The Winning of Olwen

Once upon a time, there was a king and a queen who had a little boy named Kilweh. Soon after he was born, the queen fell ill. She could not take care of him herself, so she sent him to a woman she knew high up in the mountains.

There he learned to play outside in all weathers, to bear heat and cold, and to grow tall and strong. Kilweh was happy with his nurse. He ran races and climbed hills with the other children.

In winter, when snow covered the ground, a man with a harp would sometimes stop and ask for shelter. In return, he would sing them songs about strange things that had happened long ago.

But long before this, things had changed at the court of Kilweh's father. Soon after she had sent her baby away, the queen grew much worse. At last, seeing that she was going to die, she called her husband to her and said, 'I will never rise from this bed again.

By and by you will take another wife. But to make sure you do not forget your son, I ask you not to marry until you see a briar with two blossoms on my grave.' The king promised this.

She also asked him to watch her grave so that nothing would grow on it. He promised that too. Soon after, she died. For seven years, the king sent a man every morning to check that nothing was growing on the queen's grave. But at the end of seven years, he forgot.

One day, when the king was out hunting, he rode past the place where the queen was buried. There he saw a briar growing with two blossoms on it. 'It is time for me to take a wife,' he said. After a long search, he found one.

But he did not tell her about his son. In fact, he hardly remembered he had a son until she heard about it from an old woman she went to visit. The new queen was very pleased and sent messengers to fetch the boy.

So Kilweh came to live at his father's court. The years passed until one day the queen told him that a prophecy had said he was to win Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden Penkawr, as his wife.

When Kilweh heard this, he felt proud and happy. Surely he must be a man now, he thought, or there would be no talk of a wife for him. All day long his mind dwelt on his promised bride and what she would be like when he saw her.

'What is wrong, my son?' his father asked at last, when Kilweh had forgotten something he was told to do. Kilweh blushed red as he answered, 'My stepmother says that none but Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden Penkawr, shall be my wife.'

'That will be easily done,' replied his father. 'Arthur the king is your cousin. Go to him and ask him to cut your hair and grant you this wish.'

So the young man set out on a dapple grey horse, four years old, with a bridle of linked gold and gold on his saddle. In his hand he carried two silver spears with steel heads.

A war-horn of ivory was slung over his shoulder, and by his side hung a golden sword. Before him ran two brindled white-breasted greyhounds with collars of rubies around their necks. They bounded from side to side, like two sea-swallows playing around him.

His horse's hooves kicked up four sods, like four swallows in the air about his head, now above, now below. He wore a purple robe with an apple of gold at each corner, each apple worth a hundred cows.

The blades of grass did not bend beneath him, so light were his horse's feet as he journeyed toward the gate of Arthur's palace.

'Is there a porter?' cried Kilweh, looking around for someone to open the gate.

'There is,' answered a man coming out to him. 'I am Arthur's porter every first day of January. The rest of the year there are other porters, among them Pennpingyon, who walks on his head to save his feet.'

'Well, open the gate, I say.'

'No, I cannot do that. No one may enter unless he is a king's son or a pedlar with goods to sell. But elsewhere there will be food for your dogs and hay for your horse, and for you cooked collops and sweet wine in the guest chamber.'