The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends (68 page)

The title “Prinsez-a-Sterenn” could, in fact, mean “Princess
of the Pole Star,” but when F.-M. Luzel collected a version in the tale in the
1860s/1870s, he rendered it into French as “Princess of the Shining Star”. I have decided to keep to the Breton title, as still used in Cornouaille.

32 The Destruction of Ker-Ys

A
t the hour of the birth of Gwezenneg, Prince of Bro Érech, a holy man foretold that he would be king. But the holy man also issued a
warning: that on the day Gwezenneg ate pork, drank watered wine and renounced his God, then he would surely die. And his death would come about by poison, by burning and by drowning.

Such was die nature of this prophecy that everyone at the court of Bro Érech laughed and sent the holy man away to his hermitage, with patronising smiles but also with gifts, lest he be a
man of true prophecy.

The years went by and Gwezenneg grew to be a tall, handsome prince. It came about, as the holy man foretold, that he was acclaimed King of Bro Érech, a kingdom in the southernmost part of
Armorica, the land by the sea, which we now call “Little Britain”. Gwezenneg married a princess of Kernascleden named Gwyar, and she bore him two sons. And Gwezenneg grew in fame and
sought to extend the borders of his kingdom; he fought several wars with neighbouring princes, to expand his kingdom.

All the while, however, he was aware of the prophecy made at his birth.

One day, he was hunting in the great forests of Pont Calleck, by the edge of the great lake there, when he came upon a beautiful young woman. Never had he beheld such beauty before. She sat on a
log by the shore of the lake, combing her hair with a silver comb ornamented with gold. The sun was shining on her so that her two golden-yellow
tresses, each one braided in
four plaits, with a bead at the end of each plait, glistened like liquid fire.

She was dressed in a skirt of green silk, with a tunic of red, all embroidered with designs of animals in gold and silver. She wore a round golden brooch with filigree work decorated with
silver. From her slender shoulders, there hung a cloak of purple.

Her upper arms were white as the snow of a single night and they were soft and shapely. Her cheeks had the tinge of the foxglove of the moor upon them. Her eyebrows were coloured black and her
eyes were as blue as the bugloss. Her lips were vermilion. The blush of the moon was on her fair countenance, and there was a lifting pride in her noble face.

“Maiden, tell me your name,” demanded Gwezenneg, alighting from his horse and going on his knees before her as a tribute to her beauty.

She smiled softly, a dimple of sport in both her cheeks, and she answered with a gentle womanly dignity in her voice. “I am called ‘whirlwind’, ‘tempest’ and
‘storm’.”

“Lady, I would give the kingdom of Bro Érech to know you.” His children and queen, Gwyar, were all forgotten. “Lady of the rough winds, come as my mistress to my royal
palace at Vannes. I will grant you anything that is in my power.”

“Think well on this, O king,” replied the girl. “I have warned you of the storm to come. Do you still desire me?”

“I do.”

“Then I will come to your palace, on the condition that no Christian cleric shall ever set foot there, and that you must submit to my will in all things.”

Without even thinking, Gwezenneg, mesmerized by the deep blue of her eyes, agreed.

So the girl, who said her name was Aveldro, the whirlwind, came to the king’s palace at Vannes.

Horrified, Gwyar, Gwezenneg’s queen, took her children and went straightaway to Guénolé, the bishop, and, sobbing, asked him to intervene and cure her husband’s
infatuation. And when Guénolé came to Gwezenneg, the king would not listen to him. The bishop then turned to Aveldro, who was
sitting unconcerned by the side of
her lover. He demanded whether she felt guilt.

Aveldro turned to him with a smile.

“Guilt is for the followers of your God, Gunwalloe,” she said, using the ancient form of his name, so that he would know his pagan past. “Guilt is not for those who follow the
old ways.”

And Guénolé was enraged. “Do you not follow the Christ?” he demanded.

“I cleave not to the clerics of your church,” she replied. “They chant nothing save unreason, and their tune is unmelodious in the universe.”

Then Guénolé cursed King Gwezenneg and reminded him that his doom had already been foretold.

Gwezenneg grew afraid at this, but Aveldro caused a great wind to blow through the palace which swept the cursing cleric from its halls. Now Aveldro had done this feat of magic in order to put
heart into Gwezenneg. But he was awed by her great power and realized that she was a
dryades
: that is to say, a female Druid. And he feared Guénolé’s curse and the
prophecy of his birth. So he waited until Aveldro had retired before he summoned a messenger and told him to go after Guénolé, telling the bishop that Gwezenneg would come to him as
soon as he could and confess all his sins, do penance, and with his blessing would eject Aveldro from his court.

The next evening, Aveldro summoned him for the evening meal and a dish of meat was placed before the king.

“What meat is this?” he demanded of his cook, after he had chewed and swallowed a large piece. His cook looked uncomfortable.

“Why, we had no slaughtered beef nor mutton in the kitchen and so your lady,” he glanced awkwardly at Aveldro, “told us to serve the pig we had slaughtered for the servants.
She said that you would approve.”

And Gwezenneg went white, for he knew the significance of eating pig. He reached for his wine glass to swallow the wine, in order to wash out the unclean meat from his mouth. He took one swallow
before spitting out the rest of the wine in disgust.

“What weak wine is this?” he demanded of the chamberlain, who had served the wine.

His chamberlain looked awkwardly at Aveldro.

“Why, sire, we had only one flagon of good wine left in the palace and so your lady told us to add a little water to it, so that it would go that much further. She said that you would
approve.”

“God be damned!” swore Gwezenneg, rising up in anger from his place. Then, realizing the nature of his unthinking curse, he sat down abruptly. Gwezenneg sat white-faced and stared at
Aveldro, who smiled a knowing smile.

Aveldro was a skilful Druidess, for she could read the thoughts of the King of Bro Érech just as surely as if he had spoken them aloud. She knew that he had planned to go to
Guénolé and betray her. So, that same night, she evoked a vision which mesmerized him. And once more he pleaded for Aveldro to come to bed with him and make love and, in the vision,
she consented.

Then Gwezenneg awoke from his lovemaking with a dry mouth and a great thirst which lay heavily on him.

“I thirst,” he moaned, “but can find no water.”

Aveldro smiled beside him. “I will go to the kitchen, my lover, and bring you some crystal cold water to assuage your thirst.”

When she returned, she handed him a glass of water. He drained the glass and returned to sleep.

She watched his sleep and was satisfied, for she had placed poison in the glass.

At dawn, she was abruptly wakened by distant shouting. She smelt smoke and burning. It had happened that Gwyar, driven to distraction with her anger, had come upon the palace that night and set
a fire under her husband’s sleeping chamber.

Aveldro, taking a last look at her poisoned lover, decided to flee the palace. She had wanted to be there when Gwezenneg’s body was discovered, so that no blame would attach itself to her.
But with the flames licking at the walls, she decided that her journey westward to her home must be precipitate. She escaped from the burning fortress and disappeared into the dawn light.

Now Gwezenneg, drugged with the poison, was not yet dead. For he was a strong and healthy man and it took a time for the poison to work through his system. The noise of
shouting awoke him and he saw great flames engulfing his chamber. In discomfort from the poison, he staggered from his bed and, standing swaying, he gazed about him, finding himself amidst the
smoke and crackling fires. He sought for a means of escape. The heat was intense but he managed to flee from the bedchamber as the blazing ridge poles of the roof came crashing down.

He made his way down the stone stairs, with the stones so hot that they burnt and blistered his bare feet, and found himself in the kitchens of the palace. There he was trapped by a great sheet
of flame and, in desperation, he saw the tall water vats. In an effort to escape the flames, he clambered into the first vat, which was filled with water. He plunged into its icy depth, intending
to wait there until the flames had passed.

But the poison had so weakened him that he could not swim and, after a minute or two, he sank into the cold water of the vat and was drowned.

The next day, when Guénolé came to the smouldering ruins of the palace, the attendants of King Gwezenneg told him what had happened, for they had found the body of the king in the
debris. Guénolé knew then that the prophecy had been fulfilled. But he knew also that the cause of it was the mysterious woman named Aveldro, the whirlwind. He vowed that Aveldro, who
had denied the Living God, would have to pay reparation for this deed, if ever she was found.

The time came when Guénolé left the sad kingdom of Bro Érech and set about a journey westward to the kingdom of Kernev, which is Cornouaille, which stretched south from the
Monts d’Arrée and east to the River Ellé, beyond the great realm of Domnonia. Guénolé had heard that this kingdom of Kernev was still fiercely pagan. So he set out
to convert it and he built a great monastery, which is called Landévennec, and slowly the people of Kernev turned to him and accepted his teachings.

However, Kernev was ruled by an eminent king called Gradlon.
Gradlon ruled from a great city called Ker-Ys, which is “the beloved place”, which was situated in
what is now the Baie des Trépassés, that is the Bay of the Dead, just off the Pointe du Raz, for at the time the land of Kernev stretched over this area of the sea.

Ker-Ys was a mighty place and spoken of in awe by those merchants who had travelled to its massive walls.

Guénolé was put in a mind to see the city and to bring the word of the Living God to its king, Gradlon.

One day, seated in his cell at Landévennec, he sent for his disciple, Gwion, who had been a fisherman from Kerazan and had often sailed the western coast around Kernev.

“Tell me of this Gradlon and Ker-Ys, for tomorrow I mean to make a journey to see them.”

Gwion looked slightly worried. “They hold steadfast to the old gods,” he warned his master.

“So did many of us, until we heard the truth,” Guénolé replied complacently.

“Gradlon is certainly a fair king,” Gwion said. “A sad king, though. Once, many years ago, Gwezenneg of Bro Érech tried to extend the borders of his kingdom to the west
and into the territory of Kernev. He brought an army with him and crossed the River Scorv at Hennebont, which is the old bridge.

“It happened on that day Gradlon’s wife and queen, Dieub, was visiting her kinfolk at Belon. And with her was her son Youlek the Determined. Gwezenneg and his warriors came down like
a plague of locusts, slaughtering all before them and leaving behind the blackened earth stained red with blood. And the blood of Gradlon’s wife, Dieub, was among that which had mingled with
the sorry clay. And the blood of Gradlon’s son, Youlek, also drenched the earth, for Youlek had tried to protect his mother with his word. And all the generations of Dieub’s family were
slaughtered.”

Guénolé was troubled when he heard this, for Gwezenneg had been a Christian king and unworthy to have committed such a slaughter.

“Did Gradlon seek vengeance for the deed?”

Gwion shook his head.

“No; he sent his ambassadors to Gwezenneg, asking for reparation and was refused. Each year, at the festival of Imbolc, he sent his ambassadors and they came back from
Vannes empty-handed. His daughter, Dahud-Ahes, whose beauty is renowned in the west, and who, it is said, is a mighty Druidess, demanded that her father take his army and seize that which Gwezenneg
refused to give. Gradlon is a wise and worthy king and refused to lower himself to the actions of Gwezenneg.”

Guénolé was pleased then, for he knew that Gradlon was such a king as he could convert to the true faith. But he was worried when he heard about Dahud-Ahes.

On the next morning, he set out for the west and Ker-Ys. The further west he went, the more forbidding the country became, with bare heathland and no trees but scrubland, and little stone walls
here and there, as a means of enclosing the scanty crops which grew. There came a long narrow spur of land, torn by waves on either side, overlooking the sea from a height of two hundred feet, and
this was prolonged seaward into a chain of reefs. Then, to the north, there was a low green plain, protected from the sea by a long high dyke, which stretched between the Pointe du Raz and the
Pointe du Van for, as we have said, this area was once land.

The great dyke had built into it two massive gates, which acted in the manner of a lock, and no one could open these gates, for they would flood the city. The gates were secured by a massive
padlock, to which there was but one golden key, which Gradlon carried on a chain around his neck.

Guénolé rode up to the gates of Ker-Ys and demanded entrance and access to Gradlon. Gradlon readily admitted the man and listened to all he had to say.

“There is much that is true in what you say,” Gradlon conceded, after a while. “I would learn more.”

“I would not!” rang out a voice.

A most beautiful woman entered the hall and, from the way the attendants bowed low, Guénolé knew he was in the presence of Dahud-Ahes, daughter of Gradlon. As his disciple, Gwion,
had said, she was a mighty Druidess.

Then Guénolé peered closer. “Are you not known as Whirlwind?” he demanded.

Dahud-Ahes smiled condescendingly. “What do you think?” she parried.

Guénolé gasped. “Yes, by the Living God. You are Aveldro, who caused the death of Gwezenneg!”