The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends (62 page)

Astonished and unable to make any sense of what she had seen, Blamey returned to her room.

After a while, the music stopped and there came the sounds of guests departing.

She went to her bedroom window and looked down.

By the light of the moon she saw Master Marrack Mayne bidding farewell to the guests and he kissed each one of the ladies in such a manner that it brought a blush of jealousy to Blamey’s
cheeks. Never had she seen a woman kissed with such a passion.

She went back to her bed and cried herself to sleep, a sleep which was restless and filled with strange dreams: a sleep which she had never experienced since she had left home.

That morning, she was up with the sunrise and went through the day’s chores automatically. When Master Marrack Mayne came in, he complimented her on her work and said that she was indeed a
good girl and put his arm about her and give her a hug, such as he usually did.

In ordinary circumstances, Blamey would have been delighted, but now she repulsed him.

“Save your embraces for the fine ladies you danced with last night.”

Master Marrack Mayne frowned. “What do you mean, girl?” he said sharply.

She told him what she had seen.

The master shook his head sadly.

“You silly, silly girl. You have rubbed your eyes with the ointment and disobeyed for the third time. You will leave this house tomorrow.”

She was surprised at his reaction.

She protested that she would never find her way back to her home, so it was best that she remain.

“I will take you back to where I found you,” he said sadly.

She cried and promised to obey in future. She swore that
never again would she give way to curiosity, but Master Marrack Mayne would have none of her protestations.

So, the next day, she packed and, with a broken heart, she left the house; she left the beautiful herb garden and meadow and was taken up upon a horse behind the master. Time had passed, she
realized, but she didn’t know how long it was, for it had seemed so fleeting. She thought perhaps it was one year since she came to the master’s house. She didn’t even know if
there were any wages due to her.

Tears obscured her eyes so that she did not know which road they took except that, in a moment or two, so it seemed, they stood on the road above Carn Kenidjack. Master Marrack Mayne swung down
from his horse and lifted Blamey to the ground, placing her on the rock where he had first met her. There he gave her a purse.

“You’ll find your wages within,” he told her roughly.

Then he was gone.

She stayed at the spot for a while, wondering what to do. How could she go home? Were her parents still living? How long had she been away? She had no idea.

Reluctantly, she began to walked slowly back down the hill into Carn Kenidjack.

Imagine her surprise when she found her father not looking a day older than when she had last seen him standing at the gate.

He did not cry out with joy at her appearance, but instead he seemed puzzled.

“Have you forgotten something?” he asked.

Then her mother came rushing out. “What’s the matter?” she greeted.

Blamey was annoyed at the seeming indifference of their greetings.

“I have been gone these many years and you are not pleased to see me? What does this mean?” she grumbled.

“Gone these many years? Have you quit your senses, girl?” demanded her father. “It is only half an hour since you quit this house and now here you are back again?”

“
Whyst
!
Whyst
!” cried her mother. “The thing is obvious. When she reached the top of the hill she took fright at the big world and has returned home again.”

Now Blamey didn’t know what to say. She knew she must have been away for several years. She was just astonished.

“It is so,” she insisted. “I have been working at the house of Master Marrack Mayne and have just been paid my wages.”

Her father laughed good-naturedly.

“These wages I must see, girl. Show me what you have earned in the half-an-hour you have been gone.”

Blamey took out the purse which the master had given her and emptied nine gold coins onto her father’s palm.

Her parents stared at them in bewilderment.

“What are you doing, girl? Playing tricks with us?”

Even her mother grew angry and stamped her foot. “
Mowes goky!
” she rebuked. “Aren’t you the silly girl? Why, there is nothing in your hand at all.”

Blamey bit her tongue. “Can’t you see this purse and nine pieces of gold?”

“Would I not know nine pieces of gold if I saw them?” rejoined her father. “There is nothing in your hand, I tell you.”

“Then it must be the magic ointment,” protested Blamey. “I can see the coins quite plainly.”

“Magic ointment . . . ?” Her father opened his mouth and closed it like a fish. “Do you take us for fools, girl? You’ve lost half-an-hour on your journey to look for work
by returning here. Now be off with you and don’t return again until you have done some decent work in life. Off with you, or we’ll call the parson and report your evil humour to
him.”

Blamey was sent away from Cam Kenidjack.

She returned up the hill and, at the top of the hill, she stood looking back and the tears were streaming from her eyes. She had been away for years and it was clear that she had been working
for none other than the Bukkys themselves. Master Marrack Mayne was nothing more than a changeling and not human at all. She had been punished truly.

In the middle of her crying, there came a hollow cough.

Before her stood a tall, handsome, but kindly looking young gentleman. He was peering at her with grave concern. “Why are you weeping, young lady?” he asked.

Blamey stared at him for a moment and realized that she
could never explain the real reason, and so she said, “Why, sir, I have just left home and am on the road
looking for a kindly lord’s castle, where I might work and earn my keep.”

The gentleman smiled broadly. “I am no lord, nor have I a castle, but the manor house in Trewinnard is mine. I am looking for a maid-servant and was on my way to Kenidjack to see if I
could find one. I have a young son to be looked after, for I am a widower. The job is yours, if you want it.”

Blamey was cautious. “And do you have an old aunt?”

“Not I.”

“Then I shall accept.”

So Blamey went to work for the young squire and she worked hard, never showed curiosity – for she had truly been cured of it – and one day the squire asked her to marry him and she
did. Oh, and the Bukkys’ purse of gold . . . ? Strange to relate, at the moment the squire proposed to her, it disappeared entirely from her gaze and Blamey thought it just as well that it
did, for she had a better reward for her hard work than all those years in the house of the Bukkys.

29 Jowan Chy-an-Horth

E
veryone knew Jowan who lived at Horth, near Lanlavan in Kernow. Of course, now he lives at “Chy-an-Horth”, which is the big house
there. But he was not always so rich nor so respectable. Indeed, there was a time when he and his wife were so poor that they were in dire straits. Jowan could not find any work at all in the
vicinity of Lanlavan.

Faced with starvation, Jowan one day told his wife that he would have to leave Lanlavan and travel eastwards into the land of the Saxons, in search of work. His sister, who was married to a man
who did have a job, promised to look after his wife while Jowan was gone, and see that she would not starve nor be put out on the road.

So Jowan set off, but he did not have to go as far as the River Tamar, which marked the border between Kernow and the land of the Saxons. Near to Bosvenegh, surrounded by its wild, windswept
moors, he came upon an old man dressed as a farmer, seated on a log under a great oak tree.

“
Durdadha-why
, young man. Good day to you. Where are you off to?”

“I am off to Pow-Saws, the land of the Saxons, in search of work,” replied Jowan. And he explained to the farmer what dire straits he found himself in.

“What work can you do?” asked the old man, regarding him carefully.

“I can turn my hand to most anything,” Jowan replied, without boasting.

“
Lowena re-gas-bo
!” exclaimed the old man in satisfaction. “Then work for me. I am a farmer and, at my age, I need someone to help me on the
farm.”

They agreed that Jowan would work for a year and be paid three sovereigns for his work. Now three sovereigns in those days was a fair wage. So Jowan worked for a full year. At the end of the
year, the old man handed him the three sovereigns. Then he said, “If you give me back those sovereigns, I will tell you something which will be infinitely more valuable.”

“More valuable than three sovereigns?” demanded Jowan, who was somewhat naive and trusting. “What could that be?”

“Advice,” smiled the old farmer.

Jowan thought and came to the conclusion that if advice was worth more than the three gold coins, then he’d better take it. He solemnly handed the old man back the money. “What is
this advice?”

“Never leave the old road for the sake of a new one.”

Jowan scratched his head and frowned. “I do not understand. How is that more valuable than three sovereigns?”

“You will see,” assured the old man.

“But now I have no money to take home to my wife. I will have to find more work.”

“Work another year for me and you shall have three sovereigns more,” replied the old man.

So another year passed and, at the end of it, the old man handed him three sovereigns. “Give me them back and I will give you something infinitely more valuable.”

Jowan was credulous. “More valuable than three sovereigns?”

“Much more.”

Jowan obediently handed back the coins. “It is a piece of advice – never lodge where an old man is married to a young women.”

“How is that more valuable than three sovereigns?” demanded Jowan.

“You will see,” replied the old man.

“But now I have no money to take home to my wife. I must find more work.”

“Work for me for another year and you shall have three more sovereigns,” the old farmer invited.

So Jowan worked another three years and, at the end of it, the old man gave him three sovereigns.

“Hand me back the three sovereigns and I will tell you something which will be much more valuable.”

“More valuable than three sovereigns?”

“Much more valuable.”

So Jowan, still trusting, handed back the three sovereigns.

“Here it is,” said the old man. “Honesty is the best policy.”

“How is knowing that more valuable than three sovereigns?” demanded Jowan.

“It will be,” said the old man.

Now Jowan was artless, but he was not a fool. There was a limit to his trust. “I have spent three years away from home and have no money. I must return to my wife, whether I have money or
not, for she will be anxious about me.”

“Do not start your journey now,” advised the old man, “but start for home tomorrow. Tonight my wife is baking cakes and she shall make you a cake to take home to your
wife.”

Jowan gave a sigh. Yet, after three years, another day would not matter in his starting for home.

“At least bringing her a cake will be something, rather than turning up empty-handed,” pointed out the old man. So Jowan agreed to stay the night and, in the morning, the old
man’s wife handed him a new-baked cake.

“You must take it on one condition,” the old man said. “You must break it and eat it only when you are feeling most joyous. And you and your wife and no one else must eat
it.”

So Jowan, no richer than he had set out, turned his footsteps back to the west towards Lanlavan. He had journeyed a day when he came across three merchants from his own town who were returning
with their goods from the great fair at Dyndajel.

“Good day, Jowan,” they greeted warmly. “Where have you been, these last three years?”

“I have been working for an old farmer,” he told them. “Have you news of my wife?”

“She is well enough and still living with your sister, but is no richer than when you left her. She will be glad to see you home, and we are glad to see you as well.
Why not continue your journey with us?”

Jowan continued his journey with the merchants a while but, when they came to a fork in the road, Jowan saw one road was the old way he knew well while the other was a new road that had recently
been built. The merchants said that it was a new short cut home. But as Jowan did not know it, he remembered the old man’s advice and decided to stick to the old road. The merchants thought
he was silly and they parted company.

Barely had they gone a hundred yards along the new road when highway robbers fell on them and they began to cry out: “Help! Thieves!”

The robbers were heavily armed and the merchants could not defend themselves.

Jowan, hearing their cries, quickly ran back to the fork and saw what was happening. He ran forward crying, “Help! Thieves!” and waving his blackthorn stick which he had cut to walk
with.

The robbers, hearing his cries and seeing him running forward waving his stick, thought that reinforcements were coming and rapidly dispersed, leaving the merchants still in possession of their
goods.

The merchants welcomed Jowan back with gratitude. “But for you, Jowan, we would have been lost men,” cried the merchants. “We are beholden to you for rescuing us. You were
right. We should have stuck to the old road. Come with us there, for there is an inn nearby and you must be our guest. Dine with us and stay the night there.”

So they continued along the old road together until they came to a new inn, which was curiously sited next to an older one. The new inn seemed to be taking all the business from the old one. The
old inn was dilapidated and had the air of decay and abandonment about it.

At the doorway of the new inn, a very beautiful young girl came forward to greet them. She was the wife of the host of the inn. But, attractive as she was, Jowan saw that she was
lascivious and coarse. Her vulgar voluptuousness made Jowan feel uneasy as she bade the happy merchants come inside and furnished them with drink.