Stephen Lawhead - Taliesin

“ ‘Lady,” cried Pwyll piteously, ‘I did not know who he was.’

“ ‘He is the man to whom they wanted to give me against my will,’ she said. ‘His name is Gwawl, son of Clud, and now you must honor your word lest some worse misfortune befall you.’

“ ‘How can I honor my word when it will kill me?’

“ ‘Perhaps there is a way,’ she said and bent to whisper in his ear.

“ ‘I am growing old with waiting,’ said Gwawl.

“Pwyll’s countenance brightened and he said, ‘Wait no longer. Though it grieves me deeply, you shall have what you ask.’ And he got up and left the hall with his, host.

“Gwawl laughed loudly and bragged, ‘Surely, never has a man been more feeble-witted than him.’ And he took Pwyll’s place beside the fair Rhiannon saying, ‘Let my wedding feast be served. Tonight I sleep with my bride.’

“But before the feast could be served, a commotion arose in the back of the hall. ‘Who is making such a disturbance?’ demanded Gwawl. ‘Bring him here so that I may deal with him.’ And a man dressed all in wretched rags was dragged forward. ‘Ha! Look at him,’ said Gwawl. ‘What are you doing here, beggar?’

“ ‘If if pleases you, lord, I have business with you,’ replied the unfortunate one.

“ ‘What business can you have with me that the toe of my boot cannot discharge?’

“ ‘It is a reasonable request,’ replied the ragged man, ‘and one you can easily grant if you will: one small bag of food. I ask only from want.’

“ ‘You shall have it,” replied Gwawl haughtily. And he spied a small leather bag at Rhiannon’s Belt and snatched it up. ‘Here is the bag,’ he laughed, ‘fill it as you will.’

“Pwyll took the bag and began filling it. But no matter how much he put into the bag it grew no more full than before. Gwawl signaled impatiently to his servers, who arose and began stuffing food into the little bag, but it remained just as empty.

“ ‘Beggar, will your bag never be full?’ asked Gwawl angrily.

“ ‘Never, until a lord rises up and tramples it down and cries, “Enough!” ‘

“ ‘Do it, Gwawl, and you will be finished with this business,’ said Rhiannon.

“ ‘Gladly, if it will rid me of him.’ Gwawl rose up and put his feet into the bag, and the beggar twisted it so that Gwawl fell head over heels into the bag, then closed it and tied the strings. Then from beneath his rags he produced a horn which he blew. Instantly the hall was filled with a fierce warband. The beggar threw off his rags and there stood Pwyll Pen Annwfn.

“ ‘Help me!’ cried the man in the bag. ‘What is this game you are playing?’

“ ‘The game of badger-in-the-bag,’ answered Pwyll, whereupon his men began striking the bag with kicks and blows.

“ ‘Lord,’ said Gwawl, ‘if you would listen to me, killing me inside this bag is no death for me.’

“Hyfiadd Hen stepped forward much chagrined and said, ‘He speaks the truth, lord; killing him inside a bag is no death for a man. Listen to him.’

“ ‘I am listening,’ said Pwyll.

“ ‘Then allow me to sue for peace,’ said Gwawl. ‘State your terms and I will agree.’

“ ‘Very well, pledge to me that there shall never be redress nor vengeance for what has befallen you and your punishment shall end.’

“ ‘You have my pledge,’ said the man in the bag.

“ ‘I accept it,’ replied Pwyll and called to his men, ‘Let him out.’

‘ ‘Thereupon Gwawl was released from the bag and he departed to his own realm. The hall was then prepared for Pwyll as before, and they all sat down to a wonderful wedding feast. They ate and reveled, and when it came time to go to sleep Pwyll and Rhiannon went to the bridal bed and spent the night in pleasure and contentment.

“The next morning they returned to Caer Narberth where the feast continued for seven days with the best men and women in all the realm in attendance. And no one went away from the feast without being given some special gift, either a brooch or a ring or a precious stone.

“So began the reign of Pwyll Pen Annwfn and Rhiannon, fairest of the fair, and so ends this branch of the Mabinogi.”

The last notes of the harp died away on the night air, and the bard bowed his head. The fires had dwindled and the torches burned low. Many people had wrapped themselves in skins and slept in their places, or had stretched out by the fire.

“Well spoken, Hafgan,” said Gwyddno, gazing sleepily at the huddled forms around him. “You are the best of bards. But no more tonight. Let us take our rest now, for the feast continues and we will hear another tale tomorrow night.”

With that, Gwyddno wrapped himself in a skin, curled up by the fire, and went to sleep. Elphin and Rhonwyn rose from the table and, gathering their fawn skins, slipped quietly away to Gwyddno’s house where they lay down together on a bed of clean rushes and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

“It is late and we must travel early,” said seithenin, his voice echoing slightly in the near-empty chamber. Heavy Cyprus beams arched into the darkness overhead; the richly enameled walls glimmered in the light of brass hanging lamps, making the room appear filled with restless shadows. “Tell us what your divining has revealed.” The three Magi stood before the king, dressed in the billowy vestments of their office: a long white alb cinched with a braided silver Belt and covered by a sea-green chasuble edged in silver threadwork. Tall white cylinder-shaped hats covered their shaven heads. They raised their hands in the sign of the sun, thin smiles on their long faces. Avallach sat in a chair beside Seithenin; Annubi stood behind his master, hands resting on the back of the chair, eyes narrowed.

“Sire,” said the foremost Mage, “after reading the required texts in the temple, we have consulted among ourselves and find this to be a most favorable sign-an omen of great virtue, signaling prosperity and ascendancy for all who witnessed it.”

“Explain,” said Seithenin. “I want to understand its significance more fully.”

“As you will, Highness,” replied the Mage with a sour smile. “It is our opinion that the starfall represents the seed of heaven wherewith Cronus has impregnated Oceanus. The result will be the birth of a new age in which the Nine Kingdoms will rise to lead the world in grace and wisdom and power.”

“So be it,” replied the other Magi, bowing, cylindrical hats bobbing once and again.

“When will this take place?” asked Seithenin.

“Soon, Highness. As in a human birth there will be accompanying signs by which we shall be able to tell more precisely the moment of its coming. And then we shall announce the birth to the people.”

Seithenin glanced at Avallach and said, “Please, speak if you have a mind to. I see that you are displeased.”

“You are perceptive, Seithenin,” Avallach replied. “I am displeased, it is true. And the reason is this: I am persuaded that the sign portends nothing half so pleasant as we have heard from these learned men. It is, rather, an omen of most dire circumstance.” He challenged the Magi directly. “What do you say to that?”

The Magi bristled at this affront to their art, puffing out their cheeks. “What would be the source of your information?” asked the foremost Mage, glancing at Annubi. The sneer in his voice was subtle.

Avallach glared but did not rise to the insult. “I am waiting for your answer.”

The three put their heads together and mumbled the matter over to themselves. At length they turned and their leader replied, “It is difficult, Sire, to explain to one untrained in the prophetic arts.”