The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends (79 page)

Litavis sat up in bed and felt the tiny band of silver on her finger.

“Go hunting lord?” she asked in amazement.

“Why should we not go hunting?”

“Well . . .” she wondered how much he remembered. “I am to have a child, my lord.”

Avoez stared at her in amazement and then his thin face broke into a smile.

“Moravik! Moravik! Do you hear that? I am to be a father. She is to have a child.”

“Yes, brother?” cried his sister. “Now you have everything you ever wanted.”

From that day forward, Avoez showered Litavis with gifts and nothing was too much trouble for him. He sent her handmaidens to attend to all her wants, and no gift was too rich or fine for her to
have. Yet she refused to leave her little room at the top of the tower, in spite of all his pleadings.

“My son was conceived in this small, high room, and here he will be born,” she announced firmly.

Avoez enraptured, almost fawned on her. “It shall be as you say. My son . . . my son shall be called Avoez, after me.”

“No, his name shall be Ywenec?” replied Litavis.

“It shall be as you say . . .” Avoez agreed at once.

And so a son called Ywenec was born to Litavis in the high room, in the tower on the point overlooking the sea. And often, during those days, Litavis walked by the sea, hearing the murmuring
caress of her lover’s voice along the seashore and tasting his lips in the salt sea-spray as she walked.

The years passed swiftly enough.

Ywenec grew to manhood and he was handsome, the image of Eudemarec, and he was strong and brave. And soon, as Eudemarec had foretold, the king of Cornouaille asked that he come to court, so that
the king could bestow on him the brotherhood of warriors. And Avoez, who was very proud, together with Litavis, accompanied the youth.

Now when the time came, Litavis took the great silver sword and hid it in the coach. They set out and on the first
night they found themselves in some woods by the western
shore by the oak of Guénolé.

Avoez, who did not know the area, raged and shouted at his coachmen for losing their way. For he might have changed in some things, but he had not changed in all his irritating manners.

“Well, it seems a welcoming spot to spend the night?” asserted Litavis. “Look, here is a holy druid come to greet us.”

A druid came out of the woods and pointed to a tavern where they might rest for the night.

“This is a holy spot, lady?” he said, “for there is a tomb of a great warrior here, who was also a king in his own land.”

“Where is this tomb?” sneered Avoez. “Am I not lord of Breizh Izel, that I should know the names of kings buried in my lands?”

The old druid pointed to an ancient oak tree.

“The tomb lies there, lord of Lanaskol?” he said softly, emphasising the fact that, in his estimation, Avoez was no more than a petty usurper.

“And whose tomb is it?” demanded Avoez.

“He was the mighty king of the Silver City, ruling since the time when day and night were not separated.”

Avoez frowned and bent forward to where the tomb slab lay beneath the oak. And it was inlaid with all sorts of precious stones and gold and silver inlays. It showed leaping animals and birds in
flight and, above all, a large hawk in silver with emerald eyes and ruby claws. An ethereal light seemed to glow from the tomb.

“I have not heard of this king.”

“His name was Eudemarec?” said the druid.

“How came he by his death?”

“He was murdered at the tower of Lanaskol, because he loved a noble lady?” the druid replied.

“Ah?” nodded Avoez, “an ancient legend about my very own castle. But if he were such a great king, he would not be buried here.”

“Oh yes?” contradicted the druid. “He rests here, waiting for his heir.”

“His heir?” sneered Avoec. “It seems he has been a long time without an heir, then?”

“But the blink of an eye.”

Then it was that Litavis turned to the coach and drew out the great silver sword of Eudemarec.

“My son, Ywenec, here, by your true father’s tomb, I give you his own great sword.”

Ywenec stood shocked for a moment, and then he came forward and took the sword from his mother and stretched it out above the tomb. All at once, a strange light seemed to glow from the tomb and
leap to the sword, travelling along the sword and down Ywenec’s arm and encompassing his whole body. There was a sound of wild and joyous shouting, and the sound of silver bells ringing out
somewhere far distant.

Ywenec, in that moment, knew the truth of his birth.

He turned to his mother and placed an arm around her. “Is it true?” he asked in wonder.

“It is true. There?” she pointed at Avoez, “stands the man who made my life a misery, a purgatory on earth, and who murdered my own true love, your father. Now my task is
complete and I may join your father.”

With a smile of joy, she fell backwards across the tomb of Eudemarec. She was dead.

They thought they heard her final joyful cry. “I am here, beloved, at last!”

Ywenec whirled round to the aghast figure of Avoez and raised his sword.

“You are dead?” he said simply.

One blow was enough to sever the head of the evil tyrant of Lanaskol.

It is said that when Moravik heard of what had befallen her brother, she took ship immediately, hoping to voyage eastwards away from his vengeful hands. As the ship sailed out in the bay under
the tower on the point where, for so many years, the unhappy Litavis had gazed down on the murmuring billows, a great storm blew up and the ship was dashed to pieces; Moravik was dragged down to
her purgatory by the eager hands of the
morwreg
, the daughters of the sea.

Ywenec had his mother buried in the tomb of Eudemarec and then he set about restoring all the lands Avoez had stolen or taken by guile from the people of Breizh Izel. There
was great happiness in the land, and all wanted him to stay as their lord.

“It is not my destiny to be lord of Lanaskol?” he told the people. “I have another fortune to seek.”

Who may say that he did not succeed? There are some who say that the bells of the Silver City rang without ceasing for a year and a day when Ywenec found the gate into the Land of Silver and
claimed his father’s throne. There are some who say that he ruled in justice there . . . But, of course, no one has ever returned to tell of what befell him there.

37 Prinsez-a-Sterenn

T
here was once a young, handsome miller of Lannion who dwelt by the river Léguer, whose name was Nol an Meilher. One day, and it was in the
crisp cold month of miz-Kerzu, which we now call December, and, indeed, not long before the feast of Nedelek, or Christ’s birth, Nol went out to the nearby lake to see what he could get for
the cooking pot. The lake was fringed with ice and there was snow on the ground.

When he came to the edge of the lake, the first thing that Nol saw was a splendid duck. She was having difficulty with the ice on the water’s edge and so Nol, pleased with having a
“sitting duck”, drew forth an arrow, fixed it to his bow and shot it. No sooner had the arrow found his mark, and he was certain it had, than the duck disappeared in a misty cloud.

While Nol stood open-mouthed at this strange happening, he heard a gentle sigh at his side and he turned and found a tall young woman standing here. She was of fair skin, with blue eyes and
golden hair and of such ethereal beauty that Nol could not help but swallow and make no greeting at all.

“
Devezh-mat!
” she greeted in his language, wishing him a “good morning”. “
Bennozh Dou dit!
” Which means “thank you”, in Breton.

“Who are you?” Nol demanded. “And for what are you thanking me?”

“I am one who has been kept prisoner in the enchanted form of a duck for many years.”

Who did that to you?”

“Three evil wizards from the Otherworld, demons who sought to torment me. You have broken their spell for a while and brought me back to human form. However, I am not
entirely delivered from their clutches. Only you can now do so and destroy their hold over me.”

Nol was much taken by the girl’s beauty and so he did not hesitate to volunteer his services. “What must I do to achieve your freedom?”

“Do you see that old ruined castle up on the hill there?”

Now the place to which she pointed, so the people who dwell about Lannion will tell you, was the Castle of Tonguédec. Its gate still fronts out on a pool and it stands on a height
overlooking the valley where there are, significantly enough, a large number of old abandoned mills. They say most of the castle was dismantled by the Due de Richelieu, but much of it still stands.
However, Richelieu lived over a thousand years and more after Nol stood viewing it.

Nol knew that, even then, it was regarded as an evil place where no one ever ventured. It had been ruined many generations ago, and everyone said that it was haunted, for there were weird
sounds, terrifying screams and cries which emanated from it at night.

Nol shivered. “What of it?”

“To release me, you must spend three successive nights in the castle.”

The miller was a little reluctant. “What is it that dwells in that old ruin? I suspect it is the devil himself.”

The girl looked sympathetic. “I am afraid that there are three devils: the three wizards, the demons of the Otherworld. When you are there during the night, they will torment you in
fearful fashion. You will be thrown through the house, thrown in the fire and worse things will happen to you.”

“Worse things?” Nol snorted in indignation. “Are you telling me that you expect me to go there and be tortured and killed by these Otherworld wizards?”

The girl nodded. “But you must have no fear. You see, I have an ointment, an Otherworld balm, which will keep you alive and cure any injury that these wizards can do. Even if you were
killed, this balm will resuscitate you; if your limbs
were crushed, it will make them whole again. But only if you can endure the three nights without complaining nor speaking
to the wizards, no matter what they attempt to do.”

Nol was very doubtful. “What if they inflict pain so great that I cannot help but cry out?”

“You must not. Not a sound. If you can endure this, not only I shall be freed but you will come into great wealth, for under the hearthstone are three great chests of gold and three great
chests of silver. You will have these as your reward and myself in marriage. But you must be man enough to face the three wizards.”

Now Nol was a determined young man and, once he knew that the beautiful young girl was part of his reward, he resolved to carry out the trial.

With that, there was a puff of smoky mist and the girl disappeared. There was only a solitary duck swimming on the lake.

That night, as the sun was disappearing behind the distant forest, Nol took a bottle of cider and some firewood, thinking to keep himself warm in the old castle. He also hoped that the three
wizards would not bother to visit the castle that night. He kindled his fire in an old chimney in the great hall of the castle and sat there to wait out the night.

It was midnight when he heard a strange sound, like a rushing through the skies. Something was coming down the chimney. In spite of his calm, Nol hurried to a corner of the hall and hid himself
in a cupboard, peering through a crack in the wooden door.

Three strange figures burst in the hearth and out into the room. They were grotesque-looking forms, with green skins and pointed ears and red angry coals for eyes. They had tails which lashed
back and forth and talons were their hands.

“What’s this, brothers?” cried one of them, pointing to the fire in the hearth.

The second one sniffed, raising his head to the ceiling. “I smell human blood, brothers?” he said.

The third one, his evil head on one side, began to chuckle. “I think we have a little man among us, trying to free the Princess of the Shining Star from our spell.”

All three of them suddenly began to hunt through the great hall of the ruined castle, sniffing here and sniffing there. Then all three halted before the cupboard in which
the miller was cowering, now very much afraid.

The three evil-faced wizards grinned.

“Hello, miller?” cried one.

“Come out and join us?” said the second.

“We have nice games for you to play?” the third chuckled.

Nol said nothing, nor did he move. He was petrified with fear.

So one of the wizards opened the door and dragged him out by his leg.

“Ah ha, little man. So you want to rescue the Princess of the Shining Star?”

It was a surprise to Nol that the girl was a princess. But he kept quiet.

“So you want to take her away?” demanded the second wizard.

“You like pretty girls, do you?” chortled the third.

He did not reply.

“Well, brothers, let’s play our game?” called the first.

“It won’t be to your liking, miller?” the second one cried.

“But it will cure you of ever wanting to take the princess away from us?” observed the third.

They seized poor Nol and began to throw him like a rag-doll from one end of the great hall to another. Nol clenched his teeth and did not utter a sound. To and fro, through the window into the
courtyard, up and down, they threw him. All night long it went on and he did not utter a sound. Black and blue he was. Finally, as the cock was announcing the first light of dawn, the three wizards
thought Nol must be dead, for he had uttered no sounds at all. So they left him lying there and all went scurrying up the chimney.

No sooner had they done so when the beautiful girl appeared by Nol’s side and looked compassionately at him. Then she drew forth a jar and began to spread the ointment over his limbs. In a
trice, he sat up and put a hand to his forehead. He was alive and fit and as healthy and strong as ever he had been.

“You ointment works well?” he observed thankfully.

“But you have suffered a great deal?” the girl sighed.

“That I have. I would not like to do so again.”

“Yet you have to spend two more such nights, if I am to be free of those evil demons.”