The Mythology of the British Islands: An Introduction to Celtic Myth, Legend, Poetry, and RomanceSquire, Charles
General
The Mythology of the British Islands: An Introduction to Celtic Myth, Legend, Poetry, and Romance
Squire, Charles
Celts -- Folklore; Mythology, Celtic
The day after that, Pwyll determined to accost the lady himself. She
came at the same gentle walk, and Pwyll at first rode easily, and then
at his horse’s topmost speed, but with the same result, or lack of it.
At last, in despair, he called to the mysterious damsel to stop. “I will
stop gladly,” said she, “and it would have been better for your horse if
you had asked me before.” She told him that her name was Rhiannon,
daughter of Heveydd the Ancient. The nobles of her realm had determined
to give her in marriage against her will, so she had come to seek out
Pwyll, who was the man of her choice. Pwyll was delighted to hear this,
for he thought that she was the most beautiful lady he had ever seen.
Before they parted, they had plighted troth, and Pwyll had promised to
appear on that day twelvemonth at the palace of her father, Heveydd.
Then she vanished, and Pwyll returned to Narberth.
At the appointed time, Pwyll went to visit Heveydd the Ancient, with a
hundred followers. He was received with much welcome, and the
disposition of the feast put under his command, as the Celts seem to
have done to especially honoured guests. As they sat at meat, with Pwyll
between Rhiannon and her father, a tall auburn-haired youth came into
the hall, greeted Pwyll, and asked a boon of him. “Whatever boon you may
ask of me,” said Pwyll thoughtlessly, “if it is in my power, you shall
have it.” Then the suitor threw off all disguise, called the guests to
witness Pwyll’s promise, and claimed Rhiannon as his bride. Pwyll was
dumb. “Be silent as long as you will,” said the masterful Rhiannon;
“never did a man make worse use of his wits than you have done.” “Lady,”
replied the amazed Pwyll, “I knew not who he was.” “He is the man to
whom they would have given me against my will,” she answered, “Gwawl,
the son of Clûd. You must bestow me upon him now, lest shame befall
you.” “Never will I do that,” said Pwyll. “Bestow me upon him,” she
insisted, “and I will cause that I shall never be his.” So Pwyll
promised Gwawl that he would make a feast that day year, at which he
would resign Rhiannon to him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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