Powel, Prince of Dyfed

Powel, Prince of Dyfed, was lord of the seven cantrevs of Dyfed. One time he was at Narberth, his chief palace, where a feast had been made ready for him and a great host of men was with him. After the first meal Powel got up to walk, and he climbed to the top of a mound above the palace called Gorseth Arberth.

“Lord,” said one of the court, “there is something strange about this mound. Whoever sits on it cannot leave without either getting wounds and blows or seeing a wonder.”

“I am not afraid of wounds and blows with such a host around me,” said Powel. “As for the wonder, I would gladly see it. I will sit on the mound.” And he sat down.

As he sat there, they saw a lady on a large pure-white horse, dressed in a garment of shining gold, coming along the highway that ran past the mound. Her horse seemed to move at a slow, steady pace.

“My men,” said Powel, “does any of you know that lady?”

“None of us, lord.”

“Then one of you go and meet her, so that we may know who she is.”

A man got up, but as he reached the road she went past him, and he followed as fast as he could on foot. The faster he went, the farther ahead she was. When he saw it was no use, he went back to Powel. “Lord,” he said, “no one in the world could follow her on foot.”

“Then go to the palace,” said Powel, “take the swiftest horse you see and ride after her.”

The man took a horse and came out onto an open plain and spurred hard, but the more he urged the horse, the farther away she was, though she kept the same easy pace as before. At last his horse began to fail, and he went back to Powel. “Lord, it is useless for anyone to chase that lady. I know of no faster horse in these lands than this one, and it did me no good.”

“There must be some magic here,” said Powel. “Let us go back to the palace.” And there they spent the rest of the day.

The next day, after the first meal, Powel said, “We will go up the mound, the same company as yesterday. And you,” he said to one of his young men, “bring the swiftest horse you know of in the field.” They went to the mound with the horse, and as they sat down, they saw the lady on the same horse, in the same clothes, coming along the same road.

“There is yesterday’s lady,” said Powel. “Be ready, lad, to find out who she is.”

“Gladly, my lord.” As she came level with them, the young man mounted, but before he had settled in the saddle she had gone by, and there was a clear stretch between them, though she was moving no faster than the day before. He put his horse into an amble, thinking he would soon catch her at that gentle pace. It did no good, so he gave the horse its head, yet he came no closer than if he had walked. The harder he rode, the farther away she was, and still she was riding no faster than before. When he saw it was useless, he turned back. “Lord,” he said, “the horse can do no more than you have seen.”

“I see that it is useless for anyone to follow her,” said Powel. “And by heaven, she must have an errand to someone on this plain, if only her haste would let her tell it. Let us go back to the palace.” That night they spent in songs and feasting.

The day after, when the meal was over, Powel said, “Where is the company that went to the mound yesterday and the day before?”

“Here we are, lord.”

“Let us go and sit there. And you,” he said to his groom, “saddle my horse well, bring him down to the road, and bring my spurs too.”

They sat on the mound, and before long they saw the lady coming by the same road, in the same way, at the same pace. “Lad,” said Powel, “here she comes. Give me my horse.” No sooner was he in the saddle than she passed him. He turned and followed, letting his horse bound along, sure that in two or three strides he would be beside her. But he came no nearer than at first. Then he drove his horse to its utmost speed, and still it did no good.

So Powel called out, “Maiden, for the sake of the one you love best, wait for me!”

“I will wait gladly,” said she, “and it would have been better for your horse if you had asked long ago.”

She stopped, threw back the part of her headdress that covered her face, looked at him and began to talk with him.

“Lady, where have you come from, and where are you going?”

“I travel on my own errand,” said she, “and I am very glad to see you.”

“My greeting to you,” said he. And it seemed to him that the beauty of every maiden and lady he had ever seen was nothing beside hers. “Lady, will you tell me anything of your purpose?”

“I will. My chief errand was to look for you.”

“That is the most welcome errand you could have come on. Will you tell me who you are?”

“I am Rhiannon, daughter of Heveyth Hen. They wanted to marry me to a husband against my will. But I would have no husband, because I love you, nor will I have one unless you refuse me. I have come to hear your answer.”

“By heaven,” said Powel, “here is my answer. If I could choose from all the ladies and maidens in the world, I would choose you.”

“If that is your mind, then promise to meet me before I am given to another.”

“The sooner the better. Wherever you wish, there I will meet you.”

“Then meet me a year from today at the palace of Heveyth, and I will have a feast prepared, ready for your coming.”

“I will keep that meeting gladly.”

“Stay well, lord, and be sure to keep your promise. Now I will go.” So they parted. Powel went back to his men, and whatever they asked him about the maiden, he always turned the talk to something else.

When the year was up, he had a hundred knights make themselves ready and ride with him to the palace of Heveyth Hen. There was great joy at his coming, with crowds of people and grand preparations, and the whole court was put at his command. The hall was decked out and they sat down to eat, with Heveyth Hen on one side of Powel and Rhiannon on the other, and everyone else in order of rank.

They had eaten and were talking and drinking when in came a tall young man with auburn hair and a royal bearing, dressed in satin. He greeted Powel and his companions.

“Heaven’s greeting to you, friend,” said Powel. “Come and sit down.”

“No,” said the young man. “I am a suitor, and I will do my errand. It is to you, lord, that I have come, to ask a favour.”

“Whatever favour you ask of me, as far as I am able, you shall have.”

“Oh,” cried Rhiannon, “why did you give that answer?”

“He has given it in front of all these nobles,” said the youth.

“Well, friend,” said Powel, “what is the favour?”

“The lady I love best is to be your bride tonight. I have come to ask you for her, along with the feast and the banquet in this place.”

Powel was silent, because of the answer he had given.

“Be silent as long as you like,” said Rhiannon. “Never did a man use his wits worse than you have done.”

“Lady, I did not know who he was.”

“This is the man they wanted to give me to against my will. He is Gwawl, son of Clud, a man of great power and wealth. Because of the word you have spoken, you must give me to him, or you will be shamed.”

“Lady, I do not understand you. I can never do that.”

“Give me to him,” said she, “and I will make sure I am never his.”

“How will that be?”

“I will put a small bag in your hand. Keep it safe. He will ask you for the feast and the banquet and all the preparations, but those are not yours to give, for I will give the feast to the hosts and the household, and that will be your answer about it. As for me, I will promise to marry him a year from tonight. At the end of the year, come here with this bag, and leave your hundred knights in the orchard up yonder. When he is in the middle of his merrymaking, come in by yourself in ragged clothes, holding the bag, and ask for nothing but a bagful of food. I will see to it that if all the meat and drink in these seven cantrevs were put in, it would be no fuller than at the start. When a great deal has gone in, he will ask whether your bag will ever be full. Tell him it never will be until a nobleman of great wealth stands up and presses the food down with both feet, saying, ‘Enough has been put in.’ I will make him go and tread it down, and when he does, turn the bag up so that he is in it over his head, and tie a knot in the thongs. Have a good bugle-horn round your neck, and as soon as he is tied in the bag, blow it as a signal to your knights, and when they hear it, let them come down on the palace.”

“Lord,” said Gwawl, “it is time I had an answer.”

“As much of what you ask as is mine to give, you shall have,” said Powel.

“Friend,” said Rhiannon to Gwawl, “the feast and banquet here I have given to the men of Dyfed and the household and the warriors with us, and I will not allow them to be given to anyone else. A year from tonight a feast will be made ready for you in this palace, and I will become your bride.”

So Gwawl went home to his lands, and Powel went back to Dyfed, and each of them spent that year until the time came for the feast at Heveyth Hen’s palace.

Gwawl, son of Clud, set out for the feast prepared for him, and was welcomed at the palace with rejoicing. Powel, the chief of Annuvyn, came to the orchard with his hundred knights as Rhiannon had told him, with the bag. He was dressed in coarse, ragged clothes, with big clumsy old shoes on his feet. When he knew the drinking after the meal had begun, he went into the hall and greeted Gwawl and all his company, men and women.

“Heaven prosper you,” said Gwawl, “and heaven’s greeting to you.”

“Lord, may heaven reward you. I have an errand to you.”

“Your errand is welcome, and if you ask what is fair, you shall have it gladly.”

“It is fair. I ask only from need. The favour I ask is to have this little bag filled with food.”

“That is a reasonable request, and you shall have it gladly. Bring him food.”

A crowd of servants got up and began to fill the bag, but however much they put in, it was no fuller than at the start.

“Friend,” said Gwawl, “will your bag ever be full?”

“It will not, I swear to heaven, whatever is put into it, unless a man who owns lands and estates and treasure gets up and treads down the food with both his feet and says, ‘Enough has been put in.’”

Then Rhiannon said to Gwawl, “Get up quickly.”

“I will, gladly,” said he. He stood up and put both feet in the bag, and Powel turned the sides of the bag up so that Gwawl was inside over his head. Powel shut it quickly, knotted the thongs and blew his horn. At that, his men came down on the palace. They seized all the followers Gwawl had brought and threw them into his own prison. Powel threw off his rags and his old shoes.

As each of Powel’s knights came in, he struck the bag and asked, “What’s in here?”

“A badger,” the others said. And so they played, every one of them hitting the bag with his foot or with a stick. Each newcomer asked, “What game are you playing?” and they answered, “The game of Badger in the Bag.” And that was the first time the game of Badger in the Bag was ever played.

“Lord,” said the man in the bag, “if you would only listen to me, I do not deserve to be killed in a bag.”

“Lord,” said Heveyth Hen, “he speaks the truth. You should listen to him, for he does not deserve this.”

“I will follow your advice about him,” said Powel.

“Then here is my advice,” said Rhiannon. “You are now in a position where you must satisfy all the suitors and minstrels who come asking for gifts. Let him give to them in your place, and take a pledge from him that he will never seek revenge for what has been done to him. That will be punishment enough.”

“I will do that gladly,” said the man in the bag.

“And I will gladly accept it,” said Powel, “since it is the advice of Heveyth and Rhiannon. Find yourself sureties.”

“We will stand for him,” said Heveyth, “until his own men are free to answer for him.” So Gwawl was let out of the bag and his men were set free. Heveyth named the sureties who should be taken, and Gwawl asked Powel to draw up the agreement himself. “It is enough for me that it should be as Rhiannon said,” Powel answered, and all the sureties were pledged to it.

“Lord,” said Gwawl, “I am badly hurt and covered in bruises, and I need ointment. With your leave I will go. I will leave nobles behind to answer for me in all that you require.”

“Go, and welcome,” said Powel. So Gwawl went off to his own lands.

Then the hall was made ready for Powel and his men and the people of the palace, and they sat down at the tables just as they had sat a year earlier, and they feasted and spent the night in mirth and peace. At daybreak Rhiannon said, “My lord, get up and begin giving your gifts to the minstrels. Refuse no one today who asks for your generosity.”

“So it shall be, gladly, today and every day while the feast lasts.” Powel had silence proclaimed and invited all the suitors and minstrels to say what gifts they wanted, and as long as the feast lasted he refused no one. When it was over, Powel told Heveyth that with his permission he would set out for Dyfed the next day.

“Certainly,” said Heveyth. “May heaven prosper you. Name a time when Rhiannon may follow you.”

“We will go together,” said Powel. So the next day they set out for Dyfed and travelled to the palace of Narberth, where a feast was waiting. The chief men and noblest ladies of the land came to them, and Rhiannon gave every one of them a rich gift, a bracelet or a ring or a precious stone. They ruled the land well that year and the next.

In the fourth year a son was born to them, and women were brought to watch over the baby at night. But the women fell asleep, and so did Rhiannon, and when they woke and looked where they had laid the boy, he was not there. The women were frightened, and they plotted together and accused Rhiannon of having killed her own child before their eyes.

“For pity’s sake,” said Rhiannon, “the Lord God knows all things. Do not accuse me falsely. If you say this out of fear, I swear before heaven that I will protect you.”

“Truly,” they said, “we would not bring trouble on ourselves for anyone in the world.”

“For pity’s sake, no harm will come to you for telling the truth.” But whatever she said, kind or harsh, the women gave the same answer.

The story could not be hidden. It spread through the land, and all the nobles heard it. They came to Powel and begged him to put away his wife for the terrible crime she had done, but Powel answered that they had no reason to ask him to put away his wife. Rhiannon sent for the teachers and wise men, and because she would rather do penance than quarrel with the women, she accepted a penance. It was this: for seven years she must stay at the palace of Narberth and sit every day by the horse-block outside the gate, tell the story to everyone who came by who did not know it, and offer to carry guests and strangers into the palace on her back, if they would let her. But it seldom happened that anyone would.

Now at that time Teirnyon Twryv Vliant was lord of Gwent Is Coed, and he was the best man in the world. He owned a mare more beautiful than any horse in the kingdom. Every year, on the night of the first of May, she gave birth to a foal, and no one ever knew what became of it. One night Teirnyon said to his wife, “It is very foolish of us to let our mare foal every year and never keep one of her colts.”

“What can be done about it?” she asked.

“Tonight is May Eve,” said he, “and may heaven punish me if I don’t find out what takes the colts.”

He armed himself and kept watch that night. He heard a great uproar, and then a huge claw came in through the window and seized the newborn colt by the mane. Teirnyon drew his sword and struck off the arm at the elbow, so that the arm and the colt were left inside with him. Then he heard a crash and a wailing together. He flung open the door and rushed out towards the noise, but it was too dark to see what caused it. He ran after it a little way, and then it came into his head that he had left the door open, and he turned back. At the door lay a baby boy in swaddling clothes, wrapped in a satin mantle. He picked the child up and found him very strong for his age.

Teirnyon shut the door and went to the room where his wife was. “Lady, are you asleep?”

“No, lord. I was asleep, but I woke when you came in.”

“Here is a boy for you, if you want him, since you have never had one.”

“My lord, what adventure is this?” He told her how it had all happened.

“What clothes is the boy wearing?” she asked.

“A satin mantle.”

“Then he is a boy of noble birth.”

They had the boy baptised and called him Goldenlocks, because what hair he had was as yellow as gold. He was nursed at their court, and before he was a year old he could walk sturdily and was bigger than a well-grown boy of three. After his second year he was as big as a child of six, and before the end of his fourth year he was bribing the grooms to let him take the horses to water.

“My lord,” said Teirnyon’s wife, “where is the colt you saved on the night you found the boy?”

“I told the grooms to take care of him.”

“Wouldn’t it be good to have him broken in and given to the boy, since he was born the same night you found the child, and you saved him?”

“I won’t stand in your way. You may give him the colt.” So the horse was given to the boy, and she told the grooms to look after it well, so that it would be broken in by the time the boy could ride.

Meanwhile they heard news of Rhiannon and her punishment. Teirnyon pitied her so much that he asked everyone who came to his court about it, until he had heard the whole story many times. He often grieved over it and thought it through, and as he looked closely at the boy, it seemed to him that he had never seen such a likeness between father and son as between this boy and Powel, chief of Annuvyn. He knew Powel’s face well, for he had once been one of his followers. He grew troubled at the wrong he was doing by keeping a boy he knew to be another man’s son.

As soon as he was alone with his wife, he told her it was not right to keep the boy and let so good a lady as Rhiannon suffer such punishment on his account, when the boy was Powel’s son. His wife agreed that they should send the boy to Powel. “And we shall gain three things by it,” she said. “Thanks and gifts for freeing Rhiannon from her punishment; thanks from Powel for nursing his son and bringing him home; and third, if the boy has a noble nature, he will be our foster-son and do all the good for us he can.”

So it was agreed, and the very next day Teirnyon set out with two knights, and the boy rode with them as the fourth, on the horse Teirnyon had given him. They travelled towards Narberth and soon arrived. As they came near the palace, they saw Rhiannon sitting by the horse-block. When they were level with her she said, “Chieftain, go no farther this way. I will carry every one of you into the palace. This is my penance for the death of my own son.”

“Oh, fair lady,” said Teirnyon, “don’t think I will be one to be carried on your back.”

“Nor will I,” said the boy.

“Truly, my soul, we will not,” said Teirnyon.

They went on to the palace, where there was great joy at their coming. A feast had been prepared, because Powel had come home from a journey through Dyfed. They went into the hall and washed, and Powel was glad to see Teirnyon. They sat with Teirnyon between Powel and Rhiannon, and Teirnyon’s two companions on Powel’s other side with the boy between them. After the meal, as they drank and talked, Teirnyon told the whole adventure of the mare and the boy, and how he and his wife had nursed and raised the child as their own.

“Here is your son, lady,” said Teirnyon. “Whoever told that lie about you did wrong. When I heard of your sorrow, I was grieved. And I believe there is no one in this company who will not see that the boy is Powel’s son.”

“There is no one who is not sure of it,” they all said.

“I declare to heaven,” said Rhiannon, “if this is true, there is an end to my trouble.”

“Lady,” said Pendaran Dyfed, “you have named your son well, Pryderi, which means the end of trouble, and the name Pryderi son of Powel, chief of Annuvyn, suits him well.”

“Wait,” said Rhiannon. “Won’t his own name suit him better?”

“What name has he?” asked Pendaran Dyfed.

“Goldenlocks is the name we gave him,” said Teirnyon.

“Pryderi shall be his name,” said Pendaran.

“It is most fitting,” said Powel, “that the boy should take his name from the word his mother spoke when she heard the joyful news of him.” And so it was settled.

“Teirnyon,” said Powel, “heaven reward you for raising the boy until now. He is of noble birth, and it is right that he should repay you.”

“My lord,” said Teirnyon, “it was my wife who nursed him, and no one in the world grieves as she does at parting with him. It would be good if he kept in mind what my wife and I have done for him.”

“I call heaven to witness,” said Powel, “that as long as I live I will support you and your lands as long as I can keep my own, and when he has the power, he will look after them better than I. And if my nobles and you agree, since you have raised him until now, I will give him from now on to be brought up by Pendaran Dyfed. You two shall be companions and both be his foster-fathers.”

“That is good counsel,” they all said. So the boy was given to Pendaran Dyfed, and the nobles of the land went with him. Teirnyon Twryv Vliant and his companions set out for his own country with love and gladness. He was offered the finest jewels, the finest horses and the choicest dogs, but he would take none of them. Then they all stayed in their own lands.

Pryderi, son of Powel, chief of Annuvyn, was carefully brought up, as was fitting, until he became the fairest and handsomest youth in the kingdom and the most skilled in every good sport. So the years went by, one after another, until Powel, chief of Annuvyn, came to the end of his life and died.

Where this story comes from

Jacobs took “Powel, Prince of Dyfed” from Lady Guest’s translation of the Mabinogion, the Welsh story collection. He says he made the names slightly more English and left out the opening incident, which is why Powel is called “chief of Annuvyn” without the story explaining it.

In his notes Jacobs compares the claw that comes through the window with the giant hand in “Morraha,” and says the enchanted hill and the mysterious maiden also open a Scottish Gaelic tale. Jacobs links the naming of Pryderi to Rhiannon’s relief at the end of her trouble. That is the telling’s explanation, not a literal translation: Welsh pryder means anxiety or care, as the University of Wales dictionary records. In the source the women claim Rhiannon killed and ate her baby; this telling says only that she was accused of killing him.

Read the original: Joseph Jacobs, More Celtic Fairy Tales (Project Gutenberg #34453, Powel, Prince of Dyfed)

Best for ages 9–12 — a grand Welsh legend of a magic horsewoman, a clever bag trick and a lost child found.

Rhiannon speaks, but who listens?

The horse chase ends as soon as Powel asks her to stop. Later, she supplies the plan that repairs his careless promise. Yet when she denies killing her child, those around her accept accusation over her words. Teirnyon’s return provides evidence that her protest alone could not secure. Powel’s refusal to dismiss her protects the marriage, but does not stop years of unjust humiliation.

Compare three conversations

Find Rhiannon’s reply on the road, her bag plan and her appeal to the attendants. For each, identify whether she is heard and what follows. Which episode most clearly shows the limits of her authority?

Talk about it

• Why could no one catch Rhiannon on her white horse?
• How did Rhiannon’s bag help Powel win her back from Gwawl?
• What made Teirnyon realise who Goldenlocks really was?

More stories like this

• Morraha — Jacobs compares the giant hand that steals children
• Elidore — another Welsh tale from a medieval source
• The Shepherd of Myddvai — a Welsh tale of a wonderful bride

Also known as: Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed, Pwyll Pendefig Dyfed