The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends (49 page)

“Why, the moon, of course, whose pale light shows them to their pastures.”

“They shall not continue to graze in my field,” thundered Nynniaw.

“But they shall!”

Peibiaw and Nynniaw challenged each other to a combat and each promised that one of them would be dead before either conceded the grazing rights of the heavens.

Now the kingdom of Gwynedd was ruled by a mighty warrior named Rhita Gawr. He exclaimed that the two lords were silly creatures, who would argue over such meaningless matters. As he was the
mightiest king, if anyone had the rights to graze cattle anywhere in the universe it was surely he?

Tired with the squabbling of Nynniaw and Peibiaw, he called his army together and marched against the combined armies of Peibiaw and Nynniaw and vanquished them both. Even then he found them
squabbling and, being a man who had studied alchemy and the magic of the Druids, he turned Nynniaw and Peibiaw into oxen of exceptional strength when pulling together, but each one apart was weak.
In this manner, Rhita Gawr said that they would learn how to work together.

And this is true, for it was Culhwch’s task to harness them together to plough the land in preparation for Olwen’s feast; they were used to pull Afanc out of the Conwy and also to
haul a large boulder so that the church of Llanddewi Brefi could be built. But these are stories which do not concern us at the moment.

Before Rhita Gawr had turned them into oxen, he had insulted them by shaving off their beards and having them stitched together to make a cap to keep his head warm.

Now this news spread to the kings of the universe where Nynniaw and Peibiaw claimed their field and flocks. They took the matter very seriously and said, “If we permit Rhita
Gawr to do this thing, which is the greatest insult against a warrior that can be made, what beard among us will be safe?”

And the twenty-seven kings of the universe joined forces and marched their armies against Rhita Gawr. Warned of their approach, Rhita Gawr raised his warriors and went forward to meet them. He
defeated them and had all twenty-seven beards shaved off and stitched together to make a coat for himself.

Now it so happened that the kings of the world soon heard how their brother kings of the universe had been worsted and had their beards shaven off by Rhita Gawr. They all exclaimed: “This
king of Gwynedd is too presumptuous. If we do not stop him, he will not leave a king with a beard in any country in the world nor in the Otherworld.”

So a great army was gathered and set out to invade Gwynedd.

Now Rhita Gawr was sitting gazing up at the heavens and counting the value of the vast fields and grazing rights which must surely lie there. Thicker than an autumn forest came the assembled
armies and they fell on Rhita. But the giant and his men were ready for them and, within a blink of an eye, all the invading kings were beaten and each king had his beard shaven off; now Rhita Gawr
had enough to make himself a great cloak.

It was then that a young king named Arthur the Bear, who was dwelling in the south, came to Rhita’s attention. Now Rhita Gawr had found that he had developed a passion for collecting the
beards of kings and making them into clothing to keep him warm.

“I’ll have no rest, until I take the beard of this youth Arthur,” he said to himself.

So Rhita Gawr sent off to the kingdom of Cernyw, which was where Arthur dwelt. He brought with him his army, just in case. One fine afternoon, he arrived at Arthur’s palace.

“I do not wish to harm the young king,” Rhita announced, “but I will take his beard. He must also renounce all interests in the grazing rights of the heavens.”

Now Arthur came to the gate of his castle and gazed up at the giant king of Gwynedd. “I have no interest in the grazing
rights of the heavens,” he told him
“But you will never take my beard, unless by force.”

Now this angered Rhita Gawr, who was clad in his cap, coat and cloak of beards as a means of putting fear into his enemies. But Arthur was not even awed by the sight. So Rhita Gawr took his
sword and smote on his shield in challenge.

Arthur arranged to meet in battle with Rhita Gawr’s army on the following morning.

Just before dawn, the horns summoned the warriors.

Rhita Gawr saw a strange flash of lightning spread from Arthur’s encampment. “What is that?” he demanded of his charioteer.

“That’s Arthur’s warriors raising their spears for battle.”

There came a mighty rumble like thunder. “What is that?” Rhita Gawr demanded of his charioteer.

“That’s Arthur’s men issuing their battle-cry.”

“Ah, I will have his beard all the same!” cried Rhita Gawr, unperturbed.

The two armies met like waves colliding with one another. The battle was matched equally and, finally, Arthur, tired of the bloodshed, and following a custom among his people, issued a challenge
to single combat. Rhita Gawr agreed, for no one could surpass him in combat. Rhita Gawr and Arthur strode out before their armies.

“I will still have your beard!” cried Rhita Gawr as he faced Arthur.

The young king smiled. “But my beard is that of a young man,” he called. “It would be but a poor cover to the hole I see in your coat.”

Rhita Gawr was not goaded by this. “True enough, but it is still a king’s beard and one that I do not have.”

“I know of a king’s beard which you do not have and which will more than adequately cover that hole.”

“Whose beard is that?” demanded Rhita Gawr, intrigued for the first time.

“Your own beard!” answered Arthur with a shout.

And with that the combat started.

It was a mighty combat and neither one of them showed any sign of weakness nor of yielding. Great valleys were
carved out of the level plain on which they fought, scooped
out by the pounding of their feet. The earth was so shaken, as if an earthquake was striking it, that Rhita Gawr’s army lost their balance: but Arthur’s men stood firm. For nine nights
and nine days the contest went on.

Finally, Rhita Gawr, exhausted to the point where he could no longer lift his sword, fell to his knees before Arthur.

“You are the better man, Arthur,” he conceded.

So Arthur had Cadw of Pictland come forward and shave off the beard of the giant king of Gwynedd. Then Rhita Gawr’s beard was stitched to all the other beards that he had taken and the
beard-mantle was draped over his shoulders. Rhita Gawr was sent back to Gwynedd and admonished never to shave anyone’s beard again and never to claim the grazing rights of the heavens, which
were neither Nynniaw’s nor Peibiaw’s but belonged to all people to gaze upon.

Rhita Gawr returned to Gwynedd with much wisdom then, and he wore his beard-mantle as a token of his service to Arthur and his promise. Sometimes, so it is said, the old folks around Snowdon
would gaze up at the night sky and look at the stars and, if it was a cloudy night and the snow falling, they would remark that the sky was as thick as
barf Rhita
or Rhita’s beard.

Rhita Gawr’s people remained fond of their giant king, in spite of his eccentricities. When he died, they came from every corner of the kingdom to pile stones over his body, which is the
local custom. Soon the pile became a great cairn above Rhita Gawr’s grave. This great cairn grew and grew until they called it Gwyddfa Rhita, which is “Rhita’s cairn” and
this, shortened to “Yr Gwyddfa” was the first name given to Yr Wyddfa, or Mount Snowdon.

Some people will tell you that Rhita Gawr is not truly dead but merely sleeping, and now and then he turns in his sleep, causing the stones atop his body to come crashing down in great
landslides.

But I have set out to tell you about Bedd Gellert. It happened this way. Many years after Rhita Gawr’s death, his descendants were still kings of Gwynedd and these princes
also called themselves the Lords of Eryri, which is the name of the mountainous district in which Yr Wyddfa lies. There was one prince of Gwynedd called Llewelyn who had a favourite
hound named Gellert for he was a brown coloured beast, for
gell
means brown or auburn in colour. When Gellert was giving cry and chasing the fox across the mountains, the dog was as brave
and magnificent as a lion, but when he was lying in front of the blazing hearth with his lord, he was as mild and gentle as a lamb.

He was so tame and gentle that Prince Llewelyn often entrusted the care of his young wife and tiny baby to the hound.

It happened one day that Prince Llewelyn set out for the hunt and blew his horn to gather his hounds. Now all the hounds answered the horn except Llewelyn’s favourite – Gellert. No
one knew where the hound had hidden himself and so the disgruntled prince set off on the hunt without the swiftest and most tenacious of his hounds. There was bad sport that day for the Lord of
Eryri.

In a rage he returned to his castle and what was the first thing he saw? Gellert his hound, bounding joyfully to meet him. As he came nearer, Prince Llewelyn saw that the dog’s muzzle was
dripping with blood.

Now a terrible thought came into Llewelyn’s mind, for his wife was visiting her sick mother and he had left his baby, a son no more than a year old, in his chamber, asking his servants to
look in now and then. Gellert was used to playing with the child, for he was usually a docile and gentle animal within the doors of the palace.

Prince Llewelyn let out a cry as he ran to his young son’s nursery. As he passed through the rooms, he saw the trail of blood thick upon the ground. Into the nursery he rushed, crying for
his servants and attendants.

There was the child’s cradle overturned and the covers and floor were drenched in blood.

No anguish could compare with Prince Llewelyn’s despair. He and his servants searched everywhere, but nowhere was any sign of the tiny child. It was clear to him that the hound Gellert had
devoured his son and heir.

There was a rage on him as he went back into the courtyard and saw Gellert sitting patiently wagging his tail, as if puzzled at his master’s behaviour.

“Evil monster!” yelled the prince. “You have devoured my son, my baby and my joy!”

Without more ado, he drew his sword and struck the animal, thrusting the point into the hound’s side.

Gellert gave an agonized cry, gazed for a moment into its master’s eyes, and fell dead.

In that moment, as Gellert gave his dying howl, the prince heard a little child’s answering cry.

Prince Llewelyn dashed back into the nursery, where the cry had come from. There, underneath the upturned cradle, where he had been asleep, was the prince’s tiny son. No one had thought of
looking under the upturned cot. Moreover, beside the child, who was entirely unhurt, there lay the carcass of a great, gaunt grey wolf. And the wolf was covered with blood and its throat torn
out.

Now what had happened became very clear.

A wolf had entered the castle without anyone seeing it, but Gellert had sniffed out the beast and stayed to protect Prince Llewelyn’s son. He had fought the great beast and slain it before
it could harm the little prince.

Now Prince Llewelyn was filled with grief and remorse for what he had done. He had not only killed his favourite hound, but without just cause. The hound had saved the life of his son and
trusted him, and he had betrayed that trust. Now Prince Llewelyn realised the true meaning of the old proverb: “The nut cannot be judged by the husk”, for it seems that a bull with long
horns, even if he does not butt, will always be accused of butting.

So sadder and wiser, Prince Llewelyn carried his faithful hound to the slopes of Yr Wyddfa and buried him. Over his grave he raised a cairn. So this is why the place is called Bedd Gellert, or
the Grave of Gellert. It is said that the phantom of Gellert still hunts across the mountainside and you may hear its lonely howl on cold winter’s nights. It is the howl of a trusting, loyal
soul betrayed.

Some people will tell you to beware of Gellert’s tomb,
especially if there is disloyalty lurking in your heart; the hound will sniff it out and take revenge.
Therefore, on certain days, especially after dark, beware as you wander across the slopes, beware of a leaping phantom hound.

24 The Quest for Olwen

T
here was once a king of Cilydd who was related to the famous Arthur of Britain. This king, who also bore the name Cilydd, married a princess named
Goleuddydd. As her name suggested, she was a “bright light” among her people. The marriage was a happy and a prosperous one, and soon the couple were blessed by Goleuddydd becoming
pregnant. However, she visited Gwiddanes the Hag, who dwelt in a forest, and asked her fortune. The fortune was not good.

It was a troubled period for the young queen, for the foresight of Gwiddanes lay heavily upon her. Nearing the time when she would give birth, while passing through a forest, she became unhinged
by the pain of childbirth and the doom disclosed by Gwiddanes. She leapt from her horse and fled into the depths of the forest, coming near a place where a swineherd was keeping his pigs. It was
there that she gave birth to a handsome boy child. The name that she gave him was Culhwch, which meant one born in a “pig run”.

Now all this had come to pass as Queen Goleuddydd had been warned. But in the fever of her childbirth, she saw a vision of a sorrowful goddess; and some said that it must have been Arianrhod,
whose childbirth was also sorrowful. She told Goleuddydd shadows of the future, but also how they might be avoided.

Cilydd and his retainers found her and they carried her and the child back to the palace where she lay still in a fever. She knew that she would die. As her husband knelt beside her
bed, she spoke sorrowfully to him: “My lord, death is approaching me. When I am gone, you will seek another wife.”

The king protested, but she brushed aside his protestations of love for her alone.

“It is the nature of things, my lord. Your new wife shall be your companion and the dispenser of your gifts. Remember, however, that it is Culhwch who is your first child, your son. He
must be the champion of this kingdom and its heir. So there is a promise you must make me, a sacred promise, before I die.”