The Project Gutenberg eBook of Knightly Legends of Wales, by Sidney Lanier.

Then the steward caused his horse to be saddled, and he took his lance and his shield, and went to the place where Geraint was. "Ah, knight!" said he, "what dost thou here?"

"Thou must needs come," said Kai. Then Geraint knew who he was; but Kai did not know Geraint. And Kai attacked Geraint as best he could. And Geraint became wroth, and he struck him with the shaft of his lance, so that he rolled headlong to the ground. But chastisement worse than this would he not inflict on him.

Scared and wildly Kai arose, and he mounted his horse, and went back to his lodging. And thence he proceeded to Gwalchmai's tent. "O sir!" said he to Gwalchmai, "I was told by one of the attendants, that he saw in the wood above a wounded knight, having on battered armor; and if thou dost right, thou wilt go and see if this be true."

"Take, then, thy horse, and some of thy armor," said Kai; "for I hear that he is not over courteous to those who approach him."

So Gwalchmai took his spear and his shield, and mounted his horse, and came to the spot where Geraint was. "Sir knight," said he, "wherefore is thy journey?"

"Wilt thou tell me who thou art? or wilt thou come and visit Arthur, who is near at hand?"

"I will make no alliance with thee, nor will I go and visit Arthur," said he. And he knew that it was Gwalchmai; but Gwalchmai knew him not.

"I purpose not to leave thee," said Gwalchmai, "till I know who thou art." And he charged him with his lance, and struck him on his shield, so that the shaft was shivered into splinters, and their horses were front to front. Then Gwalchmai gazed fixedly upon him, and he knew him. "Ah, Geraint!" said he, "is it thou that art here?"

"Geraint thou art, by Heaven!" he replied; "and a wretched and insane expedition is this." Then he looked around, and beheld Enid, and he welcomed her gladly. "Geraint," said Gwalchmai, "come thou and see Arthur: he is thy lord and thy cousin."

"I will not," said he; "for I am not in a fit state to go and see any one." Thereupon, behold one of the pages came after Gwalchmai to speak to him. So he sent him to apprise Arthur that Geraint was there wounded, and that he would not go to visit him, and that it was pitiable to see the plight that he was in. And this he did without Geraint's knowledge, inasmuch as he spoke in a whisper to the page. "Entreat Arthur," said he, "to have his tent brought near to the road, for he will not meet him willingly, and it is not easy to compel him in the mood he is in." So the page came to Arthur, and told him this. And he caused his tent to be removed unto the side of the road. And the maiden rejoiced in her heart. And Gwalchmai led Geraint onwards along the road, till they came to the place where Arthur was encamped, and the pages were pitching his tent by the roadside.

"It is Geraint," said Gwalchmai; "and of his own free will would he not come to meet thee."

Then came Enid, and saluted Arthur. "Heaven protect thee!" said he. And thereupon he caused one of the pages to take her from her horse. "Alas, Enid!" said Arthur, "what expedition is this?"

"I know not, lord," said she, "save that it behooves me to journey by the same road that he journeys."

"Whither wilt thou go?" said Arthur. "Thou canst not proceed now, unless it be unto thy death."

"But by me he will," said Arthur; "and moreover he does not go from here until he is healed."

"That will I not, I declare to Heaven!" said he. Then he caused a maiden to be sent for to conduct Enid to the tent where Gwenhwyvar's chamber was. And Gwenhwyvar and all her women were joyful at her coming; and they took off her riding-dress, and placed other garments upon her. Arthur also called Kadyrieith, and ordered him to pitch a tent for Geraint and the physicians; and he enjoined him to provide him with abundance of all that might be requisite for him. And Kadyrieith did as he had commanded him. And Morgan Tud and his disciples were brought to Geraint.

And Arthur and his hosts remained there nearly a month, whilst Geraint was being healed. And when he was fully recovered, Geraint came to Arthur, and asked his permission to depart.

"I shall not believe thee concerning that, but the physicians that were with thee." So Arthur caused the physicians to be summoned to him, and asked them if it were true.

"It is true, lord," said Morgan Tud. So the next day Arthur permitted him to go forth, and he pursued his journey. And on the same day Arthur removed thence.

And Geraint desired Enid to go on, and to keep before him, as she had formerly done. And she went forward along the high road. And as they journeyed thus, they heard an exceeding loud wailing near to them. "Stay thou here," said he, "and I will go and see what is the cause of this wailing."

Then he went forward unto an open glade that was near the road. And in the glade he saw two horses, one having a man's saddle, and the other a woman's saddle upon it. And, behold, there was a knight lying dead in his armor, and a young damsel in a riding-dress standing over him, lamenting. "Ah, lady!" said Geraint, "what hath befallen thee?"

"Behold," she answered, "I journeyed here with my beloved husband, when, lo! three giants came upon us, and without any cause in the world they slew him."

So he returned to Enid. "Go," said he, "to the lady that is below yonder, and await me there till I come."

She was sad when he ordered her to do thus; but nevertheless she went to the damsel, whom it was ruth to hear, and she felt certain that Geraint would never return. Meanwhile Geraint followed the giants, and overtook them. And each of them was greater of stature than three other men, and a huge club was on the shoulder of each. Then he rushed upon one of them, and thrust his lance through his body. And having drawn it forth again, he pierced another of them through likewise. But the third turned upon him, and struck him with his club; so that he split his shield, and crushed his shoulder, and opened his wounds anew, and all his blood began to flow from him. But Geraint drew his sword, and attacked the giant, and gave him a blow on the crown of his head so severe and fierce and violent, that his head and his neck were split down to his shoulders, and he fell dead. So Geraint left him thus, and returned to Enid. And when he saw her, he fell down lifeless from his horse. Piercing and loud and thrilling was the cry that Enid uttered. And she came and stood over him where he had fallen. And at the sound of her cries came the Earl of Limours, and the host that journeyed with him, whom her lamentations brought out of their road. And the earl said to Enid, "Alas, lady! what hath befallen thee?"

"Ah, good sir!" said she, "the only man I have loved, or ever shall love, is slain."

"Some giants," she answered, "slew my best-beloved; and the other knight went in pursuit of them, and came back in the state thou seest, his blood flowing excessively. But it appears to me that he did not leave the giants without killing some of them, if not all." The earl caused the knight that was dead to be buried, but he thought that there still remained some life in Geraint; and to see if he yet would live, he had him carried with him in the hollow of his shield, and upon a bier. And the two damsels went to the court; and when they arrived there, Geraint was placed upon a litter-couch in front of the table that was in the hall. Then they all took off their travelling-gear, and the earl besought Enid to do the same, and to clothe her self in other garments.

"I will act towards thee in such wise, that thou needest not be sorrowful, whether yonder knight live or die. Behold, a good earldom, together with myself, will I bestow on thee. Be therefore happy and joyful."

"I declare to Heaven," said she, "that henceforth I shall never be joyful while I live."

"But, by Heaven, thou shalt," said he. So he took her with him to the table, against her will, and many times desired her to eat.

"I call Heaven to witness," said she, "that I will not eat until the man that is upon yonder bier shall eat likewise."

Then he offered her a goblet of liquor. "Drink this goblet," he said, "and it will cause thee to change thy mind."

"Truly," said the earl, "it is of no more avail for me to be gentle with thee than ungentle." And he gave her a box in the ear. Thereupon she raised a loud and piercing shriek; and her lamentations were much greater than they had been before, for she considered in her mind, that, had Geraint been alive, he durst not have struck her thus.

But behold, at the sound of her cry, Geraint revived from his swoon, and he sat up on the bier, and, finding his sword in the hollow of his shield, he rushed to the place where the earl was, and struck him a fiercely-wounding, severely-venomous, and sternly-smiting blow upon the crown of his head, so that he clove him in twain, until his sword was stayed by the table. Then all left the board, and fled away. And this was not so much through fear of the living as through the dread they felt at seeing the dead man rise up to slay them. And Geraint looked upon Enid, and he was grieved for two causes: one was to see that Enid had lost her color and her wonted aspect; and the other, to know that she was in the right. "Lady," said he, "knowest thou where our horses are?"

"I know, lord, where thy horse is," she replied; "but I know not where is the other. Thy horse is in the house yonder."

So he went to the house, and brought forth his horse, and mounted him, and took up Enid from the ground, and placed her upon the horse with him. And he rode forward. And their road lay between two hedges. And the night was gaining on the day. And lo! they saw behind them the shafts of spears betwixt them and the sky, and they heard the trampling of horses and the noise of a host approaching. "I hear something following us," said he, "and I will put thee on the other side of the hedge." And thus he did. And thereupon, behold, a knight pricked towards him, and couched his lance.

When Enid saw this, she cried out, saying, "O chieftain! whoever thou art, what renown wilt thou gain by slaying a dead man?"

"I am the Little King," he answered, "coming to thy assistance; for I heard that thou wast in trouble. And if thou hadst followed my advice, none of these hardships would have befallen thee."

"Nothing can happen," said Geraint, "without the will of Heaven, though much good results from counsel."

"Yes," said the Little King; "and I know good counsel for thee now. Come with me to the court of a son-in-law of my sister, which is near here, and thou shalt have the best medical assistance in the kingdom."

"I will do so gladly," said Geraint. And Enid was placed upon the horse of one of the Little King's squires, and they went forward to the baron's palace. And they were received there with gladness, and they met with hospitality and attention. And the next morning they went to seek physicians, and it was not long before they came; and they attended Geraint until he was perfectly well. And while Geraint was under medical care, the Little King caused his armor to be repaired, until it was as good as it had ever been. And they remained there a fortnight and a month.

Then the Little King said to Geraint, "Now will we go towards my own court, to take rest and amuse ourselves."

"Not so," said Geraint. "We will first journey for one day more, and return again."

"With all my heart!" said the Little King. "Do thou go then." And early in the day they set forth. And more gladly and more joyfully did Enid journey with them that day than she had ever done. And they came to the main road. And when they reached a place where the road divided in two, they beheld a man on foot coming towards them along one of these roads; and Gwiffert asked the man whence he came.

"Tell me," said Geraint: "which is the best for me to follow of these two roads?"

"That is the best for thee to follow," answered he; "for if thou goest by this one, thou wilt never return. Below us," said he, "there is a hedge of mist, and within it are enchanted games; and no one who has gone there has ever returned. And the court of the Earl Owain is there, and he permits no one to go to lodge in the town, except he will go to his court."

"I declare to Heaven," said Geraint, "that we will take the lower road." And they went along it until they came to the town. And they took the fairest and pleasantest place in the town for their lodging. And while they were thus, behold, a young man came to them, and greeted them. "Heaven be propitious to thee!" said they.

"It is not the custom with him who owns the town," he answered, "to permit any of gentle birth, unless they come to stay in his court, to abide here therefore: come ye to the court."

"We will come gladly," said Geraint. And they went with the page, and they were joyfully received. And the earl came to the hall to meet them, and he commanded the tables to be laid. And they washed, and sat down. And this is the order in which they sat: Geraint on one side of the earl, and Enid on the other side, and next to Enid the Little King, and then the countess next to Geraint; and all after that as became their rank. Then Geraint recollected the games, and thought that he should not go to them; and on that account he did not eat. Then the earl looked upon Geraint, and considered; and he bethought him that his not eating was because of the games, and it grieved him that he had ever established those games, were it only on account of losing such a youth as Geraint. And if Geraint had asked him to abolish the games, he would gladly have done so.

Then the earl said to Geraint, "What thought occupies thy mind, that thou dost not eat? If thou hesitatest about going to the games, thou shalt not go, and no other of thy rank shall ever go, either."

"Heaven reward thee!" said Geraint. "But I wish nothing better than to go to the games, and to be shown the way thither."

"I do prefer it, indeed," said he. Then they ate, and they were amply served, and they had a variety of gifts, and abundance of liquor. And when they had finished eating they arose. And Geraint called for his horse and his armor, and he accoutred both himself and his horse. And all the hosts went forth until they came to the side of the hedge; and the hedge was so lofty, that it reached as high as they could see in the air; and upon every stake in the hedge, except two, there was the head of a man, and the number of stakes throughout the hedge was very great.

"I know not," said Owain. "But enter by the way that thou wilt, and that seemeth easiest to thee."

Then fearlessly and unhesitatingly Geraint dashed forward into the mist. And on leaving the mist he came to a large orchard; and in the orchard he saw an open space, wherein was a tent of red satin. And the door of the tent was open, and an apple-tree stood in front of the door of the tent; and on a branch of the apple-tree hung a huge hunting-horn. Then he dismounted, and went into the tent; and there was no one in the tent save one maiden sitting in a golden chair, and another chair was opposite to her, empty. And Geraint went to the empty chair, and sat down therein.

"Ah, chieftain!" said the maiden, "I would not counsel thee to sit in that chair."

"I care not," said Geraint, "though it displease him that I sit in the chair." And thereupon they heard a mighty tumult around the tent. And Geraint looked to see what was the cause of the tumult. And he beheld without a knight mounted upon a war-horse, proudly snorting, high-mettled, and large of bone; and a robe of honor in two parts was upon him and upon his horse, and beneath it was plenty of armor.

"Tell me, chieftain," said he to Geraint, "who it was that bade thee sit there."

"It was wrong of thee to do me this shame and disgrace. Arise, and do me satisfaction for thine insolence."

Then Geraint arose; and they encountered immediately; and they broke a set of lances, and a second set, and a third; and they gave each other fierce and frequent strokes. And at last Geraint became enraged; and he urged on his horse, and rushed upon him, and gave him a thrust on the centre of his shield, so that it was split, and so that the head of his lance went through his armor, and his girths were broken, and he himself was borne headlong to the ground, the length of Geraint's lance and arm, over his horse's crupper. "Oh, my lord!" said he, "thy mercy, and thou shalt have what thou wilt."

"I only desire," said Geraint, "that this game shall no longer exist here, nor the hedge of mist, nor magic, nor enchantment."

"Sound yonder horn," said he, "and when thou soundest it, the mist will vanish; but it will not go hence unless the horn be blown by the knight by whom I am vanquished."

And sad and sorrowful was Enid where she remained, through anxiety concerning Geraint. Then Geraint went and sounded the horn. And at the first blast he gave, the mist vanished. And all the hosts came together, and they all became reconciled to each other. And the earl invited Geraint and the Little King to stay with him that night. And the next morning they separated. And Geraint went towards his own dominions; and thenceforth he reigned prosperously, and his warlike fame and splendor lasted with renown and honor both to him and to Enid from that time forth.

THE DREAM OF MAXEN WLEDIG.

Maxen Wledig was emperor [20] of Rome; and he was a comelier man, and a better and a wiser, than any emperor that had been before him. And one day he held a council of kings; and he said to his friends, "I desire to go to-morrow to hunt." And the next day in the morning he set forth with his retinue, and came to the valley of the river that flowed towards Rome. And he hunted through the valley until mid-day. And with him also were two and thirty crowned kings, that were his vassals. Not for the delight of hunting went the emperor with them, but to put himself on equal terms with those kings.

And the sun was high in the sky over their heads, and the heat was great. And sleep came upon Maxen Wledig. And his attendants stood and set up their shields around him upon the shafts of their spears to protect him from the sun, and they placed a gold enamelled shield under his head; and so Maxen slept.

And he saw a dream. And this is the dream that he saw. He was journeying along the valley of the river towards its source; and he came to the highest mountain in the world. And he thought that the mountain was as high as the sky. And when he came over the mountain, it seemed to him that he went through the fairest and most level regions that man ever yet beheld, on the other side of the mountain. And he saw large and mighty rivers descending from the mountain to the sea, and towards the mouths of the rivers he proceeded. And as he journeyed thus he came to the mouth of the largest river ever seen. And he beheld a great city at the entrance of the river, and a vast castle in the city, and he saw many high towers of various colors in the castle. And he saw a fleet at the mouth of the river, the largest ever seen. And he saw one ship among the fleet: larger was it by far, and fairer, than all the others. Of such part of the ship as he could see above the water, one plank was gilded and the other silvered over. He saw a bridge of the bone of the whale from the ship to the land, and he thought that he went along the bridge, and came into the ship. And a sail was hoisted on the ship, and along the sea and the ocean was it borne. Then it seemed that he came to the fairest island in the whole world, and he traversed the island from sea to sea, even to the farthest shore of the island. Valleys he saw, and steeps, and rocks of wondrous height, and rugged precipices. Never yet saw he the like. And thence he beheld an island in the sea, facing this rugged land. And between him and this island was a country of which the plain was as large as the sea, the mountain as vast as the wood. And from the mountain he saw a river that flowed through the land, and fell into the sea. And at the mouth of the river he beheld a castle, the fairest that man ever saw; and the gate of the castle was open, and he went into the castle. And in the castle he saw a fair hall, of which the roof seemed to be all gold; the walls of the hall seemed to be entirely of glittering precious gems, the doors all seemed to be of gold. Golden seats he saw in the hall, and silver tables. And on a seat opposite to him he beheld two auburn-haired youths playing at chess. He saw a silver board for the chess, and golden pieces thereon. The garments of the youths were of jet-black satin; and chaplets of ruddy gold bound their hair, whereon were sparkling jewels of great price, rubies, and gems alternately with imperial stones; buskins of new Cordovan leather on their feet, fastened by slides of red gold.

And beside a pillar in the hall he saw a hoary-headed man in a chair of ivory, with the figures of two eagles of ruddy gold thereon. Bracelets of gold were upon his arms, and many rings were on his hands, and a golden torque about his neck; and his hair was bound with a golden diadem. He was of powerful aspect. A chessboard of gold was before him, and a rod of gold, and a steel file in his hand. And he was carving out chessmen.

And he saw a maiden sitting before him in a chair of ruddy gold. Not more easy than to gaze upon the sun when brightest was it to look upon her by reason of her beauty. A vest of white silk was upon the maiden, with clasps of red gold at the breast; and a surcoat of gold tissue upon her, and a frontlet of red gold upon her head, and rubies and gems were in the frontlet, alternating with pearls and imperial stones. And a girdle of ruddy gold was around her. She was the fairest sight that man ever beheld.

The maiden arose from her chair before him, and they two sat down together in the chair of gold; and the chair was not less roomy for them both than for the maiden alone. And behold, through the chafing of the dogs at their leashing, and the clashing of the shields as they struck against each other, and the beating together of the shafts of the spears, and the neighing of the horses and their prancing, the emperor awoke.

And when he awoke, nor spirit nor existence was left him, because of the maiden whom he had seen in his sleep; for the love of the maiden pervaded his whole frame. Then his household spake unto him. "Lord," said they, "is it not past the time for thee to take thy food?" Thereupon the emperor mounted his palfrey, the saddest man that mortal ever saw, and went forth towards Rome.

And thus he was during the space of a week. When they of the household went to drink wine and mead out of golden vessels, he went not with any of them. When they went to listen to songs and tales, he went not with them there; neither could he be persuaded to do any thing but sleep. And as often as he slept, he beheld in his dreams the maiden he loved best: but except when he slept he saw nothing of her; for he knew not where in the world she was.

One day the page of the chamber spake unto him: now, although he was page of the chamber, he was king of the Romans. "Lord," said he, "all the people revile thee."

"Because they can get neither message nor answer from thee, as men should have from their lord. This is the cause why thou art spoken evil of."

"Youth," said the emperor, "do thou bring unto me the wise men of Rome, and I will tell them wherefore I am sorrowful."

Then the wise men of Rome were brought to the emperor, and he spake to them. "Sages of Rome," said he, "I have seen a dream. And in the dream I beheld a maiden, and because of the maiden is there neither life, nor spirit, nor existence within me."

"Lord," they answered, "since thou judgest us worthy to counsel thee, we will give thee counsel. And this is our counsel: that thou send messengers for three years to the three parts of the world to seek for thy dream. And as thou knowest not what day or what night good news may come to thee, the hope thereof will support thee."

So the messengers journeyed for the space of a year, wandering about the world, and seeking tidings concerning his dream. But when they came back at the end of the year, they knew not one word more than they did the day they set forth. And then was the emperor exceeding sorrowful; for he thought that he should never have tidings of her whom best he loved.

Then spoke the King of the Romans unto the emperor. "Lord," said he, "go forth to hunt by the way thou didst seem to go, whether it were to the east or to the west."

So the emperor went forth to the hunt, and he came to the bank of the river. "Behold," said he, "this is where I was when I saw the dream, and I went towards the source of the river westward."

And thereupon thirteen messengers of the emperor's set forth; and before them they saw a high mountain, which seemed to them to touch the sky. Now this was the guise in which the messengers journeyed: one sleeve was on the cap of each of them in front, as a sign that they were messengers, in order that through what hostile land soever they might pass no harm might be done them. And when they were come over this mountain, they beheld vast plains, and large rivers flowing there through. "Behold," said they, "the land which our master saw."

And they went along the mouths of the rivers, until they came to the mighty river which they saw flowing to the sea, and the vast city, and the many-colored high towers in the castle. They saw the largest fleet in the world in the harbor of the river, and one ship that was larger than any of the others. "Behold again," said they, "the dream that our master saw." And in the great ship they crossed the sea, and came to the Island of Britain. And they traversed the island until they came to Snowdon. "Behold," said they, "the rugged land that our master saw." And they went forward until they saw Anglesey before them, and until they saw Arvon likewise. "Behold," said they, "the land our master saw in his sleep." And they saw Aber Sain, and a castle at the mouth of the river. The portal of the castle saw they open, and into the castle they went, and they saw a hall in the castle. Then said they, "Behold the hall which he saw in his sleep." They went into the hall, and they beheld two youths playing at chess on the golden bench. And they beheld the hoary-headed man beside the pillar, in the ivory chair, carving chessmen. And they beheld the maiden sitting on a chair of ruddy gold.

"Ha, gentles," said the maiden, "ye bear the seeming of honorable men, and the badge of envoys: what mockery is this ye do to me?"

"We mock thee not, lady; but the Emperor of Rome hath seen thee in his sleep, and he has neither life nor spirit left because of thee. Thou shalt have of us therefore the choice, lady,—whether thou wilt go with us and be made Empress of Rome, or that the emperor come hither and take thee for his wife?"

"Ha, lords," said the maiden, "I will not deny what ye say, neither will I believe it too well. If the emperor love me, let him come here to seek me."

And by day and night the messengers hied them back. And when their horses failed, they bought other fresh ones. And when they came to Rome, they saluted the emperor, and asked their boon, which was given to them according as they named it. "We will be thy guides, lord," said they, "over sea and over land, to the place where is the woman whom best thou lovest; for we know her name, and her kindred, and her race."

And immediately the emperor set forth with his army. And these men were his guides. Towards the Island of Britain they went over the sea and the deep. And he conquered the island from Beli the son of Manogan, and his sons, and drove them to the sea, and went forward even unto Arvon. And the emperor knew the land when he saw it. And when he beheld the castle of Aber Sain, "Look yonder," said he, "there is the castle wherein I saw the damsel whom I best love." And he went forward into the castle and into the hall, and there he saw Kynan the son of Eudav, and Adeon the son of Eudav, playing at chess. And he saw Eudav the son of Caradawc sitting on a chair of ivory, carving chessmen. And the maiden whom he had beheld in his sleep he saw sitting on a chair of gold. "Empress of Rome," said he, "all hail!" And the emperor threw his arms about her neck; and she became his bride.

And the next day in the morning, the damsel asked her maiden portion. And he told her to name what she would. And she asked to have the Island of Britain for her father, from the Channel to the Irish Sea, together with the three adjacent islands, to hold under the Empress of Rome, and to have three chief castles made for her in whatever places she might choose in the Island of Britain. And she chose to have the highest castle made at Arvon. And they brought thither earth from Rome, that it might be more healthful for the emperor to sleep and sit and walk upon. After that, the two other castles were made for her, which were Caerlleon and Caermarthen.

And one day the emperor went to hunt at Caermarthen, and he came so far as the top of Brevi Vawr, and there the emperor pitched his tent. And that encamping place is called Cadeir Maxen, even to this day. And because that he built the castle with a myriad of men, he called it Caervyrddin. Then Helen bethought her to make high roads from one castle to another throughout the Island of Britain. And the roads were made. And for this cause are they called the Roads of Helen Luyddawc, that she was sprung from a native of this island; and the men of the Island of Britain would not have made these great roads for any save for her.

Seven years did the emperor tarry in this island. Now, at that time, the men of Rome had a custom, that whatsoever emperor should remain in other lands more than seven years should remain to his own overthrow, and should never return to Rome again.

So they made a new emperor. And this one wrote a letter of threat to Maxen. There was nought in the letter but only this: "If thou comest, and if thou ever comest to Rome." And even unto Caerlleon came this letter to Maxen, and these tidings. Then sent he a letter to the man who styled himself emperor in Rome. There was nought in that letter also but only this: "If I come to Rome, and if I come."

And thereupon Maxen set forth towards Rome with his army, and vanquished France and Burgundy, and every land on the way, and sat down before the city of Rome.

A year was the emperor before the city, and he was no nearer taking it than the first day. And after him there came the brothers of Helen Luyddawc from the Island of Britain, and a small host with them; and better warriors were in that small host than twice as many Romans. And the emperor was told that a host was seen halting close to his army, and encamping, and no man ever saw a fairer or better appointed host for its size, nor more handsome standards.

And Helen went to see the hosts, and she knew the standards of her brothers. Then came Kynan the son of Eudav, and Adeon the son of Eudav, to meet the emperor. And the emperor was glad because of them, and embraced them.

Then they looked at the Romans as they attacked the city. Said Kynan to his brother, "We will try to attack the city more expertly than this." So they measured by night the height of the wall, and they sent their carpenters to the wood, and a ladder was made for every four men of their number. Now, when these were ready, every day at mid-day the emperors went to meat, and they ceased to fight on both sides till all had finished eating. And in the morning the men of Britain took their food, and they drank until they were invigorated. And while the two emperors were at meat, the Britons came to the city, and placed their ladders against it, and forthwith they came in through the city.

The new emperor had no time to arm himself when they fell upon him, and slew him, and many others with him. And three nights and three days were they subduing the men that were in the city, and taking the castle. And others of them kept the city, lest any of the host of Maxen should come therein, until they had subjected all to their will.

Then spake Maxen to Helen Luyddawc. "I marvel, lady," said he, "that thy brothers have not conquered this city for me."

"Lord, emperor," she answered, "the wisest youths in the world are my brothers. Go thou thither, and ask the city of them, and if it be in their possession thou shalt have it gladly." So the emperor and Helen went and demanded the city. And they told the emperor that none had taken the city, and that none could give it him, but the men of the Island of Britain. Then the gates of the city of Rome were opened, and the emperor sat on the throne, and all the men of Rome submitted themselves unto him.

The emperor then said unto Kynan and Adeon, "Lords," said he, "I have now had possession of the whole of my empire. This host give I unto you to vanquish whatever region ye may desire in the world."

So they set forth and conquered lands and castles and cities. And they slew all the men; but the women they kept alive. And thus they continued until the young men that had come with them were grown gray-headed, from the length of time they were upon this conquest.

Then spoke Kynan unto Adeon his brother, "Whether wilt thou rather," said he, "tarry in this land, or go back into the land whence thou didst come forth?" Now he chose to go back to his own land, and many with him. But Kynan tarried there with the other part, and dwelt there.

And this dream is called the Dream of Maxen Wledig, Emperor of Rome. And here it ends.

TALIESIN.[21]

In times past there lived in Penllyn a man of gentle lineage named Tegid Voel; and his dwelling was in the midst of the Lake Tegid; and his wife was called Caridwen. And there was born to him of his wife a son named Morvran ab Tegid, and also a daughter named Creirwy, the fairest maiden in the world was she; and they had a brother, the most ill-favored man in the world, Avagddu. Now Caridwen his mother thought that he was not likely to be admitted among men of noble birth, by reason of his ugliness, unless he had some exalted merits or knowledge. For it was in the beginning of Arthur's time and of the Round Table.

So she resolved according to the arts of the books of the Fferyllt, to boil a caldron of Inspiration and Science for her son, that his reception might be honorable because of his knowledge of the mysteries of the future state of the world.

Then she began to boil the caldron, which from the beginning of its boiling might not cease to boil for a year and a day, until three blessed drops were obtained of the grace of Inspiration.

And she put Gwion Bach the son of Gwreang of Llanfair in Caereinion, in Powys, to stir the caldron, and a blind man named Morda to kindle the fire beneath it, and she charged them that they should not suffer it to cease boiling for the space of a year and a day. And she herself, according to the books of the astronomers, and in planetary hours, gathered every day of all charm-bearing herbs. And one day towards the end of the year, as Caridwen was culling plants, and making incantations, it chanced that three drops of the charmed liquor flew out of the caldron and fell upon the finger of Gwion Bach. And by reason of their great heat he put his finger to his mouth; and the instant he put those marvel-working drops into his mouth, he foresaw every thing that was to come, and perceived that his chief care must be to guard against the wiles of Caridwen, for vast was her skill. And in very great fear he fled towards his own land. And the caldron burst in two, because all the liquor within it, except the three charm-bearing drops, was poisonous; so that the horses of Gwyddno Garanhir were poisoned by the water of the stream into which the liquor of the caldron ran; and the confluence of that stream was called the Poison of the Horses of Gwyddno from that time forth.

Thereupon came in Caridwen, and saw all the toil of the whole year lost. And she seized a billet of wood, and struck the blind Morda on the head, until one of his eyes fell out upon his cheek. And he said, "Wrongfully hast thou disfigured me; for I am innocent. Thy loss was not because of me."

And she went forth after him, running. And he saw her, and changed himself into a hare, and fled. But she changed herself into a greyhound, and turned him. And he ran towards a river, and became a fish. And she, in the form of an otter, chased him under the water, until he was fain to turn himself into a bird of the air. She, as a hawk, followed him, and gave him no rest in the sky. And just as she was about to stoop upon him, and he was in fear of death, he espied a heap of winnowed wheat on the floor of a barn, and he dropped among the wheat, and turned himself into one of the grains. Then she transformed herself into a high-crested black hen, and went to the wheat, and scratched it with her feet, and found him out. So she wrapped him in a leathern bag, and cast him into the sea to the mercy of God, on the twenty-ninth day of April.

And at that time the weir of Gwyddno was on the strand between Dyvi and Aberystwyth, near to his own castle; and the value of an hundred pounds was taken in that weir every May Eve. And in those days Gwyddno had an only son named Elphin, the most hapless of youths and the most needy. And it grieved his father sore, for he thought that he was born in an evil hour. And by the advice of his council his father had granted him the drawing of the weir that year, to see if good luck would ever befall him, and to give him something wherewith to begin the world.

And the next day when Elphin went to look, there was nothing in the weir. But as he turned back he perceived the leathern bag upon a pole of the weir. Then said one of the weir-ward unto Elphin, "Thou wast never unlucky until to-night; and now thou hast destroyed the virtues of the weir, which always yielded the value of an hundred pounds every May Eve; and to-night there is nothing but this leathern skin within it."

"How now?" said Elphin. "There may be therein the value of an hundred pounds." Well, they took up the leathern bag; and he who opened it saw the forehead of the boy, and said to Elphin, "Behold a radiant brow!"[22]

"Taliesin be he called," said Elphin. And he lifted the boy in his arms, and, lamenting his mischance, he placed him sorrowfully behind him. And he made his horse amble gently, that before had been trotting; and he carried him as softly as if he had been sitting in the easiest chair in the world. And presently the boy made a Consolation and praise to Elphin, and foretold honor to Elphin; and the Consolation was as you may see:—

"Fair Elphin, cease to lament!

Let no one be dissatisfied with his own:

To despair will bring no advantage.

No man sees what supports him;

The prayer of Cynllo will not be in vain;

God will not violate his promise.

Never in Gwyddno's weir

Was there such good luck as this night.

Fair Elphin, dry thy cheeks!

Being too sad will not avail,

Although thou thinkest thou hast no gain:

Too much grief will bring thee no good;

Nor doubt the miracles of the Almighty.

Although I am but little, I am highly gifted.

From seas, and from mountains,

And from the depths of rivers,

God brings wealth to the fortunate man.

Elphin of lively qualities,

Thy resolution is unmanly;

Thou must not be over sorrowful:

Better to trust in God than to forebode ill.

Weak and small as I am,

On the foaming beach of the ocean,

In the day of trouble I shall be

Of more service to thee than three hundred salmon.

Elphin of notable qualities,

Be not displeased at thy misfortune;

Although reclined thus weak in my bag,

There lies a virtue in my tongue.

While I continue thy protector

Thou hast not much to fear;

Remembering the names of the Trinity,

None shall be able to harm thee."

And this was the first poem that Taliesin ever sang, being to console Elphin in his grief for that the produce of the weir was lost, and, what was worse, that all the world would consider that it was through his fault and ill luck.

Then came Elphin to the house or court of Gwyddno his father, and Taliesin with him. And Gwyddno asked him if he had had a good haul at the weir, and he told him that he had got that which was better than fish. "What was that?" said Gwyddno.

And Taliesin himself replied and said, "He will profit him more than the weir ever profited thee."

And Taliesin answered him, "I am better able to speak than thou to question me."

And forthwith Elphin gave his haul to his wife, and she nursed him tenderly and lovingly. Thenceforward Elphin increased in riches more and more day after day, and in love and favor with the king. And there abode Taliesin until he was thirteen years old, when Elphin, son of Gwyddno, went by a Christmas invitation to his uncle, Maelgwn Gwynedd, who some time after this held open court at Christmastide in the castle of Dyganwy, for all the number of his lords of both degrees, both spiritual and temporal, with a vast and thronged hosts of knights and squires. And amongst them there arose a discourse and discussion. And thus was it said:—

"Is there in the whole world a king so great as Maelgwn, or one on whom Heaven has bestowed so many spiritual gifts as upon him? First, form and beauty and meekness and strength, besides all the powers of the soul!" And together with these they said that Heaven had given one gift that exceeded all the others, which was the beauty and comeliness and grace and wisdom and modesty of his queen, whose virtues surpassed those of all the ladies and noble maidens throughout the whole kingdom. And with this they put questions one to another amongst themselves,—"Who had braver men, who had fairer or swifter horses or greyhounds, who had more skilful or wiser bards—than Maelgwn?"

Now at that time the bards were in great favor with the exalted of the kingdom; and then none performed the office of those who are now called heralds, unless they were learned men, not only expert in the service of kings and princes, but studious, and well versed in the lineage and arms and exploits of princes and kings, and in discussions concerning foreign kingdoms and the ancient things of this kingdom, and chiefly in the annals of the first nobles, and also were prepared always with their answers in various languages,—Latin, French, Welsh, and English. And together with this they were great chroniclers and recorders, and skilful in framing verses, and ready in making englyns in every one of those languages. Now of these there were at that feast within the palace of Maelgwn as many as four and twenty, and chief of them all was one named Heinin Vardd.

When they had all made an end of thus praising the king and his gifts, it befell that Elphin spoke in this wise: "Of a truth none but a king may vie with a king; but, were he not a king, I would say that my wife was as full of virtues as any lady in the kingdom, and also that I have a bard who is more skilful than all the king's bards." In a short space some of his fellows showed the king all the boastings of Elphin; and the king ordered him to be thrown into a strong prison until he might know the truth as to the virtues of his wife and the wisdom of his bard.

Now, when Elphin had been put in a tower of the castle, with a thick chain about his feet (it is said that it was a silver chain, because he was of royal blood), the king, as the story relates, sent his son Rhun to inquire into the demeanor of Elphin's wife. Now, Rhun was the most graceless man in the world, and there was neither wife nor maiden with whom he had held converse, but was evil spoken of. While Rhun went in haste towards Elphin's dwelling, being fully minded to bring disgrace upon his wife, Taliesin told his mistress how that the king had placed his master in durance in prison, and how that Rhun was coming in haste to strive to bring disgrace upon her. Wherefore he caused his mistress to array one of the maids of her kitchen in her apparel; which the noble lady gladly did; and she loaded her hands with the best rings that she and her husband possessed.

In this guise Taliesin caused his mistress to put the maiden to sit at the board in her room at supper, and he made her to seem as her mistress, and the mistress to seem as the maid. And when they were in due time seated at their supper in the manner that has been said, Rhun suddenly arrived at Elphin's dwelling, and was received with joy, for all the servants knew him plainly. And they brought him in haste to the room of their mistress, in the semblance of whom the maid rose up from supper, and welcomed him gladly. And afterwards she sat down to supper again the second time, and Rhun with her. Then Rhun began jesting with the maid, who still kept the semblance of her mistress. And verily this story shows that the maiden became so intoxicated, that she fell asleep; and the story relates that it was a powder that Rhun put into the drink, that made her sleep so soundly that she never felt it when he cut from off her hand her little finger, whereupon was the signet-ring of Elphin, which he had sent to his wife as a token a short time before. And Rhun returned to the king with the finger and the ring as a proof, to show that he had cut it from off her hand without her awaking from her sleep of intemperance.

The king rejoiced greatly at these tidings; and he sent for his councillors, to whom he told the whole story from the beginning. And he caused Elphin to be brought out of his prison, and he chided him because of his boast. And he spake unto Elphin on this wise: "Elphin, be it known to thee beyond a doubt that it is but folly for a man to trust in the virtues of his wife further than he can see her. And, that thou mayest be certain of thy wife's vileness, behold her finger, with thy signet-ring upon it, which was cut from her hand last night while she slept the sleep of intoxication."

Then thus spake Elphin: "With thy leave, mighty king, I cannot deny my ring; for it is known of many. But verily I assert strongly that the finger around which it is was never attached to the hand of my wife; for in truth and certainty there are three notable things pertaining to it, none of which ever belonged to any of my wife's fingers. The first of the three is, that it is certain, by your grace's leave, that wheresoever my wife is at this present hour, whether sitting, or standing, or lying down, this ring would never remain upon her thumb; whereas you can plainly see that it was hard to draw it over the joint of the little finger of the hand whence this was cut. The second thing is, that my wife has never let pass one Saturday since I have known her without paring her nails before going to bed, and you can see fully that the nail of this little finger has not been pared for a month. The third is, truly, that the hand whence this finger came was kneading rye-dough within three days before the finger was cut therefrom, and I can assure your goodness that my wife has never kneaded rye-dough since my wife she has been."

Then the king was mightily wroth with Elphin for so stoutly withstanding him respecting the goodness of his wife: wherefore he ordered him to his prison a second time, saying that he should not be loosed thence until he had proved the truth of his boast, as well concerning the wisdom of his bard as the virtues of his wife.

In the mean time his wife and Taliesin remained joyful at Elphin's dwelling. And Taliesin showed his mistress how that Elphin was in prison because of them; but he bade her be glad for that he would go to Maelgwn's court to free his master. Then she asked him in what manner he would set him free. And he answered her [in a song whereof the last verses are these]:—