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"The lady whom best I love is to be thy bride this night; I come to ask her of thee, with the feast and the banquet that are in this place." And Pwyll was silent because of the answer which he had given. "Be silent as long as thou wilt," said Rhiannon. "Never did man make worse use of his wits than thou hast done." "Lady," said he, "I knew not who he was."
What are the three hundred ravens of Owen, and the nine sorceresses of Peredur, and the dogs of Annwn the Welsh Hades, and the birds of Rhiannon, whose song was so sweet that warriors remained spell-bound for eighty years together listening to them? What is the Avanc, the water-monster, of whom every lake-side in Wales, and her proverbial speech, and her music, to this day preserve the tradition?
This oath given, and promises made, the bag was opened and the agreements solemnly confirmed in presence of all. Then Gwawl, and every one of his men, knights and servants, were let go, and they went back to their own country. A few evenings later, in the large banqueting hall, Powell and Rhiannon were married. Besides the great feast, presents were given to all present, high and low.
"No," Joe laughed. He was going to brush off the question, but he saw that Rhiannon was serious. "Almost," he said. "We are too much the same, I think. Too pigheaded, or self-centered, or something. She's connected to Rob, the guy we met when we first went in." Rhiannon brightened. The afternoon cumulus clouds had dissipated in a pale blue sky. Pink wisps of cirrus trailed to the west.
Mo's eyebrows lifted as she looked down at her. "I'm glad you could come," she said, extending her hand. "I hope you find some things you like." She indicated the photographs hanging on the walls. "There are more in the next room. Rob?" She beckoned to a portly man with rimless glasses. "Rob, you must meet Joe and his friend, Rhiannon. Joe and I are old buddies." "How do you do." They shook hands.
Besides, she was a kind woman. She took pity on horses, as well as on men. Sweet was her voice, as she answered most graciously: "I will stay gladly, and it were better for thy horses, hadst thou asked me properly, long ago." To his questions, as to how and why she came to him, she told her story, as follows: "I am Rhiannon, descended from the August and Venerable One of old.
She was dressed in a kimono and had Japanese features, an eternal bittersweet look. She was gorgeous. A note read, "Her name is Sumoko. I made her for Batman. I'm leaving today. Love, Rhiannon." Joe took the doll and a Napoleon Bonaparte mystery out on the lanai. "Batman, someone is here to meet you."
And as they drew near to the palace, they beheld Rhiannon sitting beside the horseblock. And when they were opposite to her, "Chieftain," said she, "go not further thus, I will bear every one of you into the palace, and this is my penance for slaying my own son and devouring him." "Oh, fair lady," said Teirnyon, "think not that I will be one to be carried upon thy back."
The lower world could be even plundered by enterprising heroes. Marriages like that of Pwyll and Rhiannon were possible between the dwellers of the one world and the other. The other-world of the Celts does not seem, however, to have been always pictured as beneath the earth.
Probably these ladies are the fairies of popular Celtic tradition, taken up into the more elaborate poetry of Cymric literature and mediaeval romance. Mr Rhys traces Vivien, or Nimue, or Nyneue, back, through a series of palaeographic changes and errors, to Rhiannon, wife of Pwyll, a kind of lady of the lake he thinks, but the identification is not very satisfactory.
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