Last week I told the story of Pwll’s yearlong adventure in Annwn, a tale that may have left some readers with questions. For those unfamiliar with Celtic mythology, their representation of the underworld might seem rather odd, to the point that it may be difficult to recognize. The mythology of the Greeks and Latins, with which most of us are more familiar, represents the underworld as a place that is unpleasant at best and eternal torment at its worst. Even the hero Anchises, who had won a coveted place in the Elysian Fields, is doomed to an afterlife that is mostly just tears and waiting around. The Celts had an altogether different view of the underworld, to the point where many refer to it as the “otherworld” to differentiate the concepts. Celtic gods are often represented as living in fabulous kingdoms under the hills, beneath the waves, or beyond the utmost west. Celtic and Classical works both tell us that the ancient Celts believed they came to this world from the land of the dead, although we don’t have any proper mythology surviving to tell the tale. In the Celtic mind, the underworld was a place of danger and mystery, but also of surpassing beauty and delights. In Irish, the otherworld is called Tír na nÓg, the Land of Youth, a sentiment that is mirrored among the Welsh stories. The Celtic otherworld was always close by, and there were many passages by which one might reach it. Megalithic structures, caves, pools, and forest groves were all routes by which one might stumble into the otherworld. Just as in many supernatural realms, it was often easy to enter, but difficult to leave.
The ancient Celts didn’t write down anything pertaining to their religion as a rule, and so it wasn’t until Christianity came along that anyone bothered to record the old stories. By that point in time, Celtic culture had been severely altered on the continent by Roman influence, but still survived among the British Isles. It was Brythonic and Irish monks who recorded the old stories of their people, but they could not represent the Celtic deities as such. Instead, the Celtic gods became the race of heroes and sorcerers that we see in the oldest records. These beings are not gods, but aren’t exactly mortal either. This is where the concept of faeries originates. Arawn is such a character. In the days of paganism, Arawn was probably some kind of psychopomp and ruler over the dead, but in the story of Pwll his divinity is stripped away. However, he is still represented as a heroic character. As the centuries rolled on, the old Celtic gods were given a progressively worse treatment. Faeries, called Tylwyth Teg in Welsh and Aos Sí in Irish, are smaller in stature and more malicious in the newer stories. The monks no longer guessed that the faeries were a race between angels and men, but condemned them as the spawn of demons, allied to the forces of darkness and paying tithes to Satan. Eventually the Celtic gods would become of little consequence at all. They faded until they became sprites and leprechauns, creatures more concerned with spoiling milk than causing the turn of the seasons. Yet still the old stories persist alongside the new, and people still persist in ancient rituals in respect and propitiation to the faeries.
* * *
Once upon a time, Pwll was holding court at Arberth when he decided to go for a walk. He walked with his retinue toward a mound that overlooked the city, called Gorsedd Arberth.
Then one of his companions said to him, “Lord, it is a peculiarity of that mound that whenever a high-born man sits upon it, he will not leave before receiving blows or seeing a wonder.”
“I have little to fear of receiving blows while surrounded by so many of my warriors, so I will sit and see if I may glimpse a wonder.”
He sat on the mound and from its height he could see a lady with a garment of brocaded gold silk around her head and shoulders, riding a pale white horse on the highway that went by the mound. She rode the horse at a slow, even pace and was just nearing the mound.
“Men, are there any among you who know the rider?”
“No, Lord, there is not.”
“Then let someone ride out to meet her and find out who she is.”
One arose, but by the time he had reached the road, she had gone past. He followed her on foot, but the faster he ran, the further away she seemed though still she road slowly. Then the runner told the Head of Annwn, “Lord it is pointless for anyone to follow her on foot.”
“Aye, so go fetch a fleet horse from Arberth and go after her.”
The warrior took a fast horse and chased after the lady. He spurred his steed hard, yet the faster he rode, the further she drew away though her pace seemed no greater than before. He rode until his horse began to flag, then gave up the chase.
“Lord,” the rider said on his return, “it is idle for anyone to follow the lady. I was riding the fastest horse I know of in the kingdom, and still came no closer to catching her.”
“Aye, there is some magic here. Let us return to court for the evening and we will return in the morning.”
That evening they spent in song and carousal, and in the morning Pwll called for his groom to prepare the king’s horse, with his saddle and spurs. When they sat upon the mound again, it was not long before they saw the lady riding in the same wise as she did the day before. She was riding toward the mound along the road when Pwll called for his horse, but she had passed it by once he had mounted. He thought by the first or second bound, he would catch her, for her pace was slow and even, but he found that she was always ahead of him. He spurred his steed, faster and faster, so that its hooves thundered down the road, but still she remained beyond his grasp though her pace had never changed.
Then in desperation Pwll yelled out, “Maiden, in the name of he you love best, wait for me!”
“I will gladly do so, and it would have been better for your horse if you had asked earlier.” she answered and she brought her white steed to a halt.
The maiden drew back the garment from her face as he approached, and Pwll could see that she was the most lovely woman that he had ever seen. She was so beautiful that he felt that he had never seen beauty until he had gazed on her countenance, not even in the fair halls of Annwn.
“Lady, won’t you tell me where you are riding and from where?”
“I ride on my own errands and I am glad to see you.”
“And what are your errands?”
“My main errand was to try and see you.”
“To me, that is the most pleasing errand you could come on. Will you tell me your name?
“I am Rhiannon, daughter of Hefeydd the Old, and I am being given to a husband against my will. I have wished for no husband, save for you, for I have loved you from afar. I will not have this man as my husband, unless you reject me, and it is for your answer that I have come.”
“Between me and God, if I were given a choice between all the ladies of the world, I would choose you above all others.”
“If that is your answer, then make a tryst with me now, before I am given to another man.”
“The sooner our meeting, the better for me. Wherever you choose, I will meet you.”
“A year from now at the court of my father, I will have a feast prepared in readiness for your coming.”
“Gladly will I meet you at that tryst.”
“Then fare thee well! Remember your promise and I will go on my way.”
Then Pwll returned to his retinue, and though they pressed him concerning the maiden, he would always turn the conversation to other matters. When the year had passed, he took a hundred horsemen and journeyed to the court of Hefeydd the Old, and he was received with much joy and feasting. Pwll was seated at the head of the host, with Rhiannon on his right and her father on his left. They ate and sang, and had the pleasure of good company. Pwll was filled with good cheer to have his love at his side and friends all around.
Then an auburn haired youth in royal mien entered the hall and greeted Pwll and his companions.
“Welcome, friend, and sit down,” Pwll said. “There is food and drink enough for all.”
“I will not sit until you have granted me a boon.”
“Whatever boon you ask of me, so far as it is within my power, I will give to you.”
“Alas!” cried Riannon. “Why have you given such an answer?”
“He has already given it, lady, and in the presence of nobles.”
“What is thy request?” asked Pwll, now feeling a sense of dread steal upon him.
“Tonight you are to sleep with the lady I love best, and it is to ask for her hand, and the feast that his been set, that I have come.”
Then Pwll was struck dumb, for he was honor bound to fulfill the suitor’s wish.
“Be quiet as long as you wish, for never has a man made a feebler use of his wits than you have done,” Riannon said.
“I did not know who he was,” Pwll said miserably.
“That is the man to whom I would have been given against my will, Gwawl son of Clud. He is a man rich in host and dominions, and now because of the word you have given you must bestow me upon him lest dishonor fall upon you.”
“I can never do what you say, for I will not be parted from you.”
“Bestow me upon him, but I will work it so that he shall never have me.”
“How is that?”
“I will give you a small bag that you should keep safe. Then he shall be given the feast and preparations, as you have promised. And I will make a tryst with him a year from tonight, to sleep with me. On that day, you should take a hundred horsemen and hide in the orchard yonder. Then when Gwawl is full of mirth and drink, come forth in shabby clothes and ask him to fill your bag with food. And I will bring it about that no matter how much food or drink is put in your bag, it will never be filled. Then he will come forward and ask if your bag will ever be full, and you shall say, ‘It will not, unless a true possessor of great dominion presses the food down with both his feet and says, ‘Sufficient has been put therein!’’ Then pull the bag over his head and summon your horsemen to fall upon the court.”
Then Pwll did everything as Riannon had said, and it all came to pass as she had predicted. Pwll captured Gwawl in the bag, and each of his horsemen struck the bag as he entered the court.
Then Gwawl cried out from the bag, saying, “Lord, hear me! It is not right for me to be slain in a bag”
Riannon’s father, Hefeydd the Old agreed. “Listen to him, Lord. It is not the proper death for him to be slain in a bag.”
“I will take your counsel on the matter,” Pwll said graciously.
“Take this counsel,” Riannon said, “he shall give you this feast and its preparations, and you shall have my hand again. Then take a pledge from him that he will never seek vengeance for this. That is punishment aplenty for him.”
Then Gwawl said from the bag, “I will gladly give all that Riannon has suggested.”
“And I will gladly accept it,” answered Pwll.
Gwawl gave sureties to Pwll and left bruised, but on good terms. Then everyone feasted and made merry in celebration of the reunion of Pwll and Riannon. She instructed Pwll to be generous and give freely to all who asked anything of him, for now there was nothing to fear.
At the end of the celebration, when it was time for Pwll and his men to return home, Hefeydd said to Pwll, “God speed to you and your men. Only appoint a time for Riannon to follow you before you leave.”
Pwll and Riannon answered they they would not be parted again, and they left together, at that very hour. From their love they bore a son, Pryderi, whose birth is the subject of another tale. Pryderi expanded the realm of his father and married Cigfa, daughter of Gwyn Gohoyw. Thus ends this branch of the Mabinogion.