Ancestral Voices

An extract from: "Druidry - a practical and inspirational guide," by Philip Shallcrass (Piatkus, 2000)ve and Inspiration" by Emma Restall Orr. P

Ancestral VoicesAncestral Voicesublished by Thorsons, 2000

Our ancestors communicate with us through songs and poetry, legend and lore passed down by generations of bards. As we walk the path of Druidry, we come across many doorways through which we can enter the realm of the ancestors, the realm of spirit. That magical Otherworld exists, eternal and ever-changing, alongside our own and in it all things are possible. The stories, songs and poetry of our ancestors provide such doorways. Through the magic of the word we link ourselves, heart, mind and soul, with the Awen, the flowing spirit, of those who created them.

The stories and songs of our ancestors are the stock in trade of the bard. For our ancestors, bards were keepers of tradition, re-modelling history into stories that teach and inspire, capable of both holding and moving an audience. In this way, history is transformed into the myths and legends that inform our sense of personal and cultural identity, providing the backdrop to our existence, our beliefs, our sense of self, our connection with the past and the sacred land. Stories and songs are our teachers. Through them we learn about right behaviour, the beliefs of our ancestors, the nature of the gods, the Otherworld and its inhabitants.

In traditional bardic performances, story, song and poetry were often combined. Two bards would often work together, one taking the vocals while the other accompanied on that archetypal bardic instrument, the harp.

Here are some verses from my rendering of an 8th century Irish song that formed part of a story called The Voyage of Bran. This tale is of the type called imramma or voyages. The telling of such tales as a sacred act guides the listener on a journey to the Otherworld. I believe they were sung at the bedside of those who were dying, providing guidance for their souls' journey to the Islands of the Earthly Paradise. Bran was an Irish king who was visited in his hall by a strangely dressed and beautiful woman who sings to him the following description of her Otherworld home:

"I bring a branch of Emain's apple tree,
alike in form to those you know.
Twigs of white silver upon it grow
and buds of crystal blossom fair to see.

There is an island far beyond this land,
around which glisten white sea-horses.
Against its shores they flow their white courses,
upon four pillars strong that island stands.

An ancient tree there is in flower,
whereon bright birds each hour call.
In sweetest harmony they all
combine to sing the passing of each hour.

No sorrow known, nor grieving there,
no sickness, death or suffering.
Such is the life of fair Emain,
a life that in this world is all too rare.

A host then comes across the shining sea
and row their craft most skilfully to land,
to where the shining stones in circles stand,
from which arise a music sweet and free.

Through ages long unto the gathered throng
they sing a song that sorrow never stained;
a hundred voices, all in chorus reigned,
in praise of life and life's eternal song.

Emain of many shapes beside the sea,
whether it be far or it be near,
women in bright colours wander here,
surrounded by the clear and shining sea.

And if you hear the sweet voice of the stones
and the songbirds of the Peaceful Land,
those women will walk close at hand;
no one who comes need walk alone."

These verses, more than a thousand years old, give us a vivid impression of how our ancestors pictured the Otherworld, the Faery realm beyond the western ocean to which the soul travels after death.

Other poems recall non-human transformations, suggesting that Awen awakens the bard to heightened states of awareness where consciousness merges with the universe and everything in it. So, in `The Battle of the Trees,' the bard Taliesin sings:

I have been in many shapes
Before I took this congenial form;
I have been a sword, narrow in shape;
I believe, since it is apparent,
I have been a tear-drop in the sky,
I have been a glittering star,
I have been a word in a letter,
I have been a book in my origin,
I have been a gleaming ray of light,
A year and a half,
I have been a stable bridge
Over confluences of compassion,
I have been a pathway, I have been an eagle,
I have been a coracle on the brink,
I have been the direction of a staff,
I have been a stack in an open enclosure,
I have been a sword in a yielding cleft,
I have been a shield in open conflict,
I have been a string on a harp,
Shape-shifting nine years,
In water, in foam,
I have been consumed in fire,
I have been passion in a covert.

This expression of universality reminds us that, among our forebears, bards were regarded with the same kind of awe and reverence reserved in other cultures for priests, medicine men or wise women. In our own day there is still a kind of mystical aura attached to the creative arts, a sense that those who practice them are connected to some inner source that sets them apart from the rest of humanity. We recognize this source as Awen.

Many Blessings

Among our ancestors, a visit from a bard was held to convey blessings on a house, its inhabitants, their crops and livestock. Traditional tales themselves were believed to bestow blessings on the teller and the hearer. Saint Patrick, patron saint of Ireland, is said to have ordered that no one should sleep or talk while one tale was being told and promised that it would give success in children, love and marriage, in legal matters or hunting, protection to seafarers, peace in banqueting halls and freedom for those held captive. Such blessings are reminiscent of those promised to one who recites or listens to Hindu sacred tales such as the Ramayana. The recitation of such tales is more than mere story-telling, it is a magical rite and a religious mystery, for the blessings offered are the same as those otherwise conferred by prayer or sacrifice to the gods.

Tales of the Gods

Traditional storytellers speak of being aware of previous generations of storytellers standing behind them while recounting one of the old tales. By allowing ourselves to be open to these spirits of our predecessors, we can learn more about the stories, perhaps recovering parts that have been lost.

Myths reveal the nature of the gods, their births, their powers, how they relate to humankind, and how we may relate to them. They can suggest where and when rituals should be performed, since they often identify specific places and times associated with a particular deity. For example, the Irish goddess Brighid is associated with a sanctuary in County Kildare where a perpetual flame burned in her honour and with Tober Breda, a holy well in County Cork. The Christian saint Brigit, who took over the role of her pagan predecessor, had her feast day on February 1st, the festival of Imbolc. The British goddess, Ceridwen, is associated with Bala Lake in north Wales, and gave birth to her son, the magical bard Taliesin, on April 29th, the eve of the festival of Calan Mai.

Cycles of the Sun

Many myths seem to trace the life cycle of a sun god from birth at midwinter, through to the height of his strength at midsummer and to his death at Samhain. The events of this cycle are usually driven by the relationship of the god to one or more goddesses. One example is the Welsh legend of Lleu Llaw Gyffes, which forms part of the tale of Math, son of Mathonwy, featured in the collection of medieval Welsh legends known as the Mabinogion. This tells how Arianrhod (`Silver Wheel') gives birth to Lleu ('Light') and his twin brother, Dylan ap Ton, (`Ocean son of Wave') as she steps over a staff held by Math, a shadowy enchanter. Since Lleu is a sun god, his birth is most likely to have taken place at midwinter, when the sun has passed its low point at the winter solstice and thus been reborn.

Lleu is taken by Gwydion ap Don, the archetypal Druid of Welsh tradition, whose name may be translated as `Lord of the Wildwood.' Gwydion finds a nurse to suckle the boy, who grows with supernatural speed. Gwydion then takes the child to Arianrhod, who lays a curse on him that he shall never have a name unless she herself gives one to him. Gwydion and Lleu disguise themselves as shoe-makers and return to Arianrhod's castle in a boat, from which Lleu shoots an arrow through the leg of a wren. Arianrhod comments: "the light-haired one has a steady hand." This gives the child his name, Lleu Llaw Gyffes, (`Light of the Steady Hand'). This brings us Gwyl Forwen (Irish Imbolc, Candlemas, February 1st/2nd), a festival associated with light and with the suckling of young lambs.

Having been tricked into naming Lleu, Arianrhod says that he will never bear arms unless she herself arms him. Gwydion and Lleu next disguise themselves as bards and Gwydion entertains the goddess with his story-telling. Next morning Gwydion magically creates the sound of an army surrounding the castle, causing Arianrhod to arm her guests, including Lleu. The arming of the young god seems appropriate to the Spring Equinox (Welsh Alban Eilir, `Light of Regeneration,' March 21st), when day and night are of equal length but the sun is beginning to grow in strength.

Enraged at having been tricked a second time, Arianrhod proclaims that Lleu shall never have a wife born of woman. Gwydion and Math use their magic to create a wife for Lleu from flowers of oak, broom and meadowsweet. They name her Blodeuwedd, meaning Flower-face. This takes us to Calan Mai (Irish Beltaine, May Day, May 1st), when young maidens are traditionally bedecked with flowers and choose young men to companion them in May Day revels. Blodeuwedd seems a fitting archetype for the Queen of the May.

Lleu is given a piece of land on which to set up his court. This takes us to Alban Hefin (`Light of Summer'), Midsummer, when the sun is at its height and the god reaches the height of his powers, reigning over the land in glory. The wedding of Lleu and Blodeuwedd is appropriate to the next festival in the cycle, Gwyl Awst (Irish Lughnasad, Lammas, August 1st), the traditional time for the celebration of trial marriages or handfastings in Celtic countries.

One day, while Lleu is absent, Blodeuwedd sees a huntsman, Goronwy, pursue and kill a stag. She invites him to her castle where they feast and then sleep together. This takes us to the harvest festival of Alban Elfed (`Light of Autumn,' September 21st, the autumn equinox), when day and night are again of equal length, but the sun's power begins to wane towards midwinter.

Blodeuwedd and Goronwy conspire to kill Lleu with a magical spear. This brings us to Nos Galan Gaeaf, `the Nights of Winter Calends,' Hallowe'en (Irish Samhain, October 31st). At that time the gates between this world and the realm of the ancestral spirits stand open, the souls of the dead ride the night with the Wild Huntsman and his pack of hounds. The reign of the sun god ends and that of the dark god of winter begins.

As Lleu dies, his spirit leaves his body in the form of an eagle, ancient symbol of sovereignty. The eagle rests in an oak tree where it is found by Gwydion who is led to the spot by a sow. The sow represents the goddess in her dark, winter aspect. Gwydion charms the eagle down from the oak with the following spell:

Oak that grows between two plains;
Darkened is the sky and hill.
Shall I not know him by his wounds,
That this is Lleu?

Oak that grows in an upland plain,
Is it not wetted by the rain? Has it not been drenched
By nine score tempests?
It bears in its branches Lleu Llaw Gyffes.

Oak that grows beneath the steep;
Stately and majestic its aspect.
Shall I not address it thus,
That Lleu may come to my lap?

The eagle descends from the tree and Gwydion strikes it with his staff, restoring Lleu to human shape. This rebirth brings us back to midwinter.

Gwydion and Lleu pursue Blodeuwedd into the mountains, where she is transformed into an owl by Gwydion, a fitting end for a goddess who has turned her back on her sun god husband to align herself with the dark god of winter. This may have been at Gwyl Forwyn, when folk festivities included a mock battle between the forces of summer and winter.

Goronwy is pursued to the banks of a river, where Lleu himself had been slain. Goronwy shields himself with a standing stone, but Lleu casts his magic spear, piercing both the stone and Goronwy. This must have taken place at Calan Mai, the traditional end of winter.

A similar conflict between gods of summer and winter is mentioned in the Welsh tale of Culhwch and Olwen, where Creiddylad (`Fresh Flowing'), daughter of the god Lludd, is betrothed to Gwythyr son of Greidawl (`Anger, son of Scorcher,' an appropriate name for a fiery sun god). However, Gwynn ap Nudd (`White, son of Cloud, or Mist,' clearly a winter god), carries Creiddylad away. King Arthur is called upon to make peace between them and gives judgement that the maiden should remain in her father's house, and that Gwynn and Gwythyr should fight for her every first of May until the day of doom, and that whichever of them should then be the victor should have the maiden.

The Greek myth of Persephone, also known as Kore, `the Maiden,' tells how she is taken by Hades, the dark Lord of the Underworld. This results in the death and decay of vegetation in the upper world until the god Hermes travels to the Underworld and persuades Hades to give up Persephone for part of the year. Her return to the upper world was celebrated in ancient Greece on February 1st. Her descent into the Underworld was re-enacted as part of the Greater Eleusian Mysteries over a nine day period around the autumn equinox, when the harvest had been gathered in and new seed was being sown in the earth. Similar rites may well have been celebrated among the pagan Celts in honour of their own deities.

An Irish legend preserves what appears to be a ritual dialogue from just such a celebratory rite. The gods of Ireland, the Tuatha de Danaan, the 'Tribe of the goddess Dana,' are feasting on the sacred hill of Tara when a young man comes to the door of the hall. The door-keeper challenges him, asking his name, and his profession,

"for no one is admitted here unless he is master of some craft."
"I am a carpenter," says Lugh.
"We have no need of a carpenter," says the door-keeper, " We already have a very good one; his name is Luchtaine."
"I am an excellent smith," says Lugh.
"We do not need one. We have a very good smith; his name is Goibniu."
"I am a professional warrior."
"We have no need of one. Ogma is our champion."

The exchange continues, with Lugh stating that he is "a harpist," "a warrior renowned for skilfulness rather than mere strength," "a poet and story-teller," "a Druid," "a physician," "a cup-bearer," and "a worker in bronze." The doorkeeper replies that they already have someone within who has each of these skills. Lugh then tells him to ask the king "if he has with him a man who is master of all these crafts at once, for, if he has, there is no need for me to come to Tara." Lugh is invited in and hailed as Ioldanach, `Master of All Arts.'

A similar ritual exchange occurs in the Welsh tale of Culhwch and Olwen. In this instance though, the court is not that of the gods, but of King Arthur, and the feast takes place on January 1st, the new year.

Speeches like this may have been part of ritual dramas performed at great public ceremonies. The modern concept of theatre originated in divine dramas staged at religious festivals in ancient Greece. Such performances were more than mere play-acting. The actors were seen as living embodiments of the gods and goddesses they portrayed, and as channels for their powers. The enactment of myth recreates it for the audience, renewing its spiritual power, re-awakening the gods, restoring their energy to the land and people. Therein lies the true potency of the bardic tradition.

Myths of Ireland: The Mythological Cycle

The traditional tales of Ireland are grouped into cycles dealing with the exploits of one or more central characters.

The Mythological Cycle is based around the collection of tales known as Lebor Gabala Erinn, `The Book of the Taking of Ireland.' It tells of five groups of invaders who came to Ireland prior to the current inhabitants, the Gaels. The first group consists primarily of women, led by a woman named Cessair. Her party dies in a flood except for her consort, Fintan mac Bochra (`White Fire son of Ocean'), who lives on through all the subsequent invasions. Fintan changes shape, becoming in turn a salmon, an eagle, and a hawk. The salmon is a giver of wisdom, the eagle symbolic of sovereignty. Irish bards looked to Fintan as the supreme authority in matters of tradition. With his store of ancient knowledge, Fintan is an archetype of the Druid bard. A number of later Druids share his name, perhaps as reincarnations of his spirit. Fintan, or a later incarnation of him, appeared before Diarmaid mac Cerrbheoil, the last pagan High King of Ireland, who reigned in the 6th century CE.

The second group of invaders is led by Partholon. He and all his followers save one perish in a plague. The one survivor is Tuan mac Starn, whose story closely resembles that of Fintan. Tuan transforms into a stag, a wild boar, an eagle and a salmon. In salmon form he is caught and eaten by the wife of Cairell who later gives birth to him as Tuan son of Cairell. The 6th century Christian Saint Finnian is said to have interviewed Tuan and caused his story to be written down, preserving it for posterity.

The third invasion is led by Nemed. After many tribulations, his followers are forced to leave Ireland, but their descendants lead the next two invasions.

The fourth group are the Fir Bolg, who appear to have been the earliest Celtic inhabitants of Ireland.

The fifth invasion brings the Tuatha de Danaan, the `People of the goddess Dana,' to Ireland. They were the gods of the Gaels, the second group of Celts to inhabit Ireland. The Gaelic gods include among their number the Dagda, or `Good god,' a sturdy, porridge-eating giant with a massive wooden club, a magical cauldron and a living harp carved from oak. One text refers to him as the god of Druidcraft. Other members of the Tuatha were the Morrigan, a fearsome battle-goddess, able to transform herself into raven, wolf, or snake; Nuada, the sword-wielding king of the gods; and Brighid, daughter of the Dagda.

The Tuatha defeat the Fir Bolg in a great battle, and in a second battle defeat the Fomoire, who seem to have been the gods of the Fir Bolg. This second battle, in which both sides invoke powerful magical forces, forms the climax of Lebor Gabala Erinn. When Nuada loses his arm in battle, the young sun god Lugh leads the Tuatha to victory, thereby clearing the way for the Gaels themselves to take possession of the country. After this the Fomoire and the For Bolg retire to the province of Connacht in the west of Ireland where they dwell still among the ancient stones and burial mounds that adorn its misty landscape.

The Ulster Cycle

The Ulster Cycle centres around the great Irish hero, Cuchulainn, the `Hound of Culainn.' The high point of the Cycle is the epic saga of the Tain bo Cuailgne, the `Cattle Raid of Cooley.' This tells of Cuchulainn's single-handed defence of the province of Ulster against an army drawn from all the other Irish provinces. This army is led by a warrior queen, Maeve of Connacht, who wants to capture the magical Brown Bull of Cooley. Cuchulainn is aided by his father, the god Lugh, and hindered by the battle-goddess, the Morrigan, whose sexual advances he has spurned. Cuchulainn is eventually killed but uses his belt to tie himself to a standing stone so that even in death he will not fall before his enemies. As he dies the Morrigan perches on his shoulder in the form of a carrion crow.

The Fenian Cycle

The Fenian Cycle is centred around the legendary warrior chief, Finn mac Cool (`White, son of Hazel') and his war-band, the Fianna, elite bodyguard of the High Kings of Ireland. As a youth Finn gains wisdom and clairvoyance by eating one of the Salmon of Wisdom that swim in the River Shannon. According to some versions, this particular salmon is called Fintan and is presumably an incarnation of the same Fintan mac Bochra mentioned above, who had been in Ireland since before the Flood. The salmon is given to Finn by an elderly Druid, also called Finn or Finegas. The tales of Finn and the Fianna involve much magic and mystery and constant traffic with the Otherworld and its inhabitants. Finn's
son, Oisin, for example, is born of a goddess, Sadb, who is magically transformed into a fawn. Finn, like the British King Arthur, is said to be not dead but sleeping in a hidden cave surrounded by his warriors, awaiting the hour of his country's greatest need when he will rise again.

The Historical Cycle

The Historical Cycle consists of stories concerning the High Kings of Ireland who ruled from the ancient sacred hill of Tara, men such as Conn of the Hundred Battles and Niall of the Nine Hostages. These tales, while not in quite the same wildly magical mould as those of the other Cycles, still have their moments of enchantment. For example, we are told how Niall obtains the High Kingship after embracing a hideous black hag, who asks him for a kiss in return for a drink at her well. On receiving his embrace, she is instantly transformed into the most beautiful woman in the world, and when Niall asks, "Who art thou?," she replies "King of Tara, I am Sovereignty ... and your offspring shall rule over every clan." This theme of the hag transformed into a beautiful maiden by the embrace of a future king occurs frequently in early Irish literature, as well as in later British and French ballads and romances.

Having briefly examined Irish myths, let us now cross the Irish Sea and take a look at the legends of Britain.

The Mabinogion

For the British story-telling tradition, there is a single source which towers above all others. This is the medieval Welsh collection known as the Mabinogion. Strictly speaking, the term Mabinogion applies only to the first four of the eleven tales commonly linked together under this heading. Indeed, the term itself is incorrect, deriving from an error made by Lady Charlotte Guest, the first person to publish a full English translation of the tales. A more correct rendering would be Mabinogi, meaning `Youthful Tales,' which could be equivalent to the Irish Macgnimartha, `Youthful Exploits,' or might indicate that they were tales told to the young, or tales from the youth of the world.

The Four Branches

The four tales, often referred to as the Four Branches, which comprise the Mabinogi proper are Pwyll Lord of Dyfed, Branwen Daughter of Llyr, Manawyddan Son of Llyr, and Math Son of Mathonwy. In the first of these, Pwyll, ruler of the kingdom of Dyfed in South Wales, changes places with Arawn, Lord of the Underworld of Annwn, and fights a battle in his stead. Pwyll marries a woman called Rhiannon, a euphemised Celtic horse goddess and embodiment of sovereignty. They have a child, Pryderi, born on May Eve.

The second Branch tells how Branwen, daughter of the sea god Llyr, is wed to Matholwch, king of Ireland. Her brother, the giant Bran the Blessed, gives Matholwch a magic cauldron that can restore the dead to life. Matholwch takes Branwen to Ireland, where he mistreats her. Bran wades across the Irish sea, towing a fleet of warships behind him. Branwen is rescued, but all except seven of the Welshmen are killed, and Bran himself is mortally wounded. The seven who escape include Pryderi, the sea god Manawyddan and the bard Taliesin. They return to Wales and Bran asks that his head be cut off and buried in the White Mount, where the Tower of London now stands, to protect Britain from invasion.
Bran means `raven,' and a flock of ravens are still kept in the Tower of London. Tradition has it that if the ravens should leave the Tower the country will fall to invasion.

In the third Branch, Manawyddan marries Rhiannon, thereby gaining sovereignty over Dyfed. The land then falls under a spell which causes all of its inhabitants and their houses to vanish, except the main characters in the tale. Rhiannon and her son Pryderi enter a magical caer or `fortification,' perhaps an ancient earthwork, where they find a golden bowl beside a fountain. When they touch the bowl, both they and the caer disappear. Manawyddan restores Rhiannon, Pryderi and the land of Dyfed by capturing the wife of the enchanter who has caused their disappearance and threatening to hang her if he does not remove his spell.

The fourth Branch tells how the Druid enchanter Gwydion and his brother Gilfaethwy use magic arts to obtain from Pryderi the Otherworld pigs which the Lord of Annwn had sent to him. Pryderi pursues them across Wales until he is slain by Gwydion. Gilfaethwy rapes Goewin, the foot-holder of Math, lord of Gwynedd in North Wales. Math's foot-holder must be a virgin. Goewin tells Math what has happened and says that he should look for someone to take her place. Math chooses Arianrhod, and so begins the cycle outlined above, of Lleu Llaw Gyffes and his magical bride Blodeuwedd, at the end of which Lleu becomes lord of Gwynedd.

The other seven tales that make up the Mabinogion are known as the Four Independent Native Tales, and the Three Romances.

The Independent Native Tales

The first of the Independent Native Tales is The Dream of Macsen Wledig, in which the 4th century Roman emperor, Magnus Maximus (`Macsen') pursues a woman called Helen of the Hosts, whom he encounters in a dream. He finds her in a castle on the island of Anglesey and marries her. Helen may originally have been a pagan British goddess. Both she and Macsen were claimed as ancestors by various Welsh dynasties.

The Story of Lludd and Llevelys tells of two mythical brothers, rulers of Britain and France respectively, during whose time three plagues fall upon Britain. The first is caused by a strange race called the Coranians, the second by a conflict between two dragons, and the third by a powerful giant. Through the wise advice of his brother, Lludd defeats all three plagues.

Culhwch and Olwen is an archaic tale that tells how a fate is laid on the young Culhwch by his step-mother that he will never have a wife unless it be Olwen, daughter of a fearsome, one-eyed giant, Yspaddaden Penkawr. Culhwch asks his cousin, King Arthur, to help him win Olwen. Culhwch and six knights find Yspaddaden's castle. Olwen comes to meet them, and "four white trefoils sprung up wherever she trod. And therefore she was called Olwen (`White Track')." Yspaddaden casts three spears at the knights, who throw them back, wounding him in the leg, chest, and eye. Yspaddaden agrees to part with his daughter if Culhwch can complete a number of tasks. One is to hunt down a huge wild boar, another to find a magical child, Mabon ap Modron (`Child, son of Mother'). Culhwch and his companions seek out the oldest animals in the world, an Ousel, a Stag, an Owl, an Eagle, and finally, a Salmon, which shows them where Mabon is imprisoned. Arthur's warriors attack the castle where Mabon is held and release him. They pursue the boar across Britain and it kills many knights before they catch it. They then return to Yspaddaden, laden with all the magical treasures he had asked Culhwch to obtain, and the giant finally gives up Olwen. This weird tale ends with the son of Yspaddaden's herdsman cutting off the giant's head and placing it on a stake atop the castle.

The last of the Independent Native Tales is The Dream of Rhonabwy, which tells how Rhonabwy and his companions seek shelter in a strange hall one night. The interior is dark and filthy, inhabited by a toothless crone. Rhonabwy sleeps on a yellow ox-hide on a raised dais. He sleeps for three nights and three days, during which time he has a vision of King Arthur playing gwyddbwyll (`wooden wisdom'), an ancient board game, with Owein, son of Urien Rheged. The game the two men play is paralleled by a conflict between Arthur's knights and a group of ravens belonging to Owein. The presence of ravens suggests that gwyddbwyll was the Welsh equivalent of an Irish board game called brandub (`black raven'). Both games seem to have had ritual significance and may also have been used for divination. Other sources indicate that bull or ox-hides were wrapped around bards seeking oracular visions during sleep.

The Three Romances

The first of the Three Romances is The Lady of the Fountain, an early Arthurian tale featuring Owein ap Urien. A knight named Cynon tells how a man takes him to a castle inhabited by twenty-four women. The man directs Cynon to go at daybreak to a grassy mound where he will find a black giant armed with a huge iron club and surrounded by animals. Cynon finds the giant, who summons thousands of animals to him by causing a stag to cry out. The animals bow down to the giant as if to their master. The giant directs Cynon to a magical fountain beneath a tree. The knight goes to the fountain, fills the silver bowl he finds there with water, throws it over a stone and a great storm erupts, stripping the leaves
from the tree. When the storm abates, hundreds of birds come and perch in the tree singing. A black knight on a black horse appears, defeats Cynon, and sends him back the way he came. Owein repeats Cynon's adventure except that he defeats the black knight and pursues him to a great city. The black knight, who is the lord of the city, dies and Owein sees his widow, the Lady of the Fountain, mourning her loss and instantly falls in love with her. He marries her and takes the place of the black knight, defending the fountain which marks the border of her realm. After a while he returns to Arthur's court promising to return, but forgets to do so. When he finally recalls the Lady he flees into the forest in shame and lives among wild animals, passing through further conflicts and adventures before eventually winning her back and returning with her to Arthur's court.

The romance of Peredur son of Efrawg is a kind of Celtic Don Quixote, dealing with the adventures of an innocent abroad. Peredur has been raised with no knowledge of weapons, horsemanship or other knightly skills, but takes himself to King Arthur's court to be ordained a knight. Arthur's knights make fun of him and the nag he rides. Cei, one of Arthur's men, sends him out to fight a knight who has insulted Gwenhwyfar, Arthur's wife, promising that if Peredur wins he will be ordained a knight. He does win but refuses to enter the court until he avenges the blows Cei struck at two dwarfs who had greeted Peredur kindly. Peredur rides off, defeating many other knights in Arthur's name before ending up at the court of nine witches who teach him skill with weapons and horses. Peredur fights and defeats Cei and returns to Arthur's court. There, he falls in love with a woman called Angharad Golden-hand, who fails to return his love. He vows that he will not speak until she comes to love him and he rides out from the court again. He encounters and subdues a race of pagan giants and a huge serpent before returning to court, defeating another mysterious knight, and winning the love of Angharad. One day, while hunting a stag in the forest, Peredur comes to a hall where he encounters a one-eyed giant whose other eye was lost fighting a black serpent that lived in a barrow mound. Peredur sets out for the mound and slays the serpent, stopping off on the way at another castle of women who have a magic cauldron from which the dead emerge alive and killing a monster called Addanc which dwells in a cave with a standing stone at its entrance. Peredur returns once more to Arthur's court, where a hideous hag comes to him and sets him off on yet another adventure, to seek out a Castle of Wonders where he will gain wisdom. The tale ends with Peredur slaying the nine witches who had previously been his teachers.

The third romance, that of Gereint son of Erbin, tells how Arthur and his knights go hunting a white stag. Gereint and Gwenhwyfar are left behind and see a woman on a white horse accompanied by a giant knight and a dwarf. Gereint follows the odd trio and reaches a castle where he is shown hospitality by an old couple and their beautiful daughter, Enid. The old man arms Gereint, who defeats the giant. Gereint marries Enid but comes to believe, quite wrongly, that she loves another. The two set out on horseback. Gereint orders her to be silent but each time she hears knights plotting to attack him she breaks her silence to warn him. He slays several groups of knights, receiving many wounds himself. He fights three giants, the third striking him a blow which opens up all his previous wounds. He is carried, apparently dying, to a castle. The lord of the castle strikes Enid, causing her to cry out. At this, Gereint realises that Enid truly loves him and rises up, killing the lord and terrifying the rest of the castle's inhabitants who think he has risen from the dead. Gereint is healed, but hears of a `hedge of mist' within which enchanted games are held and from which none have ever returned. Riding into the mist, he finds himself in an orchard where a hunting-horn hangs from an apple-tree and a solitary maiden sits on one of a pair of golden thrones. Gereint sits in the other although the maiden warns him that the chieftain who owns it will be angry. The chieftain arrives and challenges Gereint, who defeats him. The chieftain asks for mercy which Gereint grants provided he causes the magical mist to disappear and puts an end to the deadly games. The chieftain tells Gereint to sound the hunting-horn and when he does so the mist disperses and he is reunited with Enid. They return to his lands in Cornwall, where Gereint rules prosperously for the rest of his days.

The Story of Taliesin

Another Welsh legend, the mysterious Hanes (`Story of') Taliesin, tells how the goddess Ceridwen has a husband called Tegid Foel (`Beautiful Bald One'), and three children: Morfran (`Cormorant'), Creirwy (`Jewel Egg') and Afagddu (`Utter Darkness'). Afagddu is so ugly that Ceridwen decides to make him wise to compensate for his looks. She brews a magic cauldron that has to boil for a year and a day. While she gathers herbs for the brew, she leaves an old man called Morda and a child named Gwion Bach (`Little Innocent') looking after the cauldron. On the last day, three drops of the potion splash onto Gwion's hand and he puts it to his mouth gaining the gifts of poetry, prophecy, and shapeshifting. The rest of the brew is rendered not only useless but poisonous and the cauldron bursts. On her return, Ceridwen flies into a rage, pursuing Gwion as
they pass through a series of animal transformations. Eventually, Gwion becomes a grain of wheat and is eaten by Ceridwen in the shape of a black hen. Nine months later she gives birth, ties the baby up in a leather bag, and casts him into the sea. There he is found by a prince who has the bag opened. It is remarked that the baby has a radiant brow, hence he is called Taliesin, `radiant brow.' The infant immediately makes his first poem and soon becomes Primary Chief Bard, first to the Court of Elphin, and then to the whole of Britain. This tale may be read as a series of initiations as bard, ovate and Druid.

Arthur, Merlin and the Matter of Britain

The other major category of British bardic tales is the Matter of Britain, the stories of King Arthur and his knights. Arthur may have been an historical warlord in western Britain in the 6th century CE who fought successfully against Saxon invaders who had gained control of the southern and eastern England at that time. The oldest tales concerning Arthur are contained in the Mabinogion and in early British bardic poetry. Most of the surviving tales are much later, having been concocted by medieval writers such as Geoffrey of Monmouth, whose 12th century History of the Kings of Britain is the principle source of medieval Arthurian myth. Geoffrey's History includes the story of how Merlin brings a stone circle,
called the Giants' Ring-Dance, from Ireland and has it set up on Salisbury Plain, where it is now known as Stonehenge.

Merlin is adviser to Arthur's father, Uther Pendragon, and uses his magic power to enable Uther to sleep with Arthur's mother, Ygrain, by making him appear to her in the shape of her husband. The young Arthur becomes king by pulling a sword from a stone. The magical sword, Excalibur, is given to him by the Lady of the Lake who seems to be another incarnation of the goddess of Sovereignty. Arthur marries Guinevere, the Gwenhwyfar of the Mabinogion romances, and brings together the Knights of the Round Table, the Arthurian equivalent of Finn mac Cool's war-band, the Fianna.

Gawain and the Greene Knight

Many legends surround individual Knights of the Round Table, one of the most interesting being the 14th century poem Sir Gawain and the Greene Knight. This begins with Arthur and his knights celebrating Christmas and the New Year at the Court of Camelot. Their feasting is interrupted by the arrival of a huge, green-skinned man, dressed all in green, holding a holly-branch in one hand and an axe in the other and riding a green horse. The Greene Knight challenges the assembled knights to strike his neck with his own axe, with the proviso that he be allowed to strike a blow in return after a year and a day. Gawain accepts the challenge and strikes off the Knight's head. The Greene Knight, however, picks up his severed head which tells Gawain to seek out the Green Chapel after a year and a day to receive the return stroke. The Knight then mounts his green horse and gallops out of the hall.

Gawain journeys in search of the Green Chapel. Towards the end of the year he stays at a castle whose Lord goes out hunting each day, telling Gawain that they must give each other whatever they receive during the day. While her husband hunts game, the Lady hunts Gawain. He reluctantly receives her kisses and later passes them on to her husband in return for his day's catch. On the third day, however, the Lady gives Gawain her green silk belt and this he fails to pass on to the Lord, knowing that he will recognise it. When the time comes, Gawain keeps his appointment at the Green Chapel, a hollow mound beside a stream in a woodland glade. There he meets his opponent and stands to receive the
axe-stroke which cuts him only slightly. He then learns that, had he given the Lady's belt to his host, he would have received no hurt at all, for the Greene Knight is none other than the Lord, and he and his wife have been testing Gawain. Gawain returns to Camelot wearing the green belt as a symbol of his shame at having deceived his host, but Arthur's knights and their ladies think his adventure so worthy that they decide all Knights of the Round Table should henceforth wear a green belt.

An important theme in Arthurian myth is the quest for the Holy Grail, supposed to be the chalice from which Jesus and his disciples drank at the last supper and/or the cup in which Christ's blood was caught when he was pierced by a spear as he hung on the cross. The Grail, though ostensibly a Christian symbol, can be seen as a version of the magic cauldron of pagan legend. Both Grail and cauldron have healing powers, both have strong feminine associations and both grant wisdom and inspiration.

The Matter of Britain ends with Arthur mortally wounded at the Battle of Camlann and sending Sir Bedivere to cast the sword Excalibur back into the lake whence it came. Arthur is then borne away to the mystical Isle of Avalon (`Apple-Land'), thought by some to be Glastonbury Tor in Somerset. Arthur, however, does not die but sleeps, awaiting the time when his country will have need of him once more. Thus is he called Rex Quondam Futurum, `the Once and Future King.'

Arthurian legend has inspired generations of creative artists, from the 15th century poet Sir Thomas Malory, whose epic Morte d'Arthur is one of the great classics of English literature, through the artists of the 19th century Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood to the film director John Boorman, whose Excalibur represents the most successful 20th century version of the Matter of Britain.

The World of Legend

Though I've concentrated on Celtic tales, every culture has its own myths and legends which perform similar functions and contain similar motifs. The non-Celtic bard should not have to look too far to find the traditional tales of her own culture, whether it be the Norse legends of Odin, Thor and Freya, the Greek myths of Zeus, Hera and the Olympian gods, their Roman equivalents, Jupiter, Minerva et al, the Hindu gods of the Vedas, Brahma, Agni, Sarasvati, Shiva, the Lakota tales of White Buffalo Woman, the African Fang people and their stories of the sky father, Nzame, and the forest mother, Nyule or the Buryats of Siberia with their tales of the great bull prince, Buxa Noyon, and the cow mother, Buxtan Xatun.

Many of the cultures referred to here also have, or once had their own specialists in the transmission of traditional songs and stories. The Greek epics the Iliad and the Odyssey are attributed to Homer, a Greek bard who lived about 700 BCE. The Brahmans of Vedic India were priests who sang hymns in praise of the gods and whose task it was to preserve and pass on those hymns for future generations. The verses which told of the exploits of Odin and his kin were the province of the skald, the Norse equivalent to the Celtic bard. The songs of Charlemagne and his knights were passed on by the medieval French trouvere, or troubadour.

Knowing the traditional tales of our own culture can lead to a deeper understanding of who we are, where we come from, and how we relate to our own and other cultures. This, in turn, helps us to relate to our ancestors, both human and divine. Discovering the traditional tales of other cultures can teach us how much people all over the world have in common. Wherever we look, fundamental themes are repeated: light and dark gods struggle against each other, mortal heroes stand against overwhelming odds, helped or hindered by the gods, gods and mortals live, love, and die, magicians, priests, Druids, shamans, wise women, or medicine men strive to wrest knowledge and power from the Otherworld. The fascination of such universal themes ensures that traditional tales continue to exert a timeless magic on the human mind. The current resurgence of interest in the bardic tradition will hopefully ensure that they are well performed and passed on to future generations.

But why leave it to others to carry the tradition? Become a bard yourself. First, find some poems to recite, songs to sing or stories to tell. Several books of British and Irish poetry, songs and myths are listed in the resource section. For those of other cultures, try your local library. Or make your own. Listen to other bards. There are cassettes listed in the resource section that demonstrate many of the skills necessary to convey a poem, song or tale clearly and movingly, but actually seeing a good bard in action is the best way to learn. The movements and gestures, the look in the eye, the direct interaction with the audience, are vital to the art. Again, the resource section may help you track down a bard or two. Having found the sources and studied the technique, practice. Share poems, songs and stories with your family and friends. This will help you to find material that works for you. You may find songs you absolutely love, but can't quite put across. You may find that stories you didn't think all that wonderful communicate beautifully to an audience. The only way to find out is by trial and error.

So much for the nuts and bolts, but there is something else you need to be a bard: perfect trust in the spirit of the material. Recognise that the poem wants to be heard, the song sung, the story to be told, that the characters within them want to come to life through your performance so that your audience will know and feel what they have known and felt. The material has a life of its own, you are merely its means of transmission. Traditional songs and tales have often been passed down over many generations. Be aware of the line of bards who have sung the songs and told the tales before you. When the spirit of a story takes you, you may sense the presence of the previous tellers standing behind you, urging you
on. You may hear their voices adding extra phrases or incidents to the tale or reminding you of ones you had forgotten. Then you will know that you have been accepted by the tradition, and that this aspect of the way of the bard has truly opened to you.

In our electronic culture we have come close to losing the art of story-telling, except to our children at bedtime, forgetting that adults too respond to a well-told tale with a warmth, depth of emotion and intimacy that the television screen simply cannot match. There is an undeniable magic to sitting spell-bound around a late night camp-fire, or in a Gorsedd circle by the light of day, as a true exponent of the way of the bard paces the floor, unravelling some ancient tale of wonder, of dragons or witches, giants or Faery Folk, brave heroes and beautiful maidens, or of the creation of the world. At such times I realise that the bardic art will never die, for it carries with it a potency as old as the hills, a charm as fresh as spring-water. As my mother used to say, such things are "too good for the children!"