The Mabinogion (Oxford World's Classics)

by Sioned Davies

  He spent the year hunting and singing and carousing, and in friendship and conversation with companions until the night of the meeting. On that night the meeting was as well remembered by the inhabitant in the remotest part of the realm as it was by him. So he came to the meeting, accompanied by the noblemen of his realm. As soon as he came to the ford, a knight got up and spoke like this:

  ‘Noblemen,’ he said, ‘listen carefully. This confrontation is between the two kings, and between their two persons alone. Each one is making a claim against the other regarding land and territory; all of you should stand aside and leave the fighting between the two of them.’

  With that the two kings approached each other towards the middle of the ford for the fight. And at the first attack, the man who was in Arawn’s place strikes Hafgan in the centre of the boss of his shield, so that it splits in half, and all his armour shatters, and Hafgan is thrown the length of his arm and spear-shaft over his horse’s crupper to the ground, suffering a fatal blow.*

  ‘Lord,’ said Hafgan, ‘what right did you have to my death? I was claiming nothing from you. Nor do I know of any reason for you to kill me; but for God’s sake,’ he said, ‘since you have begun, then finish!’

  ‘Lord,’ said the other, ‘I may regret doing what I did to you. Find someone else who will kill you; I will not kill you.’

  ‘My faithful noblemen,’ said Hafgan, ‘take me away from here; my death is now certain. There is no way I can support you any longer.’

  ‘And my noblemen,’ said the man who was in Arawn’s place, ‘take advice and find out who should become vassals of mine.’

  ‘Lord,’ said the noblemen, ‘everyone should, for there is no king over the whole of Annwfn except you.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he said, ‘those who come submissively, it is right to receive them. Those who do not come willingly, we will force them by the power of the sword.’

  Then he received the men’s allegiance, and began to take over the land. And by noon the following day both kingdoms were under his authority.

  Then Pwyll set off for his meeting-place, and came to Glyn Cuch. And when he got there Arawn, king of Annwfn, was there to meet him. Each one was glad to see the other.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Arawn, ‘may God repay you for your friendship; I have heard about it.’

  ‘Well,’ said the other, ‘when you yourself return to your country you will see what I have done for you.’

  ‘What you have done for me,’ he said, ‘may God repay you for it.’

  Then Arawn gave to Pwyll, prince of Dyfed, his proper form and features, and he himself took back his own. And Arawn set off to his court in Annwfn, and he was happy to see his men and his retinue for he had not seen them for a year. They, however, had not missed him, and his arrival was no more of a novelty than before. He spent that day pleasurably and happily, sitting and conversing with his wife and his noblemen. When it was more appropriate to sleep than carouse, they went to sleep. He went to his bed, and his wife went to him. The first thing he did was to converse with his wife, and indulge in affectionate play and make love to her. And she had not been accustomed to that for a year, and reflected on that.

  ‘Dear God,’ she said, ‘why is his mood different tonight from what it has been for the past year?’

  And she deliberated for a long time. And after that he woke up, and spoke to her, and a second time and a third; but she did not answer him.

  ‘Why won’t you answer me?’ he said.

  ‘I tell you’, she said, ‘that I have not spoken as much as this for a year in this bed.’

  ‘How can that be?’ he said. ‘We have always talked.’

  ‘Shame on me,’ she said, ‘if there has been between us for the past year, from the time we were wrapped up in the bedclothes, either pleasure or conversation, or have you turned your face to me, let alone anything more than that!’

  And then he thought, ‘Dear Lord God,’ he said, ‘I had a friend whose loyalty was steadfast and secure.’ And then he said to his wife, ‘Lady,’ he said, ‘do not blame me. Between me and God,’ he said, ‘I have neither slept nor lain down with you for the past year.’

  And then he told her the whole story.

  ‘I confess to God,’ she said, ‘you struck a firm bargain for your friend to have fought off the temptations of the flesh and kept his word to you.’

  ‘Lady,’ he said, ‘those were my very thoughts while I was silent just now.’

  ‘No wonder!’ she said.

  Then Pwyll, prince of Dyfed, came to his realm and his land. And he began to question the noblemen of the land as to how he had ruled over them during the past year compared with how he had ruled before that.

  ‘Lord,’ they said, ‘never have you been so perceptive; never have you been such a kind young man; never have you been so ready to distribute your wealth; never have you ruled better than during this year.’

  ‘Between me and God,’ he said, ‘it is right for you to thank the man who was with you. This is the story, how it happened.’

  Pwyll told them everything.

  ‘Well, lord,’ they said, ‘thank God you had that friendship. And the rule we have had this year, surely you will not take it from us?’

  ‘I will not, between me and God,’ said Pwyll.

  From that time on Pwyll and Arawn began to build up their friendship, and sent each other horses and hunting-dogs and hawks, and whatever treasure they thought would please the other. And because he had stayed that year in Annwfn, and had ruled there so successfully, and united the two realms through his courage and prowess, the name Pwyll, prince of Dyfed, fell into disuse, and he was called Pwyll Pen Annwfn* from then on.

  Once upon a time Pwyll was at Arberth, one of his chief courts,* where a feast had been prepared for him, and there was a large retinue of men with him. After the first sitting Pwyll got up to take a walk, and he made for the top of a mound that was above the court, called Gorsedd Arberth.*

  ‘Lord,’ said one of the court, ‘the strange thing about the mound is that whatever nobleman sits on it will not leave there without one of two things happening: either he will be wounded or injured, or else he will see something wonderful.’

  ‘I am not afraid to be wounded or injured among such a large company as this. As for something wonderful, I would be glad to see that. I will go and sit on the mound,’ he said.

  He sat on the mound. And as they were sitting, they could see a woman wearing a shining golden garment of brocaded silk on a big, tall, pale-white horse coming along the highway that ran past the mound. Anyone who saw it would think that the horse had a slow, steady pace, and it was drawing level with the mound.

  ‘Men,’ said Pwyll, ‘do any of you recognize the rider?’

  ‘No, lord,’ they said.

  ‘Let someone go and meet her to find out who she is,’ he said.

  One of them got up, but when he came to the road to meet her, she had gone past. He followed her as fast as he could on foot. But the greater his speed, the further she drew away from him. When he saw that it was useless to pursue her, he returned to Pwyll and said to him,

  ‘Lord,’ he said, ‘it is useless for anyone in the world to pursue her on foot.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Pwyll, ‘go to the court, and take the fastest horse that you know of, and go after her.’

  He took the horse, and off he went. He came to the open, level plain, and set spurs to the horse. And the more he spurred the horse, the further she drew away from him. She was going at the same pace as when she had started. His horse became tired; and when he realized that his horse’s pace was failing, he returned to where Pwyll was.

  ‘Lord,’ he said, ‘it is useless for anyone to pursue that rider over there. I know of no faster horse in the realm than this one, yet it was useless for me to pursue her.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Pwyll, ‘there is some magical explanation here. Let us return to the court.’

  They came to the court, and passed that day.


  The next day they got up, and passed that too until it was time to go and eat. And after the first sitting, ‘Well,’ said Pwyll, ‘let those of us who went yesterday go to the top of the mound. And you,’ he said to one of his young lads, ‘bring along the fastest horse you know of in the field.’ And the young lad did that. They made for the mound, together with the horse.

  As they were about to sit down they saw the lady on the same horse, and wearing the same garment, coming along the same road.

  ‘Here is yesterday’s rider,’ said Pwyll. ‘Be ready, lad,’ he said, ‘to find out who she is.’

  ‘Lord,’ he said, ‘I shall do that gladly.’

  With that the rider drew level with them. Then the young lad mounted the horse, but before he had settled himself in his saddle she had gone past, putting a fair distance between them. Her pace was no different to the day before. He set his horse to amble, and he thought that although his horse was going slowly, he would catch up with her. But that was futile. He gave his horse its head; he was no closer to her than if he were on foot; and the more he spurred his horse, the further she drew away from him. Her pace was no faster than before. Since he saw that it was futile for him to pursue her, he returned, and came to where Pwyll was.

  ‘Lord,’ he said, ‘the horse cannot do any better than you have seen.’

  ‘I have seen that it is useless for anyone to pursue her,’ Pwyll replied. ‘And between me and God,’ he said, ‘she has a message for someone on this plain, had her obstinacy not stopped her from delivering it. Let us return to the court.’

  They came to the court, and spent that night singing and carousing, until they were contented. The next day they amused themselves until it was time to go and eat. When they had finished eating, Pwyll said, ‘Where are those who were with me yesterday and the day before on top of the mound?’

  ‘Here we are, lord,’ they said.

  ‘Let us go to the mound to sit,’ he said. ‘And you,’ he said to his groom, ‘saddle my horse well, and bring it to the road, and bring along my spurs.’ The groom did that.

  They came to the mound and sat down. They were there hardly any time at all when they saw the rider coming along the same road, in the same manner, and at the same pace.

  ‘Groom,’ said Pwyll, ‘I see the rider. Give me my horse.’ Pwyll mounted his horse, and no sooner had he mounted his horse than she rode past him. He turned after her, and let his spirited, prancing horse go at its own pace. And he thought that at the second leap or the third he would catch up with her. But he was no closer to her than before. He urged his horse to go as fast as possible. But he saw that it was useless for him to pursue her.

  Then Pwyll said, ‘Maiden,’ he said, ‘for the sake of the man you love most, wait for me.’

  ‘I will wait gladly,’ she said, ‘and it would have been better for the horse if you had asked that a while ago!’

  The maiden stopped and waited, and drew back the part of her headdress which should cover her face, and fixed her gaze on him, and began to talk to him.

  ‘Lady,’ he said, ‘where do you come from, and where are you going?’

  ‘Going about my business,’ she said, ‘and I am glad to see you.’

  ‘My welcome to you,’ he said. And then he thought that the face of every maiden and every woman he had ever seen was unattractive compared with her face.

  ‘Lady,’ he said, ‘will you tell me anything about your business?’

  ‘I will, between me and God,’ she said. ‘My main purpose was to try and see you.’

  ‘That, to me, is the best business you could have,’ said Pwyll. ‘Will you tell me who you are?’

  ‘I will, lord,’ she said. ‘I am Rhiannon, daughter of Hyfaidd Hen,* and I am to be given to a husband against my will. But I have never wanted any man, because of my love for you. And I still do not want him, unless you reject me. And it is to find out your answer on the matter that I have come.’

  ‘Between me and God,’ replied Pwyll, ‘this is my answer to you: if I could choose from all the women and maidens in the world, it is you that I would choose.’*

  ‘Good,’ she said, ‘if that is what you want, before I am given to another man, arrange a meeting with me.’

  ‘The sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned,’ said Pwyll.

  ‘Arrange the meeting wherever you want.’

  ‘I will, lord,’ she said, ‘a year from tonight, in the court of Hyfaidd, I will have a feast prepared, ready for when you come.’

  ‘Gladly,’ he replied, ‘and I will be at that meeting.’

  ‘Lord,’ she said, ‘farewell, and remember to keep your promise, and I shall go on my way.’

  They parted, and he went to his retinue and his men. Whatever questions they asked concerning the maiden, he would turn to other matters. Then they spent the year until the appointed time; and Pwyll got ready with ninety-nine horsemen. He set off for the court of Hyfaidd Hen, and he came to the court and they welcomed him, and there was a gathering and rejoicing and great preparations waiting for him, and all the wealth of the court was placed at his disposal. The hall was prepared, and they went to the tables. This is how they sat: Hyfaidd Hen on one side of Pwyll, and Rhiannon on the other; after that each according to his rank. They ate and caroused and conversed.

  As they began to carouse after eating, they saw a tall, regal, auburn-haired lad enter, wearing a garment of brocaded silk. When he came to the upper end of the hall, he greeted Pwyll and his companions.

  ‘God’s welcome to you, friend, and come and sit down,’ said Pwyll.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘I am a suppliant, and I will make my request.’

  ‘Do so with pleasure,’ said Pwyll.

  ‘Lord,’ he said, ‘my business is with you, and I have come to ask you a favour.’

  ‘Whatever you ask of me, as long as I can get it, it shall be yours.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Rhiannon, ‘why did you give such an answer?’

  ‘He has given it, lady, in the presence of noblemen,’ said the lad.

  ‘Friend,’ said Pwyll, ‘what is your request?’

  ‘The woman I love most you are to sleep with tonight. And it is to ask for her, and for the preparations and provisions that are here that I have come.’

  Pwyll was silent, for there was no answer that he could give.

  ‘Be silent for as long as you like,’ said Rhiannon. ‘Never has a man been more stupid than you have been.’

  ‘Lady,’ he said, ‘I did not know who he was.’

  ‘That is the man to whom they wanted to give me against my will,’ she said, ‘Gwawl son of Clud, a powerful man with many followers. And since you have given your word, give me to him for fear of bringing disgrace upon yourself.’

  ‘Lady,’ he said, ‘I do not know what sort of answer that is. I can never bring myself to do what you say.’

  ‘Give me to him,’ she said, ‘and I’ll see to it that he will never have me.’

  ‘How will that be?’ said Pwyll.

  ‘I will give you a little bag,’ she said, ‘and keep it safely with you. And he is asking for the feast and the preparations and the provisions; those are not in your power to give. But I will give the feast to the retinue and the men,’ she said, ‘and that will be your answer on the matter. As for me,’ she said, ‘I will arrange a meeting, a year from tonight, for him to sleep with me; and at the end of the year,’ she said, ‘you be in the orchard up there, with ninety-nine horsemen, and have this bag with you. And when he is in the middle of his entertainment and carousing, come in on your own wearing ragged clothes, and carrying the bag,’ she said, ‘and ask for nothing but to fill the bag with food. I’ll see to it’, she said, ‘that if all the food and drink in these seven cantrefs were put into it, it would be no fuller than before. And when they have thrown a great deal into it, he will ask you, “Will your bag ever be full?” You say, “No, unless an extremely powerful nobleman gets up and treads down the food in the bag with both feet, and
says, ‘Enough has been put in here’. ” And I will see to it that he goes to tread down the food in the bag. And when he comes, turn the bag so that he goes head over heels in it; then tie a knot in the strings of the bag; have a good hunting-horn around your neck, and when he is tied up in the bag, give a blast on your horn, and let that be a signal between you and your horsemen; when they hear the blast of your horn, let them descend upon the court.’

  ‘Lord,’ said Gwawl, ‘it is high time that I had an answer to my request.’

  ‘As much of your request as it is in my power to give, you shall have,’ said Pwyll.

  ‘Friend,’ said Rhiannon, ‘as for the feast and the preparations that are here, I have given these to the men of Dyfed and to the retinue and men that are here. I will not let those to be given to anyone else. But a year from tonight, a feast will be prepared in this court when you, friend, shall sleep with me.’

  Gwawl set off for his realm; Pwyll returned to Dyfed. Each of them spent that year until it was time for the feast in the court of Hyfaidd Hen. Gwawl son of Clud came to the feast that had been prepared for him, and he made for the court, and they welcomed him. But Pwyll Pen Annwfn went to the orchard, with ninety-nine horsemen, as Rhiannon had ordered, and the bag with him. Pwyll put on wretched rags, and big rag boots on his feet. And when he realized they were about to begin carousing after the meal he made for the hall; and when he had come to the upper end of the hall he greeted Gwawl son of Clud and his company of men and women.

  ‘May God prosper you,’ said Gwawl, ‘and God’s welcome to you.’

  ‘Lord,’ he said, ‘may God repay you. I have business with you.’