The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends (47 page)

The next morning Goronwy Pebr, lord of Penllyn, declared himself ruler of all the lands once held by Lleu Llaw Gyffes.

Now Lleu’s father, Gwydyon, heard the story from some of Lleu’s former servants, and he told the story to Math. But without proof that Lleu had died, they could not move in
punishment against Goronwy Pebr. So Gwydyon asked Math if he could leave the palace and go in search of his son. For a year and a day, he searched the five kingdoms of Cymru.

One evening, Gwydyon was staying with a farmer when the farmer’s swineherd came in and told his master that his boar was behaving oddly. Every evening, the boar went into the pigsty and
disappeared. In the morning, the boar would
be there in the pigsty. The swineherd thought it strange behaviour.

Gwydyon pricked up his ears and asked the farmer if he could deal with the matter, as he felt there was some magic in this. That evening, he followed the boar from the pigsty. The boar, however,
raced away and it took all Gwydyon’s power to keep up with it. It halted under a tree. And the name of the place was called Nantlleu, which is “Lleu’s brook”.

On the tree perched an eagle. Gwydyon recognised it at once. It was Lleu. Gwydyon enticed it from the tree. The boar turned out to be the fabulous Twrch Trwyth, the King of Boars, the protector
of the Ever-Living Ones. It had been looking after the dying Lleu and led Gwydyon to his hiding place. Gwydyon changed the eagle back into human form.

Lleu lay near death, his cheeks blue and sunken. He was babbling about Blodeuwedd, but nothing made any sense.

Gwydyon took him in his arms, like a baby, and carried him to the palace of Caer Dathyl, where Math fab Mathonwy and Gwydyon joined their supernatural forces. There Math conjured all the
Otherworld knowledge he could summon and after a long struggle – a struggle which took a year and a day – Lleu finally stood strong in health and as vigorous as ever he had been.

Now there was no other way forward but to take revenge on his faithless wife and her lover. But Goronwy Pebr had gathered large armies to protect his domains, and so Lleu led the mighty hosts of
Gwynedd against them. Goronwy Pebr and his armies retreated and they became separated from Blodeuwedd and her women, who ran screaming before Lleu. They knew the mighty lord would show little
mercy.

Indeed, Lleu had no mercy at all for his former wife. He and his men rode at the running lines of women. In their fear, they kept glancing behind at their pursuers and not looking ahead, and so
they streamed into the River Cynfael and were drowned – all except Blodeuwedd!

She was rescued and brought trembling before Lleu.

“I will not kill you,” Lleu told her. “That is too easy a punishment. For your betrayal, you will become a bird. Not just any bird, but a bird that will only emerge at night,
for
daylight is too bright a time for the likes of you. And all other birds will scorn you and avoid you.”

So saying, Lleu turned his former wife Blodeuwedd into an owl.

Goronwy Pebr had fled with his army into his own territory of Penllyn. He sent messengers to Lleu, asking him for forgiveness and whether Lleu would accept compensation. Lleu replied that he
would, but added that there was only one compensation he would accept. Goronwy Pebr must return to the spot on the river bank where he had cast his murderous spear at Lleu. There he must stand and
allow Lleu to cast his spear back at Goronwy Pebr. If he refused, Penllyn would be annihilated.

Goronwy Pebr hesitated at these terms, but his people, tired of bloodshed and knowing that they would suffer much if Lleu invaded Penllyn, demanded that Goronwy Pebr face Lleu. So the lord of
Penllyn went to the river bank. At first he was boastful, but when he stood before Lleu, his little courage began to leave him. He pleaded with his men to come and face Lleu with him. They all
refused. Then he fell on his knees and pleaded with Lleu. They had both been victims of a faithless woman, he cried.

Lleu stood stony-faced, ready to cast his spear.

“One last request!” Goronwy Pebr cried. “You must grant me one request.”

“You may be granted one last request,” agreed Lleu.

“No matter what it is?” pressed Goronwy Pebr eagerly.

Lleu smiled sceptically. “Only within reason.”

“It concerns only where I am to stand on this river-bank when you cast your spear.”

“That is reasonable enough,” agreed Lleu. “You can choose where you want to stand. Take your choice.”

“There.” Goronwy Pebr pointed to a large rock. “I want to stand behind that rock when you cast your spear.”

Now Lleu’s followers cried out that this was a blatant trick to escape his punishment. However, Lleu smiled calmly and said his word had been given.

Goronwy Pebr went and stood confidently behind the rock.

Lleu cast his spear and the cast knocked a round hole through the rock and transfixed Goronwy Pebr to the ground behind it. To this day some will take you to
Lech Goronwy
Pebr
– the Stone of Goronwy Pebr – and show you the round hole caused by Lleu’s great spear.

Then Lleu took back his lands and thanked his father Gwydyon and his uncle, Math fab Mathonwy. He became renowned among the Ever-Living Ones, looked to as the great patron of all arts and
crafts.

As for Blodeuwedd, people say that they have heard her plaintive cry at night in the dark forests where she still dwells, never to show herself in daylight and the eternal enemy of all the other
birds.

22 Llyn-y-Fan-Fach

I
n the ancient kingdom of Dyfed, in the north west of that kingdom, on the Black Mountain, there is a small, dark lake called Llyn-y-Fan-Fach, or
the Lake of the Little Peak. Not more than two miles from that remote lake, near Blaensawdde, the source of the river Sawdde, three-quarters of a mile from the village of Llanddeusant, there lived
the widow of a farmer.

Now this farmer, while alive, had no love for the toil of farm work and he had maintained himself as a warrior, drawn to combat and wars. As often occurs when people follow warfare, he was
killed. And of his four sons, three of them were killed at his side. The fourth son had been too young to bear arms.

The widow, therefore, hearing the news of her husband’s death in philosophical manner, declared: “War shall not destroy my fourth son.” She taught him only the arts which a
farmer should know and nothing else.

She worked hard and her son helped her and the farm prospered. Soon she had a sizeable cattle herd. It increased so well that she came to realize that her land was being over-grazed. The cattle
needed more grass than she could provide. So she would send a portion of her cattle herd to graze upon the verdant slopes of the Black Mountain and a favourite place was near the small dark lake of
Llyn-y-Fan-Fach.

Now this widow’s son was growing to manhood and was a handsome, strapping young man who took his full share in
tending the cattle. He would herd them when they went to
the Black Mountain.

One day, while attending the cattle, he was sitting by the lakeside, breathing in the warmth of the evening air, when he fell to drowsing. Then in a half-waking, half-dreaming state, he heard a
sweet female voice singing:

He sat up and looked in the direction of the sound and saw, to his surprise, seated on a rock by the lakeside, was a most beautiful young girl. Her golden hair flowed
gracefully in ringlets over her fair shoulders, the tresses of which were held in place by a comb. Her skin was whiter than the foam of the sea waves, whiter than snow on a winter’s morning.
She caught sight of him and gazed at him from sea-green eyes. There was a smile on her lips, lips as red as foxgloves, and he felt his heart leaping within him; his eyes were riveted on her beauty
and he felt helpless, bewildered by the feelings which this wondrous creature stirred in him. His eyes took in all the details of the young maiden, from her resplendent jewels, to her sea-green
dress, even to her dainty slippers with their gold thread laces.

All he could think of by way of conversation was to offer her the barley bread and cheese which his mother had given him for his day’s meal when he left home.

The young girl laughed.

“
Cras dy fara;
Nid hawdd fy nala
!” she chuckled. “Hard-baked is your bread. It is not so easy to catch me!”

Then she turned and dived under the water and disappeared. All day did the love-stricken youth sit by the lake, hoping that she would re-emerge but she did not. Disappointed, the youth returned
home. Try as he would, he
could not shake her image from his mind. Never, among all the fair maidens of Llanddeusant and Myddfai, had he ever seen such beauty. And beauty there
was abounding among the maidens of Myddfai. Didn’t the ancient poets sing of that beauty?

That means:

For a long time the youth mooned about the farm, hardly concentrating on his work, until his mother finally demanded that he tell her what was wrong. When he explained, she
advised him to go back to the lake and take with him some unbaked dough, as she reasoned that there must be some enchantment connected with the
bara cras
or hard-baked bread which caused the
strange maiden to refuse it and dive into the lake.

“My bread was hard,” she confessed, “but I was not expecting a goddess from the Otherworld to break her white tooth on it.”

The very next morning, as the sun came up over the Fans, the peaks of the Black Mountain, the young man was at the lakeside with his mother’s cattle. But his mind was not on the cattle.
His eyes searched the still waters of the lake, seeking the young maiden. Yet in vain did he search for her. The breeze sent ripples over the lake, and the clouds eventually
came down and hung low over the summit of the Black Mountain, adding a gloom to his tormented mind.

The hours passed and there was still no sign of her. Evening approached. The wind hushed and the clouds still hung heavy over the mountains. The youth suddenly realised that he had let his
mother’s cattle wander and he saw them on a precipitous rock on the far side of the lake, where they were in danger of losing their footing and falling to their death.

He sprang from his seat, impelled to race to their rescue, when, abruptly, the beautiful maiden was seated on the lake shore before him. Once again he found himself tongue-tied and went forward,
only just remembering his mother’s instructions, and held out his hand with the unbaked bread in it.

When she smiled at him, he suddenly found his voice and offered his heart and vows of eternal love.

The maiden suddenly chuckled. “
Llaith dy fara; ti nu fynna
!” she cried. “Unbaked is your bread. I will not have you.”

Then she turned and dived back under the waters of the lake.

Distraught, the youth left the cattle to their fate and went home, scarcely looking where he was going.

His mother, by gentle questioning, learnt of his second rejection. Now she was still sure that there was some enchantment in the manner of the bread. She suggested that he go to the lake on the
very next morning and this time take with him bread that was but slightly baked. If hard bread and unbaked bread caused this mysterious being to reject her son, then surely a middle way was
intended?

Next morning, the youth left his mother’s farm and arrived at the lakeside. He was feverish with desire. He did not even heed that the cattle, still straying among the precipitous rocky
slopes of the Black Mountain, were occasionally loosening the stones and rocks, and some were falling into the lake.

He waited, his eyes searching the lake, as the freshness of the morning gave way to the sultry heat of the noon sunshine, and then the warmth of the afternoon faded into the shadows of early
evening. Soon it would be dark.

Sadly, the young man rose and cast a final look across the dark waters.

Then he beheld a wondrous sight.

The cattle which had drowned, falling from their precipitous perches into the lake, suddenly appeared well and healthy on the waters of the lake and swam to shore. Every last one of those which
he had lost by his inattentive attitude towards his charges, by his concentration on attempting to fulfil his desire, was saved.

Then he saw that they were herded from the lake by the beautiful maiden.

His heart leapt again and he offered her the partially baked bread. “Maiden, unless you love me, it is no better for me to live than to die.”

The maiden smiled softly at him. “A pity for me to cause the death of a handsome youth such as you.”

This time she took the bread and accepted his hand and sat by him awhile. When he offered her marriage, she did not say “no”. But this she said: “True-baked is your bread;
indeed, I’ll be wed.”

He pressed her to name the day and she replied: “You have been negligent in looking after your cattle, which I saved from drowning for you. So now I will make a condition for our marriage.
I will only come and be your bride so long as you are not negligent to me. If you strike me three blows without cause, I shall return to the lake and leave you forever.”

The youth, brimming with ardour, agreed to the conditions. Indeed, he would have consented to any condition, in order to secure the lovely maiden as his wife.