4 short celtic stories

Duncan Mason

!Now Peredur had been riding for many days through the endless forest of Caladon. The only sound he heard was the hum of the bees, the whispered breeze, the steady rhythm of his horse's hooves and the creak of saddle leather. At times he tried to cheer himself with song but, though usually the forest made light his heart, these woods swallowed his song like a cormorant gulping fish. This forest was gloomy.

Now this Peredur, whom some call Percival, was one of Arthur's bravest knights. He had been seeking the Grail for many months riding far and wide acroos the hills of Britain. Most days he let his horse lead the way and gave no thought to turning this way and that. "God will guide me there and home," he muttered to himself.On a morning of bright sunshine, hard by a deep green river, Peredur spied a lonely castle. No flags waved from the parapet, and no fields surrounded its blue-grey walls. As Peredur approached the drawbridge slowly lowered on chains creaking and rimed with rust. He dismounted his horse and, as he stepped across the threshold, the sound of a woman's voice entered his ear. Her song was strange, eerie, haunting, and in a language he could not understand.

No porter greeted him, no person met his eye. In the center of the great hall there was single large table, but no chairs. He saw a gaming-board upon that table and, as he moved closer, he was astonished to see one of the game pieces slowly move itself across the board. This movement of the black piece was answered by the movement of a white piece. Peredur looked around the hall, but no face met his gaze. The song continued, another black piece moved, then a white.

Now Peredur thought himself a good player and moved one of the pieces with his own hand to a position of seeming advantage. The invisible force that moved the pieces of the other side answered Peredur's gambit. Alas, after three moves, it was obvious that Peredur's side was now losing. The game pieces of the opposing side all gave a rousing shout, just as if they were human, and Peredur, in disgust at being mocked so, scattered the pieces and cast the gaming-board into the moat.

At that moment the singing ceased and a woman with black skin appeared in great dismay.

"Peredur!" she said. "You are not welcome here and surely you do great harm."

"What have I done?" exclaimed Peredur.

"You have caused the Empress to lose her board. How now can she rule her empire?"

"Is there any way I can make amends?" he asked, his eyes wide with wonder.

"There is." said the girl with black skin and eyes brightly blazing. "You must travel to the castle of Ysbidinongl. There you will find the white knight, he who is laying waste the lands of the Empress. By killing him you can reclaim the board and the game. But I fear you will not come back alive from that terrible place."

So Peredur travelled on and presently came to a wide valley, like a great bowl of green goodness. Upon either side of this valley were many sheep grazing and in the center he spied, far off, a solitary tree burning. And as he rode down into the valley he noticed that upon the right hand all the sheep were white, and upon the left all the sheep were black.

Yet as he rode one of the black sheep bleated and in answer one of the white sheep moved across the valley. And as it approached the flock of black sheep, its wool changed from white to piebald to deepest black.

Likewise he soon heard one of the white sheep bleating and, in answer to the call, one of the black sheep moved across the valley floor and became white.

Peredur marvelled at this but rode on whispering a quiet prayer.

And as he approached the tree, great was his wonder for he saw that the tree burned upon one side only, the other being covered in bright green leaves like those of mid-spring. From the side of the tree that was burning there issued a hum as of a choir singing. In the leafy side of the tree a hundred varied birds nested singing in praise of the sun-bright day.

Peredur's horse shied away from the fierce flames and Peredur led him around the side of the tree where the birds sang. Yet, strangely, as he approached that side of the tree burst into flames and the side of the tree that had been burning was now alive with leaf and bird-song. Peredur's horse reared and neighed, but Peredur kept his steed in check and travelled on his mind clouded with wonder.

At the end of the valley he found the castle of Ysbidinongl and he saw, as the black maiden had described, that the lands beyond were wasted, burned and destroyed.

A black shield hung on a lopped tree. Peredur struck the shield with his lance and immediately a huge knight in black armour rode out to meet Peredur's challenge.

Yet Peredur was confused, for he had been expecting the white knight of whom the black woman had spoken. Peredur's horse circled around its own tail as he couched his lance and prepared for battle. The black knight reined his horse to a halt and sat immobile in front of Peredur.

"Art thou the knight who plays the game with the Empress's forces?" asked Peredur.

"I am that knight." replied the black knight.

"How is it then," asked Peredur, "that I was told to expect a white knight?"

At that the black knight raised his visor and Peredur perceived that his skin was white like snow, like ash, like bone, and that his eyes were strangely pink in deep sockets.

The white knight in black armour slammed his visor down and spurred his horse at Peredur. Three times the knights charged each other. Upon the first charge Peredur's first lance splintered and the white knight struck him hard in the shoulder. Upon the second charge Peredur's lance broke and sailed up into the air in a gentle arc and the white knight struck Peredur full in the chest. But Peredur remained in the saddle and couched his third lance.

Upon the third charge Peredur struck the white knight in the uppermost portion of his helmet, flinging him backwards over the horse's flanks to lie unmoving on the scorched ground.

Peredur entered the castle of the white knight, and from a woman white as a swan took the gaming-board and began his long journey back to the castle of the black-skinned maiden.

!She was the prettiest girl in the village and he the handsomest boy, and when they met in the meadow on the lakeshore their eyes were poetry to each other and their fingers soft summer breezes.

Their meetings were always too sweet and too short, for always she had to return around the lakeshore to the mill where her father turned the grinding stone, or to the bakery where her mother baked the loaves.

Their meetings were always like honey, but too brief, for ever had the boy to return to the moody woods to help his father cut the trees or help his mother with the charcoal fire. And when he kissed her goodbye she smelled of flowers and flour and bread and honey. And when she kissed him she smelled the woods and the fires and the moss and the cedar.

One high hazy afternoon as he strolled back home through the woods, he entered a sycamore grove and an old woman stood in the center. Unknown to him this woman was a witch and in her cold heart a single small flame, like that from an oil lamp, burned - a flicker of love for the handsome young man.

She spoke to him kindly from cracked, parched lips. She held out her gnarled hand to him and invited him home.

He, of course, refused, unaware of the danger, and when he regained his senses he was a prisoner in a cage behind the witch's house. He had no memory of who he was or where he was or who it was that cried sad tears for him in the mill house by the lake.

After a time, the miller's daughter decided to go searching for her lost love and, when her work was done and armed with a hunting knife, she searched the lakeshore and the woods for signs of her gentle love. So it was that she found herself in a sycamore grove questioning an old woman as to whether she had seen her young man.

The old woman, sensing the quick intelligence behind the girl's eyes, and the strong determination in her heart, decided to put a spell on her. When she returned home that day, the miller and his wife were dismayed to find that their daughter could only say two words, her tongue and lips struggling like a small child's. All she said, from that day forward, was "Him. Who?"

In spite of her disability, many were the men, young and old, who thought of courting the miller's daughter. For not only was she the prettiest girl in the valley, but her future husband would also have a part-share in the running of the mill and never again want for bread.

The miller's wife was called away. She was an expert fashioner of veils, scarves and hats and the high-born ladies at the castle needed new fashions to wear to the upcoming tournament. So the girl's mother dutifully accepted the commission and travelled to the castle, a full week's journey away.

Her scheming husband, the miller, determined to find a suitable husband to allay his daughter's sadness -- and to help him with the work. He spread the word that whoever could guess the answer to the girl's riddle might have her hand in marriage.

The hopeful suitors gathered from far and wide, the clever, the strong, the rich and poor. They encamped themselves in the meadow where she used to meet her long-lost love. She stared from the upper window at the host of brightly colored tents and the many strangers who milled about them. As tears rolled down from her eyes she wondered where her love had gone. She stared at the dark green verge of the distant forest and hope ebbed from her.

In the forest the witch had forgotten her love for the boy, for it had merely been the last flicker of a cooling heart. Like the lake in winter the ice had slowly crept out from the shore, little by little covering the surface of the witch's heart until the surface was sheathed in ice and the light and happy emotions of youth slept like still winter fish in the frigid depths unmoving. Once in a while she remembered her captive and threw a scrap of food into his cage., and sometimes the boy was able to reach into the pig sty and steal some of the scraps the the pigs received for victual.

His nights were long and lonely but he knew not what he hungered for for all trace of memory had stolen from him. He grew skinny, his hair grew long and matted, and insects began to take up residence in the hairs and creases of his body.

The suitors, encamped by the lake, drew lots to decide who would be first to petition the miller. They lined up outside the mill, and when the morning's work was done and the bread cooled on the shelves the miller brought forth his daughter. The first suitor approached.

"Him. Who?" said the miller's daughter.

"I can answer that,' said the first suitor, a master of battle. "She seeks a particular kind of man for her husband. Him who is strong and powerful. Him who commands armies. He it is should wed you, fair lady"

But the miller's daughter only looked at the ground, showing no signs of recognition or agreement. "Him. Who?" she said quietly.

This time a blacksmith approached, his arms like corded leather, his beard jutting proudly forth.

"Him who works with iron and bronze. Him whose arms are strong. He should marry thee, fair lady."

But the girl just turned her eyes upon her father and said, "Him. Who?"

The rich merchant came forth, the powerful lord, the cobbler, the ploughman, the juggler and the tanner but none would she have. "Him. Who?" was her only response.

Near the end of the week, riding side saddle on a donkey and escorted by two knights, the girl's mother returned. Surprised by the crowd arrayed in front of the mill, she chided her husband for trying to marry off her only daughter while she was away. The suitors were growing tired and angry and stood around grumbling to themselves.

"But surely one of these here assembled can break the spell," the miller said in his own defence. "Surely one of these can make our daughter happy."

"Thou hast more of a mind to lighten thy load of work," said the mother, "than to see our daughter happy."

"Come, come," said the angry suitors. "She must choose one of us before the night falls."

"No she must not," said the mother. "My blessed little girl will only marry the one who can free her from this terrible curse."

"But have we not all tried this very week, this very day," said the rich merchant. "And have we not all failed. She must choose one of us, for time is money and I cannot wait forever in my tent by the lakeside."

All the other suitors showed their approval of these words, and the mother, feeling hemmed in by the great crowd, stepped up onto a table and shouted.

"Nay, and ye good gentlemen listen to me, all. My girl cannot love the man who trains to kill, the battle hardened veteran whose hands and eye are steel. She will not love the merchant whose love is greater for gold than for her. She must not love the great lord, for he will not work the mill and his eye roves o'er all the ladies at court."

The crowd of suitors grumbled and complained, but the mother raised her hands and spoke on.

"My lovely girl will not marry a smith who sweats and grunts throughout the day. Nor will she marry a shepherd who smells of sheep and cattle and hay. Nor will she marry a fisherman who catches the fish and cuts it apart. She'll marry him whose hand and eyes are gentle and to him will she give her heart."

At these words three things happened.

The daughter gasped and spoke vehemently: "Him whose hands and eyes are gentle." And the spell was broken.

Then, far away in the forest, the lock on the gate on the witch's cage broke in two and the gate swung wide open. Then the boy's memory flooded back to him and he fled through the forest knowing in exactly which direction his heart's dearest wish lay.

The assembled suitors, feeling greatly dismayed by the words of the miller's wife, began to pack up their tents and saddle their horses and load their carts. The lord's servants busied themselves while he drank wine from a golden goblet. The merchant tied his bags of silver and gold to his pony and calculated how much he had lost in a week of idleness. The blacksmith sniffed the pits of his arms but, remembering that he had bathed at the last full moon, decided that he could easily wait till the next.

Suddenly there was a loud shout from the farthest end of the lake and the young boy dove into the water with a splash.

The miller's daughter recognized the voice instantly and her hope surged back into her heart like the foam-crested wave of the midsummer tide.

By the time the boy reached the further shore the insects that nested on his body were drowned and washed away and his hair was clean and shone in the golden light of the sinking sun. He strode dripping from the water and she, light feet dancing over the stone and sand, leapt into his waiting arms.

It is said that they married the next day, and that the hard-hearted merchant was so impressed by the love they held for each other that he paid for all the wedding arrangements. All the suitors were invited to stay and the miller and his wife baked bread all throught the night to feed everyone.

The young couple had four children, all of whom were gentle of hand and eye. And if you journey into that fair valley you will find them there still, sustained long years on bread and love.

!The old storyteller leaned his back against the pillar of the hall. The men and women gathered there relaxed their posture and, chewing the last remnants of their meal or idly picking morsels from their teeth, turned expectant eyes upon the old man. For they knew that he was himself a word-hoard, a living library, and that he could weave tales that spread out in beautiful patterns like the icy leaves of crystal frost upon the windows of winter: leaves from the tree of story - celtic frost.

"And hast thou heard," the story-teller began, "of the strange thing that happened at Clonmacnoise? As you know, at Clonmacnoise there live many monks and some each day labour in the fields growing vegetables and herbs for food and for medicines that aid the body and the mind. Some of these monks work in the library copying the gospels and setting down the words of our Lord in letters of green and gold. And some pray in the church for the salvation of the heathen and the deliverance of the world from damnation and fire."

"Now one of these monks is named Cuthbert and often he runs afoul of the abbot of the church for, try as he might, Cuthbert is always a clumsy man who kicks over the bucket when it is filled with milk, and disturbs the bees and is stung when he goes to the hive for honey. So ofen does this happen, that the other monks have nicknamed him "Honey Cuthbert" or "Sticky Cuthbert" for, although he has a kind heart, and is well-liked, trouble sticks to him like honey sticks to the fingers. Try as he might, Cuthbert rarely makes it through a single day without some mistake occurring. But the abbot loves him perhaps even more than the other brothers and so tries to give Cuthbert the simplest tasks to perform."

"So it was that on this day Cuthbert was again down at the beehives with smoke and hat trying to remove some of the sweet honey for the breakfast table."

Here the assembled guests all nodded and smiled and looked at each other, knowing that some new disaster would visit poor Brother Cuthbert as the story-teller weaved his tale.

"So it was," the storyteller continued, "that Cuthbert cut a large chunk of golden honecomb and, thanking the bees for their gift, and God for not being stung, he turned to walk back to the church. He moved slowly, not wanting to drop his precious burden, his sandals crushing drops of dew as he moved through the deep green grass."

"It was when he was halfway back to the church, just beside the strawberry patch, that the marvel appeared. Cuthbert heard a voice above his head and, looking up, was astonished to see the hull of a ship about the height of two trees above his head.

Cuthbert stopped dead in his tracks, for the ship moved in air as if it were on the sea, the oars moving in rhythm, the sail full and taut.

Cuthbert gave a great shout of surprise and the monks working in the field nearby all looked up from their toil and stared, open-mouthed at the ship in the air."

"Cuthbert's shout drew the attention of the men in the ship and they, looking down, saw the green vegetables, beehives and church. They smiled and hailed the monks and Cuthbert had to jump for his life as a great stone anchor thudded to the earth, burying itself in the soil where he had been standing.

The men in the boat lowered a basket containing several strange gold coins, worked with a pattern of interwoven fish. They asked for bread and honey, cabbages and venison to be provided and, presently, the basket was hauled back up to the ship brimming with food."

"Cuthbert sat on the ground, amidst the strawberries, near the stone anchor, and stared at the ship in dismay. Then a man came down out of the ship. He swam down through the air as you or I would descend into the depths of a lake. He began to heave on the stone anchor, trying to set it free from the earth. He dislodged it, tearing up some of the strawberry plants, and his shipmates promptly began to haul it up to the ship. Then he turned put something into Cuthbert's hand. Cuthbert looked down. It was a piece of amber which contained a single honeybee. He smiled and turned away."

"But at that moment the other monks had run over and they grabbed the stranger by the arms and would not let him go. They saw that he wore a bronze helmet chased with a fish pattern, that the leather of his jacket was green, and that the toes of his bare feet were webbed like those of a duck. His face was flushed red and his cheeks puffed out. Cuthbert suddenly realized that the man was holding his breath."

"For God's sake," the stranger suddenly shoulted, "let me go, for you are surely drowning me!"

"At that the monks, shocked by his outburst, let go of his arms and he swam up in the air following the slowly rising anchor."

"Then the ship moved away, its oars dipping into thin air, its sail stretched by breezes unfelt by the monks below."

"And to this day, no one knows what mysterious country the ship came from nor to what place it was journeying. But from that day forth, Cuthbert never again was clumsy and he became renowned for the sweetness of his singing. He gave the piece of amber to the abbot who had it set into the front cover of the great Gospel upon which the monks had laboured. And if you travel there you can see it on the high altar."

! "It will never float, you foolish old man," the overseer laughed, his yellow teeth flashing from beneath his dark beard. The crowd that had gathered chuckled and pointed at the old man who toiled with such dedication.

When he went home late that night, very tired, his wife prepared food and, setting it down in front of Noah, said, "Is the work progressing well, dear husband?"

"Yes," Noah replied, "God sustains me.""When will we leave?" she asked, clearing away the plates and

cups."Tomorrow evening the rains will come."Noah's wife did not plan to sleep much that night. Her mind was

filled with concern for her sons Shem, Ham and Japheth, their wives and the grandchildren. "How will we all fit in the ark?" she wondered.

Noah was not worried about his family, for the angel of the Lord had told him that they would be protected. He was more concerned about moving all the animals into the wooden vessel. His sons had spent the previous weeks rounding up all the animals that they could find, two of each kind. They were now gathered together in pens and in the rooms of Noah's house. His sons had to guard them night and day, for their was hunger in the land and many people would try to eat the animals if they knew they were there.

All night Noah and his sons prodded and pushed and pulled the reluctant animals toward the ark. They tied cloth around the mouths, beaks or muzzles of each animal to prevent their cries awakening the hungry neighbors.

Back at home, Noah's wife and his daughters-in-law prepared as much food as they could to sustain them during the voyage.

The next morning, Noah and his wife woke very early. They said their prayers together, ate some food together and Noah set off to finish the ark. When he stepped outside there was a light drizzle falling, rare in these times, for little rain had fallen in the land between the two great rivers and the level of the rivers themselves had steadily fallen.

"So it begins," Noah said quietly, looking at the pale grey sky.

As Noah worked, a crowd slowly gathered on a nearby hill and they laughed and pointed and jeered. But Noah and his sons just ignored them and continued to put the finishing touches on the ark, spreading pitch to seal the cracks and holes. By mid-day the drizzle had become a light rain.

"Perhaps the rain will fill the land between the Tigris and the Euphrates," the overseer shouted. "And your little boat will float to the sea." The crowd roared with laughter, but Noah was not disturbed. He was in fact glad the the crowd was making so much noise, for that way no one noticed the strange animal noises that came from inside the unusual boat.

Eventually the crowd dispersed, for the rain had begun to fall heavily. As evening crept across the land thunder and lightning began and Noah, remembering the angel's words, sent his sons to fetch their wives, their mother and the provisions from the house.

Now that old devil, the Prince of Lies, had had his eye on Noah for many years. He had been able to lead all the inhabitants of the country astray, but when it came to Noah's family, they were too kind, too honest, too good to fall for his tricks.

While Noah and his family made the final preparations and said goodbye to their little home, the devil, changing himself into a snake, crawled along the ground by the side of the ark. He found a little hole, half-way up the hull of the ship. He snickered to himself when he realized that Noah and his sons had neglected to plug the hole with the pitch they had used to make the ark watertight.

The devil was delighted to think how God's plan to save Noah and his family from the flood would fail because of this small whole. The devil imagined the people and all the animals drowning inside the ark and decided that that was a show he did not want to miss. The long, fat, slippery serpent slithered into the ark through the round hole.

Noah and his sons stood on the deck of the ship. Shem held the last hatch cover in his hands. The water had now risen one quarter of the way up the side of the ark. Some people passed by in a small open boat and laughed at Noah claiming that he had built his boat much too large to float on such a shallow flood.

But the lightning and the rain were growing ever more intense, and the sky to the south was blacker than pitch. Noah calmly ordered his sons to join the women below. He took the hatch cover from Shem and pulled it over his head as he descended the stairway into the ark. He drove wooden pegs in to seal the hatchcover. Turning to the upturned faces below Noah couldn't help but notice the worried expressions.

"Do not worry good wife, fair children. Hath not the Lord sent His angels to watch over us?"

They gathered together to wait for the water to rise high enough to dislodge the ark from the timbers that supported it.

Meanwhile, the serpent, the Prince of Lies, had gleefully eaten two rats that he found in the straw. Then, in the pen of the zebras, with a belly full of rats, he curled around himself and fell asleep, dreaming of destruction.

The water rose one third of the way up the side of the ark.

When the waters were halfway up the side, the entire structure groaned and shifted as the timbers were shoved by the surging waters. The serpent awoke and heard the terrible whistling of the wind and the rolling of the thunder of the storm outside. He congratulated himself on finding such a nice warm place to wait out the storm and slithered to the edge of the pen to watch Noah and his family.

But Noah had called them together in a circle in the light of a single lantern.

"Let us pray," Noah said, and hearing these words the serpent hissed and writhed over and over in the straw.

"Let us ask for a blessing upon this ark," said Noah's wife, and the serpent hearing these words rose up and spat poison onto the floor.

"I will deliver the blessing," said Noah, and the serpent turned quickly and slithered toward the hole in the side of the ark. "Better a watery night than the heat of a righteous blessing," said the serpent.

Unfortunately the Prince of Lies had forgotten the raging waters outside and their effect upon the unseasoned wood. For the planks of the ark had gradually swelled with moisture from the rain, and the fat serpent, slithering through the hole, became stuck, for the hole was now much smaller than when he came in and the rats in his belly made him much fatter.

With his head hanging out of the ark the wind and the wave battered his scaly hide, his eyes burned from the salty ocean water and his head ached from the noise and the constant pounding. Meanwhile, inside the ark, his tail was scorched by the words of Noah's blessing which fell like fire upon his glistening scales.

And so he hung with a scalded tail and a half-drowned head, half in and half out of the ark. For forty days and forty nights the Prince of Lies hung there for although the rats were soon digested, the water-soaked wood kept expanding and the hole that penned him grew tighter and tighter. And so, unwittingly, the Prince of Lies plugged the only hole in the ark.

After forty days and forty nights the ark washed up between the twin peaks of Mount Ararat. Noah's family saw the sun shining on the sparkling waters. They gathered in a circle to give thanks unto the Lord.

No one noticed the Prince of Lies slither out of the hole and glide away sneezing into the rocks to coil upon himself and lick the scorched scales of his tail.

And so to this day the Irish call this the story of the best and worst nail in the Ark.

Stories adapted from A Celtic miscellany: Penguin, 1972.

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