Gwyn

“ It was Gwyn’s turn to cry “Ah!” now, in the relief he felt; and for a few minutes he lay listening to the peculiar rustling noise beyond him, unable to stir. But he was brought to himself by a kick on the crown of his head, and began to back away from his companion’s feet as fast as he could, getting out at last to find Sam Hardock kneeling by the hole, lanthorn in hand, looking utterly despondent.
“It’s no good, my lad,” he said, with a groan. “What’s the use o’ punishing yourself in this way? You ought to know when you’re beat.” ”

“ Gwyn rushed out to meet her, with beseeching looks and holding the half baked bread in his hand. This time, she graciously took the gift, placed her other hand in his, and he led her to the shore.
Standing with her on land, he could not speak for many seconds. He noticed that she had sandals on her feet, and the one on the right foot was tied in a way rather unusual. Under her winsome smile, at last, he regained the use of his tongue. Then he burst out:
"Lady I love you, more than all the world besides. Will you be my wife?"
She did not seem at all willing at first, but love begets love. ”

“ Mrs. Gwyn felt her tremble. The King laughed. “I want you to help my brother,” said the child. “Will you?”
“Ods fish, fairies are mighty human,” the King sneered. “Nell, when you meet a soul that wants nothing of you, kneel down and pray, for sure that will be God.”
“Odso, I doubt He wants most of all,” quoth Mrs. Gwyn.
The King's brow grew sombre. He came to the child, and took her chin in his fingers. “Is your brother an elf like you?”
At his touch she cried out, “Diccon, Diccon!” as though for help, and Dick Craddock won through the little throng to the King. ”

“ Joe was muttering in his sleep when Gwyn reached his side, but for a time his words were unintelligible. Then quite plainly he said,—
“Be good for you, father. The mine will give you something to do, and then you won’t have time to think so much of your old wounds.”
“And if he has got out safely and they never find us, this will be like a new wound for the poor old Major to think about,” mused Gwyn. “How dreadful it is, and how helpless we seem! It’s always the same; gallery after gallery, just alike, and that’s why it’s so puzzling. ”

“ I don’t want the rope at all,” said Gwyn. “There, slacken your hold. I’m going to climb up.”
“Nay; better have the rope, my lad.”
“I don’t want the rope. I’m tired and hot, but I can climb up.”
“Gwyn!” came at that moment.
“Yes, father.”
“Just sarves you right,” growled Hardock. “Take some of the gashly conceit out of you, my lad. Now, then, I’m going to tie you up.”
“No; I shall do it myself,” said Gwyn, making a snatch at the line lowered down. “Now, get out of my way.” ”

“ He felt not the slightest inclination to run for help, but, big as the man was, he sprang forward with such energy that, in his surprise, the fellow gave way for the moment, and Gwyn seized the opportunity to make a snatch at the great reel he held, wrenched it from his hand, and threw it to Joe, who caught it as cleverly as if it had been a cricket ball. ”

“ Save yourself.”
“You get up,” cried Gwyn; and stooping down, he caught one of his companion’s arms, dragged at it with a heavy jerk, and found that he had miscalculated his strength, for he sank upon his knees, felt as if the lanthorn was gliding round him, and then subsided close by where Joe lay, while just then the dog gave a furious tug at the leash, freed itself, and dashed off into the darkness, barking apparently with delight. ”

“ His tired dull eyes flickered and brightened, and he looked from her to the Duchess of Portsmouth as you may see a man when he has a pair of dogs ready for fighting.
For Mrs. Gwyn's velvet was the very likeness of the Duchess's. They made a piquant pair, of a sweet childish beauty both, but the Duchess dark-browed and peevish, as Mrs. Gwyn was fair and gay. And the Duchess was not mellowed by that kinship in velvet. She bit her lip, and the polished brow was drawn till she looked a baby shrew. But Mrs. Gwyn's face spoke the surprise of innocence. ”

“ Great, however, as he probably was, Lludd, or Nudd occupies less space in Welsh story, as we have it now, than his son. Gwyn ap Nudd has outlived in tradition almost all his supernatural kin. Professor Rhys is tempted to see in him the British equivalent of the Gaelic Finn mac Cumhail. [287] The name of both alike means “white”; both are sons of the heaven-god; both are famed as hunters. Gwyn, however, is more than that; for his game is man. ”

“ The next best plan was to shout loudly, “You hurt my dog if you dare—” though the man might dare, and cast the stone all the same.
But Gwyn did neither of these things, for another familiar voice rose from beyond the furze, crying loudly,—
“You let that dog alone! You touch him and I’ll set him to worry you. Once he gets his teeth into you, he won’t let go. Here, Grip! Come to heel!”
“Well done, Joe!” muttered Gwyn, who felt that his dog was safe; and he ran to the end of the bank of prickly growth, where there was an opening, and suddenly appeared upon the scene. ”

“ I did think you had more pluck in you, Joe.”
“That’s what I thought about you, Ydoll.”
“So did I,” said Gwyn, frankly; “and all the time I’m as great a coward as you are. I say, though, doesn’t it show a fellow up when he gets into trouble? Can’t show me up in the dark, though, can it?”
“Oh, I don’t know; I only know I feel horribly miserable. Let’s go to sleep and forget it all.”
“Sha’n’t,” shouted Gwyn, making an effort over himself. “I won’t be such a jolly miserable coward, and you sha’n’t neither. We’ll do something.” ”

“ Gwyn snatched at the candle, examined the blackened end and sodden wick, and then turned it upside down, holding the bottom end close to the flame of his own light and letting the grease drip away till fresh wick was exposed and gradually began to burn.
“I should never have thought of doing that,” said Joe, calmly, as he lay on his chest resting his chin upon his hands.
“There,” cried Gwyn, sticking up the fresh candle in the tin sconce, and waiting till the fat around it had congealed. “Now you go on up, and see what you can do. Keep the door side of the lanthorn away from the wind.” ”

“ It was rather different from the spot on which Gwyn had knelt a few months before, waiting for help to come and rescue him from his perilous position, and he thought of it, as he descended the carefully-secured ladders, connected with the rock face by means of strong iron stanchions.
“I say, Joe,” he cried, as they descended, “better than hanging at the end of a rope. Why, it’s safe as safe.” ”

“ This approach to a blending in the god Höᵭr's person of Mars and Pluto has its parallels in Celtic myths, where the god of death, always present in the battle-field, may be easily mistaken for a god of battle in the proper sense of the word: witness, for example, a poem [265] in the Black Book of Carmarthen, where Gwyn ab Nûᵭ is made to enumerate the great battles in which he had been present; but Gwyn is not so much a war-god as a god of the dead and king of the other world, who fetches the fallen to his own realm. ”

“ Come: up with you at once.”
“Must I, Mr Gwyn, sir?”
“Yes, of course; so get up and try.”
Sam Hardock groaned, and began to creep slowly up the steep slope, Gwyn leading the way; but at the end of a minute the man subsided.
“It’s of no use, sir; I can’t do it. I haven’t the strength of a rat.”
“Keep on; it will come,” cried Gwyn. “Keep on, sir, and try. You must get to the top, where Joe Jollivet is.”
“No, no; let me die in quiet.”
“Very well; when I have got you into a good dry place. You can’t die in peace with the cold black water creeping over you.”
“N–no,” said Hardock, with a shiver. ”

“ About a month later Grip was loose in the garden, and seeing some one approach, Gwyn rushed at the dog, seized him by the collar, and chained him up before turning back to meet—Tom Dinass, who was coming up to the house.
“You here—alive?” cried Gwyn.
“Seems like it, sir,” said the man, grinning. “That there dorg’s as nasty and savage as ever. Guv’nor in?” ”

“ So Gwyn felt in no humour for sport of any kind; he did not care to look out at the ships, and speculate upon what port they were bound for; he picked up no stones to send spinning at the grey gulls; did not see that the gorse was wonderfully full of flower; and did not even smell the wild thyme as he crushed it beneath his feet. There were hundreds of tiny blue and copper butterflies flitting about, and a great hawk was havering overhead ”

“ I say, Gwyn, I believe I did that man an injustice.”
“What man an injustice?” said Gwyn, who was pretending to tie the dog’s long silky ears in a knot across his eyes.
“Tom Dinass.”
The dog bounded from where he stood on his hind-legs resting on his master’s knees, and burst into a furious fit of barking.
“Hark at him!” cried Gwyn. “Talk about dogs being intelligent animals? It’s wonderful. He never liked the fellow. Hi! Tom Dinass there. Did he break your legs, Grip?”
The dog barked furiously, and ended with a savage growl.
“Just like we are,” said Gwyn, “like some people, and hate others. ”

“ Then he threw the holy water over them, and nothing was left but the bare hillside.417 Though Gwyn's court on Glastonbury is a local Celtic Elysium, which was actually located there, the story marks the hostility of the Church to the cult of Gwyn, perhaps practised on hilltops, and this is further seen in the belief that he hunts souls of the wicked and is connected with Annwfn in its later sense of hell. But a mediant view is found in Kulhwych, where it is said of him that he restrains the demons of hell lest they should destroy the people of this world. ”

“ Are the others strong enough to crawl?”
“Yes,” said Gwyn, faintly, for his heart was beating strangely now just when he felt that he ought to be at his strongest and best.
“You, there, Ydoll?” came loudly.
“Yes; all right,” cried Gwyn. “Where’s Sam Hardock?”
“Crawling up after me,” came more loudly.
“Then I must go back,” said Vores. “P’raps I’d better lead, Mr Gwyn.”
“Yes, yes, go on, and we’ll follow,” said Gwyn, more faintly; and he felt the man pass him again, there being just room.
“Must go very slowly,” said Vores, “because there’s no room to turn for another fifty yards or so. ”

“ Gwyn, last of the gods of Annwn, has evidently by this time taken over the functions of all the others. He has the hounds which Arawn once had—the Cwn Annwn, “dogs of hell”, with the white bodies and the red ears. We hear more of them in folklore than we do of their master, though even their tradition is dying out with the spread of newspapers and railways. We are not likely to find another Reverend Edmund Jones [551] to insist upon belief in them, lest, by closing our minds to such manifest witnesses of the supernatural world, we should become infidels. ”

“ Gwynhwyvar was contended for by Arthur and Medrawt, or, in an 365earlier form of the myth, by Arthur and Gwyn. In the Morte Darthur, Gwyn, under the corruption of his Cornish name Melwas into “Sir Meliagraunce”, still captures Guinevere, but it is no longer Arthur who rescues her. That task, or privilege, has fallen to a new champion. It is Sir Launcelot who follows Sir Meliagraunce, defeats and slays him, and rescues the fair captive. ”

“ The deity named Gwyn ap Nudd is said, like Finn in Gaelic legend,221 to have impressed himself more deeply and lastingly on the Welsh popular imagination than any of the other divinities. A mighty warrior and huntsman, he glories in the crash of breaking spears, and, like Odin, assembles the souls of dead heroes in his shadowy kingdom, for although he belongs [pg 353] to the kindred of the Light-gods, Hades is his special domain. ”

“ I know my way right through now.”
“But it’s all a scare,” said Gwyn, banteringly.
“I hope so, sir, but I feel unked like, and as if something’s very wrong.”
“Think of old Grip playing the sneak,” said Joe, as they finally cleared the grotto-like cracks, and came upon flooring better for walking.
“Nay, sir, he’s no sneak. He’s only gone to see what’s the matter.”
“Without a light?” cried Gwyn.
“He wants no light, sir. His eyes are not like ours. Would you mind walking a little faster?”
“No; lead on, and we’ll keep up. But how long will it take us to get to the foot of the shaft?” ”

“ There remains a difficulty which we must now try to discuss. I have already treated Finn as the Goidelic equivalent of the Welsh Gwyn, son of Nûᵭ, king of the fairies and the demons of the spirit world; whereas it is impossible to identify Gwion or Taliessin with that repellent personage, or with any other, perhaps, but Gwyn's direct antagonist, the Sun-god. Briefly put, the explanation is, that the Irish have confounded two Finns of the most incompatible characters under the one name. ”

“ We’re to be partners over the mine some of these days, Ydoll, when we grow up, and they’re tired of it. I say, though, I don’t think I shall like having that Tom Dinass here.”
“No,” said Gwyn, thoughtfully. “He looks as if he could bite. Think what he said about getting work was all true?”
“I suppose so. Seems reasonable. I don’t like to disbelieve people when they speak out plainly to you.”
“No,” said Gwyn, thoughtfully. “If they’ve told you a crammer at some time, it makes all the difference, and you don’t feel disposed to believe them again. ”

“ I’m as bad as you,” said Gwyn, slowly; “I can’t get up again.”
“Never mind, Ydoll; we have done our duty, old chap, as the dads said we ought to as soldiers’ sons. We have, haven’t we?”
“No, not quite,” cried Gwyn. “Let’s have one more try—I will, and you shall.”
He made an effort to rise, but sank back and nearly fainted, but recovered himself to feel that Joe had got hold of his hand, and he uttered a piteous sigh.
“Light’s going out, Jolly, and if they don’t find us soon our lights’ll go out, too. ”