblin.

  “Take this white staff in thy hand,” said the man in white, and Einion took it. And the man in white told him to desire whatever he wished for.

  The first thing he desired was to see the Lady of the Wood, for he was not yet completely delivered from the illusion. And then she appeared to him in size a hideous and monstrous witch, a thousand times more repulsive of aspect than the most frightful things seen on earth. And Einion uttered a cry of terror; and the man in white cast his cloak over Einion, and in less than a twinkling Einion alighted as he wished on the hill of Treveilir, by his own house, where he knew scarcely anyone, nor did anyone know him.

  But the goblin, meantime, had gone to Einion’s wife, in the disguise of a richly apparelled knight, and wooed her, pretending that her husband was dead. And the illusion fell upon her; and seeing that she should become a noble lady, higher than any in that country, she named a day for her marriage with him. And there was a great preparation of every elegant and sumptuous apparel, and of meats and drinks, and of every honourable guest, and every excellence of song and string, and every preparation of banquet and festive entertainment.

  Now there was a beautiful harp in Angharad’s room, which the goblin knight desired should be played on; and the harpers present, the best of their day, tried to put it in tune, and were not able.

  But Einion presented himself at the house, and offered to play it. Angharad, being under an illusion, saw him as an old, decrepit, withered, grey-haired man, stooping with age, and dressed in rags. Einion tuned the harp, and played on it the air which Angharad loved. And she marvelled exceedingly, and asked him who he was. And he answered in song:

  “Einion the golden-hearted.”

  “Where hast thou been?”

  “In Kent, in Gwent, in the wood, in Monmouth,

  “In Maenol, Gorwenydd;

  “And in the valley of Gwyn, the son of Nudd;

  “See, the bright gold is the token.”

  And he gave her the ring.

  “Look not on the whitened hue of my hair,

  “Where once my aspect was spirited and bold;

  “Now grey, without disguise, where once it was yellow.

  “Never was Angharad out of my remembrace,

  “But Einion was by thee forgotten.”

  But Angharad could not bring him to her recollection. Then said he to the guests:

  “If I have lost her whom I loved, the fair one of polished mind,

  “The daughter of Ednyfed Fychan,

  “Still get you out! I have not lost

  “Either my bed, or my house, or my fire.”

  And upon that he placed the white staff in Angharad’s hand, and instantly the goblin which she had hitherto seen as a handsome and honourable nobleman, appeared to her as a monster, inconceivably hideous; and she fainted from fear, and Einion supported her until she revived.

  And when she opened her eyes, she saw there neither the goblin, nor any of the guests, nor of the minstrels, nor anything whatever except Einion, and her son, and the harp, and the house in its domestic arrangement, and the dinner on the table, casting its savoury odour around. And they sat down to eat, and exceeding great was their enjoyment. And they saw the illusion which the goblin had cast over them. And thus it ends.

  Gently dippe: but not too deepe;

  For feare you make the goulden beard to weepe.

  Faire maiden white and redde,

  Combe me smoothe, and stroke my head:

  And thou shalt have some cockell bread.

  Gently dippe, but not too deepe,

  For feare thou make the goulden beard to weepe.

  Faire maide, white, and redde,

  Combe me smoothe, and stroke my head;

  And every haire, a sheave shall be,

  And every sheave a goulden tree.

  George Peele

  tsar had three sons and three daughters, and when he was dying, he told his sons that they should give their sisters in marriage to the first who might come for them.

  He died, and shortly after the funeral there was a knocking at the palace gate, and a tearing of the air, and such disturbances of nature that the foundations of the palace quaked. Then came a voice.

  “O princes, open the door!”

  “Don’t open!” cried the eldest brother.

  “Don’t!” said the second.

  “I must open!” said the youngest. And he did so.

  Something came in, but what it was the princes could not see, whether it was a fallen star or a coal of hell, and out of the dazzling brightness the voice spoke again.

  “I have come for your eldest sister to take her for wife.”

  “I will not give her,” said the first brother.

  “I have no time to spare,” said the voice. “I must take her now.”

  “I will not,” said the second brother. “How can I give my sister to one I can’t see, and whom I do not know, nor can guess?”

  But the youngest brother said, “I will give her. Our father’s last words were that we should do just this.” He took his sister gently by the hand, and led her towards the light. “I hope that she will be a good wife.”

  Lightning and thunder blinded and deafened the whole palace then, and when it had cleared, both the presence and the sister were gone.

  And the next night a voice came again.

  “O princes, open the door!”

  They were too frightened to resist, and when the light stood on the floor it said, “Give me your second sister.”

  “I will not!” said the eldest brother.

  “I will not,” said the second brother.

  “I will,” said the youngest brother. “It was our father’s last wish on earth.”

  And on the third night, “O princes, open the door!”

  “We wil
l not give our sister by night,” said the first and second brothers together.

  “I will,” said the youngest brother. “May you have joy and happiness together.”

  The next dawn all three princes decided to go out into the world to find their sisters, to be sure that they were happy and well. They travelled for many days until they lost their way in a dark forest, and at nightfall they looked for a place to camp, and they built their fire by the side of a lake. After they had eaten, they settled down to sleep, while the eldest prince kept watch.

  At midnight the lake boiled, and the eldest prince saw a black hump driving a wave right for him. It was a water monster, but the prince fought it, and swung his sword through its head. He cut off the ears, and put them in a bag, then he threw the body into the lake and went to sleep.

  The whole of the following day the brothers tramped through the forest until they came to another lake at sunset, and there they made a fire, and the second brother stood guard that night. And a monster attacked, as the other had done, but this one had two heads, which the brother split with his sword. He cut off both pairs of ears and put them in a bag, then he slept.

  On the third night, by the third lake, the third brother watched, and the third water monster came, and it had three heads. The youngest brother killed the beast, and put three pairs of ears in a bag, and then he slept. Nor had any of the brothers mentioned any of the monsters to each other.

  Now they left the forest behind them, and came into a fearsome desert, where the sun burnt them by day, and the winds chilled them by night. They built a fire of dead thorn bush, and while two brothers made a shelter the youngest went off in search of wood for the fire.

  He had not gone far when he came to the top of a rocky height, and below him he saw flames in a valley. He climbed down to beg wood of the people there, but when he came near he saw that the fire was burning in the mouth of a cave, and round the fire sat nine giants, roasting two men on spits. A cauldron seethed the limbs of more men, and there were long shapes hanging from hooks in the cave roof.

  “Hello!” said the young prince, and he stepped forward into the light. “I have been looking everywhere for you, my friends!”

  The giants sized him up, but made no move. “Welcome,” they said, “since you are one of us. And since you are one of us, take a joint of this man now, eh? And then you will help us when we go a-foraging, eh?”

  “By all means,” said the prince, “and thank you.”

  He joined the circle round the fire, and dipped his hand in the cauldron.

  After this supper the giants said that they would have to go to find their breakfast before they slept, and the prince would come with them.

  “Naturally,” said the prince. “You will find a dwarf giant very useful, I promise.”

  “We need not be long,” said the biggest giant. “The city is not far away from which we have filled our larder these nineteen years.”

  When they came to the city, the giants uprooted two pine trees, and put one against the wall. The prince, being small and light, went up the tree, and the giants then gave him the second tree to lean against the wall on the other side.

  “I don’t quite understand what it is you want me to do,” said the prince. “Come and show me.”

  So one of the giants climbed to the top of the wall, and propped the tree on the city side. The prince drew his sword in the shadow of the parapet, and when the giant bent forward to secure the tree against the wall, the prince took off his head with the sword, and pushed the body from the parapet into the dark of the street below.

  “All clear,” he said to the giants outside the city, “so up you come: one at a time, please, and don’t rush. There’s plenty for all.”

  When the giants were headless, the prince went down into the city. He found the place empty.

  But there was one light shining in the city. It came from a window at the top of a tall tower. The prince found the door and the stairway, and climbed to the room. It was furnished with silks and jewels, and on a bed of silver lay a beautiful girl, asleep.

  The prince stood, watching, and as he watched, a snake slid through the window and on to the pillow and coiled itself to strike the girl. But the prince drew his dagger and threw it, taking the snake through the head, pinning it to the wall.

  “Let no one be able to remove this dagger but me,” said the prince. He left the lighted room in the dark city and went back to the cave. There he burnt all that he found, and carried a load of wood to his brothers.

  After they had slept and the day had come, they went on, and arrived at the city.

  Now it was the habit of the tsar of this city to walk out each morning to view the havoc of the giants, and each morning there were fewer people between the giant’s appetites and his only daughter’s fair flesh. Yet if she had to be eaten, he would make certain that she was the last, and he had built her a tower, higher than giants could reach, with one stair, narrower than a giant’s belly, and there she lived in safety. The giants would have to destroy the tower to reach her, and they would not do that while there were easier meals to be found.

  Heavy with grief, the tsar walked about his city, and he entered the street where the pine tree stood against the wall – and there at its foot were tumbled nine headless bodies.

  The people crept from their hiding places when they heard the great, joyful shout that the tsar gave, and soon the streets were alive with happiness. Then the snake was discovered, nailed to the wall by a dagger that no one could pull free.

  The tsar issued a proclamation that the hero who had killed the giants and saved the life of the tsar’s daughter would be honoured above all men, and would have the daughter’s hand in marriage.

  When the three brothers arrived at the inn by the city gate they found that all the talk was of high deeds, and they were asked if they had ever fallen in with adventures that had called for bravery.

  “Well,” said the eldest brother, “when we camped by the first lake on our way here through the forest, I stood guard while my brothers slept, and there came a water monster to eat us, but I killed it and cut off its ears.” And he opened his bag, and took out the proof of his tale.

  “On the second night,” said the second brother, “I was attacked by a monster with two heads, and these are the ears to show for it.”

  “And on the third night,” said the youngest, “I won my share,” and he tipped six ears out of his bag on to the table. “Yet more than that,” said the prince, “I know who sleeps in a silver bed, and I know what is hanging close by on the wall, and I can remove it.”

  At this, the prince was taken to the presence of the tsar, who made him tell his story in every detail. Then he went to the girl’s room in the tower, and lightly pulled the dagger from the wall and put it back in its sheath at his waist.

  “You shall be my son,” said the tsar, and the prince and the tsar’s daughter were married that night.

  To the brothers the tsar offered castles, gold and land, but they said that they must continue with their search until they knew where their three sisters were kept and how they fared in the world, and so they rode away.

  The prince and his princess were happy for a while, and then he too felt that he could not be at ease until he knew his sisters’ fate. He said farewell to his tearful wife, but she called him back. Again he tried to leave, but now her father had heard of what he intended, and the tsar made him prisoner in the palace. He was honoured and loved, but he was not free.

  One day, the tsar and all his court were to go hunting, and the prince was left alone with only the servants on duty to look after his needs and his custody. The prince was bored. The fine rooms and corridors were stale to him. He wandered down into the cellars, where he had never been.

  The farthest passage of the farthest vaults was blocked with old wine casks. They had been there so long that their hoops had rusted away, their staves shrunk, and the prince soon cleared aside enough for him to see that the passage cont
inued, even though the walls were crumbling with damp and age.

  By the light of his lantern he saw a massive door at the end of the passage, and it was not long before he had made a space big enough for him to crawl through over the rotten barrels.

  The door was rusted on to its hinges, and was locked, but the prince found a key hanging against the wall under a mat of cobweb, and by using a splintered stave as a lever he managed to turn the lock and then to prise open the door.

  The room inside was a dungeon of stifled air, and in the middle of the floor was a fountain of pure water which ran through a golden pipe into a golden basin, and near it a golden cup, rich in jewels and silver work.

  But there was more in the dungeon. A man stood against the wall. His legs were bound in iron bands up to his knees, and his arms were bound in iron; and in each corner of the room there were chains fastened about oak beams, and each chain ran to an iron collar about the man’s neck, so that he could not move any part of him. His hair and beard hid his face, and lay in the slime about his feet. The prince thought that he must have been dead for centuries, but then he heard a whisper. “Come to me. Do me a deed.”

  The prince parted the hair over the man’s face, and two eyes looked at him in the light.

  “Give me water,” said the man, “and I shall give you a life.”

  The prince filled the golden cup and put it to the withered lips.

  “What is your name?”

  “Bash Tchelik,” said the man. “Give me more water, and I shall give you another life.”

  The prince refilled the golden cup.

  “Another drink, for another life,” said the man, when the cup was empty.

  “Very well,” said the prince, thinking that the prisoner was mad with his years of dark.

  “Pour this one over my head,” said Bash Tchelik, and the prince did so.