The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends (77 page)

It was a sad day when Avoez became lord of Breizh Izel and master of Lanaskol. All the people agreed on that. Yet there was nothing that could be done.

Eventually, there was nothing which Avoez did not want for except one thing – a wife and an heir to his lands.

Now the Penmarc’h Peninsula is a low, rocky plain quite unlike the promontories of the Raz or Pen-Hir. It is an area where one is always close to the sea and constantly hearing the
hammering of the waves on the impressive rocks that line the coast, rocks which are in fact called the Rocks of
Penmarc’h, south from the Phare d’Eckmühl north
to the beach at Pars Carn. Even four hundred years ago, the area was still one of the richest in Brittany, where fishing for the “Lenten Meat”, the cod, made fortunes for fifteen
thousand inhabitants. But the cod deserted the shores of Penmarc’h, and a big tidal wave swept the land and now the peninsula is poor. But all this happened long after this story took
place.

In the time of Avoez, it was a rich land, ruled by Tanguy of Kertanguy. He was married and with a beautiful daughter named Litavis who was born on Gouel-Yann, midsummer’s day, when the
rays of the setting sun touched the great centre stone at Carnac. Litavis’ beauty was a byword throughout all Penmarc’h and so Avoez came to hear of her. So one day he took himself to
Kertanguy in disguise and watched and waited for Litavis to come along. Then he saw for himself that the stories of her comeliness were not exaggerated.

“I will marry this girl,” he said firmly.

When he went to see Tanguy of Kertanguy and his wife to arrange the marriage, they simply laughed. For Avoez had the physique to match his parsimonious and niggardly attitude. He went away in a
rage and he called his sister, Moravik.

“Tell my tax-gatherers that I want them to seek out all the debts of Tanguy of Kertanguy. I want to buy up all the unpaid debts, all the mortgages on his lands. I want to reduce the
fortune of Tanguy of Kertanguy to nothing. I want this done within the year.”

So it came to pass that, within a year, he owned all the lands and wealth that Tanguy had, for Tanguy, although he was not an evil man, was an impecunious man and incurred debts. One
midsummer’s day, when Litavis was just seventeen years old, Avoez presented himself at the house of Tanguy of Kertanguy and told him that he was ruined.

“I own you and all you once possessed.”

Faced with this ruin, poor Tanguy and his wife did not know what to do.

“There is a solution,” Avoez said. “I am willing to give you back half of your wealth in return for your daughter Litavis.”

Now Tanguy’s wife would have none of this but Tanguy, who could not bear to be poor and turned out on the
roadside, agreed to the shameful bargain. It is said that
Tanguy’s wife then left his house and refused to return there any more.

Tanguy had his daughter brought forth and she, pale and horrified at what her father had done, could do nothing. Avoez took her back to his castle at Lanaskol and his sister Moravik prepared the
feasting and the wedding. Now, because of his penny-pinching attitudes, the feasting was paid for by the people who were ordered to attend, for Avoez and his sister arranged for a fair to be held
at the same time at which they sold their goods for profit, and were thus amply repaid for their feasting and wrestling matches.

Litavis remained as one in shock throughout all the ceremony. She did not smile, did not dance, and refused to take any food nor drink. She did not even pluck a flower and place it in her own
hair as a symbol of the joy of betrothal.

As soon as the marriage ceremony was over, Avoez decided not to press himself upon the pure, sweet girl. He had a male pride and wanted his wife to come to the bridal bed willingly. He was
prepared to wait. But he was not prepared to give her freedom to wait. He viewed everyone with jealous eyes.

Moravik, his sister, offered her advice and told her brother to lock Litavis in one of the high towers of Lanaskol, one which stood on the point overlooking the brooding Atlantic seas.

“There you may keep her, brother, and none but you will be able to visit her.”

“This is an excellent idea,” Avoez agreed. “We will have her well-guarded. You, my sister, will watch her by day, and at night she will be locked in. We will have Gof the Smith
forge us four good locks to which only I will have the key.”

“You are wise, my brother,” said Moravik. “And Gof makes locks that even Merlin the Enchanter cannot undo.”

What Avoez said came to pass. Litavis was locked in a high tower on the point overlooking the brooding sea. It was a small room in the tower, where she saw no one except Moravik, who watched her
from dawn until dusk and then each night Avoez came to her and asked: “Are you ready to be
a bride?” But each night she did not answer but stood by the window,
staring out to the dark whispering seas.

Seven long years passed in this fashion. No maidservants came to help her, and she was alone. She grew ill in her despair. Her long gold braids became tangled and matted, her clothes became worn
and dirty and she paced the floor in her anguish.

Now Avoez grew enraged that she would not come to the bridal bed nor conceive his child and finally his passion was dampened. Yet he saw her as a piece of his property and he was not willing to
let her go.

One day, and it was the feast of Meurlarjez or Shrove Tuesday, Avoez decided to set out on a tour of inspection of his estates all over Breizh Izel. So he said to his sister, Moravik:
“While I am gone, sister, you must take care that nothing happens to Litavis.” He gave her the four keys with which Litavis was locked in each night. These were the keys made by Gof the
Smith. “Be sure to lock her chamber each night when you leave her.”

“I will do so, brother. You may trust in me.”

So Avoez climbed onto his horse and started off on his journey.

In the tower, Litavis stood at the window, watching him ride away. There was no feeling in her as she watched him leaving. She did not feel the soft rays of spring sun on her skin nor the gentle
singing of the birds announcing the change of season. Then one of the birds alighted on her window sill and began to sing insistently and, even in her still and silent mind, she suddenly realized
that words were beginning to form.

“If you believe in life, Litavis, you must believe that all evil passes. If you believe hard enough, then what you most desire will come to be.”

For the first time in seven years, she spoke.

“Who are you, bird?”

“I am the messenger of Bro Arc’hant, the Land of Silver; I am the voice of the
korrigan
who dwell under the stones of Carnac; I am the voice of the
mari-morgan
, the
daughters of the sea, who frolic around the Rocks of Penmarc’h. I am the voice of those beings who have not abandoned you. Believe in us.”

“This is a strange song that you sing to me, little bird,” she observed.

“Believe and what you most desire shall come to be,” repeated the little bird.

Then it flew off across the seas.

Litavis thought hard and long. She did want to believe. She did desire one thing above all others in the world, but she was ashamed to say it aloud. Yet even as she thought, a great hawk came
flapping in her window. She was very scared indeed. It flew into her chamber and alighted in the middle of the room.

Even as she looked, the hawk turned into a tall handsome warrior, richly dressed, with bright glinting armour and weapons. His hair was fair and his eyes cool, like the grey of the sea.

Litavis gave a little cry and stumbled back.

“Flower of the Rocks of Penmarc’h, do not be afraid of me,” he said gently. So gentle and sweet was his tone that she found herself losing her fear. “Litavis, you have
summoned me with your heart. You called me and I have been waiting in Bro Arc’hant many long years, waiting for that call. I have loved you since I saw you playing around the Rocks of
Penmarc’h.”

“How can this be? Who are you?” she demanded.

“I am Eudemarec of Bro Arc’hant.”

“How do you know me?”

“I have long dwelt in and around Penmarc’h. That is how I know you. Do you deny that you called for me to come to you?”

The girl knew what her secret heart desired and she had, indeed, called for a fair champion who loved her and whom she could love. She knew without further question that this was such a man.

“What if Avoez knows of this?” She was still nervous.

“Our love will be more secret than the secret words of the song of the
korrigan
,” he vowed. He held out his hand to her. “Do you fear me?”

“No.”

And she came to him willingly and their love was almost painful in its joy and rapture.

He stayed with her until the first glimmer of dawn, when they heard Moravik undoing the locks.

“When will you come again?” cried Litavis, as her champion turned once more into a great hawk.

“Whenever your desire calls to me, Litavis,” he replied.

Litavis felt a great joy.

Just before the hawk turned to fly off, it said: “Beware of Moravik, for she is steeped in the laws of magic. Say nothing, for if I am discovered, she might encompass my death.”

So each night, after dusk, Litavis’ desire brought forth Eudemarec out of the Land of Silver, fluttering in the form of a hawk into her bedchamber. They lay as lovers through the starry
night until dawn, when Eudemarec had to return home. Litavis grew in strength and happiness and turned once more into a radiant picture of beauty.

Then it was that Avoez, the lord of Lanaskol returned. He gazed upon his bride in name and, frowning, went in search of his sister.

“What does this mean, Moravik?” he demanded. “Why is there this change in her?”

“I do not know, brother. I swear she has been locked in her tower ever since you left.”

“It cannot be,” declaimed Avoez. “You must have betrayed me. She must have been outside the room.”

“I have not betrayed your trust,” insisted his sister.

So insistent was she, that Avoez finally believed her.

“We must discover what has happened to Litavis. I swear she must be in love and I know her love is not directed at me.”

So that night, after dusk, Avoez and his sister Moravik sat up and waited and watched, and they saw a hawk fly in at Litavis’ high tower window. They continued to watch and wait and saw,
at dawn, that the hawk flew out again.

Brother and sister then knew what was happening for, indeed, Moravik had been a follower of the old arts of wizardry from her childhood. And a plan was hatched between them.

Avoez, curbing his anger, went to speak with Litavis the next morning, and told her that the lord of Breizh-Uhel wanted to see him and that he would be away for a while.

Moravik stood beneath the tower, calling her farewells loudly enough for her voice to climb to the high room in which Litavis was imprisoned. And Litavis herself saw Avoez
riding off to the eastern hills.

Litavis was surprised, however, when Moravik came to her room with a silver tray. On the silver tray was a bottle of ruby wine and two goblets.

“I am pleased that you have recovered your health, Litavis,” the cunning sister of Avoez said. “To celebrate, let us drink a glass of ruby wine and observe the pleasant spring
day.”

Now Litavis was a trusting and open-hearted person. There was no guile nor deceit within her, and she was not aware of the fault in others. So she accepted Moravik’s ruby wine with joy and
they sat sipping and observing the bright spring day together.

She did not realize that Moravik had emptied a phial of liquid into her goblet and that phial was a special potion which she had prepared with all her wizard cunning.

Soon, very soon, Litavis fell into a deep, drugged sleep.

Knowing full well that no one could rouse themselves from the effects of the potion before twelve hours had passed, Moravik left the tower room with the doors unlocked and took away the wine and
goblets. Then she returned and went to hide in an old oak wardrobe, to observe what would take place.

Litavis stayed in her deep sleep a night and a day and only when it was dusk did she rouse herself, sat up and rubbed her eyes and gazed out on the restless seas beyond her window.

In her heart, she called for Eudemarec.

In a moment, the hawk entered the chamber and in a blink of an eye her lover, Eudemarec, stood beside her.

“Why did you not call for me last night?”

Litavis frowned.

“Last night?”

“You did not call for me. Does aught ail you?”

She passed a hand across her brow. “I recall drinking wine and falling into a deep sleep. But that does not matter now, my love . . . I am awake now, and you are with me.”

Eudemarec and Litavis slept together until the first pale streaks of dawn and then he rose from the couch and flew away back to the Country of Silver.

Litavis, smiling, went to sleep.

Then it was that Moravik crept out of the wardrobe and crept from the tower room. She was awed by what she had seen and hurried down to the castle. Her brother Avoez had returned and was waiting
to hear the news.

“She has a lover!” announced Moravik.

Avoez flew into a great anger. “Do you lie to me, sister?”

“Never, brother. She has a lover.”

“Who is this lover? I will tear him to pieces . . .”

“Calm your rage. Listen to what I have to say. The lover is the hawk which turns into a noble champion when he enters her bedchamber.”

Avoez was astounded. “He is a wizard, then?”

Moravik sniffed. “I am more steeped in wizardry than this one. He is a comely warrior called Eudemarec, and that is the name by which she called him.”

“Eudemarec? Where does he come from?”

“It matters not. Only that when she calls for him, he comes to the chamber in the body of a hawk, and hawks can be destroyed.”

“How so?”

“We deal with magic, here. I have a plan, though. Go to Gof the Smith and tell him to make four pikes that are razor-sharp.”

“I shall do so.”

“Have him make points that are so sharp that even the wind’s breath is cut by them.”