The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends (65 page)

She had crossed this route many times, both sober and drunk. This time, following the track on the grass, she found that she had wandered away from the house entirely. Each time she tried to
make directly for the great shadowy outline of Pendeen House, she found herself lost among the furze and once wandering dangerously near to the cliffs at Pendeen Watch.

Finally, exhausted to the point of passing out, she sat down on the ground and vowed not to move until dawn. So she fell asleep.

At dawn the next morning, the Squire of Pendeen made enquiries from his other servants whether Peggy Tregear had arrived back or not during the night. In truth, he was worried.
He knew she was inclined to drink now and then but she had never taken herself off before and deserted the house, and especially not when there was dinner to be made. He sent his
hostler out to make enquiries and the man saddled a horse to ride out into Pendeen village itself. As he rode along the path to the gate, he thought he saw a bundle of old rags on the grass and,
looking closer, found it was none other than Peggy Tregear, fast asleep in the frosty dew.

Dismounting, he went over and shook her.

“Leave me alone,” she muttered after a while. “It’s not my time to be up. Leave me alone and be sure to shut my bedchamber door as you go.”

The hostler sent for the Squire and the two of them carried the almost unconscious old woman into the kitchen and placed her before a blazing fire.

She came round slowly and, when the Squire asked her where she had been all night, she told him in a flood of words so that he didn’t understand one half and was doubtful of believing the
other half. He put it down to the fact that she had drunk too much and missed her way.

Old Peggy Tregear was indignant that he should think so but Squire Bosanko, having decided on the explanation, would not be moved from it.

“Do you sleep off your drunkenness, woman,” he admonished. “For tonight I have friends coming for the Golwyth Pup Sans.” That being the feastingtide of All Saints.

Peggy Tregear’s eyes opened wide. “Do ’ee tell me, master,” she said slowly, “that last night be Hallowe’en . . . the
Nos Calan Gwaf
?”

Squire Bosanko shook his head sternly. “Don’t tell me that you forgot what day it was?”

She scratched her head. “I knew before I went to Jan Tregher’s place, yesterday noon,” she said, trying to remember how it was she had forgotten. “No wonder I have
suffered, being out alone that night.”

“Nonsense,” said the Squire. “Sober up and, when you have, start preparing the meal, for the feastingtide is here. And if you want anything, send the hostler into Pendeen to
purchase it without tripping across the hills to Penzance.”

Still shocked, the old housekeeper promised she would never go to Penzance again.

It was that evening, when she had recovered from her ordeal and the Squire’s guests had been served and fed, that there came a loud knocking on the door. It was a foul night, as foul a
night as ever there had been, with high seas and winds beating along the cliffs from Cape Cornwall along to Pendeen Watch and from Pendeen Watch to Gurnard’s Head. There was never a night
like it, and already Squire Bosanko had suggested to his guests that they should stay the night.

When the door was answered, it was a farmer from Chypraze.

“What ails you, man?” demanded the Squire, as the farmer stood shivering and drenched in his hall. “What brings you out in this weather?”

“I thought you should know, sir,” replied the man. “The Tregher cottage in Portheras Cove . . . a great wind and tide has swept it clean away. Tom and Jan Tregher were in it at
the time. We’ve searched the foreshore, but there is hardly a stone left standing on another there, and no sign of them.”

Only old Peggy Tregear was not shocked by the news.

She knew that for every action there was a reaction; for every cause there was an effect. She knew that it was Tom Tregher who had set off the chain of events of the previous evening. Even the
tiniest action, like the struggle of the newborn land crab to make it to the sea, makes a contribution to eternity. Hadn’t Tom Tregher called down a curse that the winds of retribution should
carry him and his off? Did not the old proverb go –
nyns-us gun hep lagas, na ke hep scovann
? There is no plain without an eye, nor hedge without an ear. The
pisky
folk had
heard him and old Peggy Tregear knew that Tom and Jan Tregher had been punished for vainly ill-wishing her. To cause evil necessitates a consequence. And no one ever changed Peggy Tregear’s
mind about that.

31 An Lys-an-Gwrys

T
here was a poor family by the name of Kellow and they dwelt down by Garras in the forests near a great mansion called Chygarkye – the
“house of the white dog”. They worked for the lord of the manor by tending his sheep and cows. There was the husband and his wife and seven children. Six of these children were boys and
one was a girl. Now the girl was called Welet, and she was the eldest of the family. The youngest boy was called Wuric, and he was a bit feeble in the head, or so his family thought.

In fact, both Welet and Wuric were picked on by their brothers, who played all sorts of mischievous tricks on them and made sure that it was they who did all the work that their parents asked
them to do. Every day, at sunrise, when all the boys were supposed to be looking after the sheep and cows, it was poor Welet who found herself being sent to the fields by the forest near Chygarkye,
with no more than a buckwheat cake to sustain her throughout the day. And poor Wuric was told he was too young to go out and sent to do all the cleaning of the stables and barns. And while Welet
and Wuric did all the work, the five brothers lazed in bed or went off playing. Of course, they were clever and able to hide this bad state of affairs from their parents, who thought them all
dutiful and well-behaved children.

One bright morning, Welet was taking the cows and sheep to the pasture on the heath when she saw a great white stallion coming out of the forests. On it was a tall young man, clad all in white,
with the finest jewels and gold on him. His
hair was a flaming red-golden colour, held around his head by a circlet of gold. Welet stopped and stared at him in astonishment. It
seemed that the sun itself radiated from his features. He was as handsome a lord as ever she had seen.

The young man stopped his horse and gazed down at her with a smile that caused a warm glow to spread through her tired limbs.

“
Myttyn da
, young maiden.” He wished her “good morning” in a low pleasant voice. “Truly, I have never seen a maid as fair as you.”

Welet blushed, because she had never been spoken to in such a manner. Now it is true that some people found Welet attractive, but no more so than many a young girl on the peninsula.

“Tell me, maiden,” continued the handsome young lord in earnest, “will you marry me?”

Welet was so taken aback that she nearly fell over. She was too astonished to give an answer immediately.

“I don’t know,” she finally stuttered, thinking that it would be a fine life to go off with the young man and leave behind the drudgery and mistreatment of her brothers: that
is all except Wuric, her younger brother, whom she was very fond of.

“I’ll leave you time to think. This time tomorrow, as the sun rises over the heath, you’ll find me waiting here for your answer.”

The sun suddenly caught her eye and she blinked and, when she opened her eyes, the young man had vanished.

All day Welet thought of nothing except the handsome young man. She went home that night, not even feeling her hunger, but skipped back with a merry little song on her lips. Her brothers were
surprised and asked themselves what could have made their sister happy.

She told no one except her mother, who promptly sneered at her. “What a fool you are, to be sure, child. It is some grand gentleman playing a trick on us poor folks. Do you really think
such a lord would come along and ask the likes of you to wed?”

And, to her shame, her mother told her husband and her
sons and they all laughed uproariously – all except young Wuric. He looked sad and tried to comfort his sister
in her distress.

“I will agree to marry the man tomorrow if he is there,” she vowed, “for, whatever happens to me in the future, I shall never be more unhappy than I am now.”

Wuric pressed her hand and told her that if she had a chance for happiness, she should take it and not mind about him. One day he, too, would escape the drudgery which their brothers put on
them.

The next morning, Welet was up at dawn and taking the cows and sheep to the pasture.

Sure enough, up rode the radiant young man on his white stallion. “
Myttyn da
, young maid. Have you thought the matter over? Will you be my wife?”

“That I will,” replied the young girl. “That I will and right gladly.”

“Then,” said the young man with a beaming smile, “we shall go and make sure that your parents have no objections.”

She went reluctantly with him, for she was now ashamed of her parents. They, in turn, were astonished at the arrival of the young lord so richly attired, who asked for the hand of their daughter
in marriage. Her brothers stared enviously on him, except Wuric.

“We can give her no dowry,” muttered her father anxiously. Could it be that the young lord thought his daughter had money?

The young lord laughed at the idea and ignored the insult. “I have no need of dowries,” he replied. “If that is your only objection, then we will fix tomorrow as the day of the
ceremony.”

“But we don’t even know your name,” protested Welet’s mother.

“You will know it soon enough, at the ceremony.”

Then he bade them “good day” and rode off.

Well, Welet’s father went to make the arrangements, but Welet’s brothers still jeered – with the exception of Wuric – and laid bets that it was still all a bad joke and
the handsome young man would not turn up the next day.

However, the young man did turn up: and not just himself but another handsome young man, whom he introduced as his best man. They came in a coach of solid gold drawn by
seven magnificent white stallions, and everything shone in a dazzling light.

“What name shall we know you by?” asked Welet’s father.

“I am called Lord Howlek, the lord of the sunny countenance.”

The ceremony took place and no sooner was it over than the young man handed her up into the carriage.

“Say farewell to your family, for now you will come to dwell at my palace.”

“What about my clothes?” she protested. “I have nothing ready, except that which I am wearing.”

“You will find everything you want in my palace,” he replied.

“Where is that palace?” demanded one of Welet’s brothers, feeling it time he should take a hand.

“It is called
An Lys-an-Gwrys
. . . the Palace of the Crystal . . . and it lies eastward, underneath the rising sun.”

So saying, Lord Howlek, Welet and the silent lord who was the best man climbed into the carriage, and it drove away into a sparkling light.

A year and a day passed by and no word was heard of Welet and her husband, the Lord Howlek. Welet’s brothers became curious. If the truth were known, they had been hoping to have a share
in their sister’s newly found prosperity. They had been forced to continue to work for the great lord at Chygarkye. Now that Welet was gone, they also found that they could not put all the
work on Wuric but had to do a good share of it themselves, which did not suit them at all.

But after a year and a day they decided that it was too bad of Welet not to send them any tokens of her well-being, and they announced that they would set off in search of the
An
Lys-an-Gwrys
. Young Wuric wanted to go with them, but they told him to stay at home and help their parents with all the work that was to be done.

So eastwards the five brothers began to travel. Every time they stopped, they asked if anyone knew where
An Lys-an-Gwrys
was situated. But no one knew about such a
grand palace. They travelled for such a long time that they began to argue among themselves if they should give up the enterprise and turn back home.

One day, they entered a forest and were so tired and exhausted by their search that they agreed that, if they had found nothing by the time they reached the other side of its gloomy stretch,
they would turn back to Garras and their home near Chygarkye. No sooner had they entered the forest than they heard the sound of a woodsman cutting trees and they came into a clearing.

“Do you know a palace called
An Lys-an-Gwrys
?” they asked of the woodsman.

The old man scratched his balding head.

“I do hear tell of such a place, for there be a road not far off called
Forth Lys-an-Gwrys
, which is the road to the palace of crystal. That ought to lead you there.”

So elated were they with this news that the five brothers went off in search of the roadway immediately, with renewed vigour. They had not gone much further when a great storm broke out across
the forest. Thunder and lightning crashed here and there. They could not disguise the fact from each other that they were more than a little afraid at such a fierce tempest. Soon the storm abated
and they continued on their way, feeling rather sheepish.

Night came down in the forest and the sound of wild prowling beasts could be heard around them.

“We must seek shelter,” suggested one of them.

Another decided to climb a tree and see if he could spot any signs of habitation. There was nothing but trees except . . . he saw the glimmering of a fire and, noting the direction in which it
lay, he came down and joined his brothers.

He led his brothers in the direction and then a storm seemed to break out again above their heads. Thunder and lightning crashed around them. Then all was silent again. They calmed themselves
and moved on.

In a clearing in the forest they came across an old woman, with long yellowing teeth and a skeletal look about her. She
was sitting before a fire, stirring a great cauldron
of simmering broth.