A line in this poem allows us to see Gwyn in another and less sinister rôle. “The lover of Creurdilad, the daughter of Lludd,” he calls himself; and an episode in the mythical romance of “Kulhwch and Olwen”, preserved in the Red Book of Hergest, gives the details of his courtship. Gwyn had as rival a deity called Gwyrthur ap Greidawl, that is “Victor, son of Scorcher”.[[299]] These two waged perpetual war for Creurdilad, or Creudylad, each in turn stealing her from the other, until the matter was referred to Arthur, who decided that Creudylad should be sent back to her father, and that Gwyn and Gwyrthur “should fight for her every first of May, from henceforth until the day of doom, and that whichever of them should then be conqueror should have the maiden”. What satisfaction this would be to the survivor of what might be somewhat flippantly described as, in two senses, the longest engagement on record, is not very clear; but its mythological interpretation appears fairly obvious. In Gwyn, god of death and the underworld, and in the solar deity, Gwyrthur, we may see the powers of darkness and sunshine, of winter and summer, in contest,[[300]] each alternately winning and losing a bride who would seem to represent the spring with its grain and flowers. Creudylad, whom the story of “Kulhwch and Olwen” calls “the most splendid maiden in the three islands of the mighty and in the three islands adjacent”, is, in fact, the British Persephoné. As the daughter of Lludd, she is child of the shining sky. But a different tradition must have made her a daughter of Llyr, the sea-god; for her name as such passed, through Geoffrey of Monmouth, to Shakespeare, in whose hands she became that pathetic figure, Cordelia in “King Lear”. It may not be altogether unworthy of notice, though perhaps it is only a coincidence, that in some myths the Greek Persephoné is made a daughter of Zeus and in others of Poseidon.[[301]]
Turning from the sky-god and his son, we find others of Dôn’s children to have been the exponents of those arts of life which early races held to have been taught directly by the gods to men. Dôn herself had a brother, Mâth, son of a mysterious Mâthonwy, and recognizable as a benevolent ruler of the underworld akin to Beli, or perhaps that god himself under another title, for the name Mâth, which means “coin, money, treasure”,[[302]] recalls that of Plouton, the Greek god of Hades, in his guise of possessor and giver of metals. It was a belief common to the Aryan races that wisdom, as well as wealth, came originally from the underworld; and we find Mâth represented, in the Mabinogi bearing his name, as handing on his magical lore to his nephew and pupil Gwydion, who, there is good reason to believe, was the same divine personage whom the Teutonic tribes worshipped as “Woden” and “Odin”. Thus equipped, Gwydion son of Dôn became the druid of the gods, the “master of illusion and phantasy”, and, not only that, but the teacher of all that is useful and good, the friend and helper of mankind, and the perpetual fighter against niggardly underworld powers for the good gifts which they refused to allow out of their keeping. Shoulder to shoulder with him in this “holy war” of culture against ignorance, and light against darkness, stood his brothers Amaethon, god of agriculture, and Govannan, a god of smithcraft identical with the Gaelic Giobniu. He had also a sister called Arianrod, or “Silver Circle”, who, as is common in mythologies, was not only his sister, but also his wife. So Zeus wedded Heré; and, indeed, it is difficult to say where otherwise the partners of gods are to come from. Of this connection two sons were born at one birth—Dylan and Lleu, who are considered as representing the twin powers of darkness and light. With darkness the sea was inseparably connected by the Celts, and, as soon as the dark twin was born and named, he plunged headlong into his native element. “And immediately when he was in the sea,” says the Mabinogi of Mâth, son of Mâthonwy, “he took its nature, and swam as well as the best fish that was therein. And for that reason was he called Dylan, the Son of the Wave. Beneath him no wave ever broke.” He was killed with a spear at last by his uncle, Govannan, and, according to the bard Taliesin, the waves of Britain, Ireland, Scotland, and the Isle of Man wept for him.[[303]] Beautiful legends grew up around his death. The clamour of the waves dashing upon the beach is the expression of their longing to avenge their son. The sound of the sea rushing up the mouth of the River Conway is still known as “Dylan’s death-groan”[[304]]. A small promontory on the Carnarvonshire side of the Menai Straits, called Pwynt Maen Tylen, or Pwynt Maen Dulan, preserves his name.[[305]]
The other child of Gwydion and Arianrod grew up to become the British sun-god, Lleu Llaw Gyffes, the exact counterpart of the Gaelic Lugh Lamhfada, “Light the Long-handed”. Like all solar deities, his growth was rapid. When he was a year old, he seemed to be two years; at the age of two, he travelled by himself; and when he was four years old, he was as tall as a boy of eight, and was his father’s constant companion.
One day, Gwydion took him to the castle of Arianrod—not her castle in the sky, but her abode on earth, the still-remembered site of which is marked by a patch of rocks in the Menai Straits, accessible without a boat only during the lowest spring and autumn tides. Arianrod had disowned her son, and did not recognize him when she saw him with Gwydion. She asked who he was, and was much displeased when told. She demanded to know his name, and, when Gwydion replied that he had as yet received none, she “laid a destiny upon” him, after the fashion of the Celts, that he should be without a name until she chose to bestow one on him herself.
To be without a name was a very serious thing to the ancient Britons, who seem to have held the primitive theory that the name and the soul are the same. So Gwydion cast about to think by what craft he might extort from Arianrod some remark from which he could name their son. The next day, he went down to the sea-shore with the boy, both of them disguised as cordwainers. He made a boat out of sea-weed by magic, and some beautifully-coloured leather out of some dry sticks and sedges. Then they sailed the boat to the port of Arianrod’s castle, and, anchoring it where it could be seen, began ostentatiously to stitch away at the leather. Naturally, they were soon noticed, and Arianrod sent someone out to see who they were and what they were doing. When she found that they were shoemakers, she remembered that she wanted some shoes. Gwydion, though he had her measure, purposely made them, first too large, and then too small. This brought Arianrod herself down to the boat to be fitted.
While Gwydion was measuring Arianrod’s foot for the shoes, a wren came and stood upon the deck. The boy took his bow and arrow, and hit the wren in the leg—a favourite shot of Celtic “crack” archers, at any rate in romance. The goddess was pleased to be amiable and complimentary. “Truly,” said she, “the lion aimed at it with a steady hand.” It is from such incidents that primitive people take their names, all the world over. The boy had got his. “It is no thanks to you,” said Gwydion to Arianrod, “but now he has a name. And a good name it is. He shall be called Llew Llaw Gyffes[[306]].”
This name of the sun-god is a good example of how obsolete the ancient pagan tradition had become before it was put into writing. The old word Lleu, meaning “light”, had passed out of use, and the scribe substituted for a name that was unintelligible to him one like it which he knew, namely Llew, meaning “lion”. The word Gyffes seems also to have suffered change, and to have meant originally not “steady”, but “long”[[307]].
At any rate, Arianrod was defeated in her design to keep her son nameless. Neither did she even get her shoes; for, as soon as he had gained his object, Gwydion allowed the boat to change back into sea-weed, and the leather to return to sedge and sticks. So, in her anger, she put a fresh destiny on the boy, that he should not take arms till she herself gave them him.
Gwydion, however, took Lleu to Dinas Dinllev, his castle, which still stands at the edge of the Menai Straits, and brought him up as a warrior. As soon as he thought him old enough to have arms, he took him with him again to Caer Arianrod. This time, they were disguised as bards. Arianrod received them gladly, heard Gwydion’s songs and tales, feasted them, and prepared a room for them to sleep in.
The next morning, Gwydion got up very early, and prepared his most powerful incantations. By his druidical arts he made it seem as if the whole country rang with the shouts and trumpets of an army, and he put a glamour over everyone, so that they saw the bay filled with ships. Arianrod came to him in terror, asking what could be done to protect the castle. “Give us arms,” he replied, “and we will do the best we can.” So Arianrod’s maidens armed Gwydion, while Arianrod herself put arms on Lleu. By the time she had finished, all the noises had ceased, and the ships had vanished. “Let us take our arms off again,” said Gwydion; “we shall not need them now.” “But the army is all round the castle!” cried Arianrod. “There was no army,” answered Gwydion; “it was only an illusion of mine to cause you to break your prophecy and give our son arms. And now he has got them, without thanks to you.” “Then I will lay a worse destiny on him,” cried the infuriated goddess. “He shall never have a wife of the people of this earth.” “He shall have a wife in spite of you,” said Gwydion.