Old Celtic tales

by E. M. Wilmot-Buxton

The man gave him one look, and then, taking him for a madman, bolted the door in his face, and, rushing to an upper window, cried: "Seize that horseman for a madman. He asks to see Hubert, my grandfather's grandfather, who has been dead two hundred years. Send for the Abbot of St Faron, that he may drive out the evil spirit from him."

Then a crowd began to gather, and stones and darts were hurled at the knight and his man, and in the scuffle that followed Benoist was shot dead by an archer. And when Sir Olger saw that, he was filled with the fiercest wrath, and rode Papillon at the crowd, and scattered them, cutting down with his sword all who came within reach. But so hotly burnt his wrath that it kindled the torch that he carried in his breast, so he rode away with it to the Abbey of St Faron. There the Abbot met him, to whom Olger said: "Is your name Simon? You at least should know me, seeing that I founded this abbey and endowed it with lands and money." But the Abbot answered that he knew little of those who had preceded him, and asked the stranger's name. And when he heard it he was greatly puzzled, and said to himself: "I do remember me that the charters of the house say that Simon was Abbot in the days of the founder, Olger the Dane; yet what does all this mean?" And aloud he said: "Sir Knight, the Abbot Simon has been buried for nigh two hundred years."

"What!" cried the knight. "Simon dead! And Charles the Great and Caraheu and Clarice, my wife? Where are they? Not dead too? Oh, say they are not dead!"

"Dead—dead two hundred years ago, my son," said the Abbot solemnly. Then Sir Olger was filled with awe and wonder, as he began to realise that his dream of Avalon was true after all. Following the Abbot into the church he told his strange story; and the Abbot believed him, and rejoiced to think that a deliverer had been sent to France at last. Then Olger told him the secret of the torch, and begged him to make an iron treasure-house beneath the church, wherein so little air could come that the flame might dwindle to a single spark, and yet be nourished and preserved for many years to come. And when this was done, and the torch was safely disposed of, the Abbot begged to see the magic ring. But when Olger heedlessly drew it from his finger, immediately his youth and vigour vanished, and he became a helpless old man, whose skin hung loose like withered parchment, and whose only sign of life was the quivering of his toothless jaws. The terrified Abbot hastily put back the ring on the fleshless finger, and immediately Olger's strength and youth returned, and he rode off on Papillon to fight for France. The enemy was then stationed before Chartres, and so strong they were that the Franks were falling back disheartened before them, when suddenly, just as in former days, a gigantic knight riding a coal-black horse appeared in their midst, and everywhere he rode was marked by a long line of slain. Then the astonished Franks remembered the stories they had heard in the days of old, and murmured to one another: "It is Olger the Dane!" One after the other passed it on, till the murmur grew to a cry, and the cry to a shout of "Olger! Olger the Dane!" and, rushing upon the foe, they swept the paynims from the field. Over and over again did Olger thus lead the Franks to victory, until at length the land was free. And always while he fought the torch burned bright in the Church of St Faron, but when he rested it dwindled to a spark again.

At length the renowned and glorious knight had leisure to visit the French Court. He found that the King of France had lately died, but the Queen received him with all kindness; and her waiting maid, the Lady of Senlis, loved him so much that she would gladly have wedded him, but he would have nothing to do with her. Now, one day these ladies discovered the secret of the magic ring; for, finding him one day asleep upon a couch after a long journey, they drew the ring from his finger, meaning to jest with him about it when he awoke. Much to their horror, the strong man withered up before their eyes, and became an ancient skeleton. Then the Queen, knowing from this that it was truly Olger the Dane, immediately replaced the ring, and he regained his former youth. But the Lady of Senlis, determined that since Olger did not care for her, he should love no one else, sent thirty strong knights to waylay him as he left the Court, and to wrest the ring of Morgan le Fay from his hand. But Sir Olger spurred Papillon among them, with Courtain drawn in his hand, and so escaped untouched. After this the Queen herself wished to marry Olger, for she said: "He, and he alone, is worthy to sit upon the throne of Charles the Great." And to this Olger agreed, for he felt to sit in his master's seat was the highest earthly honour he could win. So with great pomp and ceremony they prepared for the wedding. The great church blazed with golden banners as a lordly procession entered and proclaimed the approaching coronation of the new-made King; and Sir Olger took the Queen by the hand, and led her forward, and knelt with her upon the chancel pavement. But ere the marriage vows were spoken, a brighter light than any on earth shone upon them, and all at once a thick white cloud wrapped round the knight. Some say that Morgan le Fay was seen floating down through the cloud, with arms outstretched, to carry off her knight. However that may be, when the cloud had cleared away Sir Olger was no more to be seen upon this earth. But men whisper that Olger the Dane lives yet, for the torch still burns in the treasure-house of the Abbey of St Faron. He is only asleep in the faery islands of Avalon, and one day he will awaken, and return again, return to deliver France once more in time of need, when the Franks shall turn, and conquer their foes, with their ancient battle-cry of "Olger! Olger the Dane!"

From the Anglo-Norman Romance of Charlemagne, about the twelfth century, but undoubtedly borrowed from a Celtic source, since the whole spirit of the tale is Celtic in origin.

The Story of King Fortager

Constaunce, King of Britain, was a mighty man of valour, and in his days the people were freed from their enemies, but when he died, his eldest son, Moyne the Monk, who had lived all his days in the Abbey of Winchester, sat upon the throne. Now when Angys the Dane saw King Moyne to be but a studious youth, hating the thought of warfare, he gathered an army together, and sailed for Britain.

Then was there great terror in the land; and King Moyne gave orders to Fortager, his father's steward, that he should put himself at the head of the Britons, and fight against Angys. But Fortager pretended to be very sick, so that he could not go forth to battle. Then King Moyne was obliged to go himself, and so badly did he conduct the fight that the Britons were defeated. And Angys took many British towns and castles, and fortified them against their former owners. Now, there had fought under King Moyne twelve British chieftains who were very ill content with the state of affairs. They came together, and said: "If Fortager had been our leader this would not have happened so." Then they went to Fortager to ask his counsel. But Fortager would only say: "Seek counsel of your King; it will be time enough to ask for mine when Moyne is King no longer."