The Mabinogion (Oxford World's Classics)

by Sioned Davies

  ‘Sir, set my wife free now, for you have everything you asked for.’

  ‘I will do so gladly,’ he said. Then she was released, and he struck her with a magic wand, and changed her back into the fairest young woman that anyone had seen.

  ‘Look around you at the land,’ he said, ‘and you will see all the houses and dwelling-places as they were at their best.’

  Then Manawydan got up and looked around. And when he looked, he could see all the land inhabited and complete with all its herds and its houses.

  ‘In what sort of captivity were Pryderi and Rhiannon?’ said Manawydan.

  ‘Pryderi had the gate-hammers* of my court around his neck, while around hers Rhiannon had the collars of the asses after they had been hauling hay. And that was their imprisonment.’

  Because of that imprisonment, this story was called the Mabinogi of the Collar and the Hammer.* And so ends this branch of the Mabinogi.

  The Fourth Branch of the Mabinogi

  MATH son of Mathonwy was lord over Gwynedd,* and Pryderi son of Pwyll was lord over twenty-one cantrefs in the south, namely the seven cantrefs of Dyfed, and the seven of Morgannwg, and the four of Ceredigion, and the three of Ystrad Tywi.* At that time Math son of Mathonwy could not live unless his feet were in the lap of a virgin, except when the turmoil of war prevented him. The maiden who was with him was Goewin daughter of Pebin from Dol Pebin in Arfon. And she was the fairest maiden of her generation known at the time. Math found peace at Caer Dathyl in Arfon.* He was unable to circuit the land,* but Gilfaethwy son of Dôn and Gwydion son of Dôn,* his nephews, sons of his sister, together with the retinue would circuit the land on his behalf.

  The maiden was always with Math. But Gilfaethwy son of Dôn set his heart on the maiden, and loved her to the extent that he did not know what to do about it. And behold, his colour and face and form were wasting away because of his love for her, so that it was not easy to recognize him. One day Gwydion, his brother, looked at him closely.

  ‘Lad,’ he said, ‘what has happened to you?’

  ‘Why,’ said the other, ‘what is wrong with me?’

  ‘I can see that you are losing your looks and colour, and what has happened to you?’ said Gwydion.

  ‘Lord brother,’ said Gilfaethwy, ‘there is no point my telling anyone what has happened.’

  ‘Why is that, my friend?’ he said.

  ‘You know of Math son of Mathonwy’s special attribute’,* said Gilfaethwy. ‘Whatever whispering goes on between people—no matter how quiet—once the wind catches hold of it then Math will know about it.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Gwydion; ‘say no more. I know your thoughts; you love Goewin.’

  When Gilfaethwy realized that his brother knew what was on his mind, he heaved the heaviest sigh in the world.

  ‘Friend, stop your sighing,’ said Gwydion; ‘you will not get anywhere like that. The only thing to do is for me to arrange that Gwynedd and Powys and Deheubarth gather for war, so that you can get the maiden; and cheer up, because I will arrange it for you.’

  Then they went to Math son of Mathonwy.

  ‘Lord,’ said Gwydion, ‘I hear that some kind of creatures that have never been in this island before have arrived in the South.’

  ‘What are they called?’ said Math.

  ‘Hobeu, lord.’

  ‘What sort of animals are they?’

  ‘Small animals whose flesh is better than beef. They are small, and their name varies. They are called moch now.’

  ‘Who owns them?’

  ‘Pryderi son of Pwyll—they were sent to him from Annwfn by Arawn, king of Annwfn.’* (And to this day that name survives in the term for a side of pork: half a hob.)

  ‘Well,’ said Math, ‘how can we get them from him?’

  ‘I will go with eleven men disguised as poets, lord, to ask for the swine.’

  ‘He could refuse you,’ said Math.

  ‘My plan is not a bad one, lord,’ he said. ‘I will not return without the swine.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Math, ‘then go on your way.’

  Gwydion and Gilfaethwy, together with ten men, travelled to Ceredigion, to the place now called Rhuddlan Teifi; Pryderi had a court there. They entered, disguised as poets.* They were made welcome. Gwydion was seated next to Pryderi that night.

  ‘Well,’ said Pryderi, ‘we would like to have a story from some of the young men over there.’

  ‘Our custom, lord,’ said Gwydion, ‘is that on the first night we come to a great man, the chief poet performs. I would be happy to tell a story.’

  Gwydion was the best storyteller in the world. And that night he entertained the court with amusing anecdotes and stories, until he was admired by everyone in the court, and Pryderi enjoyed conversing with him.

  When that was over, ‘Lord,’ said Gwydion, ‘can anyone deliver my request to you better than I myself?’

  ‘No indeed,’ said Pryderi. ‘Yours is a very good tongue.’

  ‘Then this is my request, lord: to ask you for the animals that were sent to you from Annwfn.’

  ‘Well,’ he replied, ‘that would be the easiest thing in the world, were there not an agreement between me and my people concerning them; namely, that I should not part with them until they had bred twice their number in the land.’

  ‘Lord,’ said Gwydion, ‘I can free you from those words. This is how: do not give me the pigs tonight, but do not refuse me either. Tomorrow I will show you something you can exchange for them.’

  That night Gwydion and his companions went to their lodging to confer.

  ‘My men,’ said Gwydion, ‘we will not get the swine just by asking for them.’

  ‘Well,’ they said, ‘what plan is there to get them?’

  ‘I will make sure we get them,’ said Gwydion. Then he drew on his skills, and began to demonstrate his magic, and he conjured up twelve stallions, and twelve hounds, each one black with a white breast, and twelve collars with twelve leashes on them, and anyone who saw them would think they were of gold; and twelve saddles on the horses, and where there should have been iron there was gold, and the bridles were of the same workmanship.

  Gwydion came to Pryderi with the steeds and the dogs.

  ‘Good day to you, lord,’ he said.

  ‘May God prosper you,’ said Pryderi, ‘and welcome.’

  ‘Lord,’ he said, ‘here is a way out for you from what you said last night concerning the swine, that you would not give them away or sell them. You can exchange them for something better. I will give you these twelve horses, fully equipped as they are with their saddles and bridles, and the twelve hounds that you see with their collars and leashes, and the twelve golden shields you can see over there.’ (He had conjured those up out of toadstools.)

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we will take advice.’ They decided to give Gwydion the swine and take from him in return the horses and hounds and shields.

  Then they took their leave and set off with the swine.

  ‘My brave men,’ said Gwydion, ‘we must move quickly. The magic will only last until tomorrow.’

  That night they travelled as far as the uplands of Ceredigion, the place which for that reason is still called Mochdref. The next day they pushed on and crossed Elenid. They spent that night between Ceri and Arwystli, in the town which is also called Mochdref because of that. From there they continued, and that night they went as far as a commot in Powys which is also for that reason called Mochnant, and they stayed there that night. From there they travelled as far as the cantref of Rhos, and they stayed there that night in the town which is still called Mochdref.*

  ‘Men,’ said Gwydion, ‘we will make for the strongest part of Gwynedd with these animals. They are mustering armies behind us.’ So they made for the highest town in Arllechwedd, and there they made a pen for the pigs, and because of that the name Creuwrion* was given to the town. Then, having made a pen for the pigs, they made their way to Math son of Mathonwy, in Caer Dathyl.

&nbs
p; When they arrived there, the country was being mustered.

  ‘What is happening here?’ said Gwydion.

  ‘Pryderi is assembling twenty-one cantrefs to come after you,’ they said. ‘It is strange how slowly you have travelled.’

  ‘Where are the animals you went after?’ said Math.

  ‘A pen has been made for them in the other cantref below,’ said Gwydion.

  Then behold, they could hear the trumpets and the mustering of people. They armed themselves at once and travelled until they came to Pennardd in Arfon.

  But that night Gwydion son of Dôn and Gilfaethwy his brother returned to Caer Dathyl. And in the bed of Math son of Mathonwy, Gilfaethwy and Goewin daughter of Pebin were put to sleep together, and her maidens were forced out violently, and she was taken against her will that night.

  At dawn the next day they travelled to where Math son of Mathonwy and his host were. As they arrived, the men were about to take counsel regarding where they would wait for Pryderi and the men of the South. So they too joined in the deliberation. They decided to wait in the strongest part of Gwynedd in Arfon. And they waited right in the middle of the two districts, Maenor Bennardd and Maenor Coed Alun.

  Pryderi attacked them there; and that is where the battle took place, and there was a great massacre on each side, and the men of the South were forced to retreat. They retreated as far as the place which is still called Nant Call, and they were pursued as far as there. And then there was immeasurable slaughter. Then they fled as far as the place called Dol Benmaen. Then they rallied and attempted to make peace, and Pryderi gave hostages to secure peace: he gave Gwrgi Gwastra and twenty-three sons of noblemen.

  After that, they travelled in peace as far as Y Traeth Mawr;* but as soon as they reached Y Felenrhyd, because the foot-soldiers could not be restrained from shooting at each other, Pryderi sent messengers requesting that both armies be called off, and that the matter be left to him and Gwydion son of Dôn, since Gwydion had caused all this. The messengers came to Math son of Mathonwy.

  ‘I agree,’ said Math, ‘between me and God; if it pleases Gwydion son of Dôn, I will allow it gladly. I will not force any one to go and fight if we can prevent it.’

  ‘God knows,’ said the messengers, ‘Pryderi says it is only fair for the man who did him this wrong to set his body against his, and let the two hosts stand aside.’

  ‘By my confession to God,’ said Gwydion, ‘I will not ask the men of Gwynedd to fight on my behalf, when I myself can fight against Pryderi. I will set my body against his gladly.’ That message was dispatched to Pryderi.

  ‘I agree,’ said Pryderi, ‘I, too, will not ask anyone to seek compensation on my behalf.’

  They set those men apart, and began to equip them with armour. And they fought. And because of strength and valour, and magic and enchantment, Gwydion triumphed and Pryderi was killed; and he was buried in Maentwrog, above Y Felenrhyd, and his grave is there.*

  The men of the South set off for their land lamenting bitterly, and no wonder; they had lost their lord, and many of their best men, and their horses, and most of their weapons. The men of Gwynedd returned home elated and rejoicing.

  ‘Lord,’ said Gwydion to Math, ‘should we not release to the men of the South their nobleman, the one they gave as hostage for peace? We should not imprison him.’

  ‘Let him be released,’ said Math. And that young man, and the hostages who were with him, were released to follow after the men of the South.

  Then Math made for Caer Dathyl. Gilfaethwy son of Dôn and the retinue who had been with him gathered together to circuit Gwynedd as had been their custom, and they did not go to the court. Math went to his chamber, and had a place prepared for him to recline so that he could put his feet in the maiden’s lap.

  ‘Lord,’ said Goewin, ‘look for another virgin to hold your feet now—I am a woman.’

  ‘How can that be?’

  ‘I was assaulted, lord, quite openly, nor did I keep quiet—everyone in the court knew about it. It was your nephews who came, lord, your sister’s sons, Gwydion son of Dôn and Gilfaethwy son of Dôn. And they forced me, and shamed you, and I was taken in your chamber and in your very bed.’*

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘what I can, I shall do. I will arrange recompense for you first, and then I will seek recompense for myself. And I will take you as my wife,’ he said, ‘and give you authority over my kingdom.’

  Meanwhile Gwydion and Gilfaethwy did not come near the court, but continued to circuit the land until a ban went out denying them food and drink. At first, they would not go near Math. Then they came.

  ‘Lord,’ they said, ‘good day to you.’*

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘have you come here to make amends?’

  ‘Lord, we are at your will.’

  ‘Had it been my will, I would not have lost all those men and weapons. You cannot compensate me for my shame, not to mention Pryderi’s death. But since you have come to do my will, I will begin to punish you.’

  Then he took his magic wand, and struck Gilfaethwy so that he changed into a good-sized hind, and he caught Gwydion quickly—he could not escape although he wanted to—and struck him with the same magic wand so that he changed into a stag.

  ‘Since you are in league with each other, I will make you live together and mate with each other, and take on the nature of the wild animals whose shape you are in; and when they have offspring, so shall you. And a year from today return here to me.’

  At the end of the year to the very day, behold, he heard a commotion under the chamber wall, and the dogs of the court barking at the commotion.

  ‘Have a look what is outside,’ he said,

  ‘Lord,’ said one, ‘I have looked. There is a stag and a hind, and a fawn with them.’

  Then Math, too, got up and went outside. And when he came he could see the three animals, namely a stag, a hind, and a sturdy fawn. He raised his magic wand.

  ‘The one that has been a hind for the past year shall be a wild boar this year. And the one that has been a stag for the past year shall be a wild sow this year.’ Then he strikes them with the magic wand.

  ‘The boy, however, I will take, and have him fostered and baptized.’ He was called Hyddwn.

  ‘Now go, and let the one be a wild boar and the other a wild sow. And let the nature that is in wild swine be yours too. And a year from today be here under the wall with your offspring.’

  At the end of the year, behold, they heard dogs barking under the chamber wall and the court gathering around them. Then Math, too, got up and went outside. When he came outside, he could see three animals, namely a wild boar, a wild sow, and a good-sized young one with them. And it was big for its age.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I will take this one, and have him baptized.’ He struck him with the magic wand so that he changed into a large, handsome, auburn-haired lad. That one was called Hychddwn.

  ‘As for you, the one that has been a wild boar for the past year shall be a she-wolf this year, and the one that has been a wild sow for the past year shall be a wolf this year.’ Then he strikes them with the magic wand so that they become a wolf and she-wolf.

  ‘And take on the nature of the animals whose shape you are in. And be here a year from this very day, under this wall.’

  That same day, at the end of the year, behold, he could hear a disturbance and barking under the chamber wall. He got up to go outside, and when he came he could see a wolf and a she-wolf and a strong wolf cub with them.

  ‘I will take this one,’ he said, ‘and have him baptized, and his name is ready, Bleiddwn. The three boys are yours and those three are:

  The three sons of wicked Gilfaethwy,

  Three true champions,

  Bleiddwn, Hyddwn, Hychddwn Hir.’*

  Then he strikes them both with the magic wand so that they are in their own form.

  ‘Men,’ he said, ‘if you did me wrong, you have been punished enough, and you have been greatly shamed that each of you has offspr
ing by the other. Prepare a bath for the men and wash their heads and have them properly dressed.’ That was done for them.

  After they had got themselves ready, they came to Math.

  ‘Men,’ he said, ‘you have had peace and you shall have friendship.* Now give me advice as to which virgin I should seek.’

  ‘Lord,’ said Gwydion son of Dôn, ‘it is easy to advise you— Aranrhod daughter of Dôn,* your niece, your sister’s daughter.’ She was brought to Math. The maiden entered.

  ‘Maiden,’ he said, ‘are you a virgin?’

  ‘That is my belief.’* Then he took his magic wand and bent it.

  ‘Step over this,’ he said, ‘and if you are a virgin I shall know.’*

  Then she stepped over the magic wand, and as she stepped she dropped a large, sturdy, yellow-haired boy. The boy gave a loud cry. After the boy’s cry she made for the door, but as she went she dropped a small something. Before anyone could get a second glimpse of it, Gwydion took it and wrapped a sheet of brocaded silk around it and hid it. He hid it in a small chest at the foot of his bed.

  ‘Well,’ said Math son of Mathonwy, of the sturdy, yellow-haired boy, ‘I will have this one baptized. I will call him Dylan.’

  The boy was baptized. As soon as he was baptized he made for the sea. And there and then, as soon as he came to the sea, he took on the sea’s nature and swam as well as the best fish in the sea. Because of that he was called Dylan Eil Ton—no wave ever broke beneath him. The blow which killed him was struck by Gofannon, his uncle. And that was one of the Three Unfortunate Blows.*

  One day, as Gwydion was in his bed, and waking up, he heard a cry from the chest at his feet. Although it was not loud, it was loud enough for him to hear it. He got up quickly and opened the chest.As he opened it, he could see a small boy waving his arms free of the folds of the sheet and throwing it aside. He took the boy in his arms and carried him to the town, where he knew of a woman who was nursing. And he struck a bargain with the woman to suckle the boy. The boy was reared that year. At the end of the year they would have been surprised at his sturdiness had he been two years old. And by the second year he was a large boy, and was able to go to court on his own. Gwydion himself took notice of him when he came to court. And the boy grew used to Gwydion and loved him more than anyone. Then the boy was reared at the court until he was four years old; and it would have been surprising for an eight-year-old boy to be as sturdy as that.