Episode 80A – Love and Fairies – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 80A Show Notes

Source: Celtic Mythology

This week on MYTH, we’re heading to Wales for part one of a two-part story of love and heartache. You’ll see that treachery is romantic, that soccer is brutal, and that humans are untrustworthy. Then, in Gods and Monsters, you’ll learn how to get yourself a bridge for the low, low price of your soul. This is the Myths Your Teacher Hated podcast, where I tell the stories of cultures from around the world in all of their original, bloody, uncensored glory. Modern tellings of these stories have become dry and dusty, but I’ll be trying to breathe new life into them. This is Episode 80A, “Love and Fairies”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
This week’s story comes from the Mabinogion (mab-i-no-chion), the earliest collection of prose stories from Britain. Specifically, this tale comes from the First Branch (as Rhiannon does make another appearance in the Third Branch of tales). They were compiled in Middle Welsh in the 12th and 13th centuries from much earlier oral traditions. I’ll specifically be using the translation in the fantastic Women in Celtic Myth collection by Moyra Caldecott for the story of Rhiannon. Most scholars agree that, like a number of other figures from British and Welsh mythology, Rhiannon may be a reflection of some older Celtic deity – in this case, likely the Gaulish horse goddess Epona (which is where Link’s horse in the Legend of Zelda series gets its name). Even more so than usual, I am definitely going to butcher these names. Welsh is tricky.
Once, long ago, there lived a young man by the name of Pwyll, who just so happened to be the prince of the small kingdom of Dyved. Like many young men of his time, he loved to hunt and so he was out with his hounds on this particular day in search of game. In the course of the hunt, Pwyll had become separated from his friends and companions but, still having his hounds, had gamely ventured on to see what could be seen. Deep in the heart of the woods, he came across a magnificent stag that had been brought down by another pack of white hounds with red ears, who were in the process of ripping the carcass apart. Pwyll’s hounds were hungry and so Pwyll drove off the unknown dogs from their kill and gave his own hounds the signal to dig in.
As it turned out, this was a huge mistake. The hounds he had driven off were actually magical (their appearance should have been a tip off) and belonged to Arawn, lord of the kingdom Annwn in the Otherworld (a magical land of everlasting youth, beauty, health, and joy that is parallel to the mortal world though famously elusive to find). The stag had rightfully been his kill and he was less than pleased that some upstart asshat of a mortal had poached it from him.
To his credit, Pwyll immediately owned up to his error and begged the obvious fae lord’s forgiveness. For his part, Arawn sensed something promising in the young mortal and, rather than punishing the young man by transforming him into something unpleasant as was his right, he offered him a bargain. The mortal man could earn the fae lord’s forgiveness and friendship by undergoing a difficult trial. Without hesitation, Pwyll agreed to the vague terms. There was a flash of magic and a wave of disorientation. When it passed, Pwyll found himself staring at himself. Only, when he looked down at his own body, he was no longer in his own body. Instead, he was wearing the form of the fae lord – they had traded places. “Young man, you will take my place in my court and rule in my stead for a year and a day. At the end of this time, you must face and defeat my rival, Hafgan who rules over the land neighboring my own. Perform well, and all is forgiven.” With no additional explanation, Arawn rode off to take the mortal prince’s place, leaving Pwyll to make his way to the castle in the Otherworld.
He arrived at the fabulous castle to find that Arawn had told no one of the switch, including his own wife (who is not named in the tale). Well, shit. This was going to be super awkward. By day, the disguised mortal carried on the day-to-day affairs of state, which it turned out weren’t that different from those of his own kingdom in the mortal world. The young prince proved quite adept at dispensing justice and politicking with the fae court. He very quickly settled into a comfortable rhythm. It was only the nights that were proving a challenge.
Arawn’s wife, not realizing that her husband, you know, wasn’t, she went to bed with him each night fully expecting to have marital sexy time. Although this story could easily have slid into the kinds of rapey situations that were played for laughs in 80s comedies, Pwyll was an honorable man. Sleeping with another man’s wife, especially when the wife in question was being deceived as to his identity, was a shitty move and Pwyll was having none of that. At first, Arawn’s wife accepted her apparent husband’s sudden lack of sexual interest in stride. Maybe Arawn was tired from the day or had a headache or any number of other things. But as sex kept not happening night after night, she began to worry and decided to take matters into her own hands. Literally. She tried everything she could think of to arouse her husband into fucking her, up to and including grabbing his dick. She could feel that he was fully erect and figured that must mean he was into this, but instead of embracing her, her husband would leap from the bed and go for a walk in the cool night air (the ancient equivalent of a cold shower).
Arawn’s wife became deeply depressed at this utter lack of nighttime intimacy. She would have thought he had fallen out of love with her except that, during the day, he was always incredibly sweet and doting towards her, treating her absolutely wonderfully. The dichotomy was completely confusing to her (as one might expect when your husband drops you into a body switching comedy without warning). Eventually, she decided that Arawn must just be deeply consumed and disturbed by his feud with the neighboring king Hafgan; when that was resolved, maybe his ardour would return.
The allotted year and a day passed in this way, with Pwyll insisting on sleeping chastely beside the woman who wanted desperately to jump his bones by night and ruling wisely and well by day. On the last day of the bargain, Pwyll went to the ford to meet Hafgan in single combat. They drew weapons and, with a single mighty blow, Pwyll slew the enemy king. With that single blow, Arawn had gained overlordship of all of Annwn. The year and a day over, Pwyll returned to the heart of the woods where they had parted ways and found Arawn waiting for him. In another burst of magic, the two revert forms and return to their original bodies.
King Arawn returns to his home to find everything in good shape. As he had hoped, the mortal had been able to deal the killing blow on his rival that he himself had not been able to do. This is a recurring thing in Celtic tales, with the fae sometimes needing mortal vessels to accomplish certain tasks or possibly pretending to need mortal help in order to put said mortal through a spiritual trial. Arawn is deeply impressed with how well the mortal prince managed the kingdom and even more so that he had respected the sanctity of his marital bed. He knew exactly how sexy and sensual his wife could be when she wanted to, so he knew how much restraint Pwyll had shown in staying chaste for an entire year.
His wife’s belief that Arawn’s sexual desire would return once his rival was defeated proved to be entirely correct. With her actual husband once more returned to her, they proceeded to fuck like rabbits who have been seperated for a year (which they have, even if only one of them knows it). The next morning, Arawn confided in his wife what had happened during the past year. She was understandably furious with him for tricking her like he had, even after he explained that she had to be out of the loop or Pwyll’s test would not have been complete. The mortal prince had earned the fae king’s respect and earned the title Pwyll Pen Annwn, or Pwyll, head of Annwn.
Some time later (after most of her ire had passed), Arawn’s wife discussed this whole bizarre affair with her friend the lady Rhiannon. Unlike her friend, Rhiannon was deeply curious about the mortal. None of them (other than the king) had ever seen the prince’s true form, and none but Rhiannon cared. She wondered if the young mortal would have been able to resist her as effectively as he had resisted the queen.
Like many of the residents of Otherworld, Rhiannon had spent her entire life in the shining realm of Annwn. She had always been relatively content with the blessed realm she lived in, but now she began to dream of a place she had never seen – the mortal world. The denizens of the Otherworld mostly disdained the human world, calling it the shadow world, the place of sorrow and strife. Nevertheless, Rhiannon longed to see it and soon conceived of a plan. The ways between the worlds were difficult to traverse except at specific times; one of those days was the feast of Beltane (also known as May Day, or the first of May), which lies halfway between the spring equinox and the summer solstice. Dressing in her finest golden robes, Rhiannon mounted a snow-white horse and rode off for the borderlands between the worlds.
Whether by fate or by chance (it’s sometimes hard to tell in the ancient Celtic tales), Pwyll and his companions were out riding that very Beltane. They had found their way to the mound of Arberth, a place where the veil between the worlds was thin, and climbed up. Looking out across the landscape, the gathered young men saw a beautiful woman dressed in gold riding a pure white horse along the mound. Pwyll was intrigued by this strange woman and sent out one of his companions to ride over to her and ask her who she was and what she was doing all the way out here. She was not riding fast, so Pwyll’s companion set out at a trot, confident that he would soon catch her. Only he couldn’t. He picked up the pace until he was riding at a full gallop, but the woman never drew any closer even though she never sped up from her slow walk. At last, he gave up the futile chase and returned to Pwyll to report what had happened. Pwyll laughed at this ridiculous story and mocked his friend’s shitty riding skills.
The next day, they returned to the mound and again they saw the beautifully mysterious woman riding in the distance. Figuring that the first guy had fucked up, he sent out a different man to try and catch up to her. Again, the man rode and returned to report that he had ridden as hard and as fast as he could but somehow never closed the distance with the woman. This wasn’t funny anymore. Pwyll was starting to get seriously angry about the continued failures, but he was also coming to the realization that some kind of enchantment must be at work.
On the third day, the men returned to the mound yet again and again they saw the strange woman riding in the distance. Three was a mystic number in the Celtic tradition, and so this time, Pwyll rode out himself to try and catch up to the woman and speak to her. He could see her riding at a slow walk, a pace that should have been easy to overtake, but no matter how hard he rode, the woman stayed exactly the same distance away from him. Growing exhausted and frustrated, Pwyll called out to her “My Lady, for the sake of the man you love, please stop for me!”
At once, the woman stopped and wheeled her horse to face the prince. “So will I, and gladly, though you would have been kinder to your poor horse if you had spoken those words sooner.” Rhiannon (because of course that’s who she is) gazed upon the young man and knew for certain that this was the man she had longed for and dreamed of. She thought him the most beautiful man she had ever seen. For his part, Pwyll’s mouth went dry at the impossible beauty of this mysterious lady; he more than suspected that she could not possibly be mortal.
“Lady, what is your errand in this empty place, for I have never seen another woman like you in any of my lands. Are you by chance a messenger for Arawn?” “No, good sir. I am here on an errand of my own.” “And what errand might that be?” “To find the man that I love best.” Pwyll swallowed, hardly daring to breathe. “And have you found him?” She paused. “Yes.” There was a long silence. Even now, Pwyll could hardly dare believe that this was happening. “If I am that man, then Pwyll, Lord of Dyved, is the happiest man alive.” She smiled radiantly at the prince. “You are that man and Rhiannon, daughter of Heveydd Hen, is the happiest woman of two worlds.”
They spoke then, and Rhiannon told him that plans were in motion to marry her off to a man that she did not love unless Pwyll took her as his wife instead. Pwyll vowed to her that he would not let this happen. Together, they arranged for Pwyll to come to her father’s kingdom in a year and a day and claim her as his bride. Agreed, the two part ways engaged to be engaged and Pwyll returns to his men. They ride for home, with the prince being unusually somber the whole way though he told no one what had transpired.
Meanwhile, Rhiannon returned to the Otherworld to very delicately break the news to her father. It was going to take some doing to get him on board with marrying her to a mortal instead of the fae lord Gwawl as had been the plan. She was an extremely persuasive woman however, and before the year was out, all was in place. Right on schedule, Pwyll and his companions arrived at the castle in Otherworld where Pwyll was seated in a place of honor between Rhiannon and her father. Things got underway, and ancient fun immediately broke out with minstrels and singers livening things up.
Everything was going well, so when an auburn-haired young man showed up late and presented himself to Pwyll as the star of the feast, the mortal prince invited him to join them. The youth refused, saying he was here to make a request rather than eat. Feeling very good and more than a little drunk, Pwyll was feeling generous. “Ask then, stranger. Whatever it is, if it is within my power, I will grant it.”
The young stranger smiled, but Rhiannon felt her heart drop into her stomach as she noticed him. She had tried to get Pwyll’s attention as soon as she’d seen him approaching, but he’d been too drunk and happy to catch on. As he spoke, she rounded furiously on her almost-fiance. “Why would you say that? Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”
His smile growing large and cruel, the youth turned to face the assembled notables at the feast. “You all heard his vow. He has given his word, and he is honor-bound to keep it.” Between Rhiannon’s anger and this young man’s reaction, Pwyll was beginning to realize that something was very, very wrong. “And what exactly is your request?” “You are trying to marry the woman that I love. I have come tonight to ask for her and for this marriage feast.” Pwyll recoiled as though he had been struck and looked aghast at Rhiannon, mouth already opening to respond.
Rhiannon cut Pwyll off before he could utter a sound. “Don’t say a single word! You’ve already fucked things up more than enough. This is the man that I was trying to avoid: Gwawl son of Clud. I absolutely do not want to marry this asshole, but you went and opened your big mouth and promised me to him. Dammit!” “Not a goddamned chance,” muttered Pwyll, but he knew he was deep in the shit now. Everyone here had heard him make his vague promise, and there was no honorable way out. He was stuck.
Fortunately, Rhiannon has a quicker and keener mind, and it was already turning the problem over and over. She saw a possible loophole, and she seized the only hope they had left. “I have a plan. Follow my lead and do as I say, and I can still be your bride.” Rounding on Gwawl, Rhiannon haughtily declared that he could not have this feast as it was not Pwyll’s to give. She and her father had already given the night’s festivities to Pwyll and his companions. He would have to come back in a year and a day (a mystical length of time as we’ve already seen several times in this tale) and get his own wedding feast. He could marry Rhiannon then.
Nobody was really in a celebrating mood anymore, so as Gwawl rode off with his companions, Pwyll rode for home with his. Before he left, Rhiannon had pulled him aside and handed him a leather bag. She made him promise to keep it safe and return in the year and a day for the next wedding feast. Filled with misgivings, he took it and promised to do as Rhiannon said.
Another year and a day passed, and Gwawl showed up at the court to marry Rhiannon. For her part, the fae lady was not thrilled about what was going down but she was going to follow through with it. Gwawl seated himself in the place of honor between Rhiannon and her father. The young man was having a grand old time here, as was Heveydd (who had always wanted his daughter to marry the young fae lord rather than some upstart mortal). He was not even a little sorry that the foolish prince had allowed himself to be tricked out of her hand. He had warned her about mortals. The only thing that had him a little on edge was Rhiannon herself. Yes, she had greeted Gwawl warmly and was acting as though there was nothing she wanted more in the world than this wedding, but there was something brittle in her smile and something gleeful in her eyes. He had a sneaking suspicion that she was up to something.
All seemed well, and soon the feasting was in full swing when a ragged beggar meandered into the hall. Tradition held that the door was not barred during such an important celebration and anyone was allowed inside. The beggar made his way to the head of the table and begged Gwawl for a boon. Smiling and a little drunk, he agreed to grant the poor man’s request so long as it was reasonable (an important qualification, as we’ve seen).
All the humble beggar asked for was enough food to fill his beggar’s bag. Gwawl smiled when he saw the leather bag held out to him; this was indeed a simple, reasonable request and it would make him look extremely generous to fulfill it. He called out to his men to fill this poor man’s ] bag. Gwawl was thrilled to have such a perfect chance to seem magnanimous, but Heveydd sensed danger. He glanced over at his daughter and could swear he saw suppressed laughter shining in her eyes.
No one else was enjoying themselves though. The servants found that, much to their surprise, they couldn’t seem to actually fill up the leather bag. They kept shoving more and more food into it, but this thing was apparently either the TARDIS or Mary Poppins’ bag because there was always plenty of room left. Their difficulty was a little funny to Gwawl at first, but the food was vanishing into the leather bag at an alarming rate. “What the fuck, dude? Will your shitty little bag ever be full?”
“It is indeed a special bag, good sir. It will only be full when a nobleman, rich in land and wealth, steps into the bag and presses it down with both his feet, and says ‘There is enough inside.’” That…is a wildly specific requirement for the ragged bag on some random beggar to have. Given that they live in a magic land full of gods and fairies, you’d think someone would be a little bit suspicious, but Gwawl is apparently just drunk and angry enough to not ask any questions.
Rhiannon took her almost-fiance’s hand in hers. “Do it, my lord. If you don’t do something, all of the food will disappear into that bag and there will be none left for our honored guests.” “Alright, fine. Let’s get this over with.” He leapt up to his feet, strode over to the bag, and stepped in. Before he could say the magic words, the ragged beggar yanked the bag up over Gwawl’s head and tied the neck, imprisoning him in the bag (which hadn’t looked nearly large enough to fit a full human man inside it).
Pwyll (because of course it’s Pwyll) threw back his ragged cloak revealing his princely garments hidden beneath and raised a horn to his lips. As the note rang out, the doors to the great hall were filled with Pwyll’s men armed, armored, and completely sober. Gwawl’s men had been drinking for hours by now, and they still weren’t entirely sure just what the fuck was going on here. Pwyll gestured triumphantly to the leather bag with the noble fae imprisoned within. “Now, I will bargain Gwawl’s freedom for the Lady Rhiannon!”
His men, in high spirits, made a game of kicking the bag around, playing a particularly vicious kind of soccer. Heveydd confronted his daughter, dismayed by all of this bullshit. She however was completely ignoring her father, instead taking Pwyll’s hand in hers. She was clearly part of this and only had eyes for the mortal prince. Everyone else was staring horrified at the humans kicking the shit out of a trapped fae lord. Gwawl cried out from inside, his agony obvious in his voice, that this was no way for a nobleman to die.
Heveydd interrupted his daughter’s happy moment. “He’s right. This is bullshit. You saw last year how foolish mortals are; now you see how cruel they are. Do you really want to live amongst them?” Rhiannon didn’t say anything, but it was obvious from her expression that she hadn’t intended for her trick to take this dark turn. Pwyll, who had been equally distracted by his reunion with Rhiannon, finally noticed what his men were up to and called an immediate halt to the savage game and for Gwawl to be freed. Rhiannon broke in before anyone could move. “Not just yet. Before we let him go, we need assurances that he will make no further claims to me nor seek revenge. Oh, and we also need him to give our guests the presents that they are entitled to on your behalf.”
Gwawl hastily agreed to all of this and was released much the worse for wear. He was covered in his own blood and had more than a few obviously broken bones. His men carried him away as Rhiannon and Heveydd watched them go. Both were wondering the same thing: if, in spite of his promises, Gwawl was going to make them pay for the uncalled brutality of the mortals. Rhiannon and Pwyll quickly forgot their fears because they were now married, which meant that it was time for the wedding night sexcapades.
The festivities continued for a long time, but eventually, it was time for Pwyll to return to the mortal world. Heveyyd suggested that maybe Pwyll should go on ahead with his men and let Rhiannon follow along later. Rhiannon rolled her eyes at this heavy-handed attempt to break them up just after they were married and told her father that she was absolutely leaving with her husband. Heveyyd sighed. “You always were headstrong. Very well, but I fear that you will eventually know what I was trying to save you from.” He turned to Pwyll. “Take care of her, human. She is more precious than all the gold and silver in your world.” “I will. She is more precious to me than the world itself.”
Together, they returned to Dyved and Arberth in the mortal world where another feast had been laid in Rhiannon’s honor. She was surprised to find that the music and singing was almost as beautiful as in her own shining realm. The prince’s new bride was the picture of graciousness, giving gifts generously to all who came and no one there could find a single ill word to speak of her. Of course, later when they were in their own homes and amongst friends, the people wondered aloud why the prince had brought home an alien woman from strange places instead of taking a wife from one of the neighboring kingdoms as was expected. Everyone agreed that nothing good would come of it – there was too much of a culture clash.
The couple spent the next two years happily, very deeply in love. In their own private island of wedded bliss, neither noticed that some of the courtiers felt insulted that Rhiannon sometimes seemed to be inwardly laughing at them or that she sometimes grew impatient with the slow, cumbersome way things were done here compared to her own home. In the third year, a group of lesser nobles came to their prince and pointed out that he still didn’t have an heir and if they had been fucking as often as they clearly were (castles are not noted for their privacy), then clearly his new wife was barren or incompatible with his mortal sperm. It was high time for him to divorce her quietly and take a new wife who could get pregnant. Pwyll flatly refused to divorce his wife but, to keep the grumbling to a minimum, he promised to reconsider the matter in a year if there was no child by then. Not long thereafter, Rhiannon announced that she was pregnant.
In due course, Rhiannon gave birth to a son. Exhausted from labor, she and her newborn child were placed in the care of six women. They were supposed to stay awake all night in case mother or child needed anything (mother and/or baby dying soon after labor was not an uncommon thing after all), but one by one they fell asleep. When the golden light of dawn roused them, they found to their horror that the baby princeling was gone. Rhiannon was still fast asleep in her bed and was still unaware that anything was wrong. They conferred in quiet whispers with many anxious glances towards the sleeping fae lady. All six knew that they would be blamed for the disappearance of the child (since, you know, it had literally been their jobs to keep an eye on the child all night). One quietly proposed a horrible, grisly plan and, terrified of being punished, they all agreed.
One of the women snuck out to the barn where a deerhound had recently given birth to a litter of puppies (and yes, this is about to get just as gruesome as you’re worried it is). They quickly killed all of the puppies, ripped their tiny bodies to bloody shreds, smeared their blood all over the room, Rhiannon, and themselves, and left bloody organs lying on the bed and floor. When they were done, it looked like the baby had been gruesomely dismembered. When Rhiannon woke, her quiet happiness was abruptly crushed by the horrifying sight awaiting her. She screamed and looked around for her baby, but the women told her it was useless. In the night, Rhiannon had risen from her bed with an evil gleam in her eyes and had seized the child. The women had fought her, but being from the Otherworld she overmatched the six mortals and slaughtered the infant before passing out in her bed once more. All six swore that they had seen Rhiannon dismembering her own baby with her bare hands with their own eyes.
Rhiannon didn’t believe a word of it. Weeping, she begged the women to tell the truth of what had happened, swearing that they would not be punished no matter what they said. By now, everyone was screaming and crying, and the commotion roused the whole house. More and more people gathered to witness the carnage and to hear the women swearing that the wicked fae had done it. The people, who had never really trusted this shifty outsider in the first place, believed the words of six women over Rhiannon’s protests. A mob began to gather, marching on Pwyll to demand Rhiannon’s execution. Exhausted from labor and crushed by grief, Rhiannon lay in her bed weeping. She could hear them demanding her death. So insistently and skillfully had the women spun their lies that even Rhiannon began to wonder if maybe they were right. She had always felt torn between the two worlds. Maybe, when her rational mind had been buried in slumber, some darker part of her nature had taken over and wreaked havoc.
Ashen faced, Pwyll listened to their horrifying tale with growing despair. He knew that his beloved wife could never have done such an awful thing. And yet… All of the evidence was stacked against her and besides, how much did he really know about the fae? She had been furious when he told her that his people had wanted him to set her aside for not giving him an heir yet. Maybe she had produced and then immediately slaughtered their baby to spite them. Everyone demanded her death, but Pwyll refused. He loved Rhiannon, even if she had done this terrible thing, but he also understood that there would be a revolt if he did nothing (and doubt was gnawing at his heart). Rhiannon had to be punished.
She was cast out of the palace and away from Pwyll’s side, cursed to live in disgrace at the city gate for seven years. She was required to confess her crime to every traveler who came by and offer them a piggyback ride to see the lord of the castle (likely an oblique reference to her link to Epona that I mentioned earlier). Pwyll hated seeing his beloved Rhiannon staggering into his hall, ragged and filthy and carrying some stranger on her back. At first, people sneered and spat on her, but their anger mellowed in time. It was hard to maintain a good rage in the face of the queen’s quiet dignity. Many times, Rhiannon thought of her home back in Annwn and longed for her old life. She could have returned to admit that her father’s prophecy had been right (though she doubted old Heveydd would take any joy in that), but her love for Pwyll still burned and her doubts that she had murdered her only child still clawed at her heart.
Not far from Pwyll’s castle, there lived a nobleman named Teirnon Twrvliant. He had a prized mare who, without fail, birthed a new foal every May Eve that mysteriously disappeared by the next morning. This year, as it so happened, he had resolved to finally figure out just what the fuck was happening to all of these baby horses. He hid himself in a secluded spot where he could watch the stable door without being seen. In the dead of night, an enormous claw suddenly appeared in the window, seized the surprised foal, and dragged it towards the empty night. Teirnon leapt from his hiding place, drew his sword, and hacked furiously at the massive claw. After several vicious strokes, he managed to sever the awful thing, freeing the foal. From outside, he heard a terrible scream and rushed out doors to see what the fuck had a claw that big. The creature was already retreating into the heavy brush, preventing Teirnon from getting a good look. He went back into the stable to check on the foal and nearly stumbled over a small bundle. Picking it up from the ground, he was shocked to see that it was a baby covered in blood and wrapped in a silk mantle.
He took the baby to his wife, who agreed that they should raise this child as their own. They named him Gwri Golden Hair and were soon astonished at how rapidly the boy grew. After only a year, he was the size and maturity of a three-year-old. Given the strange events that had happened around his discovery in the barn, Gwri’s foster parents gave him the foal that had been saved that night and the two quickly became inseparable. Eventually, the sad story of Rhiannon made its way to Teirnon’s home. He looked at his foster son, who was clearly the spitting image of the prince, and Teirnon put two and two together.
The boy’s foster parents sat down that night to discuss the matter and came to the conclusion that they couldn’t keep the boy. They loved him dearly, but the stories agreed that his birth parents were heartbroken about his disappearance. They had to take him to the palace, so putting him up on his horse the next day, Teirnon and Gwri rode to Pwyll’s castle. At the gate, they met Rhiannon who was still serving her penance for a crime she hadn’t committed. As per her vow, she told them what she had supposedly done and offered to carry them into Pwyll’s chamber. They gently refused her offer but asked that she lead them to Pwyll.
The years had not been kind to Rhiannon. Grief and hard living had burned away some of her golden light, leaving her frame gaunt and her eyes haunted. Once they were standing before the prince, Teirnon brought out Gwri and explained when and how they had found him and announced that they suspected him to be the missing prince. Rhiannon looked at the boy with new eyes, and there was no doubt in her mind that this was her son. Pwyll too immediately knew that this was indeed his son who he had thought dead. Indeed, everyone assembled could see the clear resemblance to his parents and none doubted that their young prince had in fact returned from beyond the grave.
Pwyll naturally cancelled the rest of Rhiannon’s prescribed punishment for what was now a clearly false charge and, with many shameful tears, begged for her forgiveness. She still loved her husband and though it hurt that he had believed the six women over her own word, she forgave him. Largely because she loved him and wanted to be reunited as a family with their miracle baby but also because even she had begun to doubt her innocence after the damning evidence that had been manufactured and heaped on her head. The boy was immediately installed as the new prince and renamed Pryderi, and he vowed to always honor his foster parents as much as his returned birth parents to the end of his days. The worst was behind them, and Pwyll did everything in his power to try and make up for the horrible injustice that he had helped do to his wife (who had never stopped being the queen, if a disgraced one), but there was no erasing the years of grief and hardship that had taken their toll on both parents.
In a lot of pantheons, this would be the natural end of Rhiannon’s story, but the Celtic tradition has a heavy emphasis on multi-generational consequences (which will have to wait until next time to wrap up). Rhiannon is not yet done with the mortal world, nor is it done with her. She does have some years of peace ahead however, which means it’s time for Gods and Monsters. This is a segment where I get into a little more detail about the personalities and history of one of the gods or monsters from this week’s pantheon that was not discussed in the main story. This week’s magical location is Devil’s Bridge.
So according to local legend, the Devil is too embarrassed to ever return to a small Welsh village. The town in question is Ceredigion, located above the Afon Mynach river. It’s most famous feature is a strange triple bridge known as the Pontarfynach (literally the bridge on the Mynach, with Mynach being the word for monk). By triple bridge, I mean that there are three separate bridges that were built one on top of the other without bothering to demolish the previous bridges. The first and oldest is a medieval arch; the second is a stone structure built in 1753 and then upgraded in 1777 and then again in 1814 that was built over the existing bridge to strengthen the older one; the third was built in 1901 above the second to level the whole thing out and was repaired and strengthened further in 1971.
The bridge is definitely an odd, cool place to visit, but that’s not the only reason it’s famous. From at least 1734, this ancient span has been known as the Devil’s Bridge. You might expect the name to refer to the bizarre construction styles (plural), but as you might have noticed, the name predates the addition of the second one. The actual story is much stranger and more fun.
Long, long ago, before the bridge existed an old woman named Megan of Llandunach found herself standing on one side of the river Mynach feeling very sorry for herself. See, her prized cow had somehow made its way to the other side of the river, which was now swollen and flooded. The ravine was sheer and deep, making it impossible for the locals to build a bridge over. It was not a small river, what with the five successive waterfalls and roaring waters that boiled as though possessed by some malevolent entity (which is definitely possible). Megan had no earthly idea how the fuck the cow had gotten over there, but it was there all the same calmly mucnhing on grass as though it hadn’t wandered somewhere impossible.
“What’s the matter, Megan?” She turned around to see a cowled figure approaching her. She hadn’t heard anyone approach, but the river was so rough and wild at the moment that maybe she just hadn’t noticed. So distraught was she that she didn’t stop to consider how this stranger (who she assumed to be a monk of some kind) knew her name. “I am ruined, stranger. See that asshole cow on the other side of the river? That’s my only cow, which is the only thing I have to support myself. I’m an old woman and life is hard enough already.”
“Is that all? That’s easy enough. I can help you, no problem. Building bridges is something of a hobby of mine; I can throw one up across the chasm and help you get your cow back on the right side of the river if you like.” Megan looked sharply at the stranger, his face still hidden deep in the hood. “That would be ducky, but like I told you, I’m a poor old woman. How exactly am I supposed to pay you? Bridges aren’t cheap.” The strange monk waved his hand dismissively. “Simple. Just let me keep the first living creature that crosses the bridge after I finish building it.”
Megan agreed to the stranger’s terms and then headed back to her home. The stranger told her to wait there; he would let her know when the bridge was ready. She was full of misgivings. She didn’t much care for the way he’d kept his face hidden the whole time, and she’d finally started to wonder how he’d already known her name – she was pretty sure she’d never told him. Worse still, she had a sneaking suspicion that his knees bent the wrong way. Shit, that asshole probably wasn’t exactly human. She took the opportunity to think through the problem from every angle while she waited.
By the time she heard the stranger calling her name, she’d decided on a plan. Joints aching slightly, she tucked a loaf of fresh bread in her pocket and headed up to the riverside with her small, yappy dog nipping at her heels. Lo and behold, there was indeed a sturdy-looking arched bridge spanning across the turbulent waters. It shouldn’t have been possible (and certainly not so quickly), but there it was all the same. “There you go, one bridge as promised.”
Megan looked over the stone structure, one eyebrow arched suspiciously. “I mean, it certainly looks like a bridge, but how do I know it’s not a rickety piece of shit? Is it strong?” The stranger (still hidden in his hood) scoffed. “Don’t worry; it’s very strong.” He paused, watching her not move. “Well? Aren’t you going after your cow?” “I’m still not convinced. Are you sure it’s strong?” She pulled the loaf of fresh bread from her pocket.”Will it hold this? It’s pretty dense.” The stranger laughed derisively. “Seriously? Shit yeah it will hold a loaf of bread. If you don’t believe me, chuck it out there and see for yourself.”
Megan smiled and did exactly that. The little yappy dog, who had a keen eye for unguarded food the way many small, yappy dogs do (and I speak from experience here), burst into an immediate sprint after the flying loaf. The small animal raced out onto the bridge and began to munch happily on the bread. Megan turned to the stranger. “You were right, it held just fine. I was a little worried that it was going to collapse under me when I walked out onto it, killing me and taking my soul, but it looks strong after all. Oh, and my little dog was the first living thing across the bridge. He’s sweet if a little very the fuck annoying, so he’s yours if you want. Thank you for all your effort.”
The stranger screamed in frustration. “That’s not what I meant, dammit! That little dog is no good to me. Bah!” He turned and promptly vanished into thin air in a cloud of brimstone. Megan called her dog back to her side. She’d hoped that the Devil wouldn’t want her doggy but she hadn’t been sure. It had been kind of a cruel gamble, but she’d needed the cow and didn’t trust the Devil not to just kill her when she crossed the bridge. Whistling, Megan collected her cow and crossed back over Devil’s Bridge with her little dog in tow.
That’s it for this episode of Myths Your Teacher Hated. Keep up with new episodes on our Facebook page, on iTunes, on Stitcher, on TuneIn, on Vurbl, and on Spotify, or you can follow us on Twitter as @HardcoreMyth and on Instagram as Myths Your Teacher Hated Pod. You can also find news and episodes on our website at myths your teacher hated dot com. If you have any questions, any gods or monsters you’d want to learn about, or any ideas for future stories that you’d like to hear, feel free to drop me a line. I’m trying to pull as much material from as many different cultures as possible, but there are all sorts of stories I’ve never heard, so suggestions are appreciated. The theme music is by Tiny Cheese Puff.
Next time, we’ll return to Otherworld for the thrilling conclusion to this tale. You’ll see that mice are assholes, that you shouldn’t wander into strange castles, and that shoes have always been serious business. Then, in Gods and Monsters, you’ll meet the tiny, invisible newt that can give the Xenopmorph from Alien a run for its money. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.