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 sunbright 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 highborn 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 hardhearted 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 wellliked, 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, openmouthed 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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