[1] See p. ## n. ##

[2] This significant location has often been identified with Narbeth in Southern Pembrokeshire (the site of a thirteenth century fortification), though a more plausible case can perhaps be made for the Nant Arberth area (Breeze, p. ###), a few miles east of the modern town of Cardigan. Subsequent episodes confirm Arbeth, whatever its precise location, was the focus for a number of folk-beliefs of magical origin.

[3] The area, a few miles up the Teifi valley from Nant Arbeth is associated (in an earlier tradition) with the pig-herding exploits of Pryderi vab Pwyll: see p##### above

[4] The hero’s impulsiveness is emphasised: he sets off as soon as it occurs to him to do so, although it is after nightfall and therefore impractical to begin a journey. Such instinctiveness is important, suggesting as it does that he may be under the control of a subconscious (i.e. Otherworldly) force (see also p.## above).

This opening section conforms to a narrative pattern which was almost certainly already familiar to its contemporary audience. The story-type involved, of which this was the classic entrée, is commonly found in the Irish, Welsh and Breton traditions, and was undoubtedly rooted in the pan-Celtic past. Bromwich (1960) described this scenario as The Chase of the White Stag. Typically this begins, as above, with an impulsive desire to hunt on the part of a young king or hero. In such a way the protagonist is drawn into a wilderness setting: where he becomes separated from his companions; often  in pursuit of a strange, magical animal (often an Otherworld being in disguise). Such situations typically preceded a shift of reality into an Otherworld state, or herald a momentous encounter with magical figures involved.

The Chase of the White Stag, as Bromwich points out, was frequently connected to the theme of sovereignty as an animistic force underlying the natural world – which, as we will discuss below (p.###-###) – was often personified by shape-shifting female: young and beautiful when the ruling king was at the height of his powers, withered and threadbare when the male consort was either absent or in some way impaired. The tale of Lugaid Laígde, ancestor of the ancient Érainn dynasty, rulers of Mumu (Munster) recalls the Chase of the White Stag in a form which preserves much of this original pagan signification:

“It was prophesied that a son of King Dáire Sirchreachtach would gain the kingship of the whole of Ireland. Dáire consults a druid to find out which of his five sons it will be, and the druid replies that a fawn with a golden lustre upon it will come into the assembly and the son who shall capture the fawn shall win the kingship...”

There and then the golden fawn appears before the company. As they go off in pursuit, a magical mist descends and the sons of Daire become separated from the rest. Each of the brothers in turn encounter a mysterious, hulking old woman. Lugaid Laígde alone accepts the hag’s embrace – and thereafter catches the golden fawn and goes on to win the sovereignty of the land. This might be compared with the sovereignty myth of the Ulaid described on p. ### below.

[5] These were the hallmarks of the Otherworldly origins, according to a deeply rooted tradition found throught the British Isles. The Wild Hunt of Gwyn ap Nudd (p. ### above) included dogs of this kind. The Wild Hunt motif, an expression of the turbulent aspect of the animistic faery world, was itself a deeply rooted and perennial feature of North European folklore. An apprehension of this archetype was clearly being evoked at this juncture.

[6] Following Jones and Jones, P.K Ford, D. S. Thomson et al., I have translated this Welsh proto-feudal title unben (GM = 1. dictator, despot ; 2. lord, noblemen, monarch, prince) as ‘chieftain’. We might assume this was the default mode of address between unacquainted noblemen in Medieval Wales. Pwyll also addresses Arawn in this way (albeit somewhat sarcastically) until he realises that Arawn is of equal if not greater social rank than himself, after which time he switches to the rather more elevated arglwydd (‘lord’).

[7] The language here is legalistic: mi a wnaf o anglott itt guerth can carw lit. ‘I will be making of dishonour to you the value of a hundred stags’. Pwyll’s initial offence was the driving off of another man’s pack: a pack which, as we have seen, was clearly ‘not of this world’. This error was compounded by his failure to recognise a fellow king and show appropriate respect. Mistakes such as these could be highly dangerous. According to the traditional Celtic socio-legal code, Pwyll was in a compromised position: he had offended a powerful being on the border between their respective domains and  was now obliged to recompense the other or risk a destructive enmity between themselves and their regions. The ‘hundred stags’ , the value of which is calculated by the wynebwerth ‘honour price’ of the injured party, see. ###

[8] The name of Arawn may conceivably relate to the River Aeron – which rises in uplands of Ceredigion. We might in turn relate this to the River Arun in Southern England. Likewise, there are various Eirean- Aran- place names throughout the Gaelic world, where an indigenous tribal grouping, the Erainn are identified. Lugaid son of Daire, in the Irish variant of the Chase of the White Stag mytheme quoted above, is associated with this people. Arawn might have originally been an eponymous ancestor of this people, whose legend entered the Demetian tradition by the same route as the exile myth of the Deísi discussed in Chapter 4 below (pp. ###-###).

[9] As this point the plot begins to take the form of another stereotyped narrative mytheme, equally familiar throughout the Celtic world. The Otherworld Sojourn, as we might call this scenario, could take a number of forms: but always followed the same basic gist: the mortal protagonist is lured to an Otherworldly domain, where they subsequently abide for a period of time. This occurs at the instigation of one or more of the Otherworld beings, and often follows a Chase of the White Stag introduction, or some variant thereof.

The purpose of Pwyll’s sorjourn in the Indigenous Underworld is to rid Arawn of his ‘oppression’: the rival king Hafgan (‘Summer-Bright’) with whom he is locked in a ongoing and irreconcilable conflict. A further example of mortal interventions in Otherworldly conflicts of this kind in the Celtic world include Arthur’s adjudication of the seasonal dual between Gwynn ap Nudd and Gwerthyfyr ap Greidawl for the hand of Creiyldyd, on the Calends of May. In this and other respects, the plot of The Sickness of CuChulain and The Only Jealosy of Emer follows this First Branch episode even closer: complete with the ‘Chase of the White Stag’ entrée. This narrative can be summarised thus:

The clan of Ulaid were on the plain of Muirthemne at the feast of Samain. A flock of beautiful birds alight on a nearby lake. CúChulainn is persuaded by the ladies of the court to capture some of these and bring them back as ornamental pets. He rounds them up, two by two, until just a single pair remain, linked by a silver chain. It is this pair he has promised his wife. He attempts to trap these birds but they allude him for a prolonged period of time, until he collapses exhausted by a certain standing stone. Here he is visited by two women of the Sídhe, one in red, the other in green. They beat him with horsewhips tothe very threshold of his life. He is found by some friends in a comatose state in which he remains for the duration of a year. After this time, he is visited by a stranger who reveals himself as Oengus son of Aed Abrat, [for more about this powerful Otherworld figure see p##, ##]. Oengus recites verses over CúChulainn’s unconscious body, promising him a return to health and much more besides if he visits his Otherworld kingdom.

With his companions, CúChulainn returns to the stone at which he suffered his first inauspicious encounter with the Otherworld denizens. The lady in the green cloak returns to meet him. He is assured that they have never sought his harm, but rather his friendship. A certain lady of the Sídhe, Fand daughter of Aed Abrat, has been abandoned by her lover, Mannanan mac Lir, and now was desirous of CúChulainn’s affection. In return for ‘one day’s fighting’ against certain Otherworld rivals, he would be allowed (and expected) to fulfill a tryst with this lady.

Like Pwyll, CúChulainn finds himself indebted to Otherworld powers as a result of abusing magical animals on a hunting expedition. Like Pwyll also, this encounter carries the appearance of having been contrived and instigated by the Otherworld agency. The measured responses of Arawn (‘I know who you are...’), the location and timing of their encounter, and its favourable outcome for the Annuvian king suggest that the event was no coincidence. Like Cú Chulainn, Pwyll was in effect drawn and entrapped by the otherworld powers involved. And both were required to visit Underworld regions where they were obliged to lend their assistance as mortal warriors in the magical protagonists’ struggles for power. Interestingly as well, the Irish Manawydan - Manannan mac Lír - features in this same story as the one time spouse of the heroine involved. (As we shall see in subsequent chapters, Pwyll and Manawydan become linked in a similar way).

[10] That the denizens of the Indigenous Underworld should be so in need of the military prowess of mortal warriors is another motif not unfamiliar within the Celtic world and beyond. The well known myth of the aversion of faery-folk to iron is an example of the ambiguous power-relationship between themselves and the mortal world. The Indigenous Underworld, however, while being mysteriously vulnerable in certain respects, was clearly a source of danger when it came to magical initiatives. The trade-off of these respective strengths and weaknesses is a frequent theme in fairy tales and popular magical tales from around the world. It was within this tradition that the narrative of much of the Mabinogi would have been understood.

The narratives produced by animistic belief systems often focus on the acquisition of power, in its elemental-magical form . The struggle for possession of this substance of power is typically waged by any variety of means: trickery and cunning prevailing as frequently as any other stratagem. In this episode Pwyll is consummately manipulated by the Underworld agent who thereby obtains his power, which becomes harnessed to the latter’s own agenda in the arena of Annuvian politics. Through an act of impulsive foolishness (significantly, as we shall see, involving the dog and the stag), the ironically-named Pwyll (see p ##-##) had inadvertedly placed himself in a chain of events, which would ultimately result in a mysterious fusion between Dyfed and Annwn.

[11] Again, a motif not unfamilar within the Celtic world. Perhaps the best known example of shape-shifting of this kind (i.e. the assumption of another’s identity) occurs in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s account of the covert adultery of Uther Pendragon and Igern: wherein the father of Arthur, Uther Pendragon, becomes transfixed with lust for Igern, wife of the Duke of Cornwall (HRB, Bk viii Ch. 20). While laying siege to the latter’s castle, he persuaded the magician Merlin to transform his appearance into that of the Cornish lord to enable him to gain entry to the castle and sleep with Igern. Out of this illicit union the child Arthur is conceived.

[12] A’r ardun teccaf a welsei neb o adeiladeu ‘…and the most beautiful ornamentation anyone had ever seen of buildings’

[13] Frequently a signifier of Otherwordly and/or aristocratic origins throughout the Medieval Welsh literary tradition. See also p. ###

[14] Although it may have ultimately contributed to the chivalric complex of chastity and feudal honour, the sexual restraint displayed by the mortal protoganist of the Otherworld Sorjourn scenario (in this case Pwyll) should be seen in terms of magical strategy rather than Christian morality or Amor Courteois (see pp. ###-### for the full description of this episode in terms of the ‘magical narrative’). More sense can be made of this episode by comparing it to a close analogue to be found in the story of Gawain and the Green Knight. In the Middle English text in which we have the fullest treatment of this legend, the theme of seduction by an Otherworldly hostess plays an integral role in a mysterious power game between Gawain, a young knight of Arthur’s court, and an ambivalent magical figure known as the Green Knight.

The action of this tale begins in Arthur’s court at the feast of New Year’s eve. A tall, green-skinned knight of impressive girth and bearing enters bearing an enormous axe while they are seated at board. He offers the mysterious challenge: that he would offer one with a ‘mettlesome mind’ his axe, and a free blow on his person; in return that the other might offer himself in a similar way one year on from then. Gawain, Arthur’s nephew, takes up this challenge to the bravery of the court and strikes the stranger with his own axe, severing his head clean from his shoulders. But then, to the horror of all, the Green Knight rises to his feet, picks up his head and with an entreaty that Gawain must fulfill that he promised at the ‘Green Chapel’ one year hence, the stranger disappeared into the night.

The rest of the story involves a prolonged stay endured by Gawain at the court of the Green Knight in the weeks building up to their ordained encounter. During this time, his host goes hunting on three separate occasions, during which time his wife visits the bed-chamber of the young knight, and attempts to seduce him sexually. At the end of each day, the Green Knight offers Gawain the trophies of his day’s hunting, while Gawain in return must provide his host with the fruits of his own exploits. These were restricted to a platonic kiss on the cheek on each occasion. At appointed time, Gawain meets the Green Knight in the Green Chapel, and through his integrity is protected from the full force of the magical warrior’s blow.

The so-called ‘Temptation Game’ was to become a popular scenario in the Medieval Western narrative tradition. The basic scenario involved the hero being tempted by the hostess of a mysterious household in order that her own husband might somehow gain power over him. I have argued below (see p.###) that the origin of this narrative complex was Pwyll I itself, or a closely related British tradition, which was popularised through its inclusion in the Arthurian corpus. What started out as Medieval Welsh tradition relating to the delicate balance of power between Dyfed and the Indigenous Underworld, was transformed, in Gawain and subsequent versions, into a fully blown psychodrama involving an Oedipal conflict between guilt and desire. Many of these later Romances retain certain features (the Chase of the White Stag entrée, the proximity of hunting and sexual metaphors) which would appear to have been inherited from this episode in the First Branch.

[15] Pwyll is referred to consistently in this way throughout this episode: implying perhaps a more profound distortion of personal identity than a shift in physical appearance alone. Further examples of this magical idiom occur throughout the Four Branches.

[16] Interestingly, it would appear that Hafgan realises that Pwyll is not Arawn after this attack. The reason for this is not unclear. The implication would seem to be that by engaging in physical combat, Pwyll’s true identity is revealed to his enemy. In the same way, Pwyll’s identity is revealed to Arawn’s wife by his sexual restraint (see pp. ### below).

[17] Ef a eill uot yn ediuar gennyf gwneuthur a wneuthum itt ‘It is possible the being regret to me doing what I have done to you’. The exact force of this rather clumsy periphrastic construction is unclear. It would appear Pwyll is referring to the possibility of rather unspecified more long-term consequences to his interventions in Annwfn, rather than explaining why he is unwilling to ‘complete’ Hafgan’s death.

[18] We see here that, rather like the Gawain, Pwyll is able to defeat the Annuvian king by following a prescribed form of behaviour, one that in many ways might seem somewhat counter-intuitive. The denouement of this act, as it were, is Pwyll’s refusal to finish what he started and give Hafgan the mortal blow. The underlying implication of this act is that had Pwyll given in to his enemy’s entreaty, he would have somehow failed to defeat him. Here, the natural laws of the Otherworld seem diametrically opposed to those of the mortal world, where destroying an enemy in this way would have been simple common sense. It seems likely that for this kind of Otherworldly warrior such a move might have even resulted in a healing of the latter, or even a comprehensive reversal of their respective positions. So, by following Arawn’s magical (i.e. irrational) advice, Pwyll is able to avoid falling foul of this Otherwordly ruse, and assure that the defeat of Hafgan is comprehensive.

[19] Kymerwch ych kyuarwyd:  kyfarwydd is the general term for ‘lore’ or ‘expertise’, and is being used here in a legalistic sense

[20] As P.K. Ford points out “it is not the matter of the chastity that interests the author, but the ironic consequences of it. Arawn imagined he [Pwyll] would act out his role fully [which included sleeping with his wife]. When Pwyll abstained from part of the routine, Arawn had some explaining to do.”

This would seem the most likely ‘magical’ explanation for how Pwyll gained the esoteric power which presumably accompanied the title ‘Pen Annwfn’ (see pp. ###-### for a full discussion of this curious development).

[21] This might be compared with William of Malmesbury’s description of the tribute paid by Hywel Dda to Athelstan in ###.

[22] A significant detail, which should be noted at this stage, is the similarity to the opening of the first episode of the First Branch. Both sections begin with the opening formula a threigylgweith yd oed yn Arbeth. Treigylgwaith, which I have translated as ‘Once upon a time’, is a particularly interesting word. Like the English idiom, it is exclusive to a specific form of narrative communication, and contains within it an evocative etymology: compounding to the verbal element treigliaw, meaning ‘to turn’, ‘to develop’ or ‘mutate’ with the archaic word gweith - usually translated as ‘action’, ‘exertion’, or ‘time’. As such, Treigylgweith is highly suggestive of the turning point of a cycle of time - a moment of cosmic flux and transformation.

[23] The magical nature of this mound is reinforced by the somewhat double-edged comment from one of his courtiers - explaining that no king can sit on that tumulus without ‘one of two things: either his receiving blows or witnessing a marvel (ryvedawt)’. There is more to this remark from the sidelines than the relaying of ancient topographical lore. As the medieval Celtic audience would have understood it, this was an implicit challenge to the sacral authority of the kingship of Pwyll. As in parts of the tropical world where the ‘Rain Maker’ was instated as king and treated as such until the rain ceased to fall when desired (Frazer p.62, 265 etc.), Pwyll is being invited to test the responsiveness of the cosmos to his status as king The failure to demonstrate his miraculous credentials, as for the primitive Rain-Kings, is a sacrificial death at the hands of his own people. Throughout the First Branch, an implicit suggestion of this regicidal hostility latent within the Demetian court is developed, incrementally. It will be discussed in greater detail below (pp. ## and ##-##).

[24] Eisted a wnaeth ar yr orssed  lit. ‘He did the sitting on the mound’.

[25] This ‘even, leisurely pace’ is possibly significant: the horse-goddess Epona (see p.# above) is conventionally depicted riding side-saddle on a horse in the passant poise: with the single raised hoof of a walking rather than galloping motion. Also of possible interest is the fact that throughout the following section, the significant moment arrives with when the gold-clad, horse-riding lady draws level with where they are sitting on the mound (y uarchoges a doeth gywerbyn ac wynt). The horse, as seen in Bronze Age iconography and certain Indo-European mythological traditions carried a number of solar associations. The megalithic provenance of a monument such as Gorsedd Arberth can hardly be disputed, and the significance of celestial alignments (both solar and lunar) within this sacred culture is also incontestable. Putting these considerations together, one cannot help wondering whether the nature of Epona’s appearance at the mound of Arberth reflect some memory of megalithic calendrical ritual woven into this medieval myth?

[26] Ar uryt y neb a’y guelei lit. ‘on the mind of anyone that would see her’

[27] marchoges the feminine form of marchog ‘rider’ ‘horseman’ ‘knight’. Jones and Jones simply use ‘rider’, while P.K. Ford translates it as ‘horsewoman’. Ford’s rendering is perfectly accurate, and by no means inappropriate considering the atavistic equine affiliations of this figure (see p.###-###). However, to modern English ears ‘horsewoman’ tends to evoke a rather robust, mannish upper-class female (a ‘horsy woman’), so I have used a rather more periphrastic equivalent.

[28] A fei uwyaf uei y urys ef pellaf uydei hitheu e wrthaw ef  lit. ‘should his speed be at its greatest, the farthest might she be from him.

W. J .Gruffydd points out that this is a well-known motif in the Welsh faery tradition (Rhiannon p.50 and notes the story of a Llangatog man who met a fairy on the Black Mountain: ‘he hastened his steps thinking he could overtake her, but the faster he ran, the further he found himself behind her…’

[29] hud ystyr ‘magical meaning’. For discussion of the word ystyr see p. ##

[30] see n. ### above

[31] The structure of this episode appears at first to follow a fairly conventional narrative formula, known by folklorists as the ‘Law of Threes’. This dictates that a particular action is carried out three times in succession, with success only being achieved on the last attempt. So familiar is this device that it is used almost universally - in jokes, stories, rhetorical sequences etc., with the effect of priming the audiences’ expectations.

 In this episode, however, the fact that the situation remained unresolved - even after the third attempt in a series of this kind - is an unusual departure in this kind of narrative format. It is almost something of a ‘shaggy dog story’ - where the audiences’ expectations are primed by the development of a traditional narrative structure which, at the last minute, is deflated and subverted for humourous or ironical purposes.

The author’s method at this stage in the narrative is not at all dissimilar to this, although his intentions are altogether different. The purpose of this section is to emphasis the exceptional elusiveness of the objective involved - the identification of and conversation with the mysterious lady on horseback - whose persistent if paradoxical manifestations cry out for explanation. By having our expectations stretched out by this episode out beyond their conventional confines we are intended to share in the sense of frustration expressed by Pwyll in his concluding speech: ‘she has a message for somebody on this plain - if her obstinacy would only allow her to say who it is!’

[32] Mae yr yniuer y buom ni doe ac echtoe ym penn yr orsedd lit. ‘where is the retinue we were yesterday and the day before at the top of the mound?’

[33] This unexpected response emphasises Rhiannon’s compassion, as well as her totemistic affiliations

[34] Rhiannon’s predicament, and her petitioning of Pwyll to provide its resolution, is again a fairly traditional theme within the Celtic world. As has been already suggested, this Faerie Mistress theme is not dissimilar to the Otherworld conflict scenario endured by Pwyll in the first section of the First Branch. In both cases, the hero typically sojourns in a mysterious land, comes into conflict with Otherworldly enemies – and does so at the instigation of an Otherworld agent. The love-triangle element – clearly present in this case – is also a not unfamiliar ingredient of this variant of the ‘Otherworld Sojourn’ narrative formula (discussed above on p ##). Nor is the fact that the female protagonist is being delivered into a marriage against her will especially unusual within this literary context. Finally, the existing knowledge exhibited by Rhiannon of her mortal paramour (who, in contrast shows nothing but ignorance of his new acquaintance) is a further feature of a tradition where the Otherworldly lover typically shows signs of having crossed over into the mortal world with the specific aim of meeting the mortal object of her love - about whom the faerie protagonist seems to be mysteriously well-informed.

[35] Goreu yw gennyf i bo kyntaf  lit. ‘It is best with me if it is soonest’

[36] The name Hyfaidd Hen (‘Hyfaidd the Elder’) may be expected to have evoked the Hyfaidd ap Tancoyslt, of the old House of Dyfed (grandfather of Elen). Hyfaidd represented significant link to the independent Demetian dynasty  of Vortiporix, and through that to Dyfed’s indigenous past.

[37] Y chwedleu ereill y trossei ynteu lit. ‘he would turn to other news’

[38] llawen uuwyt wrthaw lit. ‘there was joy towards him’

[39] This section has strong echoes of Pwyll’s reception at the court of Arawn, in the first part of the First Branch. This is no doubt intentional, like the other structural and lexical similarities which suggest that conscious parallels between the two episodes are in the making. The audience is being invited to compare and contrast the developments and outcomes involved.

In both cases, Pwyll has come at the behest of an Otherworldly agent, on whose behalf he is expected to resolve some kind of tension or duality. Each episode is a variant of that basic Celtic myth, The Otherworld Sojourn: the first being the Otherworld Combat scenario, the second involving the development of a love-triangle situation between a mortal and an Otherworld agent: the classic Otherworld Lover or Faerie Mistress scenario. While in both cases Pwyll assumes temporarily assumes kingship over the Otherworldly courts, there are also significant differences in the attendant circumstances. In the first episode, Pwyll is brought to the court of Arawn in order to compensate for an earlier act of disrespect. He comes alone, in the guise of his host, and executes his obligations wisely and effectively. In the second episode, however, he arrives openly with his own retinue at the court of Hyfaidd Hen, invited thence by the daughter of the house. He assumes a kingly role on the strength of this association (once again, suggesting the status of a sovereignty-bestowing, tutelary role for the numinous Rhiannon). Unlike in the first episode, where his error occurs at the very outset, it is when he is in this elevated role: paradoxically at his most exalted and his most vulnerable, that Pwyll makes his crucial mistake.

[40] This was doubtless the stage of the evening when conversation became expansive, gestures were generous, and the mood of the company was sanguine and benevolent.

[41] a’m neges a wnaf lit. ‘I will do my errand’

[42] Like all Celtic kings, Pwyll is responsible in some measure to the collective will of the men of the tribe, represented by the warrior nobility. The convention of the men of the tribe has a sacral, ritual associations – and what is spoken by the king at such times is binding by the tutelary powers. 

Pwyll’s open-handedness at this point is as symptomatic of the naïve and trusting aspects of his character, as much as his innate generosity.

[43] Gwawl or Guaul as it is sometimes spelt is an archaic Welsh world cognate with the English word ‘Wall’. It means a wall or a hedge - but it has specific associations with Hadrien’s Wall - the enormous Roman construction on the borders of Scotland, built in the second century AD with the specific intention of protecting the province of Britannia from the unconquered Picts north of the border.

Gwawl’s northern affiliations are further reinforced by his patronymic (or, more probably, matronymic) ‘uab Clud’. This is an ambiguous affiliation which relates on one hand to the archaic word clud meaning ‘goods’ or ‘possessions’. ‘Son of Wealth’ would not have been an inappropriate epithet for the mercenary Men of the North, but the element clud had further signification - being identical as it was to the Old Welsh name for the River Clyde. Clud/Clyde is also cognate with the Irish cléodna meaning ‘wave’. This, interestingly enough, relates to the name of the Irish goddess Clídna who appears in the mysterious story of the Voyage of Tadhg mac Céin. Clídna presides over an Otherwordly island paradise wherein feasting, horse-racing and other peaceful pursuits are the order of the day. She is accompanied at all times by her host of magical, brightly coloured birds whose singing is music unsurpassed. On other similar island paradises in the Celtic tradition we hear of birds which sing the ‘hours of the day’. It is from such an island, significantly known as Emain Aballac - ‘Emain of the Apple Trees’ - that the Irish hero Bran mac Febail receives the blossoming branch which inspired his Otherworld adventure (see pp. ###-### below). Rhiannon of course shares some of these avian/island otherworld affiliations, as we shall see in Chapter Three, and we might even assume the possibility of some kind of generic relationship (possibly even a  kin relationship) between Clud ( = Clídna) and Rhiannon. On this basis it is possible to discern in the Pwyll vs. Gwawl conflict an opposition between the principles of exogamy vs. endogamy: a pertinent theme elsewhere in the Mabinogi and in twelfth-century Wales in general

[44] A special significance too seems to be attached to the feast itself, which seems to be almost as much of an issue of contention as the hand of Rhiannon herself. Again, this is quite traditional. The ‘heroes portion’ (see p#) above was a deeply symbolic tribal bounty over which it was not unknown for blood to be spilt in the Iron Age Celtic world. There are also strong links between the gift of food and the love of the goddess. In the Gaelic world the word feis means both a tribal feast and a sexual act. It was used specifically in the context of the festive inauguration at the culmination of which the new king would sleep with the queen, herself the embodiment of the sovereignty principle. As we have seen, this complex has traditional associations with the horse goddess (p. ## above). The words of Rhiannon in this section underline this ritual understanding. She promises Gwawl that in a year's time a feast will be held ‘to celebrate their sleeping together’. Before this she had to explain that the present year’s feast had already been dedicated to the hosts and retinues of Pwyll, and this gift could not be reneged.

[45] The ‘Seven Cantrefs’ echos the composition of Dyfed, although the court of Hyfaidd Hen is generally conceived of as somehow apart or distinct from Pwyll’s kingdom. Given the broad hints elsewhere in the Mabinogi pertaining to Rhiannon’s tutelary status, the territory she represents is probably best considered a kind of ‘Inner Dyfed’, i.e. the Indigenous Underworld of Dyfed, the seat of its mystical sovereignty, source of its fertility etc.

[46] In psychoanalytical terms, all objects which enclose or contain are associated with the female (e.g. Freud p. ###). This womb-like bag exemplifies the analogy. As such, we should not be surprised that, in the context of Celtic goddess mythology, the bag of Rhiannon is capable of holding (and therefore bearing forth) the ‘food and drink of the seven cantrefs’. Seven, as we will remember, was the number of districts or cantrefs which made up the kingdom of Dyfed. This is further confirmation that this goddess is linked with, or even the personification of, the bountiful powers of fertility latent within the lands of Dyfed.

Metaphors of containment/envelopment are repeatedly developed throughout the Four Branches: almost to the point of obsession. The significance of this is dicussed on pp ##, ###-### and ###.

It might also be noted that the figure of Epona was traditionally represented as carrying sheaves of corn and a bowl or cornucopia (Ross p.269, 287) which (like the magical bag of Rhiannon) might be presumed to represent the bounty of the land.  

[47] It is significant that on his covert arrival at the hall, the magical Bag of Rhiannon in his hand, the author draws attention to the status of Pwyll as the Penn Annwfn (see pp. ##-## above). We have seen how Penn Annwfn, or the Head of Annfwn, seems to have exerted proprietary rights over a mysterious cauldron which ‘would not boil the food of a coward’. In this capacity, Pen Annwfn appears to relate to a certain aspect of the masculine principle in Celtic mythology - the Cauldron God - which was often portrayed as a crude, phallic archetype: semi-naked, wild of hair and beard, wielding a hammer or oaken cudgel in one hand and the cauldron or bowl of the goddess in the other. He was consort of the sovereignty goddess and guardian of the bounties of nature.

In the British tradition, a number of figures besides the Pen Annwfn relate to this figure: including the Grail King of the Arthurian cycle and the malformed Llaser Laes Gyfnewid, who makes an appearance in the Second Branch. However, particularly interesting in the present context is the figure of the Green Knight, from the Arthurian tale of that name. We have already seen (n.###) how elements of this story relate to events and esoteric significations earlier on the First Branch: notably the ‘Temptation Game’ ordeal experienced by Pwyll in his initiation into the role of Penn Annfwn. There are further signs of common ground between the traditions at this stage as well: both Pwyll Penn Annfwn and the Green Knight emerging out of the night, interrupting the carefree bonhomie of the regal feast with mysterious, esoteric demands; and gaining an advantage over their hosts through a revelation of their magical, Otherworldly powers. There is at least the hint of a suggestion that both of these scenarios share some common origins in the ritual and myth of the British Celtic pagan religion.

I would go as far as to venture the possibility of a ritual drama, practiced in prehistoric Celtic Britain, involving the ceremonial entrance, at the climax of seasonal festivities, of a hideous, costumed figure representing the voracious/fecund powers of Earth. These traditions were preserved in the rustic pageants such as those of the Obby Oss and the Mari Llwyd (see p##-## above), whilst a the body of folklore surrounding this awe-inspiring personification of this chthonic spirit was preserved in a variety of local mythologies and eventually reworked (via the bardic schools) into dramatic stories such as those found in this section of the First Branch, and Arthurian material such as Gawain and the Green Knight.

[48] Gwedy y dyuot y gynted y neuad lit. ‘after his coming to the upper part of the floor’

[49] Negesasawl wyf wrthyt lit. ‘[as] a requester I am before you’

[50] Gwawl would have recognised a challenge to his kingship. The Celtic tradition is full of such animistic signifiers of these hotly-contested virtues of potency. We have already seen how the sacred mound of Arbeth would throw up miracles and wonders for or ‘wounds and blows’ for an imposter who dared stand upon it. Likewise, the 'Brutus Stone' in the West Country of town of Totnes, the Scottish ‘Stone of Scone’ or the mythical Irish Lía Fál were all reputed to let out a cry or a scream beneath the feet of a true king. The Cauldron of the Head of Annwfn, we may remember, 'will not boil the food of a coward - it has not been destined so' (p###) - more evidence of a particular form of magical responsiveness of a goddess-associated vessel in the hands of the chosen consort.

[51]  There are similiarities between this sequence of events, and the assault of  castle of Gerald de Barri by Owain ap Cadwgan, alledgely with the cooperation of Nest daughter of Rhys ap Tewdwr, Gerald’s wife and mistress of Owain (see p.#### above). It is described in the following terms in the medieval chronical, Brut Y Twysogion:

He came at night to the castle and but a few men with him, about fourteen, after having secretly made a hole under the threshold, unknown to the keepers of the castle. And then he came to the chamber in which Gerald and Nest, his wife, were sleeping. And they raised a shout around and about the chamber in which Gerald was, and kindled tapers and set fire to the buildings to burn them. And when he heard the shout, Gerald awoke, not knowing what to do. And Nest said to him ‘Go not out to the door, for there thine enemies lay in wait for thee, but follow me. And that he did. And she led him to the privy which ajoined the chamber. And there, as is said, he escaped by way of the privy hole

If indeed this was a partial inspiration of the First Branch scenario, it is a further reminder of the stimulus of the Norman presence on the narrative culture of Wales: and how readily this presence must have assimilated itself to existing traditions of The Other.

[52] See pp. ### for further discussion of this incident, and its esoteric significance

[53] It is highly characteristic of the hierarchical nature of Celtic society that Gwawl should demand a ‘fitting death’ (dihenyd) in keeping with the dignity of his caste. However, these concerns may extend to the esoteric, as is suggested by a rather sinister practice belonging to the world of Druidic justice - as witnessed by classical observers in the Iron Age Celtic world of Ancient Gaul:

The Druids...are also believed to be the most just of men, and are therefore entrusted with the decision of cases affecting either individuals or the public...murder cases have been mainly entrusted to their descision. When their are many such cases they believe that there will be a fruitful yield from their fields. These men...have pronounced that men’s souls and the universe are indestructible (Tierney p.269)

Although this is usually taken (e.g. McCone p##) to refer to a classical description of the whole concept of fír flathemon (see p## above). However, it is equally possible to interpret this as a description of a process by which those accused of murder are ritually sacrificed, and their souls reincarnate in the form of a bountiful harvest. Perhaps Gwawl, being beaten to a pulp inside the bag of Rhiannon, alongside the other fruits of the earth felt he was approaching this ultimate degradation in the transmigratory cycle of life, hence the fervent nature of his plea.

Hyfaidd, in his capacity as the elder of the house, undertakes the role of the druid-judge, pronouncing that indeed, this was not the ‘fitting death’ for a man like Gwawl and the beating must stop and negotiations begin..

[54] Pwyll wisely defers to the intellectual and judicial authority of Rhiannon and her father Hyfaidd, despite Gwawl’s (possibly calculated) attempt to have the notoriously gullible Pwyll set the conditions ‘on his own terms’. The freedom of Gwawl to return to his homeland and treat his wounds is thus paid by the latter in terms of hostages left in his stead ‘to answer all who petition’.

Law was enforced in the Medieval Celtic world as much through taboo and superstitious sanction as by the force of a centralised civil authority. One of the most feared individuals in Medieval Scotland, for instance, was a man known as toschederach or ‘pilgrim chief’. It is thought that this figure derived his authority from possession of, or a special relation with, certain relics or objects of sacred power. The wording of law, and its enforcement, was therefore seen as an essentially magical act - which effected a substantial change in the cosmic balance, having the power to endure and withstand beyond the exoteric means of control.

[55] The taking of hostages from Gwawl might have had further significance for the medieval Welsh audience. There was a substantial Anglo-Norman community living in Dyfed or the South at that time, whose presence in the area was explained in this way might be felt to be typologically related to this enforced settlement of Gwawl’s men under compromising magico-legal circumstances.

[56] a menegi udunt y llonydit pawb ohonunt wrth y uod a’y uympwy lit. ‘and the telling to them the satisfaction of each of them according to his will and his fancy’

[57] Pwyll’s brief conversation with his father-in-law suggests that this was somehow quite an unusual arrangement. Hyfaidd had asked the Demetian king when his daughter should follow in his wake, suggesting that it was customary for the newly-wedded man to spend a period on his own in his court, before the arrival of his wife. The origin, purpose or even existence of this custom is unclear, but one might assume that Pwyll would have been expected to prepare his court for the coming of the queen: perhaps paying off former mistresses or resolving other such potentially problematic issues from his bachelor days. Pwyll, then, by declining such measures, demonstrates a particularly intense and unsullied devotion towards the heroine of the tale. Also implicit in Pwyll’s rejection of this customary ‘ground-clearing’ period (if this interpretation is correct) is the comparative sexual and social innocence of Pwyll, before his meeting Rhiannon. This would cohere with the general outline of the character of Pwyll as developed in the preceding episodes.

[58] The traditional values of Celtic society held that the greatness of a king is measured not only in his military power or political wit, but perhaps most of all in his ability to acquire, generate and circulate wealth. Generosity was the greatest virtue of a king: as the bardic opinion-formers never ceased to remind their patrons.

Here, it is Rhiannon’s generosity which is emphasised - possibly reflecting (as did the largesse of Branwen on her arrival in Ireland in the Second Branch), a sociologically indispensable ritual, promoting the integration of the foreign princess into her host community. On a deeper level, the Sovereign Queen, as the embodiment of the Earth and its riches, enacts this archetypal role with her dispensation of mineral wealth (jewels, broaches and precious stones) amongst the peers of ‘the kin and the countryside’.

[59] The relationship between Pwyll and his clients from among the Demetian nobility have shown signs of strain earlier in the First Branch. The fact he is also a foster-brother to some of this contingent is also possibly significant. The very mention of this evokes a complex socio-political relationship found throughout the Celtic world (see p## above) wherein a child from one kingdom was sent to grow up in the court of another. Situations of this kind, involving dual ties of marriage or fosterage and a blood relationship to the dominant regional kindred throughout the region   were often the cause of serious problems in Celtic society (as suggested by Giraldus Cambrensis, see p. ## above): with the interests of the fostered youth being split between his adoptive kindred and that of his natural family. Such a position clearly required considerable reserves of intelligence, leadership, diplomacy and worldly wisdom: qualities which, it is implied throughout most of the First Branch, the ironically named Pwyll (lit. ‘wisdom) was yet to master.

[60] This area of North-West Dyfed had strong links with the Gaelic world  (Davies p.47), and also was also home the highest concentration of bilingual inscribed stones in Early Christian Wales. It is tempting to see in this distinctive local culture some continuity with the pre-Christian, indigenous past: the same area also housed the largest concentration of cromlechau or megalithic chambered tombs in Wales. (Davies p.8). The famous ‘bluestones’ of Stonehenge were also excavated from the Precelli Mountains were also excavated form this area, providing the tantalising hint that Dyfed’s traditional had associations with the Indigenous Underworld may have a basis in prehistoric fact: going back to magico-religious and/or commercial ties with Stonehenge in Wessex, the cultural centre of the Late Megalithic world (see pp. ##-##).

[61] Ni a wdom na bydy gyvoet ti a rei o wyr y wlat hynn  The verbal form bydy expresses futurity as well as the habitual present. This sentence therefore has a menacing ambiguity, and could equally be read as an implicit threat: ‘we know you will not live as long as some men in this land’

[62] The resentment of the Demetian uchelwyr appears to be focussed on Pwyll’s foreign bride, Rhiannon, although there is at least a suggestion that the king’s own virility is being called into question (Ford ######)

[63] The mysterious disappearance of Rhiannon’s child on the night of his birth is unexplained at this juncture of the narrative – and to some extent remains so throught the rest of the Branch. The dark hint that magic is involved is implied by the fact that all six women put to watch over the child are overcome by irrisitable sleepiness – a common feature of enchantment in medieval narrative. However, the circumstances of this ‘infant disappearance’ remain intentionally obscure – and of greater importance at this stage is the reaction of the six chamber-maids to the horror of the situation.

[64] Bychan a dial oed yn lloski ni, neu yn dienydaw  lit. ‘Small of punishment would be burning us or putting us to death about the boy’

[65] kynghor o’r byt am hynn? lit. ‘is there any counsel from the world concerning this’. Cynghor, a word which occurs frequently in the Mabinogi, can also be translated as ‘plan’ or ‘course of action’.

[66] In seeking to explain this episode of the First Branch W. J. Gruffydd, the early 20^th century pioneer of modern studies of the Mabinogi made the startling assertion that the implicit theme underlying the framing of Rhiannon was the cannibalistic tendencies exhibited by an Otherwordly being towards her own, half-human off-spring. The accusation was that Rhiannon, already under suspicion because of her exotic, Otherworld origins, had in the night heard ‘the call of the wild’, and shed her superficial humanity: tearing her new-born child limb from limb in a fit of savage  blood-lust.

Unspeakable as such an idea may seem, it belongs to a universal seam of thinking which is by no means confined to the Medieval Celtic world. By smearing the blood of a freshly slaughtered puppy around the lips and hands of the sleeping Rhiannon – the Demetian chamber-girls were playing on a powerful, atavistic complex of superstition which lies at the heart human fears associated with that which is ‘outlandish’, foreign and unknown. To understand how these prejudices were to stick to Rhiannon with such ease, we must understand her position in the court as the archetypal foreign princess.

As the Mabinogi scholar Juliette Wood points out in relation to the medieval European mind: “a prominent aspect of attitudes to foreigners is the tendency identify what  is foreign with what is culturally outcast”. She goes on to pin-point witchcraft and the deployment of magical powers as an archetypal example of what the parochial medieval mind might have identified with this demonised ‘Other’. As Wood points out, the sinister figure of the witch-like, foreign princess, working illicit magic in the bosom of her host court has extremely ancient roots - at least as old as the tragic yet irredemable figure of Medea the ‘barbarian bride’ of the Jason the Argonaut who, just like Rhiannon, was accused of killing her own offspring.

[67] ni byd yn taered ni an chwech wrth hi  lit. ‘the insistance of us six won’t be put before [that of] her alone’  

[68] Plant a wnn i y uot idi hi lit. ‘children I know that were to her’. The force of this phrase is unclear. P. K. Ford suggests it meant that Rhiannon had other children from previous liaisons, and by extension that the fertility problem of the previous years was Pwyll’s rather than Rhiannon’s – opening up a number of questions about the paternity of Pryderi (Ford #####).

A rather less problematic interpretation is that Pwyll was simply telling his noblemen that Rhiannon’s fertility was no longer under question – and as that had been the stipulated grounds for their separation – they would continue to stay together.

[69] Rhiannon, in the absence of effective support from her husband, seeks the advice of her ‘seers and wisemen’. These ‘wise-men and seers’ – as well as the nature of the atonement they impose on Rhiannon – recall (like the semi-ritualised interventions of Hyfaidd Hen during the ‘badger in the bag’ incident in Pwyll II) the archaic ritual-judicial world of Native Wales – which arguably had more in common with the world the Old Testament judges or pagan Druidic priesthood than the bureaucratic courts of the Anglo-Norman administration.

[70] Nog ymdaeru a’r gwared. Rhiannon’s decision was no doubt influenced by her awareness of the harsh treatment awaiting the servant girls if the accusation went against them (Medieval Celtic society was far from egalitarian in this respect), but no doubt also the diplomatic realties of being a foreign queen in an alien household (see n ### above).

[71] Here, as is often the case at the more esoteric junctures of the Mabinogi, animal symbolism rises to the fore. The nature of Rhiannon’s punishment was to take on the role of the horse – affirming her kinship with the beast in the same way that the pagan Irish kings were described as doing by Giraldus Cambrenisus (see p ## above). We have already delineated the extensive equine associations of Rhiannon (=Epona) whilst introducing the previous section (pp. ##-##). In the light of these observations, it can be seen that in following the seemingly outlandish advice of her druidic advisors Rhiannon is in fact performing the supreme gesture of mystic identification with the Great Goddess of the Horse – for whom, it would seem, she was both the avatar and leading devotee.

The very nature of Rhiannon’s ritual penance: ‘…offering whichever guest or stranger would permit it … to be carried on her back’ is suggestive of degradation of a sexual nature, and reminiscent of the kind of sacred promiscuity practiced by the temple prostitutes of Ancient Greece.

[72] The Early Medieval kingdom of Gwent, where this episode takes place is located in the South Eastern corner of Wales, and takes its name from the Romano-British Venta Silurum – ‘Fields of the Silures’. As we have seen (p.### above) the Silures were an Iron Age tribe who formed the basis of a civitas in the area during the Roman Age, which later became the kingdom of Gwent. In common with many parishes or tribal homelands in Medieval Wales: Gwent seems to have been split between upper and lower zones: Gwent Ywch Coed ‘G. above the wood’ and Gwent Ys Coed ‘G. below the wood’ respectively. As we have already discussed (pp.##-##) – such divisions were not only social and economic, but seems to have also attracted similar geo-cosmological associations to the North-South division in the British Celtic mind. More so even than Dyfed, I would argue, the kingdom of Gwent and the South East in general represented to the psycho-geography of Medieval Wales the most quintessentially ‘Southern’ tribal kingdom: the most remote from the power-bases of the Northern Royal Tribe, the most obdurately independent – with its own enduring sub-Roman legacy; as well more fanciful (yet no less affective) proximity to the Indigenous Otherworld dreamscapes of ‘The Land of Summer’ (Sommerset) where the faery-king Gwyn ap Nudd abided in his ‘Castle of Glass’ (Glastonbury). The medieval Welsh tradition quoted on p.### legend reinforces the view of the South as an unusually fertile, arable paradise benefiting perhaps from its proximity to the Indigenous Underworld of Dummnonia/Andumnonia.

Combining these Southern associations with that of the ys coed ‘below the wood’ geographical zones: it would not be unreasonable to identify Gwent Ys Coed as almost the ‘deepest’ point in the land as a whole: and therefore the closest to the borders of the Indigenous Underworld.  It is in this capacity that the events of this episode begin to make sense.

[73] Teyrnon’s name derives from the Celtic *Tigernos ‘Great Lord’, is clearly related to that of Rhiannon (< *Rigantona ‘Great Queen’). This has led some commentators to suggest that he the original ‘consort’ of Rhiannon – an Otherworld king and queen corresponding to the Old European cult of the ‘Lord’ and ‘Lady’ (cf. the Nordic Freyr and Freya). Did Pwyll replace Teyrnon at some stage in the evolution of the Mabinogi in its existing form – to be relegated to this sideline role?

There is no doubt that the evolution of this Branch of the Mabinogi exhibits signs of a complex and somewhat convoluted history; and the theories of W J Gruffydd (Gruffydd, 1926, pp ##-##) offer some interesting suggestions as to the coalescing of the First Branch myth out of a number of (previously unrelated) mythical prototypes.

Whether or not Gruffydd’s ambitious analysis can be accepted in its every detail, it is beyond doubt that the Mabinogi had been composed partly in relation to a number of variant traditions dealing with temporary loss and disappearance of child: with the crossing and re-crossing of Otherworldly boundaries being an important element in all of the traditions involved. I believe that the bardic author of the Four Branches  had correctly identified a connection between Rhiannon and Teyrnon: but chose to reconcile this relationship in qualitative, esoteric terms – rather than in terms of a conjugal relationship.

Teyrnon and his wife represent the southeastern corner of Wales – just as Pwyll and Rhiannon represent the Southwest. These Southern tribal regions have various connections with the Indigenous Underworld.

[74] Probably equivilant to Beltane – the Celtic May-Day: a seasonal festival rich in both agricultural and mythological significance.

[75] Ac ny wybydei neb un geir e wrth y hebawl lit. ‘but nobody ever knew a single word concerning the foals’

[76] pa gyfranc uu hynny? lit. ‘what story was that?’

[77] Llyma oll lit. ‘here is it all …’

[78] miui a duunaf a thi lit. ‘For my part, I [will] agree with you’

[79] o’r bedyd a wneit yna lit. ‘of the baptism that used to be done’. As is usually the case in medieval art and literature, the characters in the Four Branches tend to look, behave and talk much like the members of their twelfth-century audience. This mention of a superseded baptismal rite would appear to a rare inclusion of a conscious archaism, which once again raises the interesting and elusive question of the supposed religious affiliations of these mythological protagonists (cf. p. ##, ###-###)

[80] Gwri Gwallt Euryn ‘Gwri Golden Hair’. The similarity between the name of this character and the ‘exalted prisoner’ Gweir map Geiroedd was first suggested by Gruffydd (Rhiannon, p.13 etc), who also appears in Preiddeu Annwfn (see p. ### above). The suspicion is that, like Pryderi, these figures represent localised varients of the Magical Prisoner archetype (see pp. ###-###), all of which perhaps stem back to Mabon ap Modron (pp. ##-## above)

[81] The boy is, of course, none other than the missing child of Rhiannon and Pwyll. His reappearance in South East Wales at this juncture: and the connection between this and the ritualistic penance of Rhiannon is never fully explained, though there is little doubt that they would have been understood (by the medieval audience) as being mysteriously associated. This is considered more fully, along with the magical logic of the First Branch as a whole, at the end of this chapter.

[82] A chwedyl y wrthaw This clause comes at the end of the sentence and it’s not entirely clear whether the news is about the refers to the horse or the boy. Another possible translation for this sentence would be: ‘Then the horse was given to the boy, and she came to the grooms and stable lads and commanded then to be careful of the horse, and have it broken in for when the boy would go forth on horseback, and [there would be] stories about him.

[83] Gwr uuassei idaw knn no hynny lit. ‘he had previously been a man to him’. Gwr ‘vassal’ should not be understood here in a strictly feudal sense (where vassalage was a life-long, legally binding arrangement); but rather understood in the looser, early-medieval sense of that relationship, as Thomas Charles-Edwards suggests (pp. 32-33) ‘it would mean that he had been Pwyll’s servant, minister, and had spent a period at the court of Dyfed. He had been a makwyf or perhaps a gwas ieuanc’.

This proto-feudal subordination of Teyrnon to Pwyll is mentioned parenthetically, but its significance would not have been lost on medieval audiences. The implication is that had Gwent been in a client relationship with Dyfed: implying that the notion of an overkingdom of Deheubarth, extending as far as the South Eastern border had a precedent in this mythological foretime

[84] Pryderi = ‘care’ ‘anxiety’ Pwyll = ‘sence’ ‘thought’ ‘wisdom’. Pendaran is punning on Rhiannon’s exclaimation: oed escor uym pryder im pei gwir hynny ‘I would be delivered of my care if that were true’, escor being the same verb used to describe the act of giving birth. He rounds of this pun with a witty dovetailing of this name with that of his father, i.e. Care [the son] of Wisdom.

[85] Pendaran Dyfed, whom we have already discussed, appears to have belonged with the mythology Pwyll and Pryderi from a relatively early stage: in which his role seems to have been similar to that of Pwyll Pendevic in the extant version of the Mabinogi (i.e. the mortal Demetian ally of Underworld king).

What is noticeable in this episode is this character’s assertiveness – which borders on the aggresively discoureteous. He emerges from nowhere – barging in on the conversation between Teyrnon, Rhiannon and Pwyll: before virtually dictating what the boy should be called. When he suggests this name – based on a pun derived from the words of Rhiannon. When Rhiannon gently suggests that the boy may already have an adequately suitable name, Pendaran bluntly rejects the name given by Teyrnon and his wife.

Strangely enough, Pwyll – who then goes on to offer the remainder of the fostership of his son to this very same man, concurs with Pendaran’s rather forceful recommendation. When it is announced that Pendaran is to foster the boy for the remainder of his youth, the assembled company seem to unanimously agree that such is ‘good counsel’: suggesting that the judgment of Pwyll has resolved some underlying hostilities in the Demetian court.

If we are to extend the Pwyll Pen Annwfn : Hywel Dda analogy any further, Pendaran Dyfed (and the hostile foster brothers discussed in n.###) might have been comparable to native elements at the tenth century Demetian court who remained loyal to the old Demetian line, who might therefore have been ambivilant towards Hywel Dda with his Northern connections.

[86] Nyt oes yn y byt dyn uwy y galar no hi yn y ol lit. ‘there is not to any person in the world great grief than [to] her after him’

[87] This concluding section of the First Branch is intended to underline the essential unity of the kingdoms of the South: based on the ancient bonds created by the fostering and naming of Pryderi. As such, these myths can be related to the tribal-political aims of the patrons: who were keen to assert political control over a fractious and fragmented Deheuparth, centring on Dyfed, but also including the kingdoms of the South East. The only Welsh king to have realised this aim was Gruffydd ap Llewelyn, in 1057.

[88] Uelly y treulyssant blwydeyn a blwydyned lit. ‘thus they passed a year and years’

[89] The tribal-political subtext of the Four Branches obtrudes once again at this point. As with  Pryderi’s fosterage (see n# above), the detail about Pryderi’s conquest of the Seissylwch was intended to furnish contemporary political arrangements with a precedent in the mythical past. We have already seen (p.##) how, in the mid 12^th century, Ceredigion became once more affiliated with the Southern hegemony on Deheuparth – having previously been occupied the Marcher Lords, then the men of Powys, then (for a while) the sons of Gruffydd ap Cynan (of the Gwynedd-based House of Aberfraw). Seissylwch - the old name of the combined kingdoms of Ceredigion and Ystrad Twyi – had fallen out of general usage in the 11^th and 12^th centuries, and is most strongly associated with the time and provenance of Hywel Dda (p.##).