The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends (70 page)

The chieftain was so taken aback that he reached into his purse and took out a silver coin. “Here is my hand, my man, but you cannot live on that, so here is a coin to go with
it.”

They continued on through the market with N’oun Doaré apparently delighted with the purchase.

“I said that I would also buy you a horse,” Bras reminded him. “There is the market for the horses at the far end of the square.”

Indeed, there were many fine horses gathered there for sale. There were the cream of the horses from the five kingdoms, not only from Léon but from the kingdom of the Veneti (Vannes),
from Poher, from Kernev (Cornouaille), from Domnonée.

Again, N’oun Doaré did not appear to find one that took his fancy. Bras showed him many fine horses, good
warhorses which he knew the King of Léon would
pay a fine price for, but the young man would have none of them.

So Bras and N’oun Doaré left the horse fair with Bras airing his disgust at how finicky his adopted son was turning out to be.

It was as they were taking the road back to Coat-Squiriou that they encountered a man leading a horse. He was a tall man, clad in a long black robe and cowl which covered him from head to foot.
He was leading a very sorry-looking animal. The horse was thin and the bones stood out as if it were the Mare of Doom.

To Bras’ surprise, the young man stopped and began to examine the steed. Then he turned. “That is the horse for me!” he exclaimed.

Bras nearly choked himself with indignation. “Are you insulting me?” he demanded. “You have turned down the finest horses in all Armorica and you now ask me to buy this horse,
which seems in the last days of its life.”

N’oun Doaré shook his head. “No my father. This is no insult to you, and one day I shall prove it. Please buy it for me. I will have no other than this gentle
beast.”

He could not explain to his father that he felt a curious compulsion to be the owner of this ancient horse.

Bras stared at his adopted son and saw the determination in the young man’s eyes and sighed. Bras turned to the man who was leading the horse and then frowned. “Do you also sell
scrap metal?” he demanded suspiciously.

The man kept his head lowered, but a low laugh came from his cowl. “No, sir. I sell no scrap.”

Bras sniffed in disapproval. “How much do you want for this animal? Whatever it is, it will be too much.”

“Too much, sir? Why, all I ask is your hand in token of the goodwill of a generous chieftain.”

Bras was so surprised that he handed the man a silver coin as well. “You cannot live on a handshake,” he said, “so this will provide you with a meal.”

As he turned away, the man with the cowl caught hold of N’oun Doaré’s sleeve and whispered: “See the knots on the mare’s halter, young sir?”

N’oun Doaré nodded. “I do,” he replied.

“Each time you untie one of those knots, the mare will transport you wherever you wish to go. It is a magic steed.”

Now N’oun Doaré felt he could not impart that news to Bras, who was now heading along the road to his castle, muttering under his breath about the bad day at the market. N’oun
Doaré returned to the castle of Bras with a smile and full of excitement.

On arriving back at the fortress of Bras, N’oun Doaré took the mare into the stable and rubbed her down and fed her. Then he took his sword into the smithy and, with the
smith’s permission, set to work polishing and sharpening his sword. But as hard as he tried to get the rust off by polishing hard, the more the rust clung to its iron blade. By the end of
several hours, it was no cleaner than before. Yet N’oun Doaré still felt his desire to keep the weapon.

That evening, N’oun Doaré decided to try out his new horse, saddled the mare and rode off. The horse, in spite of its thinness and ancient look, was nimble and he enjoyed a swift
canter along the lanes surrounding the fortress. As chance would have it, he came along the very road where he had been found as a child. Because of his enjoyment of his ride, he had forgotten the
time and the hour had grown late. The moon had already risen in a cloudless sky. The pale white rays were glinting on something at the foot of an old standing stone. Had he known it, it was near
the very spot where Bras and his servant had found him.

The young man dismounted and approached the stone. At the foot of the stone, the object that was causing the winking reflection was a small golden crown, which was studded with precious stones.
He realized, to his surprise, that it was not just the moonlight which caused it to give out a radiance, but the very precious stones themselves shone and gave out such a light that he could see by
it.

“Finders keepers,” N’oun Doaré muttered, bending down to pick up the crown. He was certainly not going to leave the crown just lying there.

“Have a care, or you will regret it,” came a soft feminine voice.

He wheeled round. He could see no one else in the moonlight, apart from his mare. He examined the bushes and behind the standing stone, but to no avail. With a sigh of
bewilderment, he stood for a moment, wondering if he had imagined it. Having decided that he had, he bent down and picked up the golden crown. He saw that there was some writing on the golden band
of the crown, but it was in a language which he could not read. He tried vainly to make a sense of the jumbled words.

“Have a care, or you will regret it,” came the soft feminine voice again.

Once again, he tried to find the owner of the voice and once more he saw no one near the standing stone.

This time he hid the gold crown beneath his cloak. “The decision is now yours,” came the whispering voice, for the third time. “Tomorrow you must proceed to Vannes.”

Having searched thoroughly again and found no one, N’oun Doaré sat and thought a while. Now Vannes was far to the south-east from Coat-Squiriou and was a journey of many days. But
he suddenly remembered what the vendor of the mare had told him.

The following morning, he told Bras and Anvab that he was going away for a few days. They questioned him about this sudden decision but he said that he would not be gone long.

He put on his best clothes, strapped on his sword and saddled his mare.

As soon as he was out of sight of the fortress, he bent forward and undid one of the knots on the halter. Nothing happened. He frowned. The mare stood waiting patiently. Then an idea occurred to
him. He leant forward and whispered: “Vannes.”

There was a sudden gust of wind and he blinked. He opened his eyes a moment later and found himself in the centre of a city. He did not have to be told that he was in the square of the city of
Vannes.

He rode to the great palace which dominated the town, where the King of the Veneti dwelt, and peered up at its magnificent walls and the silken banners which fluttered from its turrets.

“Hey! you there!”

A harsh voice hailed him and he turned to see a couple of warriors staring at him. With them was a handsome man, some years older than he was. This man was well dressed and carried a splendid
sword.

“Do you address me, sir?” asked N’oun Doaré, courteously enough.

“Yes. Why are you staring up at my palace walls? Are you planning to rob me?”

N’oun Doaré’s eyes widened. “Your palace? Are you the king?”

“I am Gwion, king of the Veneti,” acknowledged the handsome man.

N’oun Doaré introduced himself.

Gwion smiled and came forward with open arms, for he knew Bras and Anvab and he had heard of their adopted son. He offered the hospitality of his great castle to N’oun Doaré and
feasted him. After the feast, the king offered him the use of a guest chamber for the night. But then he told him not to light any candles there during the night, for he had forbidden any lights at
all to be seen in Vannes during the night, for it was rumoured that fierce Saxon pirates were roaming the coast, looking for places to raid.

Now the fact was that, in the dark, the jewels of the crown that N’oun Doaré had with him shone with such intensity that whatever the young man did, he could not disguise the
light.

King Gwion’s servants saw the light and raised an alarm. N’oun Doaré was seized and dragged before Gwion, who demanded to know whether he was a spy for the Saxons. He had been
told not to show a light and he had been found doing so. Was he signalling the Saxon pirates?

The young man had to admit that he possessed a crown which shone with a bright light.

Now, when the king was given the crown it certainly sparkled but the light which had caused the trouble was extinguished. Gwion was suspicious. However, when he handed the crown to N’oun
Doaré, it started to shine with a radiance which caused him to blink. Gwion now accused
the young man of sorcery. But it was soon discovered that the crown shone in the
hands of everyone except the king of Vannes.

So Gwion now called all the learned men and alchemists in his land to come and tell him the meaning of this strange phenomenon and also to decipher the words on the crown.

Meanwhile, in case there might be some trick in it, N’oun Doaré was kept in a dungeon in the palace.

No one could make head nor tail of the radiant crown nor of its writing.

N’oun Doaré was finally sent for.

Once more, he confessed he did not know. Gwion grew impatient and told his servants to take him to the stables and make him clean them out.

“You’ll work at every menial job in the palace until you tell me the meaning of the crown,” snapped the king.

Alone in the stables, N’oun Doaré sat on an upturned bucket in despair.

“I’ll tell you the meaning of the words,” a husky female voice whispered.

N’oun Doaré turned round sharply, but he was alone in the stable except for the horses, including his old mare. Puzzled the young man searched out every stall. Then, feeling like an
idiot he called, “Tell me the meaning of the crown.”

At once came the husky reply. “The crown belongs to Aour, the beautiful Princess of the Golden-Ram who dwells on the southern islands.”

“I don’t know who you are, but thanks. You may have saved my life.” N’oun Doaré was a courteous young man. With this he called for the guards and demanded to see
King Gwion.

However, when he explained the meaning to King Gwion, the king of Vannes told him: “This is a sign. You must go and bring me the Princess of the Golden-Ram, for if she is as beautiful as
her crown, she must become my wife. If you fail in this, I shall have your life in forfeit. Do not try to hide, if you fail in this task. If you do, I shall march an army into Léon and
devastate the lands of Coat-Squiriou and the lives of your adopted parents shall be forfeit instead.”

Aghast, N’oun Doaré packed his clothes, took his sword and went down to the stable. Gwion had given him oats for his horse and some money to help pay for his
journey. But the price of failure was a grim one. He was fearful, for he did not know where the southern islands were, nor who the Princess of the Golden-Ram was. He had merely repeated what the
mysterious voice had said.

He went to saddle his old mare and the anxiety was engraved in his features.

“Do not worry,” came the husky tones again. “If you do everything exactly as I tell you, then all will be well. Trust me. Didn’t I warn you that if you picked up that
crown at the pillar stone, you would regret it? You had free choice then. Now, from the moment you picked it up, you have to follow your destiny.”

Peering round anxiously, N’oun Doaré said: “I will obey you. But who are you? I do not see you.”

“Who I am is irrelevant.”

Then it was that N’oun Doaré realized that it was the old mare who was speaking in a human voice, and he grew afraid.

The horse stamped a foreleg. “Do not be silly! If you want to travel through life, you will see more frightening things than an old mare being able to imitate human speech.”

N’oun Doaré felt rather ashamed at his fear, and realized that the old mare had helped him so far. She had done him no harm.

The mare instructed him to mount up and they set out from the city of Vannes riding along the seashore.

They had not gone far when N’oun Doaré suddenly saw a fish on the sand, flapping about. It had obviously been stranded by a sudden ebbing tide and now lay dying above the water
line. It was a sea trout.

“Quickly!” whispered the mare. “Dismount and put the fish back into the water.”

N’oun Doaré was about to protest but thought better of it. He slid off the mare and picked up the fish carefully and placed it back into the water.

A moment later, the fish’s head appeared and a
high-pitched voice said: “You have saved my life, N’oun Doaré. I am the King of the Fish and if you
ever need my help, you have only to call me by the seaside and I will come at once.”

Then it dived back into the water and disappeared.

Amazed by the experience, N’oun Doaré remounted his mare and continued on.

Not long afterwards, he heard a frantic flapping of wings and saw a wooden crate which had been used as a snare, for in it was a large bird. It was a giant kestrel.

“Release that bird at once!” instructed the mare.

This time N’oun Doaré obeyed the horse immediately.

Released, the bird hopped forward and flapped its wings and then put its head to one side and spoke clearly: “You have saved me, N’oun Doaré. For that I thank you. I am the
King of the Birds. If ever I or mine can return you this favour, then you have only to call into the air and I will come at once.”

They reached the end of the seashore and the mare instructed him to untie another of the knots in her mane and wish that he were outside the Castle of the Golden-Ram.

There was a breath of wind and it seemed that seas, mountains, rivers and islands flashed away beneath them, but then they were in a forest clearing before a towering castle built of dark
granite blocks and looking gloomy and forbidding. Outside the sinister gates there stood a great oak tree, from which there was a horrendous clamour emanating.

A man was chained to the tree, crying and struggling and causing the horrible noise.

When N’oun Doaré looked closely at the man, he grew very frightened. The man had a serpent-like body, speckled like the body of a snake. There were two horns standing out on his
head and his red tongue was long and lashed from his mouth like the tongue of a serpent.