The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends (71 page)

“Unchain him and set him free,” instructed the mare.

N’oun Doaré shook his head. “I am afraid to go near such a terrifying thing . . . why, it is not a man at all.”

The mare stamped her hoof again. “Don’t be afraid! He won’t harm you. Do as I say.”

Reluctantly, the young man moved cautiously forward towards the shrieking apparition.

The beast-thing growled and struggled, but made no move to harm him.

N’oun Doaré unchained the serpent-man and set him free. The thing sprang away and then wheeled round to face him. But there was no hostility in the action.

“Thank you, N’oun Doaré. I am Griffescornu, King of the Demons. I’ll return this favour. If ever you need help, shriek my name on the night wind and I’ll come
straight away.”

Then he was gone in a flash of smoke and the smell of brimstone pervaded the air.

Shaken, N’oun Doaré turned back to his mare. “What now?” he demanded.

“Now, I shall go and refresh myself in that green field by those woods. You will go to the castle and demand to speak with its mistress, Aour, the Princess of the Golden-Ram. Do not take
‘no’ for an answer. She will welcome you and try to delay you by showing you all kinds of wondrous things. Ignore them and tell her that you have a mare at pasture in the field by the
wood. Invite her to come to see it, for it knows all the dances of the five kingdoms of Armorica and it will perform them for her. Stress that only you can make the mare do this.”

N’oun Doaré was about to turn away to the castle door when the old mare stayed him. “One thing you should know. The keeper to the gate of the castle will open it for you. Do
not go in at his invitation. He is a Druid and will, by magic, turn you into one of the fearsome beasts they keep locked within the castle rooms.”

N’oun Doaré was surprised and not a little fearful. “What must I do?”

“The old iron sword that you have – it says that it is invincible. And iron is pure and invincible over the forces of darkness. As soon as he opens the door, you must pierce him
through the heart and he will vanish to the Otherworld.”

N’oun Doaré went to turn away again. “A moment more,” cried the old mare. “The Druid has a son, just as evil as he. You must also slay him, but do not look into
his eyes or you will be finished.”

“Better that I never undertook this task,” muttered N’oun Doaré. “It seems that I shall not survive.”

The old mare stamped her foot impatiently. “Did I not warn you about the crown? It was your free choice.”

N’oun Doaré sighed in resignation. “You are right. I have brought this upon myself. I will see it through.”

“Then hear me again. Never, never ... set foot over the doorway of the castle until you are freely invited by Aour, the princess. Accept no invitation from any other person in the
castle.”

N’oun Doaré made his way to the gates and hammered on them with his sword hilt.

“I wish to speak to Aour, the Princess of the Golden-Ram,” he said, when an elderly silver-haired servant opened the gate.

“Welcome, young sir,” replied the servant. “Come in.” He looked so old and frail, and held a kindly disposition, that for a moment, N’oun Doaré hesitated,
thinking the advice of the old mare must be at fault. At the moment he hesitated, he heard a grim chuckle from the old servant and some instinct made him thrust out his rusty iron sword, straight
into the old man’s heart.

There was a shriek of terror and N’oun Doaré looked up. The old man had turned into some hideous creature, even more hideous than the King of Demons. An old, leprous man with such
malignant eyes, with open sores across his features.

He stood for a moment and then – vanished. His wailing shriek remained a long time after him.

N’oun Doaré saw, to his surprise, that his rusty old sword was shining like bright silver, where he had thrust it into the old man’s torso.

He waited for a moment, but there was no sound at all within the castle.

He was about to enter through the open door when the old mare’s warning came to his mind. He knocked again with his sword hilt.

A young man suddenly appeared before him. He was youthful and as handsome as any he had seen.

“Forgive me, stranger. I was sure that my father had come
to open the door. I am sorry for the delay. But do not stand there: come in and tell me what it is you
want.”

“I want to see Aour, the Princess of the Golden-Ram,” said N’oun Doaré, without stepping over the threshold. He glanced at the young man and suddenly went cold with
apprehension.

Dark malignant hypnotic eyes clawed at him. He felt himself being propelled across the threshold towards the interior of the castle.

He was helpless.

Then a sudden gust of wind ruffled his hair. The young man blinked as the wind caused a speck of dust to blow into his face. N’oun Doaré dropped his gaze immediately and thrust
forward with his sword, with all his might behind that thrust.

There was a scream of anguish and, as abruptly as the elderly servant had vanished, this young man also vanished.

N’oun Doaré found that he was now holding a beautiful burnished sword which would not be out of place at the hip of a great prince.

He paused again, but there was no sound from within the castle.

He banged against the lintel once more with his sword hilt.

Moments later, a beautiful young woman appeared. She had golden hair and features which caused him to swallow in nervousness. However, when he looked closely, he realized there was something
hard and speculative about this girl’s features: something that made him shiver slightly with apprehension.

“Who are you?” she asked, pleasantly enough.

“N’oun Doaré and I am come on a mission from Gwion, King of Vannes. If you be Aour, Princess of the Golden-Ram, then Gwion wishes to make you his wife.”

“
Ouah
!” snapped the girl, which is the Breton for “fiddlesticks”. Then she smiled and laid a hand on his arm. “I am Aour and invite you into my castle. I
have many wonders that you will wish to see. I collect fabulous creatures.”

“Such as the Griffescornu?” mused the young man, not able to hold back the jibe.

She sniffed in arrogant dismissal. “He bored me with his
shrieking. I am glad that you released him. He gave me a headache.”

She smiled invitingly and tried to draw him into the castle. “Come.”

N’oun Doaré shook his head. “I have a fabulous creature which you might be interested in,” he said airily.

“And what might that be?”

“I have an old mare. It can do all the dances of the five kingdoms of Armorica. But it will only perform when I tell it to. If you like fabulous creatures, you will be amazed at this
one.”

“And where is this miraculous steed?” asked the girl suspiciously.

Noun Doaré pointed to the woods. “At pasture, in a field by those woods. Not far away at all.”

The princess looked at the woods and, realizing they were so close, nodded her agreement.

The princess shut the gate of the castle behind her. N’oun Doaré saw her take a golden key out of her purse, which hung on a belt around her waist, and carefully lock the gate of
the castle. Then she followed him. They found the old mare in a field by the woods, contentedly grazing.

“I have brought the Princess of the Golden-Ram to see you dance, horse,” said the young man. “Perform the dances for her.”

And the old mare began to perform the most varied and intricate dances for the princess, who clapped her hands with delight.

“I have collected many marvels but this is truly wondrous,” she said approvingly.

Then the old mare deliberately winked at N’oun Doaré. He knew in an instant what he must do.

“There is a loose knot on the halter,” he said, moving forward and untying it. Then he added: “Climb on her back now, princess, and she will happily dance with you.”

The princess hesitated a moment or two.

“This will surely be a great marvel, better than any you have seen,” persuaded the young man. Finally, the princess mounted the mare and, no sooner had she done so, than N’oun
Doaré leapt up behind her and cried, “Vannes!”

In a trice, the horse seemed to rise into the air and mountains, forests, rivers, islands and the sea, flashed below. N’oun Doaré, as stunned as he was by the
journey, saw that the princess seemed to be more in control of her faculties, for he saw her take the golden key from her purse and throw it into the sea, above which they sped, sending it down
into its deep black depths. Then, as if in an instant, they were in the great square of Vannes.

“You have tricked me!” exclaimed the princess as N’oun Doaré dismounted and King Gwion and his retinue came running forward to greet them.

“I have brought you the Princess of the Golden-Ram, sir,” exclaimed the young man. “Just as you ordered.”

The princess looked angrily at N’oun Doaré. “You are not at the end of your trials yet, adopted son of Bras. You will weep more than once before I wed the King of
Vannes.” She made the threat in a sibilant voice, so low that King Gwion and his men would not hear her.

Gwion moved forward to greet her. He was overcome with her beauty and his heart was full of happiness. He feasted her that night with N’oun Doaré as a special guest of honour. The
princess was charming and did not once show anything but a sweet attitude towards Gwion and the man who had abducted her.

At the end of the evening, Gwion proposed marriage to her.

“I would do so, sir,” replied the princess, “but I cannot marry without first wearing the ancient ring of my race. No princess of my family has ever married without it. It is a
prohibition on my family not to do so, for it means bad luck will surely follow.”

“It is a reasonable request,” Gwion agreed. “Where is the ring?”

“It is in my bedchamber in my castle. By the bed there is a locked cabinet, to which I have lost the key.”

“Fear not. N’oun Doaré will go back and fetch it and he knows the penalty for failure.”

Dismayed, N’oun Doaré went to the stables and told his mare of the latest task that he was ordered to perform.

“Why are you worried?” demanded the mare. “Don’t you
remember that you saved the life of the King of Birds and that he promised to help you when an
occasion arose?”

“I remember,” cried N’oun Doaré.

“What are you waiting for, then? Call him.”

The young man went to the stable door and called up into the sky, asking for the King of Birds to come to him.

There was a flapping of wings and the voice said from the lintel of the stable: “What is it, N’oun Doaré? How can I help?” The great kestrel stood perched on the
beam.

The young man told him the problem.

“Don’t worry. The ring will be brought to you.”

Straightaway the kestrel called every known bird to go to the castle, but there was only one bird that was small enough to pass through the keyhole into the bedchamber of the castle, and only
one small enough to squeeze itself into the cabinet and regain the ring. That was the wren. With much difficulty and the loss of most of his feathers, the wren managed to get into the cabinet and
take the ring and bring it to Vannes.

At breakfast the next morning, N’oun Doaré presented it to the delighted Gwion and the angry princess.

“There you are,” Gwion said, handing her the ring. “Now we can name the day.”

“I only need one thing more before I can satisfy you by naming the day of our marriage. Without it, there can be no marriage.”

N’oun Doaré kept his temper in check, knowing that she would ask something more difficult.

“What is it?” asked Gwion.

“I want my castle to be brought here and erected on that hill overlooking Vannes.”

Even Gwion was amazed. “You want what . . . ?”

“My castle brought here intact.”

“How can you expect such a thing?” demanded the King of Vannes.

“I shall have it, or you shall have no wife.”

Gwion turned to N’oun Doaré. “You must find a way, or . . .” He did not have to finish the sentence.

Sadly, N’oun Doaré went to the stable.

“Well, that is no problem,” the mare answered, surprising him.

“How so?”

“Did you not save Griffescornu, the king of demons, releasing him from his chains, when the princess had made him part of her collection of fabulous creatures?”

“I did.”

“Very well. Summon him, and he will help you now.”

So N’oun Doaré shrieked the name of the king of the demons into the howling night wind and, sure enough, in a cloud of deepest black smoke, the Griffescornu arrived, in all his
awesome and hideous visage.

“How can I help you, N’oun Doaré?” hissed the apparition.

The young man told him.

“That is no problem. My demons and I will do it in an instant.”

When the sun rose above Vannes the next morning, the Castle of the Golden-Ram was standing in all its grim splendour, on the very hill where the princess had indicated she had wanted it. A whole
army of demons had uprooted the castle from the rock on which it had stood and whisked it through the air to stand where it now dominated the hill. The people of Vannes were in fear and trembling.
But the King Gwion was delighted.

Not so the princess.

“Now, lady,” Gwion said, “it only remains for you to fix the wedding day.”

The Princess of the Golden-Ram thought furiously. “I need only one more thing, and then I will name the day of our wedding, lord.”

Gwion was cynical. But the princess took a sacred oath that this was the last thing that she would ask.

“What is it?” sighed Gwion.

“The key to my castle. There stands the castle, but I cannot get in without the key.”

“I have the best locksmiths in the five kingdoms of Armorica,” protested Gwion. “They will make you a new key.”

“No. No one in the world can make a key which can open
the door of my castle. It has a magic lock. I must have the key.”

And so N’oun Doaré was sent for again. He was very angry, but when he heard that the princess had made this her last request and taken an oath to it, he was satisfied and went off
to get his old mare. The princess had not realized that he had seen her throw the key into the sea.