The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends (55 page)

L.R. Moir was a fluent Cornish speaker and worked closely with Robert Morton Nance (Modron) 1873–1959, taking over, at his death, as editor of
Old Cornwall.
Moir produced many works
in Cornish and was interested in
folkloric themes. Among several works he published, “
An Map Dyworth an Yst
” (The Boy from the East) in 1967 won a Gorsedd
prize. The story concerned the famous Glastonbury legend. As I recall, by 1968, he had made draft versions of “
Nos Calan Gwaf
,” which is the Cornish for Hallowe’en, which
title I have kept rather than the title of the version given by Bottrell: “An’ Pee Tregeer’s Trip to Market on Hallan Eve”.

A variant of “The Bukkys” was first collected by Bottrell under the title “The Fairy Master”. The title, used by Retallack Hooper, is the equivalent to the fairy or
mischievous spirit which leads travellers astray in most Celtic fairy tales, such as
Púca
in Irish and
Pwca
in Welsh. These are the equivalents of the English
Puck
. The
word is said to have come from the Norse settlements, from the word
puki
. There does not appear to be any early tradition of it.

I have left the title “Lys-an-Gwrys”, which Len Truran recorded when he picked up the tale in the Lizard Peninsula. Coincidentally, the name “Lizard” comes from the word
lys – a court or palace and
arth
– meaning high. People usually and mistakenly apply the name to the whole of the peninsula south of Helston, but it only belongs properly to the
southern half, as the northern half is Meneage. The peninsula is almost an island and at its southern tip is Cornwall’s (and, indeed, Britain’s) most southerly town – Lizard Town.
The story had a lot of Lizard topography in it. But when I first heard it, it reminded me of another tale.

Indeed, this is a similar tale, under a similar name, to one collected by Luzel on the Côtes-du-Nord, in Brittany, and told to him in 1873 by Louis Le Braz, a weaver of Prat. The name
translates as “The Crystal Palace” but I have left the Cornish name in the version given here. Both stories are esoteric journeys rather than adventure stories, for they constitute a
spiritual quest. Luzel believed the Breton version was pre-Christian.

26 Tewdrig, Tyrant of Treheyl

“T
ewdrig! A strange ship has appeared in the estuary,” cried Wron the Druid, bursting into the great feasting hall of Tewdrig, king of
Treheyl and emperor of all Kernow, that south-western peninsula of the Isle of the Mighty that is today called Cornwall.

Tewdrig glanced up in agitated surprise. “What guards do I have, that I am not warned of the sight of a strange sail until a ship sails into the estuary?” he demanded vehemently.
“I should be informed as soon as a sail appears on the distant horizon.”

Wron made a dismissive gesture. “Better to learn late than learn never, my king.”

“Does it come in war or does it come in peace?” demanded Tewdrig, buckling on his great sword and taking up his rounded buckler.

Tewdrig was a strong man, as tall as a spear and as straight, with long black hair and a face that was saturnine and cruel. Skill with his weapons had brought Tewdrig power and his domains
spread through the land of Kernow as far east as the great River Tamar, the quietly flowing river that marked the border with the kingdom of Dumnonia.

It was not strength alone, however, by which Tewdrig had kept his kingdom secure. He believed in the gods and the old ways in a world that was rapidly changing. In the east, whole kingdoms were
falling before the hordes of Saxons with their mighty gods of war. Countless tribes had fled north, west and south to escape massacre by the children of Woden.

So far, the kingdom of Kernow had been kept safe. But Tewdrig was ever vigilant. Only a battle-hardened king could keep harm from his people.

Now he hurried to the battlements of his fortress at the place of the estuary, Treheyl, and looked out across its waters. The estuary of the river, which was also called Heyl, formed a wide sac
stretching two miles which, at low tide, was a stretch of mud banks on which numerous seabirds nested. The ramparts of Tewdrig’s fortress rose above them.

Wron had obviously alerted the guards, for they were gathered ready, their weapons in their hands.

Tewdrig came to the battlements and halted.

Indeed, there was a ship sailing into the estuary, its sails filled before the wind. It was heading towards the quay below Treheyl.

The king’s eyes narrowed. “It bears a strange emblem on the sail, Wron. Can you identify it?”

The Druid peered forward and shook his head. “I cannot identify it, my king. It is not a symbol that is familiar in this land. Though, from the cut of the vessel, I would say that it is
from the western island of Ywerdhon.”

Ywerdhon was the name by which the people of Kernow called the land of the goddess Éire.

Tewdrig bit in irritation at his lip, a habit he had often tried to control since childhood. “Well, if they are foreign and mean us harm, they can harm us little. There is not room enough
on that little craft for many warriors and their approach is open enough.”

Wron nodded. “Nevertheless, my king, it would be best to have the men stand ready.”

Tewdrig turned to Dinan, chieftain of Pendinas, who was the captain of his guard, and told him to take a company of warriors to the quay to greet the strangers. Dinan was, in fact,
Tewdrig’s own brother and as fair as Tewdrig was dark, yet they were both born at the same hour of the same mother and father. Dinan was Tewdrig’s right hand and his shield at every
battle. Firm in battle and as shrewd in war was Dinan.

Some said that without Dinan, Tewdrig could not have maintained his kingdom. Though this was never said before either Tewdrig or Dinan. Further, many said that Tewdrig was
as evilly tempered to those nearest to him as Dinan was amiable and obliging. Indeed, at Tewdrig’s sharp commands, Dinan smiled but a gentle acknowledgment of his brother’s order and
went down in obedience to it.

Tewdrig turned back to examine the sail and its strange emblem again. It consisted of two curving lines which crossed each other, so that the emblem appeared as if it was meant to be the outline
of a fish.

Tewdrig was seated in the great hall of his palace when Dinan escorted the visitors to him. Wron the Druid stood at his right elbow, for Wron was his chief counsellor.

There were five people who came before him: three men and two women and, while they were all clad in simple attire, they stood tall and had the look of nobility on their faces. Around the neck
of each one of them there hung a silver cross on a leather thong. Tewdrig’s eyes narrowed, for the cross seemed to be a badge of their fellowship.

“These, my brother, are travellers from Ywerdhon,” Dinan announced.

Their leader stepped forward. He was a tall, elderly man with a regal countenance. “The Blessing of the Living God on you, Tewdrig of Treheyl,” he greeted.

Tewdrig frowned before he replied. “The prosperity of each of the gods of my ancestors on you, stranger. Who are you, and what do you seek in this land?”

“I was a king in my own country, but have given up earthly pomp to follow a more glorious life. My name is Germoe.”

“Welcome then, Germoe. And what is more glorious in your eyes than temporal splendour?” smiled Tewdrig indulgently, wondering if the man was mad.

“To follow the ways of the Son of God and teach His truth and peace to your people.”

Wron drew his brows together. “The Son of God? The Father of the Gods had many sons, each of them gods in their own right. Of which do you speak?”

“The one and indivisible God,” replied Germoe. “Him we
shall speak of anon, if you allow me and my band to stay in your kingdom.”

“And who are these others?”

“I am Coan,” said one of the two young men.

“I am Elwyn,” announced the other.

“My name is Breage,” one of the young women added.

“I am Crowan,” said the last.

“We are all servants of the Living God,” Germoe said. “We seek your permission to settle in peace and preach the new faith of our God.”

Wron glanced at the king. “To settle in peace?” he sneered. “Yet you would preach against our faith, destroy our beliefs and our laws. Do you call this peace?”

“Once you have opened your ears to the word of our Lord in heaven, it will be peace,” replied Germoe confidently. “Our God is not a God of war, strife or dissension.”

“I would hear them, brother,” Dinan suddenly said. “Let them go where they will in our land. For what can five people do to shake the faith of a nation?”

Wron flashed an angry glance at Dinan. “I like it not. If they must stay, let them go south, away from this place, so that they may not contaminate our good government.”

Tewdrig chuckled suddenly in humour. “We will give in to our brother’s urgings,” he said. “For I agree – what harm can five strangers do in our midst? But Wron is
my counsellor. Go southward, strangers, and preach as you wish.”

They all left Treheyl and journeyed south. But Crowan was the first to break away and took an eastern road, until she came to a spot where she built a round enclosure and she prospered. They
call this place Crowan, to this day.

The others continued southwards. Then Coan also turned east and found a river called the Fal. On its eastern bank, he started to preach the word of the Son of the Living God. But it is said that
this land owed allegiance to Wron the Druid, who stirred up the people against Coan and, in their anger, they stoned him to death. So the place where this happened was afterwards called Merther,
which stands between Tresillian and St Michael Penkevil. The word
merther
, in the Cornish tongue, means “martyr”.

The others continued southwards. And first Germoe halted at the southern coast of Kernow and established a house where he taught, and the spot became named after him. The
others continued to the south-east, following the coast. Then Breage stopped and, under the shadow of a fortress called Pencaire, between the hills of Tregonning and Godolphin, she built her house
and began to teach, and so the place was called Breage after her. Finally, the young man named Elwyn came to the sea’s edge and to a small port where he established himself and taught. The
place was thereafter called Porth Elwyn, or Elwyn’s port, which is now Porthleven.

Now Tewdrig watched the progress of the strangers, with their strange stories of the son of God, with anxiety on his brow. His people, who had followed the wise Druids of old, had begun to fall
away from the rituals at the stone circles and the worship of the old gods. In spite of the martyrdom of Croan, the other members of Germoe’s party were gaining converts throughout the
southern lands of Kernow.

What Tewdrig did not realize was that his own brother had listened to the word and accepted the truth of the new faith.

It happened that a year and a day after the coming of Germoe and his followers, Wron came running to Tewdrig, who was seated in his feasting hall.

“Tewdrig! A strange ship has appeared in the estuary,” cried Wron.

Tewdrig glanced up from his wine in agitated surprise. “What guards do I have, that I am not warned of the sight of a sail, until a ship sails into the estuary?” he demanded
vehemently. “I should be informed as soon as a sail appears on the distant horizon.”

Wron made a dismissive gesture. “Better to learn late than learn never, my king.”

“Does it come in war or does it come in peace?” demanded Tewdrig, buckling on his great sword and taking up his rounded buckler.

“Perhaps it does not matter,” said Wron slyly, “for the last strange ship that came here was supposed to come in peace
and its honey-tongued crew have sewn
dissension through the land.”

They climbed to the battlements and Tewdrig’s eyes narrowed. Indeed, there was a ship sailing in the broad estuary before Treheyl, a ship with its sails filled before the wind.

Tewdrig gasped and pointed. “See, Wron, look at its sail. It carries the same design as the ship of Germoe.” And, indeed, he was right, for the sail carried two curving lines which
crossed each other, forming the outline of a great fish.

Wron drew in a deep breath. “Then this ship is of the same nation as Germoe and his tribe. We would do well to slaughter them before they come ashore.”

Even so, Tewdrig hesitated and, by the time he had made up his mind, his brother Dinan had gone down to the quay to welcome the strangers to Treheyl.

So Tewdrig hurried to the hall of his palace and slumped upon his throne while Wron stood moodily at his side.

Five strangers entered with Dinan.

“These, my brother, are travellers from Ywerdhon,” he said.

Tewdrig was filled with apprehension for, though this time there were three men and two women, like the five that had come before them, they each carried a silver cross hung around their necks,
and while the clothes they wore were simple, they all carried themselves with noble bearing.

“The Blessing of the Living God on you, Tewdrig of Treheyl,” greeted their leader. He was a tall, handsome man.

“The prosperity of the gods of my ancestors greet you,” replied Tewdrig, frowning.

“I am called Gwinear; I was a prince in my own land, but I have given up all temporal pomp to serve the true God.”

“All the gods are true,” snapped Wron irritably.

“There is but one God,” replied the woman at Gwinear’s side.

Tewdrig’s eyes bulged a little as he beheld her, for never had he seen a maiden so comely as this.

Gwinear smiled, not noticing the look in the king’s eyes. “This is my sister, Piala.”

“My name is Ia,” the second maiden said. She was as fair as
Piala was dark but as beautiful, or so Dinan thought, for he had not taken his eyes from the girl
since she had set foot on the quay of Treheyl.

“I am called Erth, and I am brother to Ia,” announced one of the young men.

“While I am Uny,” added the third man, “brother of Ia and Erth.”

“And I suppose you want to stay in my kingdom and live in peace?” queried Tewdrig, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. But the derision was taken from his voice when his eyes dwelt on
the beauty of Piala.