The Mabinogion (Oxford World's Classics) Read online

  ‘Your business is welcome,’ he said. ‘And if your request is reasonable, then gladly you shall have it.’

  ‘Reasonable, lord,’ he said. ‘I ask only to ward off hunger. This is my request, to fill this little bag that you see with food.’

  ‘That’s a modest request,’ he said, ‘and you shall have it gladly. Bring him food,’ he said. A great number of servants got up and began to fill the bag. But no matter what was thrown into it, it was no fuller than before.

  ‘Friend,’ said Gwawl, ‘will your bag ever be full?’

  ‘Never, between me and God,’ he said, ‘no matter what is put in it, unless a nobleman endowed with land and territory and power gets up and treads down the food in the bag with both feet and says, “Enough has been put in here”.’

  ‘My hero!’ said Rhiannon to Gwawl son of Clud. ‘Get up quickly.’

  ‘I will, gladly,’ he said.

  He gets up and puts both feet in the bag, and Pwyll turns the bag so that Gwawl is head over heels in it, and quickly he closes the bag and ties a knot in the strings and sounds his horn. And immediately the retinue descends on the court, and then they seize the entire company that had come with Gwawl and tie each man up separately. And Pwyll throws off the rags and the rag boots and the untidy clothes.

  As each one of Pwyll’s men entered, he struck the bag a blow and asked, ‘What’s in here?’

  ‘A badger,’ the others said.

  This is how they played: each one would strike the bag a blow either with his foot or with a stick; and that is how they played with the bag. Each one as he entered would ask, ‘So what game are you playing?’ ‘Badger in the Bag’, the others would say. And that was the first time that Badger in the Bag* was played.

  ‘Lord,’ said the man from the bag, ‘if you would only listen to me, killing me in a bag is no fitting death for me.’

  ‘Lord,’ said Hyfaidd Hen, ‘what he says is true. You should listen to him; that is not the death for him.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Pwyll; ‘I shall follow your advice on the matter.’

  ‘This is what I advise,’ said Rhiannon. ‘You are in a position where it is expected of you to satisfy suppliants and musicians. Let Gwawl give to everyone on your behalf,’ she said, ‘and let him promise that no claim or vengeance shall be sought; that is punishment enough for him.’

  ‘He accepts that gladly,’ said the man from the bag.

  ‘And I, too, accept it gladly,’ said Pwyll, ‘on the advice of Hyfaidd and Rhiannon.’

  ‘That is our advice,’ they said.

  ‘Then I accept it,’ said Pwyll. ‘Find guarantors for yourself.’

  ‘We will answer for him,’ said Hyfaidd, ‘until his men are free to stand bail for him.’

  Then Gwawl was released from the bag, and his chief followers set free.

  ‘Now ask Gwawl for guarantors,’ said Hyfaidd. ‘We know who should be taken from him.’

  Hyfaidd listed the guarantors.

  ‘Draw up your own conditions,’ said Gwawl.

  ‘I am satisfied with what Rhiannon has drawn up,’ said Pwyll.

  The guarantors stood bail on those conditions.

  ‘Lord,’ said Gwawl, ‘I am injured and have received many wounds, and I need to bathe, and with your permission I will depart. And I will leave noblemen here on my behalf to answer all those who may make requests of you.’

  ‘Gladly,’ said Pwyll; ‘do as you propose.’ Gwawl set off for his realm.

  Then the hall was prepared for Pwyll and his company, and for the men of the court as well. They went to sit down at the tables, and just as they had sat the year before, each one sat that night. They ate and caroused, and time came to go to sleep. Pwyll and Rhiannon went to the chamber, and spent that night in pleasure and contentment.

  Early the next day, ‘Lord,’ said Rhiannon, ‘get up and begin satisfying the musicians, and do not refuse anyone who requests a gift today.’

  ‘I will do that gladly,’ said Pwyll, ‘today and every day while this feast lasts.’

  Pwyll got up, and called for silence, asking all the suppliants and musicians to present themselves, and telling them that each one would be satisfied according to his wish and whim; and that was done. They consumed the feast, and no one was refused while it lasted. When the feast came to an end,

  ‘Lord,’ said Pwyll to Hyfaidd, ‘with your permission, I will set out for Dyfed tomorrow.’

  ‘Well and good,’ said Hyfaidd, ‘may God ease your path; arrange a time and date for Rhiannon to follow you.’

  ‘Between me and God,’ said Pwyll, ‘we will leave here together.’

  ‘Is that your wish, lord?’ said Hyfaidd.

  ‘It is, between me and God,’ said Pwyll.

  The next day they travelled to Dyfed, and made for the court at Arberth where a feast had been prepared for them. The best men and women in the land and the realm assembled before them. Neither a man nor woman among them left Rhiannon without being given a notable gift, either a brooch or a ring or a precious stone. They ruled the land successfully that year, and the next. But in the third year the noblemen of the land began to worry at seeing a man whom they loved as much as their lord and foster-brother* without an heir, and they summoned him to them. The place where they met was Preseli in Dyfed.

  ‘Lord,’ they said, ‘we know that you are not as old as some of the men of this land, but we are afraid that you will not get an heir from the wife that you have. And because of that, take another wife from whom you may have an heir. You will not live for ever,’ they said, ‘and although you may want to stay as you are, we will not allow it.’

  ‘Well,’ said Pwyll, ‘we have not been together for long yet, and much may happen. Delay the matter until the end of the year. A year from now we will arrange to meet, and I will abide by your decision.’

  The meeting was arranged. Before the whole period had elapsed a son was born to him, and he was born in Arberth. On the night of his birth women were brought to keep watch over the boy and his mother, but the women fell asleep and so, too, did the boy’s mother, Rhiannon. Six women had been brought to the chamber. They kept watch for part of the night; however, before midnight each one fell asleep, and woke up towards cock-crow. When they woke up, they looked to where they had put the boy, but there was no sign of him there.

  ‘Oh,’ said one of the women, ‘the boy has disappeared.’

  ‘Truly,’ said another, ‘burning us alive or putting us to death would be too small a punishment for this.’

  ‘Is there anything in the world we can do?’ said one of the women.

  ‘Yes, there is,’ said another; ‘I have a good plan,’ she said.

  ‘What is that?’ they said.

  ‘There is a stag-hound bitch here,’ she said, ‘and she has pups. Let us kill some of the pups, and smear Rhiannon’s face and hands with the blood, and throw the bones beside her, and swear that she herself destroyed her son.* And the word of the six of us will prove stronger than hers.’ They agreed on that.

  Towards daybreak Rhiannon woke up and said, ‘My women,’ she said, ‘where is the boy?’

  ‘Lady,’ they said, ‘do not ask us for the boy. We are nothing but bruises and blows from struggling with you; and we are certain that we have never seen a woman fight like you did, and it was useless for us to struggle with you. You yourself have destroyed your son, and do not ask us for him.’

  ‘You poor creatures,’ said Rhiannon, ‘for the sake of the Lord God who knows everything, do not tell lies about me. God, who knows everything, knows that to be a lie. And if you are afraid, by my confession to God, I will protect you.’

  ‘God knows,’ they said, ‘we will not let ourselves come to any harm for anyone in the world.’

  ‘You poor creatures,’ she replied, ‘you shall come to no harm if you tell the truth.’ Whatever she said, out of fairness or pity, she received only the same answer from the women.

  Then Pwyll Pen Annwfn got up, and his company and
retinue, and the incident could not be concealed. The news spread throughout the land, and all the noblemen heard it. And they gathered together to make representations to Pwyll, to ask him to divorce his wife for having committed such a terrible outrage. But Pwyll gave this answer: ‘They have no reason to ask me to divorce my wife, unless she has no children. I know that she has a child, and I will not divorce her. If she has done wrong, let her be punished for it.’

  Rhiannon summoned wise and learned men. And when she thought it better to accept her punishment than argue with the women, she accepted her punishment. This is what it was: to stay at that court in Arberth for seven years. And there was a mounting-block* outside the gate—to sit by that every day, and tell the whole story to anyone whom she thought might not know it, and offer to carry guests and strangers on her back to the court if they permitted it. But rarely would anyone allow himself to be carried. And so she spent part of the year.

  At that time Teyrnon Twrf Liant was lord over Gwent Is Coed,* and he was the best man in the world. In his house he had a mare, and throughout his kingdom no stallion or mare was more handsome. And every May eve* she would give birth, but no one knew at all what became of her foal. One evening Teyrnon spoke with his wife.

  ‘My wife,’ he said, ‘we are careless, losing our mare’s offspring every year without keeping one of them.’

  ‘What can we do about it?’ she said.

  ‘God’s vengeance upon me’, he said, ‘if I do not find out what fate befalls the foals—tonight is May eve.’

  He had the mare brought indoors, and he armed himself, and began the night’s vigil. As it begins to get dark the mare gives birth to a big, perfect foal which stands up on its feet immediately. Teyrnon gets up to examine the sturdiness of the foal. As he is doing this he hears a loud noise, and after the noise an enormous claw* comes through the window, and grabs the foal by its mane. Teyrnon draws his sword and cuts off the arm at the elbow so that that part of the arm, and the foal with it, are inside. Then he hears a noise and a scream at the same time. He opens the door and rushes off after the noise. He cannot see the cause of the noise because the night is so dark; but he rushes after it, and follows it. Then he remembers that he has left the door open, and he returns. And by the door there is a small boy in swaddling-clothes with a mantle of brocaded silk wrapped around him. He picks up the boy and sees that he is strong for his age.

  Teyrnon fastened the door and made for the room where his wife was.

  ‘My lady,’ he said, ‘are you asleep?’

  ‘No, my lord,’ she said. ‘I was asleep, but when you came in I woke up.’

  ‘Here is a son for you, if you want,’ he said; ‘something you have never had.’

  ‘Lord,’ she said, ‘what happened?’

  ‘I will tell you everything,’ said Teyrnon, and he told her the whole story.

  ‘Well, lord,’ she said, ‘how is the boy dressed?’

  ‘In a mantle of brocaded silk,’ he said.

  ‘Then he is the son of noble people,’ she said. ‘Lord,’ she said, ‘it would be a pleasure and delight to me—should you agree—to take women into my confidence and say that I have been pregnant.’*

  ‘I will agree with you gladly on the matter,’ he said. This was done. They had the boy baptized in the way it was done at that time. This was the name that they gave him, Gwri Wallt Euryn:* all the hair on his head was as yellow as gold.

  The boy was brought up at the court until he was a year old. And before he was a year old he was walking strongly, and was sturdier than a well-developed and well-grown three-year-old boy. The boy was reared a second year, and he was as sturdy as a six-year-old.* And before the end of the fourth year he was bargaining with the stableboys to be allowed to water the horses.

  ‘Lord,’ said his wife to Teyrnon, ‘where is the foal you saved the night you found the boy?’

  ‘I ordered it to be given to the stableboys,’ he said, ‘and told them to look after it.’

  ‘Would it not be good, lord, for you to have it broken in, and given to the boy?’ she said. ‘For on the night you found the boy, the foal was born and you saved it.’

  ‘I will not disagree with that,’ said Teyrnon. ‘I will let you give it to him.’

  ‘Lord,’ she said, ‘may God repay you; I will give it to him.’

  Then the horse was given to the boy, and she went to the grooms and stableboys to tell them to look after the horse, and to break it in for when the boy would go riding, and to report on its progress.

  Meanwhile they heard news of Rhiannon and her punishment. Because of what he had found, Teyrnon Twrf Liant listened out for news and enquired constantly about the matter, until he heard increased complaints about the wretchedness of Rhiannon’s misfortune and punishment from the very many people who visited the court. Teyrnon reflected on this, and looked closely at the boy. He realized that he had never seen a son and father so alike as the boy and Pwyll Pen Annwfn. Pwyll’s appearance was known to Teyrnon, for he had previously been a vassal of his. Then grief seized him because of how wrong it was for him to keep the boy, when he knew that he was another man’s son. As soon as he had the first chance to talk privately with his wife, he told her that it was not right for them to keep the boy, nor to let a noblewoman as good as Rhiannon be punished so terribly for it, when the boy was the son of Pwyll Pen Annwfn.

  Teyrnon’s wife agreed to send the boy to Pwyll.

  ‘And we shall get three things, lord, as a result of that,’ she said: ‘thanks and gratitude for releasing Rhiannon from her punishment; and thanks from Pwyll for rearing the boy and restoring him; and thirdly, if the boy proves to be a considerate man, he will be our foster-son, and he will always do his best for us.’

  They agreed on that.

  No later than the next day Teyrnon prepared himself with two other riders, and the boy a fourth on the horse that Teyrnon had given him. They travelled towards Arberth, and it was not long before they arrived. As they approached the court, they saw Rhiannon sitting by the mounting-block. When they drew level with her, ‘My lord,’ she said, ‘go no further. I shall carry each of you to the court. And that is my punishment for killing my own son and destroying him.’

  ‘My lady,’ said Teyrnon, ‘I do not imagine that any one of these will ride on your back.’

  ‘If anyone wants to, then let him do so,’ said the boy; ‘I certainly will not.’

  ‘God knows, my friend,’ said Teyrnon, ‘neither will we.’

  They made for the court, and there was great joy at their arrival. A feast was about to begin at court—Pwyll himself had just returned from a circuit of Dyfed. They went into the hall and to wash themselves. Pwyll welcomed Teyrnon, and they went to sit. This is how they sat—Teyrnon between Pwyll and Rhiannon, with Teyrnon’s two companions above Pwyll, and the boy between them.

  When they had finished eating, at the beginning of the carousal, they conversed. Teyrnon told the whole story about the mare and the boy, and how he and his wife had taken the boy into their charge, and how they had brought him up.

  ‘And this is your son, my lady,’ said Teyrnon. ‘And whoever told lies against you did you wrong. And when I heard of your affliction, I was saddened, and distressed. And I imagine there is no one in this entire company who does not recognize that the boy is Pwyll’s son,’ said Teyrnon.

  ‘No one doubts it,’ said everyone.

  ‘Between me and God,’ said Rhiannon, ‘what a relief from my anxiety if that were true.’*

  ‘My lady,’ said Pendaran Dyfed, ‘you have named your son well—Pryderi; Pryderi son of Pwyll Pen Annwfn suits him best.’

  ‘Make sure that his own name does not suit him better,’ said Rhiannon.

  ‘What is his name?’ said Pendaran Dyfed.

  ‘We called him Gwri Wallt Euryn.’

  ‘Pryderi shall be his name,’ said Pendaran Dyfed.

  ‘That is most appropriate,’ said Pwyll, ‘to take the boy’s name from the word his mother uttered w
hen she received joyous news about him.’ And they agreed on that.

  ‘Teyrnon,’ said Pwyll, ‘God repay you for raising this boy until now. It is proper for him, if he proves to be a considerate man, to compensate you for it.’

  ‘Lord,’ said Teyrnon, ‘as for the woman who raised him, there is no one in the world who is grieving after him more than her. It is right for him to remember what we did for him, for my sake and hers.’

  ‘Between me and God,’ said Pwyll, ‘as long as I live I will maintain both you and your realm, as long as I am able to maintain my own. If he lives to maturity, it is more appropriate for him to maintain you than for me. And with your agreement, and that of these noblemen, since you have raised him until now, we will give him to Pendaran Dyfed to foster from now on. But you shall all be his companions and his foster-fathers.’

  ‘That is sound advice,’ said everyone.

  Then the boy was given to Pendaran Dyfed, and the noblemen of the land allied themselves to him. Teyrnon Twrf Liant and his companions set off for his land and his realm, full of love and joy. And he did not depart without having being offered the fairest jewels and the best horses and the most highly prized dogs. But he wanted nothing.

  They stayed in their own realm after that, and Pryderi son of Pwyll Pen Annwfn was brought up carefully, as was proper, until he was the most handsome lad, and the fairest and the most accomplished at every worthy feat in the kingdom. And so years and years passed, until Pwyll Pen Annwfn’s life came to an end, and he died. And Pryderi ruled the seven cantrefs of Dyfed successfully, beloved by his realm and all those around him. After that he conquered the three cantrefs of Ystrad Tywi and the four cantrefs of Ceredigion, and these are called the seven cantrefs of Seisyllwch. Pryderi son of Pwyll Pen Annwfn was occupied with that conquest until he decided to take a wife. The wife he wanted was Cigfa daughter of Gwyn Gohoyw, son of Gloyw Walltlydan, son of Casnar Wledig, noblemen of this island.

  And so ends this branch of the Mabinogion.*

  The Second Branch of the Mabinogi